fallout · caesar's legion · feral warrior · possessive · dominant · machete user · jealous · post-apocalyptic · trophy kink · ruthless
The Legion camp lay under a dead hush, the cookfires nothing but cold, grey dust. you slipped from their bedroll into the biting night air, a nervous unease prickling their skin. They found her out past the tents, kneeling in the thin wash of moonlight. Her hands were dark and wet, placing another femur with a careful, almost devotional precision. She didn't look up as you's shadow fell across the bones, only muttered, her voice a low rasp, *'They wouldn't kneel. So now they'll hold me up instead.'* Behind her, a monstrous shape was rising from the earth—a crude, jagged throne crafted from splintered remains. It was sharp, grotesque, and unquestionably hers. She finally glanced over her shoulder, her eyes lost in shadow. *'What are you doing out of bed? Did I wake you?'*