“Do you trust me?”
a/n: I made a post about this concept and it seemed well received so I decided to write it. That being said, this is entirely self-service so please check all the tags.
warnings: language, fear, gun violence (reader has a gun) , references to assault/non-con, minor dub-con elements, angst, eventual smut (praise, switch!ryland and switch!reader, dacryphilia, brat!reader x soft dom!ryland, hunting/chasing, icyify, oral (f!recieving), piv, breeding kink, domestic kink, feeding kink, med play, pet names, pet play if you squint) DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT
mdni
other tags: fluff, domestic bonding, friends to strangers to lovers, memory recovery, and reader’s trust issues.
THIS IS A SLOW BURN
The whole thing was hazy and disorienting. Waking up, having some kind of machine pocking and prodding at you. In all honestly, you don’t even remember most of it, dazed and confused.
You knew one thing, though.
There was a man on this ship. Tall and muscular, with a face you didn’t recognize. He was moving towards you near minutes after you had woken up, and it was fucking terrifying.
You had tried to form the words ‘who are you?’ but your mouth was numb and your throat was sore.
“Hey,” he said softly, holding out his hand. “You’re okay. You’re on the Hail Mary. My name is Ryland Grace.”
Nevertheless, your heart pounded in your head, your body cold and shaking with adrenaline.
“Wharuh…” damn it, why was it so hard to form words. “ev’rywuh elthe?”
His expression changed, looking almost remorseful.
“It’s… just us. No one else survived the trip here.”
Oh, fuck no. Your body moved on instinct, arms pulling you forward as you stumbled out into the nearest hallway opposite to him.
“Hey, wait! Where are you—?”
Your body just kept moving. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as you darted into one of the rooms and slid the door shut, fumbling with the lock.
You looked around the room, hands moving before your mind could, pushing a heavy, metal trunk in front of it. You moved the table, too, best you could.
You may be half dead but you weren’t stupid. There was no fucking way you were letting that man follow you in here.
You heard him try to open the door, and dread filled your body. You stayed quiet, looking around for a weapon, just in case God had truly forsaken you and he found a way in.
Come to think of it, you weren’t even really sure you believed in a god. Did you? What were you?
Who were you?
Oh god… You didn’t remember anything.
“You in there?” He knew the answer. “Please come out. I’m not gonna hurt you…”
Bullshit.
“I know you’re confused. I didn’t remember anything when I woke up, either.”
He pauses, his voice coming out more stressed the second time.
“Look, just please open the door. I… I haven’t seen another human since I woke up, and it’s just been so long and—” his voice breaks.
Yeah, that’s definitely not happening.
“Oh god, I just realized how bad that sounds. You must be so scared. I mean, you’re a woman… alone with a man you don’t know.”
You hear him blow air out of his mouth, his footsteps indicating pacing.
“I don’t know how to make you believe me, but I’m not gonna hurt you.”
You stay silent. You want to believe him. but your nervous system keeps screaming at you that that’s what they all say.
“Who am I?” you manage, your throat raspy.
There’s another pause.
“I don’t know,” he admits, “but if you come out here, we can figure it out together.”
Or you could be attacked. You didn’t know this guy. He was just some random man, alone with you in space. Whatever happened on this ship, you had the gut feeling that there would be no consequences back in earth.
“Why are we in space?”
He spends the next hour or so telling you everything he’s managed to remember since he woke up. Everything he’s been able to figure out.
He sounds… smart.
Damn it, you’re 98% sure that’s your type.
“What’d you do with the gun?”
He goes silent.
“What?”
“The gun,” you say, insistently. “where is it?”
“I-I don’t… I didn’t know we had one. I don’t know if we do. I thought—”
“We do.”
The time the quiet stretches longer.
“…Oh,” he says finally. “Well then, I didn’t touch it. I didn’t even know about it, and I certainly don’t remember moving it.”
Your jaw tightens. A memory comes flooding back vaguely. A drawer, a lock, a table.
It’s in the med bay.
You feel your stomach twist. He could be lying.
It could all be a trap to get you to come out. To lower your guard. He could kill you… he could do much worse.
“You’re probably not hungry, yet, but you might be thirsty. There’s, um… water. Should be a bit left in my water bottle in there. The rest is out here.”
Your eyes flicker over to find the discarded metal bottle on the ground. I move carefully to pick it up and unscrew the lid, examining the inside.
“It’s not much. When you get hungry or need more, I’ll give it to you. I can, uh, leave it at the door, if that’d make you feel safer.”
He’s lying, you tell yourself. It’s an act.
“I’m really not gonna hurt you,” he said softer. “You’re the other only person I have on this ship.”
Before you know it, you had been in that room for hours. You were starting to get hungry, and it had been silent outside your door for some time.
You carefully drag the barricades away from your door, unlocking it slowly and gently sliding it open. It makes minimal sound and you mutter a thank you to whatever God you apparently seem to believe in.
The hallway is dark, like the ship has switched to night mode, and for a moment you feel less uneasy. That is, until you reach for the food and are startled by the Grace’s slumped body against the wall. You panic for a moment before realizing his chest was still rising and falling slowly and shallowly. Asleep.
