#fallout!au

[majimasleftasscheek]

kiryu could solve the wasteland's bug problem instantly

[gremlingottoosilly]

I loved so much your Fallout!Au, is it's not inconvenient, can you tell us more about what you imagine for this universe?

I can only imagine Konig in three options, kinda - it's either a raider, and we all know just how obsessed he is with his vault girl. Pretty girl, clean girl, especially for Wasteland standards. Konig likes her enough to let her get the first bite of every piece of food they scavenged from an abandoned store or harassed out of traveling merchants. You would always refuse to eat it at first - would say it's not right, it's stealing, those people needed it more than a bunch of raiders. Konig nods and pets your head like you're one of his lanky, scarred battle dogs. Konig proposes you a few options - if you don't want to steal and rob, you can always wait for him in his bunk while he hunts for dumb enough people. While he gets the meat off their bones, making you a nice, juicy, bloody steak. Medium rare. Asks how the hell you managed to live cramped in the vaults without trying human meat. Hold your hair while you were throwing up just at the first sight of it. Accepted normal, stolen food right away. Let him feed you sugar bombs from his blood-stained dirty fingers. Not even flinching as he got deeper into your mouth, making you suck the sugar from the tips. Konig treats you like a princess - as much as a fucking raider can. Lets you sleep closer to the wall on his bed, protecting you from any opportunistic freak who would want to get a piece of your pussy. Licks you like a madman, always making sure you're properly wet and relaxed before he gets his monster cock in. He is probably already infertile from all the radiation - and you whimper, your Vault indoctrination whispering that every intercourse should end with children. Not too much, but also not for fooling around. Still, he protects you. Takes you out for scouting with him, lets you hide the little trinkets you collect, and then displays them in his room. If anyone tries to fuck with you, they're dead - and you cling to his side as he ravages some poor mutant. Will tell you to go and clean his gun after. You do it, like a good girl. The other version of Konig that I imagine is the Brotherhood of Steel paladin...but it's the story for another imagine.

[icyblogs]

anyone still thinking about fallout? haha anyways here’s more ghoul!ghost (-‘:

Fallout!AU Ghoul!Ghost x Vaulter!Fem!Reader i’d imagine this takes some time after the events of this. but can be read by itself. (: WC: 2.6K Warnings: dark fic, noncon, mdni. Note: thinking about how ghouls canonly are sterile. this is a known fact, only slightly broken by the miracle that is Saint Monica from Fallout 3- which to this day i’m still not sure if it was some sort of gospel or not as it was from Father Clifford, but regardless. 

“Well um, well, our community is always looking for new members, we’d be happy to have you!” Brown eyes drift down at your familiar form, tilting his head as he watches your mannerisms as you flit around nervously, too polite to outwardly refuse him. His joints ache as they pop absentmindedly by his side, fingers twitching to dig into the soft flesh of your waist- to claw into your skin, aching to reinstate his claim. “And, there’s a lot of homes being built still as you can see but uh-, but I have a guest room here if you’d like to stay here. Our overseer says there might be a storm coming tonight!”  

“Is tha’ right, honey?” Simon croons- voice reverberating in the quiet evening, gloved hand coming up to rest on the top of the doorsill. He leans forwards, soaking in the way you slink backwards into the house, your eyes traveling down the expanse of his broad body. 

He was truly a bad man, made worse by this wasteland, you should be running for the hills- not offering him a place in your home. Like letting a wolf into a chicken coop; an insatiable beast that once it had the taste of you, it wouldn’t stop until there was nothing left. To tear you apart- aching to see if you tasted like how he remembered; saccharine ichor, sweet candy floss- it was enough to make his teeth grit, molars grinding together. 

His eyes drift down to your left hand, noticing the blatant lack of jewelry, jaw clicking in place. No ring, no memory- it was.. not what he had anticipated when he first approached you later that evening after the communal dinner. Maybe it was blissful thinking that when you’d notice him, your eyes would light up- and you’d run at him- into his awaiting embrace, where you belonged. With your husband.  

But, the wasteland had never been kind to him, so why would it continue to be now?

