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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“There’s another homestead back here,” Terry said to the camera. “I don’t know if you knew about it, Sheldon. I’m gonna go have a quick look.”

He headed toward the mountains and up a small hill. Once he crested it, another farm was visible.

“Huh,” Terry continued. “Looks like someone built over the downed silo.” He pointed the camera at a series of catwalks built on top of an overturned silo and connecting to the house.

“This must have been a ranch, see?” The camera moved to point at a fenced area.

“Just like in the old vids. People would keep cows here.” Terry moved closer. “Looks like a bunch of tumbleweeds got caught in here.”

“You want to buy a wind brahmin?” came a voice from off camera.

“AH! Where did you come from?!” Terry cried, and suddenly the view dropped to the ground.

“I come from here,” the gruff-sounding voice replied. “Where you come from?” he added, sounding suspicious. The view shifted, probably from Terry picking up the camera, and focused on a nightkin standing a few feet away.

“I uh... I came from there.” Terry turned, and his arm was visible on screen as he pointed to the distant skyline of the Strip.

“Hmph,” the mutant grunted. “Big noises and lights. Forget that. Do you want to buy wind brahmin or not?”

“Wind brahmin? Do you mean the tumbleweed?” Terry asked, pointing the camera toward a cluster of them.

“What tumbleweed? Do you want brahmin or not?” the nightkin demanded, taking a threatening step toward the man.

“Oh… Uh, how much?”

“All,” the super mutant said.

“A-all?”

“Yeah, they good quality. All.”

“All I’ve got is five caps…”

“Good, give.”

Terry handed over the money, then moved toward the tumbleweeds.

“Go on, they no bite,” the nightkin said off camera.

“Great,” Terry responded. The camera shifted as he leaned over and grabbed one.

He walked out of the pen and pointed the camera at his new purchase.

“The things I do for you, Sheldon.”

Vault-Tec Industries
Pip-Boy Model 3000
User Log Entry

∙ We’ve been going through the tapes in the order they were packed. None of them are marked in any way. So far, they’ve all seemed to be in chronological order. This one must be out of place.

[C:GP_04.exe
Play attached video file? y/n

“Oh God, Oh G-” Terry’s voice cut out in a burst of static as the image from the camera shook. The shaking was rhythmic, though violent; Terry was running.

The room was dark. Not much was visible as the man continued running. He stumbled over what looked like broken furniture and garbage, then regained his footing. The static abruptly ended and was replaced by Terry’s panicked screams. His voice sounded heavily distorted as the screen pixelated for a moment.

The video seemed to skip ahead, and Terry was running toward a door. He reached it and threw it open, revealing an even darker exterior. The image began shaking again as he ran out into the open. He stopped and lowered the camera, which began auto-focusing on the ground of dirt and sparse grass. A moment later, he hastily raised it up to look ahead again. At first, nothing was visible, then he panned slightly to the left, and a tall man in a dark suit came into view only yards from where Terry stood. The video seemed to have trouble focusing, making it impossible to see his face.

Terry turned and bolted in the opposite direction. The picture seemed to freeze, showing a blurry, distorted view of the ground and the side of the building, then the video went blank.

THIS YES THIS. * 'splodes from excitement!

I have been thinking about this fill for a while and hoping for an update. It may drive me insane before we get the ending. XD Loving it! Really looking forward to finding out what happens.

Burn victim love!

Original: http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4237.html?thread=6501261#t6501261

During my newest playthrough in F3, I picked up the Child at Heart perk early on. Needless to say I found the 'unique dialogue choices' to be really amusing.

I think it'd be adorable to see any kid npc with a gigantic crush on the LW; maybe following her around, getting on other companion's nerves (even better if her companion is a love interest), bringing her makeshift gifts, people teasing her about it, all that good stuff. Does the LW let them down? Or does she play along?

Can take it any direction you'd like, but would prefer it to be fluffy!

This is wonderful. I love both of these characters and their relationship so much I want to nag for more more more, but this is kinda perfect as is.

AN: Prob not exactly what OP wanted, but I scribbled this down when I read the prompt.

The courier had meant it to be an innocent…inebriated…prank, honestly. Unfortunately, reprogramming FISTO to recognize Veronica as its master was not such a good idea in retrospect.

Six sent Veronica on her way to his complementary room in the Atomic Wrangler where FISTO awaited. He and Cass, being co-conspirators in this prank, crept up to the door and sniggered drunkenly at each other, listening with baited breath. Predictably:

“FISTO reporting for duty. Please assume the position!”

