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rahuratna · 2 months ago

Text

Part 2

Synopsis: Hunting never quite prepared you for this; for falling in love. You're uncertain about the true nature of your relationship with Olivia, now that you've both expressed your passion in the most primal, fundamental way possible. She takes steps to rectify that.

[MH Wilds Olivia x Fem Hunter/Reader]

Content: Romance, angst, humour, falling in love, W/W, courtship, lovers' spat, smut (in previous and next chapter).

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

(Kudos to @that-basic-simp who's headcanon that Olivia was a wildcard in her youth has now become canon in my mind. It just makes sense!)

A hunter is accustomed to living rough, to take pleasure in the few luxuries they are afforded once their reputation has been established.

You've had your fair share of days under unforgiving sun, skin sand-blasted as you forged through parched desert landscapes, or tugged your boots from the powerful suction of a mire with each draining step.

Yes, you'd known hardship and toil, the way most hunters had.

So why was this so difficult to navigate?

Perched on your seikret as you patrolled the Scarlet Forest for tempered monsters, you were aware of her eyes scanning the trees around you, as well as the exact moments that they landed on you, tracing over your form in the saddle.

She didn't mean anything by it.

Olivia was merely performing her due diligence; remaining vigilant, taking stock of your current environs, maintaining a steady watch for her companions, including you.

You envied her, somewhat.

You weren't able to clear your mind so capably of your intimate encounter with her after the battle against the Ajarakan at Azuz City.

You were the one who found yourself watching after her while you were all at camp, watching the way she polished her weapon and shuddering as you remembered the way she'd handled you.

You were the one who caught a glimpse of her training, the bare lines of her powerful shoulders visible as she swung her hammer with practiced ease. And you couldn't help but remember how those same shoulders had felt beneath the grip of your nails, the way they'd rippled sinuously as she'd pressed you further down under the weight of her body.

You wondered what she made of all of this. You wondered why she could remain so calm, as if the current status quo was the most natural order she'd ever witnessed in nature.

Luxuries. Those that were ill-afforded to a hunter.

That's what you and Olivia had, wasn't it? A luxury of time, stolen sweetness and passion, a fleeting moment between two people who were drawn together by circumstance, nothing more.

Even as you had the thought, you recognised it for the lie it was.

Maybe it had been a culmination of physical passion on her part, but to you ...

No. It wouldn't do to dwell on that. Or the voice that whispered to you, oh so treacherously, that Olivia's steadfast and honorable personality wouldn't allow her to make such a decision without some kind of true feeling. That was not her nature, and you knew it.

On the one hand, you were crippled by the doubt of not knowing, and on the other, held back by your fear of seeming inexperienced, naive or just plain silly to be dwelling on such matters. Surely a hunter had more important things to focus on than matters of the heart (or loins)?

And yet, you sometimes found yourself questioning the unfairness of it all.

Having lived the life you had, how were you supposed to know what was right? How were you supposed to know how to navigate this new and infinitely more dangerous territory?

You could settle for the simple explanation for now; the fact that Olivia was content with things between you as they were, and would perhaps join you in your tent again, in some uncertain time in the future, that she would confine her heated words of tenderness (that you absolutely weren't pining for) to those secret hours before the dawn.

Yes, you supposed you could accept that as her current intention towards you.

If only you knew how very wrong you were.

The first hint you received that all was not playing out as you imagined was the co-ordinated patrols.

The recent upsurge of tempered and frenzied monsters across all habitats meant that the units on the ground were often stretched out, required to travel between different locales every few days in order to see to new issues that cropped up here and there.

You'd teamed up with a variety of other hunters by now, including the laid back but capable Rosso and the earnest Alessa. In recent times, though, it seemed that Olivia was almost always the squad leader assigned to your area.

If it happened a couple of times in a row, you wouldn't have given it another thought. Seven times, though? That was certainly pushing the boundaries of the probable when it came to coincidence.

After the ninth occasion when your SOS flare had seemingly summoned Olivia out of the aether, you decided to question her on it, as delicately as you could.

On the ride back to camp, you fell behind, allowing Alma and your trusty palico to take the lead. Scarlet water splashed against the soles of your boots as your rode beside Olivia in silence for a while, knees brushing companiably against hers. She seemed content to simply be at your side, but this was the best time to ask the question.

"Olivia, are you ... keeping track of my missions?"

She turned to you, the red-tinted water reflecting in faint bars across her cheeks.

"What makes you say that?"

You waved a hand between her and you.