It was mocking in a way, dangling something in front of him, like a piece of meat to a starved, old, dog- one that salivated at the mere thought of it. Of you.

It really was obsolete, how could the world think of keeping the two of you apart? You didn’t belong here with this.. community. With these people. Don’t worry, he’d show you the right way of the world. No need to stay with these vaulters, filling your head about how the world now supposedly worked- this place would probably be blown up in a year or so by some fanatics- why bother staying here?

But if you insisted on playing house here just for a little while, he’d be happy to oblige for a day. Maybe two if he was feeling generous Then you’ll come back home with him in the little slice of territory he’s carved out (blood feeding the plants, bone-marrow for the fertilizer, built on a burial ground of his own creation) to spend the rest of your time together, alone. The way it should’ve been. Maybe chained to the bed so he’d know where you’d be at all the time, so you wouldn’t get lost again. 

All safe and sound.

See, Simon never believed in luck nor fate until he met you all those years ago. And it’s pretty damn hard to deny that it exists when you’re standing in front of him more than two centuries later, and he may as well consider himself the luckiest man alive. 

“I, Simon Riley take you to be my wife.” 

He finds solace with you- even if you don’t remember who he was. Even if you fight against him as he makes himself at home, all but slamming the door behind himself; mud-trodden boots tracking along the wood, smearing dirt and crimson. You don’t have your ring anymore, but that’s okay- he’ll give you a new one so you know who you belong to. Rings of teeth (chipped, missing) along the column of your throat, scarring until there’s no concept of a misunderstanding left. 

“To have and to hold from this day forwards.”

It wasn’t your fault that you’d forgotten who you were- wasn’t your fault that you didn’t immediately go searching for him when you had woken up, but it was alright. He’d teach you. Break you apart and take the pieces, building you right back up to how he remembered you. 

Eventually to a point where he didn’t have to tie your arms behind your back with a belt or stuff a rag in your mouth to muffle your cries for help. As much as he loved seeing you bound- as much as he loved hearing your noises— it would be a shame to pick through any more corpses for the bullet going through the skull of anyone trying to interrupt the reunion. 

“For better or for worse. For richer or for poorer.”

He thinks he’s in heaven, sitting between your spread legs- a bruising grip on your thigh, the other on your stomach, keeping you firmly situated on the bed. Trying his best to ignore the garbled whimper when he pulls down his bandana, watching as your eyes fill with more tears at his face, or lack thereof. Truly earning his nickname, a grim reaper looming over your bound body, licking his chapped lips as he stares unblinkingly down at you. You looked scared but.. it’s okay. Your husband‘s here now, no need to worry.

He leans down to rest against your knee, scarred cheek against soft skin, giving a chaste kiss. He goes up, leaving a trail of wet kisses along the skin up to the gusset of your underwear, trying to recall how you smelt- and he groans, providing an open mouthed kiss to the fabric. Breath warm, reverent as he peers up at you, soaking in how your cheeks looked warm, the moonlight from the outside casting an ethereal glow. 

“Poor girl been all neglected, hasn’t she?” He grumbles- giving the fabric another chaste kiss as he peels it off your skin and watches as you writhe beneath him, like a mouse caught by a viper, struggling so much that it only causes his hold on you that much tighter. Fingertips absentmindedly petting against your stomach, making their way up to your breasts, tweaking your nipples to stiff peaks. He was languid with it, like he had all the time in the world. Now, he supposed he did. Slowly, softly- treating you as if you were glass. As if one wrong move would cause you to disappear. Tongue laying flat as he makes out with your pussy, relishing it the way it gushes for him- or how your hips buck when he sucks on your clit just right. 

Simon worked you like he was orchestrating a band- each string plucked to perfection, remembering exactly what you liked like you were the back of his hand- knowing what made you tick. What made you unravel. His free hand slips between your legs, causing your thighs to squeeze around his head when one of his fingers starts to coax you open. It wouldn’t be the most terrible way to go out, if it was from you. 

