![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
falloutkinkmeme_backupWelcome to the Fallout Kink Meme, Part IV! Please assume the position.
- 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!
Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (30/?)
Date: 2016-03-25 01:23 pm (UTC)She had fired one shot at the deathclaw, pinged his shoulder over his scaley parts, just pissed him off without inflicting any sort of damage.
And now she’s running.
She can see Watch perched atop her rock, revolver at the ready, Burn on her own rock, hunting rifle held steady, Toot hand Drummer and Runner too low to the ground, too well-camouflaged to be seen from this distance.
She can hear the huff of the deathclaw behind her, a huff and a wet growl and then a suck of air, a cycle that would be mesmerizing if she couldn't also hear the slice of claws into the dirt, the whip of his tail through the air, she scratch of scales against each other, the slick sound of a tongue against teeth and slobber dripping from his mouth.
If she lets her imagination work, she can feel his breath on the back of her neck.
The coat is slowing her down, so as she runs she hooks her rifle strap behind her neck, tries not to miss a step, sheds her coat with a roll of her shoulders and a shove backward, almost catches her heel on it as it falls. Makes three steps before his footsteps change, the sound of padded skin on leather, and then padded skin on gravel again, and now she can feel his breath on her neck, but she can see all the hunters, their weapons ready and aiming, and she tries for one last burst of speed, dodges between rocks, hears him scrape between them, claws scrabbling, breath hot and wet, and as she breaks from the rocks he’s right behind, one claw reaching, missing her by little enough she can feel the breeze form it, feel the slice that didn't connect frisson up her spine. She wings her rifle strap over onto her shoulder
Tooth fires first, the blast from her brush gun sending the deathclaw staggering, and Runner and Burn fire next, hunting rifles blasting together, then Watch fires, three shots in rapid succession, and then Drummer fires last, empties her magazine, eleven shots into the deathclaw’s belly that have him staggering side to side, limping, faltering, as Lucinda sprints past Watch, then Tooth and Runner, then Durmerm and Burn, her lungs burning and legs wobbling.
The deathclaw hits the gravel, lets out a low wheeze. Lucinda hits the gravel, too, on hands and knees, chest and arms prickling as the adrenaline overtake her and her arms start to shake.
“We did it,” Watch observes, quiet. There are cicadas picking up, again, although the crickets are silent in the afternoon heat. The only sound is breathing--Tooth and Runner and Watch, barely audible, Burn and Drummer breathing quick but soft, Lucinda still gasping for air, before she breaks into a hacking cough. Watch saunters over, squats next to her, offers a canteen. Lucinda takes it, leans her weight on it as she tries to catch her breath.
“I’ll be fine,” Lucinda chokes out.
“You really oughta have Doc look at that cough.”
“She’ll just tell me it’s from smoking,” Lucinda replies.
“Probably is,” Burn offers.
“Didn’t ask your opinion,” Lucinda replies. She finally sits back, breath still coming in short gasps, but no longer coughing.
Tooth comes trotting over, after a minute, hauling Lucinda's coat.
“The hell you keep in this thing? How d’you haul it around?” She drops it in front of Lucinda, who reaches for its pockets to fumble out a pack of cigarettes and a matchbox.
“Anything I might need,” Lucinda replies, lights a cigarette. “You’d be surprised.”
“Probably not, just, holy hell how d’you lug that thing around all the time? Weighs a fuckin’ ton.”
“The price you pay for bulletproofing,” Lucinda replies, kicks the coat open to show off the bulletproof vest sewn into the torso. “Let me finish this cigarette and then we can grab our packs, get back to the others.”
“We just gonna leave the deathclaw?” Runner asks.
“Unless you wanna work up something to haul it in to butcher it, yeah,” Lucinda agrees. “Don’t have the resources with us to get it in.”
Tooth grunts, leans back on one leg to survey the deathclaw. She shrugs at Runner, who shrugs back.