"This is the ninth time you've answered my call. Normally, the others happen to be in the area too and - "

She raised an eyebrow.

"You'd like them to answer your call instead?"

"No! That isn't what I meant."

She regarded your flustered face with her trademark equanimity for a moment before her mouth twitched slightly and she looked away. Your eyes narrowed.

"Olivia."

"What?"

"The truth, please."

She sighed.

"If you must know, then yes. I have been keeping track of your missions, but not because I don't think you're capable."

You watched her, waiting for an explanation. The words that emerged from her next were a little stilted, as if she hadn't fully made sense of them herself.

"I always look out for my unit. Erik, Werner, and Athos, of course. You know that right?"

You nodded, a faint crease appearing between your brows. Olivia did make sure they were taken care of, going so far as to remind Werner when to eat when he was too caught up in his latest project.

"Well, the same applies to you. It may not be official orders, but I consider you to be one of our unit. And all that comes with it."

Her eyes met yours and you felt that small jolt of anticipation, that thread of golden, electric awareness that wove through your whole body every time she fixed her full attention on you like this.

"So, I'm family, then?" you asked, half teasing.

She stared back, perfectly serious.

"Yes. That's what I meant. It's not just about protection. I know you can hold your own, whoever answers the signal. I just want to be the one who responds because that's what I feel is best. That I'm the one fighting beside you."

You were silent for a minute, absorbing this. Olivia's posture had become rather stiff, and her glance raked along your face from the side, as if assessing your response to this.

You couldn't have that.

Alma had disappeared around the bend up ahead.

Leaning sideways in the saddle, you craned your neck and aimed a kiss at her cheek. Your mouth found hers instead, jostling you slightly back as she guided her seikret closer to yours.

Warm, slightly chapped, her lips were gentle, then firm, intoxicating as she always was. She released you, exhaling against your cheeks and you let out a small sound in response, tilting your head as she captured you again.

There was a shift in the light ahead, against your closed eyelids, and you drew away from her, an ache erupting in your chest that you knew no remedy for.

The brief moment of sunset-hued longing in her own gaze, the soft allure of her deepest buried self, caught and held you.

On the way back, you couldn't help the sporadic smile that would break out across your face.

Olivia could keep her composure. You were starting to decipher what lay beneath.

A ball of flame rockets over the top of the rock you're crouched behind, exploding against the cliffface. The enraged Tempered Guardian Rathalos was a foe to be reckoned with indeed, in turns burning the ground and leaving explosions of Wylk-powered energy in its wake.

Dashing out from behind cover, you witness a sight that temporarily stops your heart. Olivia, astride her seikret, charging head on at the raging creature. You could tell from the way she was standing slightly in the saddle, the line of her back and legs taut as a coiled spring, that she was attempting to mount it.

You shout to her, but your warning call is lost amidst the charging of the Rathalos' coming attack.

Whistling for your own seikret, you barely register the lurch of your body through the air as it swings you onto its back. Your eyes are completely focused on her and her damnable daredevil charge, hair flying behind her like a battle pennant as she speeds up.

Some part of your mind is telling you that this isn't out of the ordinary for her. That Olivia is constantly pushing the furthest boundaries of her abilities, always trying new attack combinations and strategies that risked life and limb, all in the name of being the best hunter she can be.

Didn't you do the same?

That didn't make it any less harrowing to watch the woman you -

No.

Focus on the beast. Focus on the swell of its fiery breath. Clear your mind, as she must be doing right now. Match the stride of your seikret with hers. Reign it slightly to the left, just as the blast exits the gaping jaws and then -

Olivia leaps, straight for the Rathalos' back. She isn't going to -

Then the reptilian gaze lands on you, and you fire off a round of Wyrmsbane from your slinger, right between the eyes. It flinches back, roaring with rage, and in this moment, Olivia lands successfully.

Her feet plant on the spiny plates of its back, hunting knife driving into the softer parts between as she lets out an answering yell. The beast attempts to buck her off, but you turn your mount sharply, firing off another round at its chest.

Olivia skirts forward to the head, shrugging off the flame that spills from the creature's mouth, and draws her hammer, landing a powerful concussive blow on the plate above the brow.

Staggering, the great, scarred body topples over, crashing onto its side. In an instant, you dismount, drawing your weapon. Olivia slides across the head, readying her own blow.

At her side, you watch the way she pivots on her heel, the powerful curve of her waist, the arc of the hammer as it comes down once, twice, three times, each strike timed with precision as you both land your attacks in tandem.

The Rathalos lies defeated, one wing extended out at your feet.