“Oh, my god, what?!”

“Servos active.” There was a whirr and grind as FISTO apparently began its programmed sequence.

Six began to cry against Cass’s shoulder at the sound of Veronica’s squeal. Then his head lurched up in horror. “FOR THE BROTHERHOOD!” There was a burst of metal meeting shattering metal, and he and Cass threw themselves away from the door as Veronica threw it open. They gaped as Veronica threw the twisted metal remnants of FISTO over the balcony railing. The expression on her face was indescribable.

From below, there was a cry of anguish. “Not FISTO! Anyone but FISTO!”

Six took one look at Veronica, listened for one moment to anguished cry the Garris twin downstairs, and he bolted for his life.

“I think you should come with me.”

Veronica’s eyes rounded, and she slowly tilted her head back to stare at Boone, who was standing at her shoulder, glaring into the dust motes of the Lucky 38 suite kitchen. It was dark, and he had his sunglasses on. He was also squinting. She felt like a death squad had pronounced her coming execution. “Um…”

Six, from where he sat across from her, crunched into his cactus fruit. He appeared completely nonchalant about Boone pronouncing Veronica should walk off with him somewhere for no reason.

“I mean it,” Boone said.

“You’re not planning to shoot me, are you? Because you know, Six just got me back from cleaning out a Deathclaw den, and I think I’d rather have died to them. At least give me a day to celebrate being alive before killing me.”

Boone’s reflective glasses turned, and he finally looked at Veronica. His blank expression schooled into vague disdain. “You’ll thank me for this later.”

Veronica opened her mouth to reply, but Six cut in. “Boone’s not going to kill you, Veronica. I think there’s somewhere he actually wants to take you.” Six’s wink after the fact raised the hair on Veronica’s arms. She raised both hands up beseechingly. “You realize Boone’s never spoken to me before now?”

“Look,” Six said lightly, “You never get out. Think of it as a field trip.”

Veronica groaned and acquiesced.

It was only after they’d walked past the Crimson Caravan Company that she began to worry on two counts: one, that she should have packed some camping supplies, and two, that Boone had taken it in his head to… Oh, god. “Boone,” she managed, despite her horror.

He grunted.

“You know I’m gay, right?”

“Don’t be stupid,” he said stiffly, continuing to walk.

“What the hell does that even mean?!”

“Just follow me.” His voice was hard-edged. So Veronica heaved a sigh and continued on their walk.

She’d almost convinced herself that she wasn’t going to have to punch Boone’s head in when they stopped in front of the Camp McCarran gates. Then all her optimistic hopes and dreams went crashing down. “Seriously?”

“You’ll thank me later,” Boone said dryly.

Veronica tugged on her sleeves, both thankful and upset that she didn’t have her Brotherhood robes anymore. While it was infinitely safer to wander around an NCR controlled Mohave in non-Brotherhood gear, she really really wanted her hood. She put her shoulders in line with Boone and walked behind him meekly. Veronica wondered why she’d ever wanted to visit this place. It wasn’t that she was scared of the NCR, but she knew what they’d do if they knew…

Finally, Boone ducked into a large tent and motioned for Veronica to step past him into the interior. She almost turned to him and asked why exactly they were there when a smooth, cocky female voice said, “Hello, girl. What can I do for you today?”

“It must be my lucky day, what with god dropping such a lovely woman in my lap.”

“I’m not in your lap.”

“Are you always this cute? Or is it something you work on?”

Veronica gritted her teeth and tightened her hands on her thighs. Any more of this, and she was going to give herself gangrene.

“Girl, those curves are dangerous for somebody like me with no brakes.”

Veronica saw red. She leapt to her feet, but Boone grabbed her by the shoulders, and she had control over herself by the time he’d let her go. She almost lost control again when she saw Betsy wearing a shit-eating grin. She didn't know if she wanted to kill Betsy or Boone more, but her anger towards Betsy redoubled when the woman said, “That was fun.”

“Oh, my god. Do those lines actually work?!”

“Nah,” Betsy said. “But it was fun watching your face go all red. Seriously though, you look like a capable woman. Why’re you letting that dunce drag you around?”

“Not by choice. If he’d said he was trying to set me up, I would have asked him to take me down to Gomorrah. Then I'd've killed him.”