Taking his sweet time working you to the edge and then over promptly, eyes rolling back as he laps at your cunt as if your juices was nectar- pure ambrosia. Liquid gold- you really did taste just as sweet as he remembered. He holds you firmly down as he continues to work your high into overstimulation, it was messy- worshiping- tongue, mouth, teeth- and he brings you crashing over the edge for a second time before finally pulling back, watching as you tremble beneath him, eyes a little bit glassy. Brain practically melting out of your ears, unable to really focus- tears slipping down your cheeks, breathing in deeply through your nose as you try and regain some sense of coherence. 

He’s never thought you looked more beautiful.

“In sickness and in health.”

It was easy to forget what home was like. Years of corrosion- sinking into grooves of his brain, plaguing his thoughts. Paranoia, questioning— so many voices that it was hard to think. Yet as he looks down at your already tuckered out form, he only smiles- feeling at peace. No voices whispering in his ear- no phantom pains, he felt relaxed, for the first time in a long while. Home was where you were, whether you knew it or not. 

Breathing staggered, he kneads at the meat of your thigh soothingly as he works to fish out his cock with one hand, giving it a few lazy pumps as he lines himself up, smearing arousal over your puffy clit. He rests one hand on your knee, notching the head at your entrance- watching you closely as you give a little shake of your head. 

“‘ou can take it for me, can’t you love?” He encourages, starting to make his way home. The first inch takes his breath away momentarily, and he moves your knees so they are up against your chest. Watching you flit around and flounder- eyes wide as you gasp for breath behind the rag. Drool falling from the corner of your lips, toes curling at the sheer stretch. 

“Tha’s it. Biggg stretch.” He continues to push in until he bottoms out. Thighs pressing to the back of yours, eyes fluttering at the sensation of your cunt tightening around him like a goddamn vice- “Feels like a fuckin’ dream, love. She remembers me huh? Even if you don’t- fuck-“ 

His hand finds your cheek, throat tightening as he sees your panicked expression, the furrowed eyebrows, staring back at him behind a wall of tears. It was enough to make him almost pull out to comfort you. Almost- you’d understand why he was doing this someday, even thank him for it. “It’s okay, deep breaths, yeah? You can do it.” He coaxes instead, pupils blown out as he looks down at where the two of you were connected, giving an experimental thrust, nearly coming at the pretty muffled moan that makes its way out of your throat. It’s been way too long.

“Feels good?” You shake your head, and his eyes crinkle as a smile graces his scarred lips, his thumb brushing away one of your tears. Going slow at first but he starts to get lost in the feeling of his cock drags in and out of your gummy walls— and he starts to go rougher, ignoring your little whimpers and whines. How your feet try and kick free out of the mating press, and he all but snarls, head dropping to the crook of your neck, teeth nipping- almost as a warning as he continues to fuck you into oblivion. 

“To love and to cherish.”

He used to imagine a family with you back then before the bombs dropped. Take a vacation, build a nursery together- paint the walls. Bring a little piece of the both of you into the world. You always did reassure him that his past didn’t define him, that he would be a good father. That he was enough.

Living this long.. had its downside. He knew that. It was an ouroboros, a constant loop, a mindfuck. It’s been hell on Earth. He’s accepted that, a phantom- a ghost living in this wasteland, thriving on those who were more surviving rather than the living. But he never really considered nor cared about a specific aspect of it. Sterile, never able to reproduce. 

Simon had once wondered if one day you’d sit outside with him, dinner on the stove, watching as he built a cradle. He could’ve just imagined the baby bump and his eyebrows furrow, picking up his pace as beads of sweat drip down his brow.

It was wishful thinking. But that’s all it was- wishful.

Maybe in another life— but damn did it sound appealing now. 

He continues to rut into you, nodding his head as if you were in on the conversation he was having with himself. He could just imagine your stomach all round he starts to pant, dark eyes peering down at you. “Yeah you’d been such a good mama, huh? You’d give me a whole litter of them, wouldn’t you?” His hips stutter, squeezing his eyes closed as he hears your garbled sobbing. Trying to get air through the rag, nostrils flaring for breath. His lips drag up your jaw, gently kissing your eyelids as you keep them squeezed shut, muffled whimpers behind the cloth. “I love you so much. Missed ’ou baby.”