Olivia turns to you, and you see something wild, something ecstatic in her expression. Her breathing is heavy, the ends of her hair are scorched and the sleeve of the tunic she wears beneath her armour is torn, the flesh reddened with scratches.

She isn't her usual composed self as she strides across the ground towards you. You've barely sheathed your weapon before her hand grasps your hip like a steel vice and she tugs you against her, lips smashing against yours, artless, no aim other than to be closer to you.

Vaguely, you are aware of your palico asking if this is a human mating ritual.

You gasp into her mouth, your fingers scraping across her epaulettes, before you remember that stunt she pulled. You ball up a fist and bring it down with a light thump in the middle of her chest.

She separates from you, panting slightly, but doesn't release you from her grasp.

"What?"

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That jump! That was just plain reckless."

She suddenly registers that you are angry with her and her eyebrow cocks in a way that infuriates you even further. Still, she doesn't release you.

"What about it? I've been practicing that for a week now. Athos knows."

"And you decided to test it out on a Tempered Guardian Rathalos?"

You punctuated each word with a stabbing finger to the middle of her chest. It does nothing but strengthen her hold on you, your body pressed flush against hers. You see an answering fire in her glance.

"The more dangerous the better. At least I know it works when it counts."

"Did you hit yourself with your hammer during training?"

"Are you insulting the Captain of another unit?"

"Oh, you're pulling rank now, huh?"

"Well, it seems like you're forcing me to."

Your palico was now asking if fighting was also part of a mating ritual, at which Athos promptly places her paw over his snout.

You take a deep breath, attempting to calm yourself, which wasn't easy with her current proximity.

"Olivia, it was ... impressive, I admit, but - "

"So you can admit that much?"

"That doesn't mean it wasn't ill-considered!"

"You know what else is ill-considered?"

"What?"

She leans forward and captures your lips in a searing kiss again, and your resistance is sapping away by the minute. You arch under her touch, your fingers sliding up her waist.

There's something different here, something she wants you to experience first hand. She'd told you stories before, about her youth, and the way she'd taken on the most dangerous missions to prove herself.

Time and responsibility had tempered those desires, but it seemed that they sometimes simmered just under the surface, and you couldn't deny having seen it in her before.

Olivia had been a firebrand, true to form, and as she consumes you, tilting her head, pushing you back, tasting you thoroughly, a realisation strikes you.

She wanted you to see her, all of her, even the parts she kept concealed so well, the parts that nobody but you (and Athos) would witness in her now.

When her arms finally drop from around you, you place your forehead against hers, breathing her in. You offer her a half smile, nose brushing against hers.

Olivia glances sideways and Athos places her paws on her hips.

"No use asking for my approval, Livvie. Seems like mew've decided."

Your palico gawped in outrage.

"Approval? My meowster is the best of the best!"

"Eh? Anyone who gets Livvie as a pawtner is the luckiest."

"Mew want a catfight on your hands?"

"Nyah, I'd win."

Olivia clapped her hands together.

"All right, you two go on ahead and tell Alma that we're done here. We'll just carve and get cleaned up after."

Your palico shot you a look that was a little too knowing.

"Meowster, send up an SOS flare if it gets too much."

Your mouth fell open, aghast.

"You've got the wrong idea - "

Athos waved at you both.

"Happy carving."

When they are both out of sight you turn, heading straight for the Rathalos, pulling your knife from its sheathe. Olivia is close behind you, but she refrains from touching you, to your relief. You're not sure you can resist her.

After a moment of silent carving, your hands now slick with the wylk-infused secretions that pass for blood, she asks you a question.

"Are you still angry?"

"I'm not angry. I'm just ... seeing you ride right at that thing, getting ready to jump - "

"Not the first time I've done it."

She was reading your mind again. And she was right. This was the crux of the issue.

It shouldn't bother you. It really shouldn't. You remembered the feeling of deep admiration you'd had when she'd charged right at the Arkveld without even knowing the first thing about the monster.

So why would it be any different now? The world didn't change because of your feelings for her. If anything, it was you that had to adapt to the new order, to the fact that hunting would never stop being dangerous for either of you.

You paused in your repetitive action, still unable to face her.

"This isn't something that's on you. You have nothing to apologise for. It's me. I'm the one that needs to come to terms with ... some things."

So saying, you complete your task, heading to the nearby river to wash. She remains silent, but you feel her eyes watching your every move, the way she holds back the things she would say to you.

The wyverian ruins wash you both in their cold light.

Later, at camp, you try to distract yourself with boardgames with Alma. She's always been better at them than you, but you take comfort in the familiarity of defeat and her idle, warm chatter.

