Sua x Female Reader
Wild West/time travel au
Status - Finished (1 part) ✅
Warnings ~ angst, mentions of violence, abuse, death, & war, fluff ending
"All this man has done is lie and cheat and kill." The harsh words left the woman's lips like venom, poisoning the man beneath her black boot with guilt. Raising her pistol, she positioned the barrel of the gun between his eyes. Standing there over him, triumphant-looking with her pink hair flowing in the rough wind, she could have easily been mistaken for an angel cast down from the Heavens. Only the red satin dress and burning hatred in her eyes revealed the hidden evil beneath those imaginary wings and glowing halo.
That was my very last encounter with the one they called the 'Renegade Runaway' before the world changed forever. It was a long and tedious journey up until that point, one that started even before I traveled to her time, all the way back to the very day I was born. The country—the world was war torn, the human race on the brink of extinction. One final hope remained in the potential of time-travel, one that I ended up dedicating my life to. Though the final mission to prevent the end of times promised nothing for certain—not even a return trip home—I volunteered to see it through without hesitance knowing that my future was not guaranteed had I conceded to the Earth's doomed fate. The task was simple enough: prevent one murder that had been committed over three-hundred years ago. After centuries of research, it had been decided that this very moment was the one that had sent our world on the path of destruction and that changing the outcome could potentially prolong the survival of mankind. My one single chance to test that theory started the first day I met the Renegade Runaway.
—
Waking from a deep, dark slumber, I found myself laid out across the grainy desert ground, head resting against the roots of an old tree with a dusty brown cowboy hat placed over my face to shield my pale skin from the ruthless sun rays cast down from the clear sky above. The dirt and sand crunched under my boots when I finally stood upright and the hot wind whipped through my mid-length black hair. Though I had studied this very town in this exact time period, suddenly being stripped from my own time and placed here, I was rather disoriented. It never felt quite real. At least not at first.
A nearby whinnying brought my attention to a horse that stood patiently beside me, anchored to a tree by the lead attached to its harness. It was a beast of an animal, standing a few feet taller than me, showing off its muscular body while shifting its weight from leg to leg. Though I had never seen one in person, I knew them well. The creatures often came up in categories such as farming, transportation, and warfare in my research of the Wild West.
Gathering the lead in my hands, the animal hesitantly let me take my place on its back and followed my commands when I spurred it on towards civilization. Dust kicked up with every thud of the horse's hooves, blowing across the never-ending desert floor that blurred with waves of heat in the distance, obscuring the horizon line. The air stung my eyes and tasted like salt, leaving my throat dry and my body parched. Even in the short journey to the local square, beads of sweat had accumulated on my forehead from the harsh climate—one that closely resembled the state of the entire planet back in my time.
As I neared the town, square-shaped wooden buildings faded by the sun eventually surrounded me, accompanied by the bustle of western folk crossing the empty stretch between shops in front of me. Just like the history book said, everyone here had a role to play. It was a community that, in a lot of ways, relied upon the efforts of every single individual to thrive. New faces were unusual and those that were born here almost always stayed here. Maybe it wasn't everyone's idea of paradise, but it was the only thing they knew, so they couldn't possibly picture something greater. There was this sense of acceptance, or rather, resignation. Most people gave into it, but a select few stood in resistance. In particular, women who desired more than being at a man's side with no power her whole life rejected the traditional ways of the Wild West.
I could feel the indignation the moment I stepped foot here. There was a storm brewing in this small western town. A storm started by one they called the Renegade Runaway. One that would catalyze a ripple effect of pain and suffering throughout the coming centuries. But that's why I was here now: to change that seemingly predetermined fate.
Riding up to the local saloon, I got off my horse and tied its lead to a nearby fence. "Sheriff." My greeting was aimed towards a pale woman who had her hair tied back in a long blonde ponytail as I stepped onto the wooden porch in front of the local saloon. The sand left boot prints behind me like chalk coating the brown walkway. The woman I acknowledged was standing just a few feet away, leaning against the front of the building, one leg propped up on the wall behind her as her dusty brown eyes gazed over the desert horizon like a hawk. She wore dark cowboy boots over tan pants held up by a belt with a badge on one side and a holster housing a white and golden revolver on the other. At my greeting, she cast her gaze towards me and used her leather gloved hand to tip the edge of her cowboy hat down in recognition.
