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falloutkinkmeme_backup) wrote2018-10-20 09:59 pm
falloutkinkmeme_backup) wrote2018-10-20 09:59 pm
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Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.
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the lady from the mojave [2a/??]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-12 10:30 pm (UTC)(link)A long time ago, she’d found posters of her, old pre-war films, heard a few of her songs, and decided Marilyn Monroe deserved to be showed one of the highest forms of flattery - imitation.
Though, not just her name - a little bit of her image, her personality, her identity - all to mixed together to create the perfect disguise to roam the Mojave. Marilyn isn’t sure how many people in the Mojave are aware of Marilyn Monroe’s existence - information on pre-war celebrities is spotty, depending on where you are, what pre-war remnants were salvaged, and how far the word spread.
In any case, she’s sure that there are only a few visible parallels. She isn’t blonde like the real Marilyn, her facial features aren’t as soft as hers either - they’re not too sharp, either. She isn’t gifted with a gorgeous singing voice. Or she doesn’t find it in her interests to even try out a tune. She’s too pale - of course, that could be easily altered, but she prefers her skin the way it is.
She isn’t fooling herself. She isn’t Marilyn Monroe.
She’s a courier. Number six.
The memory of being sent off is as fresh as it’ll ever be —
— her, hair pulled up into a loose ponytail instead of it’s current style, sitting with her legs uncrossed and a sarsaparilla pressed to her lips as she takes a sip. The small package is in her other hand, wrapped up in rough cloth and tied together with a thin piece of rope. She remembers fingering the fabric between her thumb and index, glancing up at the man who’s dispatching her with a curious expression.
“So. Urgent delivery to the New Vegas Strip to Mr. House?” she says, mind flipping through any files it has on someone named House - it pulls up a few blanks, except for the basic textbook stuff she’s heard about him in passing.
Another quick examination of the package and, “A poker chip. I’m delivering a poker chip?”
The man scowls slightly, arms crossing and she can hear him about to reprimand her for breaking protocol and opening it. Customer privacy is important, he’ll say.
“You aren’t allowed to open the packages, damn it—”
She smiles wryly as she interrupts, “I didn’t.”
the lady from the mojave [2b/??]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-12 10:32 pm (UTC)(link)So she smiles and gets off of the empty sarsaparilla crate, tossing the package in the air before catching it and sliding it into her pack.
“I’ll be off, then.”
He nods at her once, and she slinks out the door of the dimly lit building into the dark of the Mojave night.
It’s easy. Her body is nocturnal, and for the most part, so is her mind. Trekking her way through the wasteland under the dark, blue night sky is possibly one of the only things that brings her tangible joy.
(It’s the question of the century if she’s pale because she prefers to move around at night, or if she prefers to move around at night because she wants to stay pale. It’s a question she’ll never directly address, either.)
She doesn’t fear the dark. She’s got a pistol that she uses to drive away any animals that try to approach her, but for the most part they don’t bother her at all. Her shoes are worn and worked in, to the point where she feels as if she could walk across the radiation devastated country without her feet aching. That’s complete lunacy, though. She knows that she’d have to amputate her feet off at the ankles and cauterize the stumps by campfire by the time she got to the midwest. Her eyes are sharp and accustomed to the lack of light.
Frankly, at some point she thinks that visiting New Vegas might prove to be some interesting form of entertainment. A change of pace for her idle mind. And it’s around that very point that everything seems to go wrong.
Men - she knows how to handle them. And she knows that she knows, so she never pulls the pistol out of her holster. It would’ve been a pointless effort, though. She’s never shot a man. She’s not afraid to admit she’s a piss poor shot and even worse with hand to hand combat - give her a riding crop and some rope and maybe it’d be different. She identifies the men as Great Khans - hired men, then - save for the one who’s running things.
A checkered suit, too fancy for the wasteland so she decides he must be from the Strip and this is about the chip. Speaking of the Strip, casinos - a stain on his sleeve - alcohol, whiskey probably. He smokes - a bit of ash on his collar. The redness around his eyes, possibly a side effect of walking through the wasteland all day or an addiction to jet.
