#fenkatan | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

spaceprincessleia · 10 months

Note

For the mini-fic 12, please.

Send me a ship and one of these and I'll write a mini fic

Thank you for the ask!

The pairing was writer's choice, so I went for a Bo/Fennec pre-relationship, um, bonding moment. Bo is in her cringefail era in this one, and clearly the concept of 'mini' is lost on me.

Prompt: Things you said when you thought I was asleep

Bo loosens her arm around the smaller woman’s waist, and lowers her onto the bed; she looks slim, but her body is all cybernetics and muscle, and she’s not a lightweight. Well, unless it comes to alcohol, apparently.

Bo wipes the strands of hair that have come undone from her braids out of the woman’s face, and gently traces her fingertips from dark brows to fluttering eyelids. A gentle gesture, almost intimate, but Bo doesn’t mean it.

“I’m not here to kill you. Don’t worry,” she mutters under her breath, and carefully lifts one, then the other of the woman’s eyelids. No reaction. Good.

“I’m not here to hurt you, either,” she whispers. “You’re far too pretty. Just a look around, that’s all.” Bo allows herself a moment to appreciate the woman’s features, angular and sharp, the dark color of her lips and skin before, rather unceremoniously, slapping her lightly across the cheeks. Bo holds her breath. Nothing, just even, steady breaths. Good.

She takes one last look at the woman on the bed, but she’s fast asleep. Passed out. Unconscious. Whatever.

“Now, where’s that data? C’mon, where are you?” Bo mumbles, rummaging through the room, opening and turning anything and everything that moves.

She’s telling the truth: She’s not here because she’s tracking down a bounty. Not all Mandalorians are bounty hunters, and certainly not her. Bounty hunters kill, and that’s not what she’s here for. She brought a gun, of course, but she isn’t a gun for hire.

She’s here for a job, one that serves a higher purpose, like she does. That’s it. Step one: Get in. Step two: Find and retrieve the data, something about some hyperlanes in the Outer Rim that Jabba used to control back when he was in charge. Step three: Get out. Easy credits. Credits for resources.

When Bo accepted the job, she knew it meant crossing people she had previously worked with. She doesn’t think twice about Boba Fett, Daimyo to the people of Tatooine, a false Mandalorian and common beskar thief to her; she does think about Fennec Shand, though, whom she fought side by side with on Moff Gideon’s ship. They made a formidable fireteam, Bo, Koska Reeves, Fennec, Cara Dune, each woman just as deadly as the one next to her.

Well. It doesn’t make them friends, she tells herself, over and over again, until she can’t hear the gnawing voice in her head anymore.

Bo huffs. All she needs to find is a console, a datapad, dig through the files—given they were still intact and not wiped—and she could get some sleep, too.

She rubs the back of her head, unsure. She really doesn’t want to go sneaking around in Jabba’s—Boba’s—palace at night. Thinking, she looks at the empty bed in the room.

She looks.

At the bed.

The only bed in the room.

Empty.

The bed, which is the only one here, is empty.

Fuck. No. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Bo spins, eyes searching and head turning frantically, but once she spots the shadow darting towards her, it’s too late.

Her back slams against the nearest wall behind her. A knee in the stomach instantly knocks the wind out of her, and a strong arm against her throat just barely lets her gasp for air.

“No, Fennec, hold on, stop, I can explain—“ Bo shouts and writhes and wriggles, but all it does is earn her another painful kick.

“Oh, you explained plenty when you thought I was asleep, Kryze.” Fennec hisses, eyes narrow, lips tight, her face distorted in cold anger.

“How the fuck are you conscious and standing?!”

“C’mon. Do you really think any cantina patron from here to Mos Eisley will stand by idly while the Daimyo’s right hands gets poisoned with alcohol in front of their eyes?” Fennec laughs, but it’s cold and contemptuous.

Right. Watered down alcohol, because of course. Fuck.

Bo doesn’t reply, there’s really no need. Instead, she raises her hands and holds on to Fennec’s arm in an attempt to loosen her grip just a little.

“You’d make a lousy bounty hunter.” Fennec continues and instead of loosening her grip, she tightens it with every word she spits and hisses at Bo. Bo feels her feet lift off the ground, although she’s in full armor except for her helmet. “You’re barely a common, homeless thief, Kryze.”

Ouch. She holds Bo, suspended mid-air, and trapped between the wall and a body that is as much a weapon as Fennec’s sniper rifle. She can’t breathe, but she welcomes the pain of Fennec’s iron grip over the pain that her words bring.

A common, homeless thief.

She could get angry, put up a fight, struggle, but to what avail? Never wake a sleeping rancor, but here she is, here she has woken one, and now she’s facing the consequences of her actions. This is just one more bad decision she has made out of many, and she would make the next, and the next, and the next.

She can’t wallow in her self-pity for long, though. Fennec gives her a hard shove against the wall before taking a step back and finally releasing Bo from her grip. Bo lands on her knees and catches herself on her hands as she slumps forward, coughing and gasping and coughing and coughing as air floods her lungs again.

She can’t fully recover, either, and screams in shock and surprise when Fennec grabs her by her flaming red hair, and starts dragging her towards the door.

“Fuck! You—fuck!”

“Pretty will talk this out with you in the morning. Tonight, you sleep outside,” Fennec hisses through gritted teeth.

There’s no risk: she can’t run, and Bo knows Fennec knows this. Her ship is locked and out of reach in the palace’s hangar, she doesn’t have nearly enough credits on her to hitch a ride out of here-and she’d never trade even a piece of her beskar armor for one—, and besides, it wouldn’t take the Daimyo and Fennec long to find her.

Her face burns with rage and shame as Fennec drags her through the palace and all the way outside by her hair, while Bo, unable to walk upright, desperately tries not to stumble and fall over her own feet. Most of the palace’s inhabitants are asleep, safe for a few guards. They salute Fennec, politely, curious, but they’re smart enough not to ask.

“Don’t even think about crossing me again, Kryze,” Fennec spits as she drags her through the open palace doors, yanking Bo forward and through them. The sand is coarse on her skin when she hits it face first; her helmet comes flying seconds later and lands beside her.

By the time Bo stirs, Fennec is long gone, and the throbbing on her scalp and throat subsiding. It’s dark and cold outside, but her armor protects her from the worst.

What they don’t protect her from, though, is the heaviness in her chest, the knot in her stomach, and the utter emptiness in her heart.

#bo-katan kryze #fennec shand #bofennec #fenkatan #my writing #i think i need to continue this

16 notes · View notes