"Howdy." Her lips turned up in a closed smile making her high cheek bones prominent. I noticed the tight lines framing her smile and the way her cheeks almost indented because of how well defined her face was. There was no doubt in my mind that she was in good shape and, if I weren't here strictly for business, I might've inquired just where she got such perfect genes from or how exactly she managed to acquire her position—being a woman and all.
I was looking for someone specific and as much as I would've loved to ask—I glanced down at her badge—Sheriff Kim for help, this wasn't exactly a matter that I needed local law enforcement to be involved in. In fact, having the Sheriff on my tracks is the very last thing I needed.
So, I ventured inside the saloon without another word to the woman and walked straight to the bar. The one person you could count on to find out what you wanted to know in a small old western town was the one who got to hear all the latest news and gossip thanks to her occupation: the bartender.
"What can I getcha?" She said in a low, cool, calm tone—one that you would expect a bartender to have—when I took a seat on one of the stools. Her voice matched her appearance and—as I would soon find out—her personality. She had on an oversized white shirt with a denim vest and denim jeans. I couldn't see below her waist, but I assumed she was wearing cowboy boots since that's all anyone wore around here. Her dark purple hair was twisted up in a single bun on the back of her head with hair sticking out the top and two small strands of her bangs free to hang on either side of her face. She looked intelligent and friendly, but not too friendly. Although, I got the feeling she was trustworthy just from the aura she gave off.
"Just pop, but make it look like a drink." I wasn't one to drink often, but certainly not while on a job. She didn't hesitate with my request and started pouring it just out of sight of the other guests, making me wonder if many people asked the same. Folks often did illegal business in saloons, so if you were caught here without a drink someone might assume the same of you. Proud cowboys didn't tend to take a liking to bandits or crooks and, I'd imagine, neither did the Sheriff.
That in mind, I grabbed the glass as soon as the bartender was finished pouring and took a sip before looking around the place discreetly. It was just before sundown and the bar was starting to fill up with people coming in after finishing their shifts. The usual working men occupied the place, though there seemed a lack of prostitutes lurking for a typical western saloon. It appeared as though the women here held more positions of power than most other cities during this time period–no doubt due to the woman I came to find. Though, I didn't spot anything that seemed helpful to my case, so I looked back to the thin woman behind the bar. She was already looking back at me, like she knew I wanted to ask her something. I'm sure she was used to strangers coming in here and questioning her, but somehow I got the sense that she didn't seem to mind it.
"You wouldn't happen to know of a lass named Bora, would you?" I asked after taking another sip, assuming these people knew the Renegade by her real name. Still, I found it hard to gauge the bartender's reaction; she didn't seem to give away her emotions all that easily, an almost disinterested expression permanently etched across her face. Maybe that came with the job, or maybe that really was just a part of her personality. Nonetheless it didn't help me get a sense of who Bora was to these people—or at least to her.
"Bora?" She seemed to ponder, her hands momentarily stopping their job of cleaning a glass while her brain was at work. "I know several Bora's." She concluded, continuing on with her task as if she had never stopped. I found it odd that she didn't say more. It made me wonder if she didn't want me to know the answer or if she simply didn't care enough to tell me.
"The Bora I'm looking for is... shall we say... in some trouble." I added, hoping she would catch on.
Much to my surprise, the bartender cracked a half smile and let out a small chuckle. "Trouble, huh?" Her head raised and her eyes shifted to the far side of the room. "You must be looking for the Renegade." I followed her gaze and spotted a woman with light pink hair sitting at a table in the far corner of the room. Looking at her now, I wondered how I missed her before. She seemed to take up the entire room and appear invisible all at the same time. Finally being in her presence was something else entirely; her aura was captivating with a hint of underlying mystery and danger.