You can put aside thinking about more serious issues when the warmth of the brazier steals into your limb and leaves you languid, pleasantly fatigued after your bath.

Your palico is lounging at your side, head pushed into your ribs as you rub at his ears. It's as if they can all sense your inner turmoil, and are doing all they can to take your mind from it.

Someone approaches, stands just outside the ring of firelight. Alma glances up, and from the way her posture immediately straightens, you know it's Olivia.

"Ah, Olivia - "

Your palico surges to his feet, tugging on Alma's hand.

"Let's go see Gemma. I think she's made me the most purrfect breastplate."

"Oh ... of course!"

Straightening her glasses, Alma shoots you a confirmatory look and you nod, smiling slightly. Always the protective one, is Alma. She never fails to make you feel like you're in good hands.

Olivia finally steps into the warm ring of light, raising her hands to the blaze. She warms them in silence for a minute, and you wonder what she could possibly be here to say to you.

The heaviness of the day's events suddenly burdens you like a lead weight, and you feel it in the way your shoulders slump slightly.

Olivia settles onto the bench beside you, her shoulder pressing into yours.

"Forgive me for sounding forward, but shouldn't you be more pleased to see your lover?"

It's the first time she's referred to herself as such aloud, and you can't help the way your lips curve in response.

"Should I be?"

She exhales sharply and then her fingers are under your chin, turning your head gently to face her. There it is, that infinite tenderness and desire she bears only for you, the set of her mouth that makes it seem like she's almost in pain.

Her voice is low, charged with feeling, and it makes you shudder slightly.

"Please, look at me. I don't want ... this. Whatever this is. I don't want it between us."

You shake your head, patiently explaining to her yet again.

"Olivia, I said earlier that you have nothing to - "

"I do." Her grasp on your chin tightens ever so slightly. "I do have to apologise. For making you think you have to deal with this alone. I just ... I'm afraid I'm not very good at these things."

"But there's nothing you - "

"Yes, there is. I can comfort you. I can hold you. I can listen to your concerns and not behave like an idiotic youth who's just received their hunting license. I can be here when you need me the most. I can make compromises too, because if that isn't what all these years leading my own unit has taught me, then I'm a failure indeed."

Her harsh assessment of her own actions makes you reach up, wrapping your hand around her own. You bring it to your lips, speaking against her skin.

"We're both learning, Olivia. And we've got to adapt. But I suppose a little help from my own partner at times would definitely be something. And maybe ... practice those stunts a little more before trying them out in the field, yes?"

"Only if you're the one practicing with me."

"Suppose I'll have to stock up on healing potions, then."

"Am I that dangerous?"

Your laughter this time was genuine, and some of the tension she bore in her frame dissipated.

"You're the most dangerous woman I know."

Even now that you knew she was dealing with these feelings in her own way, the natural course of her actions always surprised you a little.

Your next hint that she was far more serious about your relationship than you had initially expected were the numerous small gifts that inevitably headed your way.

As Captain of her unit, and veteran hunter, Olivia had made numerous connections over her career than enabled trade deals. Shipments of goods under careful supervision would make their way to various base camps, courtesy of the deals she brokered, each containing valuable supplies and equipment for the hunters.

Sometimes, there was something rather specific for you among these shipments. And it was obvious, to anyone who cared to scrutinize, that as practical as all of these gifts were, they were tailor-made to suit you.

There was the new sheathe for your hunting knife, made of a beautiful dark leather that you'd once expressed appreciation for. There was a talisman of protection, woven together with feathers from a bird you'd once mentioned that was native to your home region and village.

There was a delivery of your favourite honey sweets to the Avis Tent (by the time you'd arrived, your palico had looked at you with a guilty expression and stuffed cheeks, Alma hiding a wrapper discreetly in her pocket, while Nata looked on at their antics and giggled).

There was one particular morning when you'd emerged from your tent at the Ruins of Wyveria, a short while after the Rathalos debacle, and a glorious, fresh and familiar scent had assailed your senses. Glancing around in confusion, you'd spotted a nosegay of flowers from the Plains tied across the entrance of your tent.

Your eyes widened as you took in the vivid purple hue of the flowers, remembering one particular evening when ...

A step sounded outside the sheltering canvas, and Olivia appeared around the corner, eyes flicking between you and the hanging flowers.

It was still very early, and only a few people were stirring around camp. She was out of her armour for a change, in a soft, fleece coat, belted at the waist against the cold of the ruins.