Betsy laughed. “So you could pick up a couple of diseases?”

“Good point.”

Boone, seeing that Veronica wasn’t about to murder Betsy, abruptly left. Betsy raised one eyebrow, following his quick gate out of McCarran with her gaze. “Is he always that awkward with you?”

“It’s not really his fault. I mean, I think he’s a little retarded when it comes to people-skills. Not that I can pass judgment.” Veronica gritted her teeth again. "Maybe because he sensed I was about to murder him."

“Uh huh,” Betsy said dryly.

Veronica shot her a glare. “You’re not going to start the pick-up-lines again.”

“I want to keep my head attached to my body, thanks.” Then, Betsy raised her eyebrows and looked Veronica up and down from over her sunglasses. Veronica tightened her fist. Betsy met her gaze with an innocent look. “What? You’re some kind of fine, girl. Might as well look.” She jumped back and lifted her hands, palm up, in surrender. “That wasn’t a line.”

Veronica didn’t for one minute believe it.

Betsy saw she wasn’t going to reply and cocked her head inquisitively. “You wanna share a drink or something? I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I had a decent conversation with a woman. The airfield is pretty quiet this time of day. And I’ve got some good Scotch stashed away. Whaddya say?”

It only took a moment to mull over. “Why the hell not.”

Looking back on it, Veronica realized maybe Boone had actually managed to set her up on a date. So maybe she owed it to him not to punch his brains out next time she saw him. Swell.

So guys... When you finish Crazy, Crazy, Crazy by giving Tabitha back Ronda or killing her the Black Mountain radio station turns to static. What if someone else came along and started using it?

Does the courier or perhaps Vulpes or an NCR trooper decide to use it for propaganda for their side of choice?

Does No-Bark find it wile chasing a fire gecko for his secrets and decides to enlighten the Mojave on the subject of commie ghosts?

Does 3 dog use his awesomeness to teleport to the Mojave and begin annoying the masses singing the praises of the courier now?

Perhaps the courier freed Raul and he decided that instead of going home he has a pretty sweet set up with the super mutants gone?

Do you have an idea?

Multifills as always are welcome, because it's such a shame to see A perfectly good radio station go to waste.

I would love to see Vulpes taking over the radio for propaganda. Or, Three Dog talking about the deeds of the Courier. Maybe that's how people know who the Courier is. They hear about him/her thanks to his broadcasts.

After speaking with Jis about delicious Deathclaw omelets, the Courier goes out to fetch them selves an egg. Thing is, the egg they picked up turns out to be fertile and hatches on the way back to Sloan. Whoops! Courier's companions recommend killing it or just tossing it back out to the wastes but the Courier doesn't have the hart for either. So they keep it. Predictably, shenanigans ensue.

Would like to see one or more of the following in any combination:

1. Courier getting all gushy and speaking to it in baby talk, irregardless of Courier's gander.

2. Deathclaw kicking Rex out of his favorite spot on the bed to snuggle with Courier.

3. Deathclaw becoming inexplicably attached to companion who DOES NOT WANT.

4. Courier has important and possibly volatile meeting with Caesar/NCR/Khans/etc. While in negotiations, some one comes in to inform Courier that the juvenile Deathclaw has eaten a person. Courier has to very quickly make excuses/apologies/reparations/RUN.

5. Deathclaw does things that vex companions and/or the residents of New Vegas to no end: digs giant holes, chews things up, does general puppy-like things but on a larger and more destructive scale. However, it's a perfect angel for the Courier and he/she has a hard time disciplining. Deathclaw eventually gains forgiveness (even if temporarily) for heroically rescuing companions or towns folk.

6. House training.

7. Courier's huge food bill for feeding baby cuts in on budget for other things (Boone: "What do you mean, "We're out of ammo?")

8. Half grown Deathclaw is too big and pointy for some of the things it used to do as a baby, but it still tries to do them.

9. Courier and fully grow Deathclaw being totally bad ass at the Battle for the Dam, kicking butt and taking names. Formally doubtful companions finally admit that keeping the Deathclaw hatchling was a good idea.

10. Any other funny, fluffy, totally awesome or just plain kickass things your wonderful author!anon brains can come up with!

orrr even a triple fill! haha. sorry, I couldn't resist the snowy cuteness ;_;

-

"I don't like it," the sniper grouses, brushing a small pile of snowflakes off of his head where they had collected in the crease of his beret. "It's cold. And wet."