His pace stutters once- twice more and he lets out a guttural groan, releasing up against the base of your cervix. He glances down again, staring unabashedly at the milky fluid coating the base of his cock and his head goes a bit fuzzy at the sight. 

The sound of thunder booms outside, rattling the window as the moment comes to an end. Pulling out, he hums as he shrugs off his jacket, ignoring your small sounds of protests as he lays down on the bed next to you.

He easily maneuvers you, his chest facing yours as he starts to slot himself back between your legs. “Settle, jus’ relax love.” He spreads the combined come around before pushing it back inside, keeping you nice and plugged up. “I’m going to remove the rag, you’re not going to scream are you?” 

You look at the stranger- the man? Monster- it was hard to tell but you shake your head regardless, trying to appease him. “Course you won’t. Because you’re my good girl- and you wouldn’t lie to me.” Bringing the fabric out of your mouth causes a whine, jaw tingling and aching as you lick your lips, trying to regain some sort of hydration. 

“Pl- Please I don’t understand I- why are you doing this— please sir-“

“Simon. Don’ want you calling me anything else.” He interrupts your panicked rambling, frowning as he leans down and capturing your lips in a kiss. Soft, gentle— longing. Even if your eyes were wide and terrified, shaking like a leaf, flinching as you look back at his mangled face. “Now sleep. Don’t want any more talking out of you tonight okay?”

When you don’t respond he nudges your chin up, his brow-bone raising expectantly. “We have a long day tomorrow, don’ want you to be tired, okay?” You catch your lip between your teeth, hiccuping and confused. Eventually nodding, letting out a little squeak when he squeezes your waist, fingers brushing over the leather of the belt. “I know it hurts love, I know- ‘ll let you out of these in the morning alright, just don’t want you to gettin’ into any trouble.” Another smile, and he leans down kissing away the tears falling. “I’m glad you’re here.”

For the first time in years, he feels genuinely content, one leg over yours as he throws an arm around your shoulders, chin notching in on the top of your head. He doesn’t sleep that night, listening to your breathing as you finally fall asleep after a bit of struggling, fingertips absentmindedly trailing up and down your spine. He hears the steady pulse of your heart- sees the rise and fall of your chest, and he smiles, leaning down and kissing your temple. 

You were here. Doesn’t matter how, but you were here. Your current state was a problem- sure- but you had all the time in the world to get reacquainted again, and you’d learn to be happy again. To love him again. 

“Until death does us part.” 

“For this is my solemn vow.”

[mockerycrow]

me holding back making a call of duty x fallout au

[weird-xie-liankovic]

For @allvalley100

Prompt: Cravings #2

The second part of the Fallout!AU (inspired by the awesome Thirty Years Later series by @archiefan23​ )

They meet at last. Aisha and Sam LaRusso, the criminal baroness of Reno, stand across each other in a shabby office of the Balance gang, Sam’s rifle on the desk beside her.

“Long time no see,” smirks Sam.

“LaRusso.”

This is it. This meeting decides if they call a truce, or...

“I have a souvenir for you, for the old times’ sake. Quite a rarity now. There, for your cravings.”

Sam tosses it on the table. It’s a small bag of Cheetos.

Aisha pulls out her handgun at once, and Sam already has hers at the ready.

This ends tonight.

[dallot]

Fallout!AU

[misc-headcanons]

If Kid were a Fallout character, he'd be leading a small but brutal Raider gang and his favorite pastimes would be modding his own weapons and killing and Brotherhood soldiers he came across. He'd also own a shit ton of cyberdogs that all sleep with the gang in a giant cuddle puddle.

[ofarkadia]

Civilization is Fine

Arthur had watched the news with horror that day - October 23, 2077.  And then he’d died, along with countless others.  But you can’t kill an immortal - not permanently.  He awoke several days later in the rubble of what had been his RV.  The days that followed were like something out of a nightmare.  The radiation from the bombs was doing unspeakable things to people.  Arthur tried to help where he could - and sometimes he was thanked.  But more than once he was stabbed in the  back for whatever food or supplies he had on him and left for dead.  Humans.  So many of them out for no one but themselves.  But each time it happened, he got back up and kept trying to help.

