#duster x reader insert

author's note; duster is my comfort show.

warning(s); none, just fluff and jim ellis.

Shards of glass surrounded you and Jim as bullets intercepted the nearby window. Jim, who had shielded you from the impact, was now slowly getting up, removing his arm from around your waist. Despite the ricochet of bullets, you both took your time sitting up. It was obvious that this wasn't the first time Jim had come to whisk you away.

"My gosh, doll, you look beautiful," he whispered as he brushed away debris and broken glass from his navy blue suit. You had never seen him wear a suit before. You didn't think he even owned one.

Without so much as a warning, you stepped forward and covered his eyes both of your hands, a relaxed smile on your lips. "It's not good for the bride to be seen before the ceremony," you said, despite your disbelief in luck and superstition.

What you and Jim had could never be reduced to simply 'luck'. You two were just simply meant to be.

Surprised, Jim held up his hands in surrender and chuckled. "Well, good thing I'm not the groom...yet." You both laughed as he took you by your wrists, gently peeling your manicured hands from his eyes. He kissed your palms and the back the backs of your hands before shielding from another array of bullets.

You stumbled forward into his chest, your hands resting on the color of his suit jacket. He held you by the waist to keep you steady.

"My daddy's going to kill you, you know that, right?" You whispered as Jim fiddled around for something in his pocket.

"I've been shot by cupid seeing you in this wedding dress," he said, producing a pistol from his pocket with a wink. "So, I'm already a dead man walking."

You couldn't help but laugh. "Since when did you get so poetic?"

Another round of bullets hit the glass window, followed by shouts to open the door. You'd think your father's security would be more cautous about firing bullets within your vicinity. But you knew their long overdue vengeance for Jim Ellis outweighed their concern for your safety.

"You got iron on you?" Jim asked as he shoved you towards the back door. "Here." He pushed a pistol in your hands before you could answer.

You made sure the bullet slid into its chamber before Jim took your hand and tugged you into the back hallway.

You shuffled in front of him, ditching the heels between strides as you and Jim thundered down the hall. With one hand Jim held the train of your dress, the other clutching his gun.

"Where did you park?" You shouted over your shoulder as another round of gunfire followed by rough voices grew closer. You pushed open the exit door, fresh air hitting you both like an opponent in a boxing match.

"Over there," Jim gestured his pistol past your shoulder after a firing a couple of rounds behind you. You followed his glance across the parking lot, past a sea of shimmering shards of glass that littered the concrete, to the red Duster you had grown to love just about as much as Jim did. It was parked away from the cluster of cars, reflecting a red coat of pain from the streetlights, and a shiny new dent.

"Don't ask," Jim said, reading your mind about how he got the dent. "Just hold on tight and cover me."

You didn't time to form any questions as Jim handed you the pistol he was holding. he hoisted you over his shoulder, balling up the train of your wedding dress so he wouldn't trip, and a made a beeline over the broken glass.

With each long stride Jim took you fired both pistols simultaneously as your father's men came into view.

"You know I can't shoot to save my life," you muttered as bullets whizzed by you and Jim's ears.

"Well shoot to save both of our lives and I'll give you a shooting lesson later!" He called out as he neared the vehicle.

Once you were within distance of the car, you ceased fire and hopped into the back as Jim opened the door. You sprawled across the backseat, the door closing just in time for a bullet to ricochet off the paint. You sat up once the car got moving and leaned your head out the window to fire a couple more rounds as Jim slammed on the gas.

You didn't let your guard down until enemy gunfire sounded like distant fireworks.

"You alright?" Jim asked, eyes finding yours in the rearview mirror. You had let the pistols in your hands fall to the floor and you were now leaning against the window, wiping away the sweat from your forehead.

"Better than alright," you replied as Jim eased off the gas and the car began to coast. "Just tired."

"Sleep," he encouraged, a satisfied smile on his lips.

You stifled a yawn, even though you had no plans of going to sleep. You didn't want to miss the duster roaring through the quiet night nor the sound of Jim humming to himself as he drove.

"Where are you taking me this time, Ellis? Hopefully somewhere far away," you said, briefly closing your eyes to relish in the absence of your strict father and overbearing stepmother.

Jim chuckled before he turned on the radio at a low volume. You could hear the smile in his voice as his fingers began to drum on the wheel.

If there was one thing you couldn't stand more than the sight of blood, it was the stench of cold, hard whiskey. However, its presence was necessary as your boyfriend had sustained a nasty graze. You worked diligently—your hands working fast to clean up the blood and disinfect the wound, all while Jim threw back his head once and then twice. The liquid swished down his throat. He let out a hiss that made you wince.

"Sorry," you mumbled as you swiped the disinfectant clean. You grabbed some makeshift gauze—a bath rag you found on the bathroom sink that happened to be folded neatly, ready for temporary use.

"I'm not gonna die, am I?"

"Shut up." You playfully smacked Jim in the chest and he chuckled in response. "I'm not a nurse, Ellis, but I know what I'm doing," you said, tying off the rag firmly with a triple knot. "Just stop running in front of bullets, alright?"

After finishing the knot, you stood to call it quits, but a set of arms pulled you back and you were sitting on the edge of the lumpy mattress again.

"Is that your way of thanking me for saving your life?" Jim said, his hold firm but playful around your waist.

Carefully, you turned around so you were facing him, being mindful of his injured arm. "That's my way of warning you, Jim. There's no sense in us being together if you're trying to get yourself killed. I can handle my own, remember?"

The both of you simultaneously smirked at the memory of your first meeting. Had it not been for Jim's quick thinking and your shooting skills, both of you might've been dead by now.

"How can i forget?" Jim said, surprising you with a quick kiss to your cheek. "But if you're coming to a gunfight, having two guns is always better than one."

You knew he was right. Ever since you stepped foot into this town you'd only been running into trouble on your own. But the moment you ran into the injured man you were currently sharing a motel room with, the burden of being on the run seemed a lot less heavy.

"I hate it when you're right," you mumbled, cleaning up the mess from patching Jim up. Once all the materials had been put away, you sank onto the bed, knees curled to your chest as your eyes were glued on the tv.

Jim groaned as he leaned back against the headboard. His hand found yours and you squeezed it gently.

Perhaps being on the other side of the law wouldn't be as bad as you thought.

Granted, you missed the safety and security of having a steady income. But the politics that came with the job, the advancement, the badge...it all felt like a waste with the blood, sweat, and tears it sucked out of you. Had it not been for Jim, life would've felt a lot more lonely.

"Thank you," you eventually whispered

Jim shifted to look at you, his thumb rubbing against the back of your hand. "For what, doll?"