Arcade, on the other hand, can barely contain his elation. "You know, I've read about snow more times than I can count, but it's so weird actually seeing it in person." The doctor shakes his head playfully, puffs of snow falling from his errant blond curls. "Almost makes the grueling trek up here worth it. Almost."

Boone shivers, jamming his hands into his armpits. "Something's wrong with you, Gannon," he deadpans. "The cold is getting to your head." Arcade ignores him, too busy catching snowflakes on his frozen pink fingertips. He holds them up to his face, examining them closely in an effort to determine if they really are all unique.

"You idiot," Boone reprimands, reaching out to grasp Arcade's hands and covering the ice cold fingers with his own. "You'll get frostbite."

Arcade makes a soft noise of disappointment as the snowflakes dissolve into tiny puddles under the heat of Boone's grasp. "I'm a doctor," he huffs indignantly. "I think I would know whether or not I'm in hypothermic danger."

Boone rolls Arcade's fingers back and forth between his own, attempting to thaw them out. "Should've worn gloves," he murmurs, raising their clasped hands to his mouth and blowing warmly. And if his lips purse ever so slightly over Arcade's fingers, pressing the tiniest, softest of kisses to the other man's chilled knuckles, well. Arcade decided not to call the sniper on it.

Maybe the cold really was getting to his head.

"Hurry up!" The courier calls from far ahead of them, already winding his way around the bend of the mountainous path to Jacobstown. "I can see it just ahead!"

Boone drops Arcade's hands, and with a stern "keep 'em in your pockets" he jogs ahead of the other man, hurrying to keep up with the courier.

"Ok Mom," Arcade grumbles, though he knows Boone is already too far ahead to hear him.

The courier had decided that, rather than make the trip back down the mountain in sub zero temperatures, it would be easier to spend the night in one of Jacobstown's resort rooms. The Supermutants and Nightkin didn't seem to mind. One of the Nightkin had even taken an unhealthy shine to the courier, introducing herself as Lily and referring to him as "her sweet little Jimmy", which Arcade found hilarious and Boone found alarming.
The courier had suggested that they all retire to separate rooms and was met with no objections- the cramped and oft times claustrophobic living conditions of the Lucky 38 had taken their toll on everyone, and a small chance at privacy, even just for one night, was a rare gift not taken lightly. So it had been somewhat of a surprise to Arcade when he found himself being startled awake by an insistent knocking at his door.

Peeling back the dusty duvet and shivering as his bare feet meet the cold wooden ground, he opens the door to reveal a fully dressed and fully awake Boone, clutching a mysterious bundle of clothing to his chest.

"What... Craig... what are you doing?" Arcade yawns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "You do realize the sun isn't even out yet?"

Boone answers his question with a command: "Put this on." He tosses Arcade a heavy grey coat, emblazoned with a patch featuring a two-headed bear. Regulation NCR branding.

Deciding not to question the enigmatic sniper, Arcade dutifully shrugs on the coat over his undershirt. The shoulders are just barely wide enough, but the coat itself is entirely too short on his taller frame. Boone holds out another, much smaller bundle of cloth. "And these." Gloves. Arcade smirks and thanks him, pulling them on over his hands and flexing his fingers experimentally. Boone was so ridiculous sometimes it nearly killed Arcade not to say anything, but he generally kept his mouth shut lest the adorable mother henning cease if called attention to.

Secretly, he kind of liked being fussed over in Boone's serious, scary-brooding-army-guy way.

Boone circles around Arcade after he dons both coat and gloves, sizing him up and then nodding approvingly. Arcade jokingly stands at attention, clasping his arms firmly to his sides. "I was not aware of inspection today, sir!" He quips in a faux-solider voice.

Boone pauses. He rises up on the tips of his feet, clasping his hands on either side of Arcade's face and pulling it down. "At ease, private" he growls, covering the smirking lips with his own.

Arcade moves forward into Boone's embrace, attempting to deepen the kiss, but is rebuffed with a firm hand in the center of his chest. Boone gently pushes him away. "Hang on. I came here for a reason, you know."

Arcade quirks an eyebrow. "Hmm, you don't say?" He leans down, seeking out Boone's mouth again, but his lips collide only with a smoothly shaven cheek turned forward at the last minute. He makes an agitated noise, sucking kisses down Boone's jaw and snaking his hands up under the other man's shirt, but the sniper extracts himself from Arcade's grabbing arms. "Yeah. I do say." He grabs Arcade's upper arm, steering him towards the door. "C'mon, follow me. You'll see."