She puts just as much stock in her instincts as she does in her eyes, and the moment the man flashes his too bright smile at her, she knows that tonight is going to end with him pointing a gun at her and pulling the trigger.
It’s a red alert situation, a get out or die kind of thing.
So she starts off by feigning innocence. What’s going on? I’m just a courier! And when that doesn’t work, she concedes. This package? This is what you want, right? Take it. Go ahead. It’s not worth much to me. Take it. And it seems to work for a minute, but it falls through. She tries again, because getting on her knees and sucking his cock or getting fucked seems like a much better ending to this evening than quitting and dying if things keep going like they are. And hopefully, it’ll give her a chance to get away as fast as fucking possible. Mm. Now that the nasty business is out of the way, what’s your name, stranger? You’re far too handsome to be hanging out around here in the wastes like this. Fancy a little R&R? Let me treat you right, darlin’.
the lady from the mojave [2c/??]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-12 10:33 pm (UTC)(link)“Alright baby. Let’s see what you can do.”
And when he’s done, and her jaw is sore, he knocks her unconscious with the butt of his gun and she wakes up with her hands tied and her cheek pressed into the cool dirt.
The click of him cocking the gun- the rush of blood trying and failing to drown out the sound of him speaking - she takes a deep, last breath.
The rest is clockwork.
-
Vulpes moves a hand instinctively to her waist, fingers pressing down and with them, shifting the dress up. Marilyn looks amused at the show of possessiveness that the other expresses, and she tilts her head to look down at his tie. She glances up at Vulpes, up through her long lashes and smiles a little. She reaches her other hand to stroke against his cheek when he squeezes her a bit harder.
“Do not think that this will get anywhere, whore.”
The hand on her waist doesn’t move from its spot, and Marilyn can’t help but biteher lower lip.
“Name calling, Vulpes? I thought we were past that. Don’t you remember that time at the fort?”
She remembers it all too well. Drunk off sick satisfaction and the power the Legion had given her by letting her decide Benny’s fate. She’d searched the camp till she’d found Vulpes in his private tent, and she’d run her hands over his chest and whispered words of gratitude and praise for Caesar and the Legion and him most of all - until she’d worked him to hardness with light, promising fingers. And when he’d pushed her towards his bed as they tore at their clothes with the full intent of getting her on her hands and knees - she’d managed to maneuver her way on top of him, straddling him and pressing him against the bed with her bare hips.
“Your betrayal of the Legion has driven me to realize that you were a lapse of judgement. Something that I will take careful account of in the case that we work something out here today.”
Vulpes seems to realize that the moment he calls her a lapse of judgement, she feels like she’s won. It just goes back to that night in the tent, just the lapse of judgement that got her on top of him and she had his cock pressed to her entrance and his lapse of judgement that had her sliding down till he’d filled her completely.
“I’m counting on it, darling. It’ll make everything more fun. You make everything more fun. You’re so much more interesting than most of the people around here.”
the lady from the mojave [2d/??]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-12 10:38 pm (UTC)(link)But then Vulpes seems displeased by Marilyn calling him fun. He finally removes his hand, and sits up properly.
“I am not here for your entertainment.” He hisses, staring at her with a hard expression.
She sighs, pulling back and fixing her hair.
“Aren’t you a grumpy gecko?”
Vulpes sniffs, “What happened to us getting to business? You’ve done nothing but procrastinate and waste my time. Perhaps I should ask for someone else to come speak to me.”
At that, Marilyn laughs.
“Who else is there?”
---
hey i'm back!! hi there!! ;v; i guess i'm not done then!!! woop woop.
Re: the lady from the mojave [2d/??]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-12 10:59 pm (UTC)(link)Re: the lady from the mojave [2d/??]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-15 08:49 pm (UTC)(link)Re: the lady from the mojave [2d/??]
(Anonymous) 2012-01-16 07:59 pm (UTC)(link)