You gestured to the flowers.

"Is this ... "

The corner of her mouth quirked upward.

"Yes. Figured you could use some fresh scent after fighting that tempered Congalala yesterday."

You wrinkled your nose.

"Well, you chose right. I love the scent of these."

She was close now, her eyes drinking you in, in that manner that made your knees feel like they'd been stung by a paralytic wasp.

"I know. Do you remember that day?"

"I do."

Your voice had sunk lower, a barely audible whisper as you recalled that evening, when you'd captured a Quematrice on the Plains for Erik's study. Olivia had accompanied you, as she'd felt it her duty to oversee the mission that would benefit her unit.

You hadn't been particularly close to her, back then. She'd always drawn your attention, but she was still a colleague, a rather intimidating one too. Olivia's competence and command was unquestionable, and although she was cordial and always polite, there was an air about her that didn't exactly invite friendship.

That evening on the Plains had changed your perspective of her, for good.

The Quematrice has burned a swathe through some dry grass, and for fear of the blaze catching over the wider area, you and your trusty palico had commissioned some wingdrakes to carry large buckets of water to pour over the area from above.

By the time the exercise was over, you'd been sore of body, exhausted, covered in soot, breath raspy from inhaled smoke. Olivia rode beside you back to camp, amusement colouring her expression as you'd slumped over in the saddle and grimaced at the smell of burnt vegetation that had seemed to ingrain itself in your nostrils.

She'd spied something off the trail and made a sudden detour, returning with a small cluster of purple flowers in her hand, picking away their stems and tying them around the bunch to hold them together. She'd taken off her gauntlets to work with the delicate blooms.

"Here, these should help with the smell."

Taken aback by her act of kindness, you'd accepted the flowers and held them up to your nose, inhaling deeply and sighing. The scent was fresh, a little less sweet than you'd expected, carrying almost citrusy undertones that banished the smell of burning.

"Well now. I think this might just be my new favourite blossom."

She'd nodded, offering a small smile.

"They're similar to the Styraca flowers back in Dundorma. During festival time, they'd deck the houses with them to clear out the vapours of the last season."

Clearing her throat, she'd looked off into the distance, pausing before reciting to you.

"The crown of warmer tides awaits, their jewels scattered among the fields. Weave them into your hair, my queen, and your heart shall surely yield."

You'd almost dropped the flowers in surprise, leaning towards her, intrigued.

"I didn't put you down for a poet, Olivia!"

She'd snorted and glanced away, and you realised that she was actually slightly embarrassed.

"Oh, I'm no poet. Just have an appreciation for other's verse, I suppose. That's one that's pretty popular around festival time."

While her attention was turned away from you, you hurriedly fixed the flowers beneath your helmet so that they looked like they were sprouting over your ear. You spread your arms regally as she turned back, noting the slight widening of her eyes.

"How's this for a crown?"

" ... um. Suits you."

"Think I'll win anyone's heart this way?"

"Maybe the Quematrice."

"Olivia! What kind of person do you take me for?"

Your combined laughter echoed across the Plains, and it marked the first time in your association with her that you could relax and enjoy each other's company without the constraints of duty and mission parameters.

You remembered it now, standing before your tent in the chill morning with her, as a defining moment. That had been when you'd seen past Olivia the Ace Hunter, past the trappings of her professionalism to the sensitive heart beneath, the woman who loved to read poetry in a sunny field, the sweat of training still on her skin, the wind tousling the wheat-hued strands of her hair.

Reaching up, you plucked a bloom from the small bunch, tucking it lightly behind her ear. In the softer light of the lantern, with the pale fleece of her coat wrapping her snugly and her eyes gleaming with sage-green fire, you'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

Tilting your head, you traced the line of her chin, watching as she leaned unconsciously into your touch.

"What do you think now?" Your tone was soft, teasing. "Has your heart yielded yet?"

Her hand came up, circling your wrist, the callouses on her palms catching slightly on your skin. When she'd held you, back then in the tent after the Ajarakan fight, when she'd caressed you and bit and licked and gripped, she'd never shown any sign of hesitation, as if claiming what was rightfully hers.

So why was it this simple touch, this grip on your arm, that felt so shaky, so uncertain, like a child that grasps on too tight when you're in a crowded space, as if you'd leave them behind to face the unknown world alone?

She turned your hand over, placing her lips softly against the skin on the underside of your wrist, then again, on the centre of your palm. Something about the gesture blew the air right out of your lungs, as if she'd knelt before you and presented you her throat.

She never did answer your question.

She didn't need to.

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