"This better be worth it," Arcade warns as he is dragged along. "Because I was going let you top."

Boone pauses at his words, seemingly mulling them over for a moment before giving his head a sudden shake. "Shut up, Gannon," he replies, pulling his sunglasses from his pocket and jamming them on his face. "Just... trust me."

Arcade had to admit, even at night snow was still ethereally beautiful- somehow it managed to maintain its sparkling, other-worldly white color even in the blackness of dark.

Boone leads Arcade to a small clearing of snow just past the edge of town. Safely obscured by night, and trees, the clearing is privately hidden from any curious eyes that might be patrolling Jacobstown after hours. Snow blankets the area, lush and thick as a fluffy carpet, and the crystalline snowflakes glitter prettily in the moonlight. It's almost romantic, Arcade thinks to himself. That is, until Boone opens his mouth and announces: "I'm going to show you how to make a snow angel."

Arcade turns to Boone, looking at him incredulously. "A snow... what, now?"

Boone crunches through the untouched snow and Arcade follows close behind, carefully stepping in the imprints left by the sniper's boots to keep snow from leaking into the ankles of his shoes.
"Snow Angel," Boone repeats seriously, as if Arcade confusion stemmed from poor hearing, and not complete unfamiliarity with the term. "I figured, you've never seen snow, everyone should make at least one in their life." He turns around and looks at the doctor expectantly.

Arcade rubs at his neck, the wool gloves scratching against his skin. "Um... you go first?"

He can't see Boone's eyes through his opaquely tinted glasses, but he's sure that the other man is rolling them. "It's easy," Boone insists. "I'll help you. Just...lay down."

Arcade looks at him like he's crazy. "You want me to lay down. Right now. In the freezing, freezing snow." Boone nods and, maybe it's the cold getting to Arcade again, but he decides that fine, he will go along with this madness. "If I don't survive this, tell my wife I love her," he sighs dramatically, stretching out his arms like a legion crucifix and letting his body tip backward.

Arcade lets out a resounding "oomph!" as his back collides with the snow, cushioning his fall but barely. He feels himself sink several inches into the snowfall, and his pants are instantly soaked. "Oh, I think I get it now," he grouses as he involuntarily begins to shiver. "It's called a snow angel because it's so cold it kills me, right? I'm an angel now?"

Boone swings a leg around Arcade's prostrate body, kneeling down to rest solidly in the taller man's lap. "You're cute. Now. You need to wave your arms up and down, like this-" Boone stretches his arms out to his sides and flaps them up and down, and Arcade can't help the peel of laughter that tears from his throat. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite get that," he chuckles, "can you do it again?" Boone frowns, immediately dropping his arms and crossing them self-consciously across his chest. "Just do it," he replies sternly. So Arcade obeys, pushing his arms back and forth in the snow, cleaving out two identical holes at his sides. Boone actually smiles. "Good. Those are the wings. Now you have to do the bottom."

"The bottom?" Arcade questions, letting his now-soaking arms go slack. "Like a tail? Angels have tails?"

"Not a tail, it's like a... a dress thing. I guess. Hmm." Boone scratches his chin in thought and Arcade makes an indignant noise. "A dress? Why does my angel have to wear a dress? Can't he just be a boy angel?"

Arcade bites his lip in delight when he sees Boone's jaw muscle twitch. That only happens when he really gets to the sniper. "All angels wear dresses. Or something. I don't know. It's a god damn angel shape, Gannon, why is everything so hard with you?"

"Okay, okay," Arcade pacifies him. "So how do I make the bottom shape?"

Boone visibly calms. "Move your legs back and forth. Like...spread them, then close them again. Kind of how you did with your arms."

"Spread my legs, huh?" Arcade teases. "I see." He shifts his hips upwards into Boone, rolling their pelvises together as he spreads his legs wide, pushing snow out of the way. Boone inhales sharply, and Arcade can feel the tell-tale press of hardness through the other man's pants, digging into his own swelling member. Boone grinds down against Arcade, mouth falling open. "Now back together," he commands, and his voice his barely above a whisper.

Arcade obliges, moaning aloud as the action of closing his legs firmly slotted their hips together. Boone continues to rub down against Arcade, swiveling his hips in a slow, circular grind. Knees planted firmly on either side of the doctor, Boone leans forward and braces himself on his hands, which sink immediately into the surrounding snow.