He also tried to help the animals, poor creatures that had no idea what was happening to them as their bodies became irradiated.  Arthur did what he could for them, feeling his patron god’s power in every act of kindness he performed.  It wasn’t much, but it was something.  And so the world moved forward - in the ways that it could.  Arthur put together a small caravan - just himself and the animals he managed to gather along the way.  He took care of them… and bred them for selling.  After all, even an immortal needs to earn a living.  It wasn’t long before he became well known in the area as an honest trader with the best livestock around.  Unfortunately, it was word of mouth like that which had ever Raider gang in the area trying to take his livelihood away.

It was the third attack that did him in.  Literally and figuratively.  He awoke from a gunshot to the head, to find all of his animals either dead or stolen.  He got them back, of course.  And left a VERY blunt message for other raider gangs in the area.  Then he took his animals and left.  At first, he didn’t know where he was going.  Just… away.  He didn’t want to deal with humans anymore.  He just wanted his animals, and maybe a plot of land for himself… as far away from civilization as possible.  It took a lot of traveling, and a lot of trouble, but although the gods had been relatively silent since the bomb, Arthur could still feel Hermes guiding him to what he was looking for.

Then, one day, after several of trekking through the remains of what had once been a lush forest, he found it.  A small plot of land seemingly untouched by the fallout.  It was perfect.  So Arthur got to work.  He built a small cabin for himself and housing for his remaining animals.  The dogs and cats were remarkably resilient to the radiation; his hooved companions weren’t so lucky, but they seemed to have stabilized, something he was grateful for.  The chickens were more aggressive, but still seemed to accept him.  All in all, the farm was an odd one, but he thanked both Hermes and Pan for their help in leading him here.  This was the life he was ready for now… even if it had been thrust upon him so suddenly.

Years passed… decades.  Every now and then, Arthur would leave the farm in search of animals to help keep the gene pool fresh, but that was it.  He never stayed in populated areas for long, and always made sure he was never followed.  Life was… tolerable.  And then the unthinkable happened.  He was out in the fields, collecting fresh mutfruit when he heard the sound of an engine!  There wasn’t anything visible in the sky, but the noise could be nothing else.  Then the tone changed, turning into a high-pitched whine… right before there was the sound of an enormous explosion that shook the ground beneath his feet.  For a moment shock kept the man in place, but he knew he needed to find out what had happened… and why.

So, with a small pack of supplies slung over his back, Arthur took one of his horses and went out in search of the source.  About thirty minutes due south, he found the crash sight.  It was a vertibird!  He hadn’t seen one of those since before the war - hadn't even known any still existed!  Then he found the body.  Or rather… the man.  He was still alive!  A small part of Arthur warned against helping him… but it just wasn’t in his nature not to heal those who were hurting - be they animal or human.  So he moved to inspect the man, speaking as he went, “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m here to help.  I promise you’re safe; I’m going to get you patched up if I can.”  What he said made no difference if the man was unconscious, he knew that, but words of comfort never hurt.

Kneeling, Arthur examined the man with his eyes first.  It looked as if he’d probably parachuted out of the craft before it crashed… but hadn’t made it quite far enough away to avoid all the effects of the blast.  There were obvious injuries from the crash… but also a lot of abdominal blood.  Gently, he placed his hands on the man’s body, continuing to offer words of comfort.  It wasn’t long before he found the bullet hole.  Arthur cursed and began fishing through his pack.  “I’m sorry, I don’t think I have time to get you somewhere safer.  I’m going to cut your shirt off so I can get to that bullet.”

He worked carefully and with obvious skill.  Only once Arthur was certain the wound was as protected as he could manage, did he carefully wrap the man in a blanket and lift him onto the horse’s back.  The journey back to his farm was uneventful, and when they arrived, he carefully got the man inside and settled him on the bed.  Only then did he strip off the rest of the other’s clothes and began working on patching up the remaining injuries.  Once he was satisfied he’d done all he could, Arthur puttered around the house, fixing food, and waiting for his unexpected guest to wake up.