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Too Late

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He always hated her, hated her stupid dad, her good grades, her "heroic" attitude. Hated her sososososo much.

But he still travels with her, but where else can he go? He refuses to travel on his own. Doesn't want to stay in Rivet City. He doesn't want to die in the heat all by himself anymore than he wants to be with her, but one hate wins over the other.

She's always got to do the right thing, always has to be the good girl. He wishes he could have half the life she had. Sometimes he looks at her and she wonders how she had it in the Vault. Did her dad ever hit her like his mom did? Did he tell her it was okay when she was crying? Did she run out into the wastes just to get him? Was it pity that made her save his mom? How was it so fucking easy to be nice out here?

All this he shut up in his brain until it festered and festered until he finally popped like a fucking soda bottle, tackling her outside of Megaton and shoving her against some rocks.

He doesn't remember the stream of words that set him off. Something about him. He didn't care anymore.

"Shut up," he harshly whispered, clenching the pipboy clad wrist against the rocks. She twisted a little, staring at him.

"What are you---" He stopped her with a harsh slap across the face.

"I said SHUT UP!" The red mark formed on her cheek fast and she stared at him, wouldn't stop staring with those wide goddamn eyes. She kicked at him and he leaned back fast enough for her knife to just graze his neck. He grabbed her other wrist, twisted, and she yelped and let it drop. He pressed himself against her, his weight holding her down, and pressed his thumb against his neck. She knicked him, and the blood dripped down under his suit.

He smirked. "You fucking bitch." One hand grabbed her neck and held her down while his other one picked up the knife and dragged it down her suit, slicing through it slowly. All in all, it wasn't much. Her chest was kinda flat and her underthings were bland white, but he easily pushed it up and revealed pale flesh. She squirmed and twisted against him again, murmuring some plea for help. He pressed harder against her, hoping she'd be able to feel his hardness past the suit and know what was coming.

His hand slips under her panties and she gives a gentle little yelp, halfway between a moan and a cry. "Oh, you want this?" She didn't answer. He traced the outside of her slit, feeling her wetness, the silky smoothness of her skin. "Slut, you so want this," He pulled his fingers away, showing her the slickness on the digits. The tease twisted her head away. "Come on, honey, don't be like that." He kissed her on the cheek, her skin feeling cold and clammy. The hand on her neck grabbed her chin and jerked her to facing him. "Don't you turn your goddamn head. Look at me." And she did, but her eyes were blurry, unfocused. Good enough.

He unzipped his vault suit far enough to get his cock out of his boxers. She tried to shut her eyes, but another slap across the face stopped that. She kept her eyes open, not-quite staring at him as he pressed the length against her, pulling her down so he could thrust in easier. He presses against her and she whimpers, saying the same plea. But this time he listens, as he leans his forehead against hers, as he feels the tip run against her wet lips.

"Daddy" she's whimpering, over and over and over again. He laughs, another full hearty one.

"You're fucking sick," He chuckles, pecking her on the lips. "Imagining daddy is playin' with you? Jesus." He presses the tip inside of her and he feels blood dripping down his member and he looks up at her, hungry. "Oh, so daddy never played with you like this? Shame."

She twists. The tears are streaming down her face. "H-he never did! H-he..." She swallows hard, looking so small. "He never."

He thrusts in quick and hard. Her scream hurts his ears, but in a good way.

He stops his hips from pounding into her and savours her, lets her collect her thoughts and let it sink in whats happening, lets her eyes focus on him, his chest, the knife on the ground, him inside of her, and she tries to tear away from him again. "D-daddy, h-help..! PLEASE! Daddy..." she sobs, and the way shes moving her hips is making him groan.

"Daddy ain't here anymore, baby girl." He hisses into her ear. "He's dead and gone and ain't gonna save your pretty little ass. So, whaddya gonna do? Hm?" He punctuates it with a thrust and she makes the most gorgeous, choking moan noise he's only dreamt about. But she can't hear him, she just starts crying and calling for daddy again as he thrusts, grinding his hips and making her shiver. She makes a dead hiccup noise each time he thrusts in, interrupting her pleas. He groans low and steady, fucking ectasy. He's fantasized about it for a while, but actually doing it? Its like a dream. He starts thrusting faster, pounding into her body rough, her virgin blood staining her suit.

Eventually she stops trying to speak, stops sobbing, her body relaxes and the only sound is a quiet gasping noise whenever he thrusts too deep into her. He bites her neck, forces his tongue down her throat, anything he can to claim her and use her and make her feel dirty. She's limp, barely even tensing at his lips. But he feels like he's heating up, practically shaking after each thrust. He chews on his bottom lip, almost tearing it open when the pleasure finally overloads him and he spills inside of her. She makes a small, disgusted noise and shuts her eyes.

He stays like that for a few more moments, grinding into her and trying to ride the last bit of pleasure he can. Finally he pulls away, zipping up his suit. She falls onto her side, curling up. She coughs, and his almost-pink seed drips out and stains her vault suit.

He suddenly realizes he doesn't know what to do. When she gets up again, he's dead. He can't just run out there and back to Rivet City, she'll tell someone and he'll be dead. And he can't leave her, much as he hates her he does't want her to die.

He sits next to her, listening to her almost stifled breathing. He lights up some smokes from the cartons they were gonna sell, lets the nicotine fill his veins and soothe his mind.

She speaks again after a while, but he doesn't hear her the first time. "Say again?" he says, looking down at her again.

"I had a crush on you."

He pauses, wind blowing ash off the cigarette. And he laughs. Laughs as the surreality of the situation, laughs at the way she said it, like it was up until this point that she liked him, laughs at how fucking awful he is, how he just ruined his own life in one swift move of bitter jealousy and rage.

By morning, they're both gone.