Now that the sniper was within grabbing distance, Arcade reaches up and wraps his arms around Boone's neck, drawing him down for a deep, open mouthed kiss. Boone nearly whimpers in shock as the snow-soaked jacket arms press into the back of his bare neck but doesn't pull away, instead leaning his weight more fully on to Arcade's shivering body, covering it with his own.

"You're cold, huh," Boone purrs into the doctor's ear. "Let me warm you up." It's bad, so cheesy but also so ridiculously sexy that Arcade can't help but oblige, pressing his gloved hands tightly against the back of Boone's head as the sniper slinks his way down the Arcade's body. He fumbles with the doctor's slacks, opening the zipper but leaving them pulled up (for which Arcade was quite thankful, as the thought of his bare ass getting covered in snow was not appealing in the slightest).

Boone peels open the other man's pants, letting his belt fall to the side. Instead of cold fingers he uses his lips and tongue to gently ease Arcade's thickening member out of his pants and into his mouth and, ok, that's pretty hot. In both the metaphorical and literal sense, Arcade notes- the heat of Boone's mouth is nearly searing in contrast to the freezing winter breeze. Arcade shivers delightedly at each pass of Boone's tongue, his spit slicked erection entirely too sensitive in the cold. "If this is part of the whole snow angel thing," he pants, squirming under the ex-recon's ministrations. "Then I've REALLY been missing out."

Boone grumbles in response, and Arcade keens at the tingly vibrations. "Oh... god. Craig." He sighs, skin awash with a fresh wave of shivers that had nothing to do with the cold. "I'm not gonna last long. Not after that stunt you pulled in my room."

He feels, more than hears, a soft chuckle from Boone, and he raises himself up on bent elbows to question why, exactly, the sniper found Arcade's pain so funny, but oh. That was a mistake. A BIG mistake. Because Boone had taken off his glasses, tossing them somewhere aside into the blankets of snow, and the site of the other man between Arcade's legs, eyes closed blissfully as he swallowed Arcade's length fully down his throat- it was too much for the doctor to bear. With a final, desperate noise that was more of a whine than a moan, Arcade squeezed his eyes shut and rode out the crashing waves of his climax, pressing his hips sharply up into Boone's mouth. Boone hummed around his softening member, gently suckling through each spurt and pulse until it slipped, completely flaccid, from between his slackened lips. He pressed a soft kiss to the junction of Arcade's thigh and just stays that way for a moment, softly breathing, before clearing his throat and mumbling into the other man's skin: "Maybe you should put yourself away...my hands are pretty cold."

"You always know just what to say," Arcade mock-sighs. "You hopeless romantic, you." He reaches up a hand and tugs off a snow covered glove with his teeth, then uses the uncovered (and blissfully dry) hand to carefully tuck himself back into his pants, zipping up. Boone crawls his way back up Arcade's body, pressing a kiss thoughtfully to the corner of his mouth. Arcade was relieved. As much as he liked kissing Boone, he REALLY didn't like the taste of a post-blowjob makeout.

"Let's see how it turned out," Boone says, and he pulls himself to his feet, reaching a hand down to help pull Arcade up. They carefully maneuver themselves in the middle of Arcade's snow angel, mindful not to kick over the sides or destroy the carved out shape.

Boone pulls Arcade tightly against his chest, wrapping his arms around Arcade's hips and tucking his chin against Arcade's shoulder. Arcade marvels at the fact that even though he still has several inches on him, the sniper always manages to wrap himself completely around the doctor. It was... nice. Comforting. Though Arcade can feel the sniper's still obvious erection, poking ostentatiously against the curve of his bottom. He opens his mouth to make a lewd suggestion, perhaps allude to his earlier promises of bottoming for the ex-recon, but the words die on his tongue as he looks down and catches sight of his "snow angel".

"Oh...oh my god," Arcade wheezes, shaking with laughter. "Boone, my angel, it's... something tells me we messed it up."

Boone's eyebrows furrow and he peers around Arcade, looking down at the angel surrounding them. It looks like a standard snow angel: a head, two wings, and a triangular body... except on either side of the snow angel are the perfect imprints of the sniper's hands, dragging down in parallel trenches where Boone had slid down Arcade's body. Two matching imprints of knees and the tips of his boots painted out a very improper scene- an angel, thoroughly defiled.