Without saying anything further to the bartender, I stood up and began walking over to where the woman was, completely forgetting my drink on the bar top. I thought I heard an amused 'good luck' from the bartender, but I was already so preoccupied with this mysterious woman—whom I hoped was truly the one I came looking for—that I very well could have imagined it.
From what I knew about Bora, she was the definition of trouble. Mumblings of the townsfolk would tell me that she was an outlaw, a rebel, a deserter, 'a devil in an angel's dress.' I knew better than to fully believe such rumors. However, she was dangerous, and because of that, I knew I couldn't count on getting the answers I needed out of her the old-fashioned way. If I wanted anything from her, I'd have to play the game her way.
"You don't by chance happen to be the one they call the Renegade, do you Miss?" I offered gently, hoping I didn't appear to pose a threat. Any wrong decision and I could lose my one chance at salvation for good.
Although, she didn't spare me a glance, grunting out a cold response, "What do you want?" I allowed my eyes to take in her appearance, or at least what I could see of it with her back turned to me. I suppose I didn't expect the textbook and over-dramatic townsfolk's descriptions of her to be so literal, but, to my surprise, she was wearing a red satin dress. Similar to the Sheriff, she had a holster around her waist that held a wooden and silver pistol. The weapon was all too familiar to me and now I was sure I had the right woman.
"It's less about what I want and more about what you want." I replied. She still didn't look at me, but she turned her head slightly, giving me a view of her side profile. Maybe the only thing that shocked me more than her attire was her appearance. The single sharp feature on her face was her pointed nose. Other than that, her appearance looked rather soft. All the drawings I had seen of her painted her as a fierce woman with hard features and a striking gaze. Had I not witnessed the outcome of her future actions, I might've questioned how such a small, innocent looking woman was worthy of titles such as 'demon' or 'devil.'
"I don't want anything from you." She said in a low tone. She didn't necessarily sound rude, but more like she was trying to intimidate me so that I would stop my ploy and leave her alone.
"I could offer some help." I suggested, taking the seat across from her without permission. No one else in this old bar even dared look at the pink haired girl, let alone sit near her. But she was no threat to me.
"I don't need your help." She was quick to respond, still barely paying me any mind as she took a sip of her whiskey. The honey colored alcohol resembled the thick rays of sunlight shining in through the titled slats in the wooden blinds. The dust made up of sand and smoke seemed to be permanently suspended in the air, making the rays look like bars of pure sunlight that you could just reach out and grab.
"Alright, then I can offer you information." I reworded, fully aware she was a woman who did her own dirty work but still valued any opportunity she could get to have the upper hand.
There was a long pause and, after weighing my words, she finally took the chance to look me over. She cocked an eyebrow, apparently unimpressed. "You aren't from around here, are you?" She told more than asked. She already knew the answer to her own question simply based on how I carried myself, but I had a feeling she was also implying that not many people around here tried to talk to her. They knew better than to bother her.
"You aren't either... or so I've heard." I tried to show her that I wasn't one to scare easily.
"Well then surely you've also heard that I work alone." She sat up straight and raised her glass to her lips before meeting my eyes. The words almost felt rehearsed, like she had a method to keeping people out. One side of her lips tilted upwards as she glanced over my features. "And not even a pretty face'll change that." She tilted her head back to take the final swig of whiskey, then slammed the glass down on the table before giving me a wink and getting up to walk out. Only the image of her receding shadow visible as she pushed through the saloon doors.
—
In the coming months, the renegade kept her word... for the most part. She was stubborn—which I had quickly gathered after my first encounter with her—and too independent for her own good. She wasn't necessarily reckless, but her solo endeavors often proved far too ambitious. Whether that be pursuing criminals or cowboys or men that just seemed to have too much money and power, she was constantly jumping into situations too dangerous for one woman to handle alone. That's where I came in. She didn't give trust away easily—claiming hers had to be earned—so I gained it by proving my loyalty to her, always coming to her aid when she found herself in trouble.
