falloutkinkmeme_backup

You're viewing

falloutkinkmeme_backup's journal
Create a Dreamwidth Account Learn More

Reload page in style: site light

falloutkinkmeme_backup

Welcome to the Fallout Kink Meme, Part IV! Please assume the position.

GO TO THE LATEST PAGE TO POST NEW PROMPTS

PINBOARD ARCHIVE: Filled Prompts | Unfilled Prompts

Fallout Kink Meme posting guidelines

Read something? Love something? No matter how old the story is, please let our amazing authors and artists know that you enjoyed their work with a nice comment, and share the love by recommending your favorite fills!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From: (Anonymous)

Guilty let out a small puff of air, with the helmet on it sounded horribly like the wheezing of a gas-mask the Ghosts used and Dean felt an uncontrollable urge to scrub himself clean - it being impossible in current circumstances wasn’t something his brain gave a fiddle-stick about. She had stopped counting hoops she had to jump through to get him to stay in one place as far back as the previous district. The Strip didn’t demand this much micro-management and it had, among many other attractions, cannibals running a deluxe restaurant.

“Far be it for me to tell you but…” the tone of voice she had adopted immediately put the ghoul on edge. It reminded him too much of a woman using a pretense hug as her hand slid down his back reaching for his wallet-… “Dean, a man with cold feet isn’t someone any woman would share her bed with.”

Had crickets survived nuclear blast, and if in some spectacular case they had survived Sierra Madre, they’d surely be supplementing the atmosphere right now.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked tersely, cigar out of his mouth and quickly forgotten under his heel. It happened a lot since they became ‘partners’ in this little heist.

“Christine. You wall-flowered away when she gave you the silent treatment, didn’t you?”

Muscles around the remains of his nose flared, and she knew that his eyes had narrowed as well. If there was one thing Dean Domino did not take light of, it was mocking. Now, an angry Dean was not a manageable Dean, but the Courier refused to try and placate him.

“There’s no need to spit fire and radiation. You got away scot-free and in one piece. Not many could say that after propositioning to an assassin from Brotherhood of Steel.” Who also wasn’t interested in men in any way, shape or form, but the Guilty decided that she shouldn’t crumb-stomp Domino’s ego too much. It might backfire.

“Brotherhood of what now-…?” He had no idea what she was talking about and it certainly had no bearing to-…“Assassin?!”

The black helmet and her shoulders shivered a bit in what he assumed was suppressed laughter – and so much worse for her if it was! – but she wasn’t about to elaborate further as the helmet sagged to the side. Regardless, he looked incredibly glad that nothing came of it his ill-timed proposition in the end. So much so that he didn’t even bother to hide that he had tried something to begin with. His focus was once more squarely set on the postman and the ridiculous insinuations she had been concocting.

“Let’s clear something up here. I am not scared. I never said I was. And you’re being ridiculous if you think so. I’ve played to worse crowds than this. I can hold the fort here.” Especially if it meant he’d finally get into the casino, and into that vault. “But listen… try and get in the Sierra Madre without me. You’ll wish you haven’t,” he leaned over her, all imposing-like, with a look, and a lowered voice, and promises of unpleasant things left hanging in the air. Things he could provide in the centuries past, when situation called for it.

Guilty paused, and she was not amused. He threatened her. He – a spoiled lounge singer who was lucky enough not to be killed outright by radiation and managed to survive in this little old world pocket of hell, was threatening her – someone who was born and bred into the survival-of-the-strongest reality of the post-war world.

From: (Anonymous)

Had his intentions of eventually killing her not so plain, she might have found him charming in his refusal to take her seriously as anything more than a small time thief who was going to make off with his cut. But it told her one thing she needed to know: Dean held on to things he considered to be his for dear life, be they material or emotional. What out of the two the Madre, the casino, was to him she didn’t know yet, but his focus was becoming a problem.

Silently, she turned around to walk away and brought her arm up, switching between tabs on her pip-boy. It looked like she had come to some vital conclusion. Dean had noticed this too and when she quickly, not to say furiously, started typing across the keys he gripped her arm and brought the pip-boy’s screen to his face.

“‘Note to self: take off that poster of ‘King of Swing’ from the wall,’” he read in a little menu labeled as ‘NOTES’. These words piqued his interest immediately, and brought a sensation to his dissolute heart the kind he hadn’t felt in a while. He laughed, the previous tension shattered. “So they did survive, as well! And how’s that for a pleasant surprise? I didn’t picture you as a fan,” he managed between chuckles. She wasn’t. Patiently, and with great effort, she stayed silent but this news had brought amusement and heightened his spirit, so he pressed on in a most devious manner he could imagine. “Is it signed?”

Yes. As a matter of fact it was. And framed. And behind bulletproof glass. And Mr. New Vegas took liking to playing some of Domino’s songs more often than it was humane. But she wasn’t going to tell him any of that, oh no, because that would turn him from merely pompous to nigh insufferable. One was harder to deal with than the other.

“The previous owner of the flat had a thing for you, so don’t flatter yourself on my account.”

It didn’t help, because he did flatter himself. The world outside hadn’t forgotten about Dean Domino, not like they did Vera Keys. His fame might have faded, got trashed and buried under sand, and under general impression that he was dead, might simply be overlooked as the Old World curiosity. But he had not disappeared; the memory of him had not turned to dust and ashes. All right, so Danny Parker was among the bunch of surviving wall-stickers, but that bastard wasn’t alive now and he could do nothing to prevent Dean from tearing every single one of them on his track across the world – provided he chose to take some time off his busy schedule and waste it by doing so.

He grinned widely, not bothering to hide the satisfaction this news had brought to him. He looked at the postman, a woman wrapped left and right in armour thick enough to stop bullets, if not knives. The Courier had delivered him some great news indeed.

Scoffing but satisfied that the ghoul was pacified and would finally stay in one place, presumingly smoking like a chimney, Guilty stepped away from him and not looking back disappeared down the street and into the Cloud. When she got back to Lucky 38, and she was getting home, over Elijah’s and everyone else’s cold bodies if needed be, that poster was coming off of her wall. If Sierra Madre thought her anything, it was that the last thing she wanted was a grinning Dean Domino watching her sleep.

From: (Anonymous)

This story is a bit wasted on me as I haven't played the DLC, but it's really nicely written.

By the way the usual practice is to make each chapter a reply to the 1st installment. I only mention this because in a long fill like this if you reply to the last updates instead of the first it will keep moving to the right and you risk disappearing off the edge of the page!