"Does this count as sacrilege?" Arcade questions innocently through chuckles, and despite himself Boone laughs as well.

"Beats me," he replies, smearing snow around with his foot to conceal the incriminating imprints. "Oh well. I tried."

Arcade spun around in his arms, nuzzling into the sniper with a devious smile. "Yes," he affirmed. "You did. Now let's get back to my warm, dry room and I'll give you your reward."

Boone laughs, again, and Arcade is enamored with the way a fresh flurry of snow caused tiny flakes to cling to the other man's eyelashes.

Boone may not like it, but Arcade is pretty damn sure that he is starting to love snow.

OP will self-fill with mini-fic to get the ball rolling. Still want to see other A!A's stuff, though!

Characters: Boone, Deathclaw
Other Characters: Cass, F!Courier, Rex
Gen fic

The little Deathclaw is mamma's growin' boy...

Noise, movement. Not the urgent or threatening sorts though. It was the shuffle of duffle bags and the clinking of metal cups, plates and utensils. Razor-mouth yawned, stretched, cracked one slitted eye and rolled it toward the camp fire. The Quiet One in the Hat had already awoke and was going about the motions of making breakfast. Razor-mouth opened both eyes and looked around the rest of camp. Beside him, mommy still slumbered, and squeezed up next to her other side The Half-Metal Dog kicked and twitched in his sleep. The Loud One with Flame Hair was still wrapped in her blankets and would make terrible, loud growls through her nose every so often. It would seem she even had trouble being silent in her dreams. As usual, it was The Quiet One that was first to awaken.

Razor-mouth liked The Quiet One in the Hat, whom mommy called Boom.

Or something like that.

Razor-mouth thought it was because that’s the sound his metal stick made. He would point at the enemies of their pack and it would thunder and jump in his hands, louder than mommy’s or The Loud One’s sticks... BOOM! The enemies of their pack would drop dead and Razor-mouth would feast on their flesh.

The Half-Metal Dog, whom mommy called Rex, had once laughed at him after he called The Quiet Man, “Boom”.

“Silly pup!” he barked with a wide grin- so wide that his tongue hung out- “The man’s name is Boone, not Boom!”

Razor-mouth did not know this word and it didn’t make as much sense. The Dog was Half-Metal and ancient as the desert sands anyway. If he wasn’t crazy, then he was most certainly just a bit deaf.

Sometimes there were more enemies than Boom’s stick could kill at once. That’s when Razor-mouth got to have fun! He would dash in with a roar of glee, slashing out with his claws and snapping with his teeth, felling their foes one after the other. Sometimes Rex would join him, barking obscenities that not even The Loud One knew (and which Razor-mouth suspected were mostly made up) and savaging the stomachs and throats of the interlopers. All the while Boom’s stick would keep shouting it’s rapport and the enemies that Razor-mouth and Rex could not reach would join their slain brethren on the ground. Razor-mouth never worried that Boom’s stick would hurt him. Boom never missed.

Boom had finally stopped moving about fetching things and had set up a cooking pot over the fire. He poured bits of dried things and powders from boxes into the pot and added water from the cleaner bottles, then stirred the whole mess. Razor-mouth snuffled and sniffed and found the scent coming from the cooking pot to be very enticing. His stomach rumbled softly, eager to be filled after the night’s rest. Being careful not to disturb mommy, he lifted himself to his feet and crossed the camp to stand beside Boom.

Something that would have taken him several strides to accomplish a few months ago, he now did in nearly two, and this pleased him. He rumbled to Boom and nudged his side with his shoulder in greeting, causing Boom to grunt and stagger slightly at the weight. This also pleased Razor-mouth, as those same months past he would have reached only up to Booms thigh and found an immovable wall of resistance against his affection. He was faster, bigger and stronger. Some day soon he would simply devourer all of mommy’s enemies, the ones that she called Legion and their alpha, Caesar the Bull.

For now, he was hungry and would devour breakfast from a cooking pot.

Boom turned and frowned down at him, his eyes hidden, as they were perpetually, behind dark lenses.

“No.”

Razor-mouth snorted. He did not like the word no. He disliked it most when mommy used it, because she did not use it often but she meant it when she did. Boom, on the other talon, only liked to think he meant it. Razor-mouth knew better.

He ducked a little lower, tucking his long claws closer to his body and nosed his snout under Boom’s arm. He had to be more careful than before, his horns were also starting to grow out. Boom pulled his arm away and the crease between his brows deepened. He said, “No,” again.