It took a while for me to get close to her and even longer to finally get her to open up to me. Once she believed my intentions were pure, she slowly unveiled the secrets of the mysterious 'Renegade Runaway,' allowing me to peel back the layers of her heart and eventually get a glimpse at what was inside. Unlike the fables, she was no devil or angel or any other divine being for that matter. It became clear through her vengeful motives that she was purely and entirely human. She was hurting and broken from a painful past—one she would rather forget, yet the same one that drove her actions. In her lifetime she had witnessed the women she loved—friends, sisters, and even her own mother—get cheated, tortured, and murdered by all the powerful men surrounding them.
In her eyes, those that ruled the world were not worthy of it, because all they did was ruin it. She felt it was her duty to strip them of their privileges and make them suffer as they had done to so many others. As noble an effort it seemed, history tells us that nothing good ever comes from vengeance. Still, she was blinded by the inescapable shadow of loss following her, clung to her figure as a constant reminder, a constant trigger that sent her over the edge.
That's why we found ourselves here now: Bora standing over a man she and I both knew all too well, pistol to his temple with memories of her mother's mangled body underneath his own boot playing on repeat in her mind while I helplessly watched a few steps away. The air grew cold and thick in the abandoned town square we now occupied as the very climax of my mission approached. This was the one murder I had trained my whole life to prevent.
"He doesn't deserve to live." She seethed in anger. "He murdered my mother and countless other innocents." Her grip on the gun tightened with every word that left her mouth, turning her knuckles white.
"Perhaps you're right." My voice cut through the brewing storm looming overhead, loud enough to not get lost in the violent gusts of air whipping around our bodies and through the gaps between the buildings surrounding us. The townsfolk had all run for shelter, frightened either by the imminent threat of catastrophic weather or the violent coup that was now in progress, led by the renegade standing a few feet in front of me. "But killing him will only make things worse in the long run." I took a tentative step forward, hoping the relationship we had formed over the past month—though still rather unsteady—would be enough to convince her to trust my words.
A flash of lightning struck the horizon, painting the gray sky blue before a boom of thunder punctuated its disappearance. "How could you possibly know that?" She shouted, now growing impatient. The wooden and silver weapon shook in her hands, her finger tempting the trigger. Even she didn't understand why she hadn't pulled it yet. It was her master plan, after all. Finally putting an end to all the suffering this man had caused to countless women and their families, including her own. It felt like her only purpose in life. Her destiny. Like it was already written in the stars. So why couldn't she go through with it? And why would she listen to me: a stranger she had met only a month ago? One that seemed to be from another world completely. The kind of person she never thought she'd find herself so attached to. Yet, there she was.
And though she couldn't possibly understand what I meant when I told her I've seen what comes of her actions, she somehow believes. When I say that this one decision will determine the fate of the world, she somehow knows. Because, deep down, she can feel that it has happened before. This exact moment had already played out in some distant reality. One that she had already experienced and would never experience all in the same life. One that always ended in disaster.
But, not this time.
This time, she looks deep into my eyes and finds a sort of empathy and honesty that she has never experienced before. In me, she finds someone who understands the pain and loss she has felt. Beyond that, she finds someone who manages to live with it. To forgive and forget. Someone who stopped trying to end violence with more violence. Someone who has found a better way. And it shows her that her life doesn't need to be a constant cycle of death and revenge. That there is hope for a peaceful resolve. And maybe even room for love, not hatred.
The sky cries down in relief as Bora's gun falls with the raindrops, softening the hard dirt ground beneath our feet as they soak into the dying earth. Like the fresh water nourishing the desert floor, the renegade's decision to spare the man gives room for new life to grow and, one day, eventually, to flourish.
Now that a new string has been woven into the fabric of reality, the future is uncertain. This new life might seem daunting to most, but not me. All it promises are new possibilities for a world without hatred, without violence, and without suffering. A world where love and peace are not merely fantasies, but the promised reality.
And it all starts with me and her.