He almost looks peaceful, but you won’t let his mind games fool you. You take the food and water and shut the door again, locking him out again.
You eat, and not much later you feel exhaustion hitting you from the stress of the day. Despite your best efforts, your body is cold and sore, and you fade into sleep, too.
When you wake the next morning, the ground is cold and hard under you. You’re curled up on the floor, eyelids still heavy. You feel like a dog.
You tense slightly as you realize where you are. That it wasn’t a dream. That you’re really trapped.
Outside, you hear sniffles, quiet sobs like someone is trying not to be heard.
Grace.
He’s muttering to himself, voice a broken whisper.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I’m so stupid… I should have never— god, what’s wrong with me?”
You can’t tell if he’s talking to you or not one in particular. You realize he hasn’t heard anything from you in what was likely hours.
“I’m… cold,” you mutter from your side of the door, your voice still raspy.
You hear an immediate shift, like he perked up at your words.
“Oh my god, you’re alive! I-I mean, I had assumed you would be, I just…”
“I’m fine,” you cut him off. “But it’s freezing.”
“I can bring you blankets. I think there’s some in the…” he trails off. “I’ll just grab them.”
You hear his footsteps walking away, waiting a few moments before unlocking the door and sliding it open silently. You check both directions for anyone, creeping out carefully.
You mind every sound, your heart racing as you sneak down the hall. You move quickly. You don’t remember where you’re going, but your body does.
Before you know it, you’re in the med bay. It’s colder in here than it was in your previous room. You don’t take the time to lock the door behind you, your hands trembling as you pull open the drawer in the medical table.
It slides open with ease, and you pull out the case. There’s a number code. Goddamnit.
You turn quickly to try and shut and lock the door behind you, but Grace gets to it at the same time you do, dread filling your body as he holds it open.
“Will you just listen? Please,” he’s panting slightly, like he got back to the other room and panicked when he realized I was gone.
I keep trying to shut the door, but he’s stronger than me. I do the only other thing my body can think of and bash his fingers with the case in my hands. He yelps and pulls back, and I close the door, locking it quickly as my hands tremble.
“Fudge!” he grunts, hit haw tight.
Does he… not know he can say fuck?
“Leave me alone,” you say harshly, backing away from the door to the med table, the case still clutched close to him.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice ragged. “I just wanna talk.”
“What’s the code?” you demand.
“What?”
“The code on the gun case. What is it?”
“You have the gun?” he sounds scared and shocked. “Oh my god, I-I don’t know. I swear, I didn’t even know there was a gun on ship.”
You’re silent, staring down at the numbers.
“I have no idea what the code would be, but there’s really no need for that, I swear. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”
Your brain feels foggy as a memory starts to flicker in your mind.
A woman. She’s wearing white, blonde hair up in a tight bun. She’s older than you are, taller, and almost certainly in charge of you.
“I’ve made the code your birthdays,” she says casually, hiding an amused smile.
“Yours and Ryland’s. It was his idea, of course. A way to ensure…” but her voice trails off, the memory fading. Fuck.
“What’s your birthday?” You say quickly.
“What?”
“Your birthday. Tell me.”
“I-I, uh—” he sounds panicked. “A-April 23rd.”
You put in the two numbers, then stop. You don’t know your own fucking birthday.
So you decide to do it the old fashioned way: brute force.
You try several digits, the combination could only be so many things, right? His birthday, then whatever yours was. Or possibly yours, followed by his.
Goddamnit.
“What’s mine?”
“Huh? How am I supposed to—”
You know he’s right, but your fight or flight won’t let you calm down until that gun’s in your hand.
“Just tell me the fucking code!”
“October 13th!” he blurts, like the it came to him out of thin air. “Your birthday’s October 13th. Your name is {y/n}, and you’re a medical aid.”
You don’t know how he knew that, and quite frankly, neither does he, but you put 1323 in as the code and the lock clicks open.
You swallow hard, considering your options for a moment. Slowly, you pull out the gun and put a few bullets in. You hold the weapon against your palm, your fingers already twitching, but held far from the trigger.
“{y/n}…?”
The name still sounded unfamiliar, but it made sense in your head.
“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” you start slowly. “You’re gonna stay exactly where you are, and I’m gonna unlock the door.”
“Okay,” he gulped.
“When I say so, you can slowly open the door.”
He doesn’t respond.
Where would there be to say?
“If you f-fucking jump at me or try to attack me, I’ll shoot your brains out.”
“I’m not going to attack you, {y/n}.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Okay, okay… I’m sorry.”
He sounded so pitiful, now. You remember how you smashed his fingers with the gun case, and start to feel guilty.
Stop that, you tell yourself. This is what he wants. He wants you to feel bad. He wants you to let your guard down.
You unlock the door and quickly move away, positioning yourself behind the med table.
“You can open the door now,” you say tensely.
Slowly, so slowly, the door opens and you meet his eyes. Your hand is tight on the gun. His fingers are swollen and seem essentially useless with the way they look.
Despite your better judgment, your empathy does get the better of you.
“I’m… sorry,” you mumble, “about your hand.”
His shoulders relax just slightly and he shakes his head.
“It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have jumped at you like that. Should’ve… given you your space.”