Razor-mouth grunted and trilled at Boom softly in supplication but the man still remained unmoved to share his breakfast. It looked like he would have to resort to a tactic that Rex had taught him. Cooing as sweetly as he could to get Boom’s attention one last time, he plopped into the sand then proceeded to roll onto his back. He curled his toes and claws in tight to minimize the effect the deadly weapons usually had and swished his tail playfully in the dirt. One last touch remained to finish the ploy and he added it. He opened his mouth an let his long, sticky togue loll out to the ground. Boom shook his head and sighed deeply.

“Fine,” he grunted. He picked up the metal plate he’d set aside and spooned some of the food onto it, then used a rag to quickly hook the handle of the cooking pot and pull it from the fire. He dropped it on the ground before Razor-mouth’s snout then walked away to sit on his bed roll.

“Don’t say I never did any thing for you,” he grumped from his seat then shoveled a bite of food into his mouth.

Razor-mouth rumbled enthusiastically as he popped up from the ground and quickly set to work consuming his prize. The food was hot and filling and tasted of starch and preservatives. Razor-mouth ate every last morsel and licked the pot clean. With a satisfied snort Razor-mouth finally deemed the food thoroughly eaten and licked his chopped free of any remaining crumbs. Boom was still eating his serving, thoughtfully chewing each bite before swallowing. Razor-mouth decided to show Boom his gratitude and trotted over to the broody soldier. The man glanced up at the young Deathclaw in time to get a face-full of it’s long tongue slurping against his cheek.

“Aurgh! Would you knock it off? You know I can’t stand that,” he grumbled.

Razor-mouth knew that he was lying.

Finally surmising that his job was done for the moment, Razor-mouth trotted back over to his mommy’s slumbering form and flopped down beside her. He sidled and snuggled up against her and she sighed and murmured in her sleep and threw an arm over his neck. Feeling full and happy and cozy, Razor-mouth decided to nap lightly till mommy, Rex and The Loud One woke up. He knew that when they did, the women would make them selves breakfast, of which he and Rex would share the leftovers. Then mommy would coo and squish his cheeks and call him baby and announce that she would get him a proper meal and they would go hunt wild Bighorners in the hills before setting off for an other day of adventure.

As Razor-mouth slumbered he reflected that today was going to be a good day.

Ah, this is perfect! Hot and sweet and a little bit silly boys, exactly why I ship them so hard. The image of their dirty snow angel is going to stay with me forever. You've made my night A!A!

WHAT HAVE YOU DONE HERE? If I open the dictionary, and look up the entry for PERFECTION, I will find this fill. You've made my evening (my week) dear author. I have never been so disappointed that I will never have a pet Deathclaw than the moment Razor-mouth rolled on his back and let his tongue flop out of his mouth. wantwantwantwant

If you ever decide to write a sequel...

Yay! I am glad I could make your night! I've come to know the feeling well from sooooo many of the wonderful fills on this meme.

I just might make a sequel... there's a couple interactions between Razor-mouth and Rex that I thought of but had no place for in this fill. Also would like to have more Courier.

Totally seconding for 3Dog. Because as much as I love Mr. New Vegas, keeping up to date with the news of the waste land he does not.

d'awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww <3

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

Greener Pastures (3b/?)

Greener Pastures (4a/?)

Greener Pastures (4b/?)

Re: Greener Pastures (3b/?)

Repost: Joshua Graham/Pretty Sarah

Kid Crushing on F!LW

Re: the world's music is silence 3/3

Practical Joke Gone Wrong 1/1

Matchmaker in Heaven 1/2

Matchmaker in Heaven 2/2

Gen Prompt: Black Mountain Radio

Re: Gen Prompt: Black Mountain Radio

"Are you my mummy?" Courier+Adorable Baby Deathclaw

Nuclear Winter 1

Nuclear Winter 2

Nuclear Winter 3

Nuclear Winter 4a

Nuclear Winter 4b (the end!) [corrected version]

Omelets Aren't for Breakfast (1/?)

Omelets Aren't for Breakfast (2/2)

Re: Nuclear Winter 4b (the end!) [corrected version] OP

Re: Omelets Aren't for Breakfast (2/2)

Re: Omelets Aren't for Breakfast (2/2)

Re: Gen Prompt: Black Mountain Radio

Re: Omelets Aren't for Breakfast (2/2)