Could you write a Story with Martin Riggs ( Clayne Crawford) x fem Reader?
How they meet each other and Riggs is totally fallen in Love with her. He is a completly other Person than in his Job. Maybe they have also their First Kiss,but thats your choice.
Nice Wishes.
🍄 Pairing: Martin Riggs x Reader
🍄 Genre: Fluff
🍄 Summary: A late night caller means you miss out on your dinner, but a bullet wounded Texan and an injured puppy are definitely worth the missed pizza.
🍄 Word Count: 1551
🍄 Abbreviations: N/A
🍄 Warnings: Mentions of bullet graze and malnourished puppy
🍄 Note: Thanks for the request @tkappi, I really enjoyed writing this. Hoping to add some more to this and maybe create a series at some point. Hope you enjoy!
8:15. Clock out time.
It felt like the longest day. Multiple couples coming in looking for puppies, very few actually going through with the adoption process. A few of them actually realizing how much work a dog was going to be when you revealed the expenses and asked about their living arrangements. You had just finished locking up the cash register and collecting your things from the locker in the back room. You checked the lights one more time, muttering a quiet goodbye to the dogs as you moved to the front of the shop to head home for the night.
BANG BANG BANG
Your heart thudded in your chest as you peered out the front window, noticing in the faint light a man standing on the other side of the door, scruffy hair and sunglasses covering his eyes. You paused for a second before moving to the door, dropping your things onto the desk and unlocking the door. “We’re closed.” you called through the door. The man’s head popped up.
“Sorry Ma’am, Martin Riggs, LAPD. It alright if I come inside?” Seeing the shiny badge attached to his belt, you let out a breath and unlocked the door allowing the detective to slip inside into the warmth.
“What can I do for you, detective?” Your eyes scanned over the man, his cowboy boots scuffing against the concrete flooring of the reception area. His arms were wrapped around something, curled in a blanket. A fluffy pair of ears rested against his arm, sad-looking eyes stared up at you.
“We err just finished a case,” Riggs explained. “Found this guy on the call. Was locked up in some cage. Figured you might be able to help?” You looked closely at the man, his Texan drawl thick but easy to understand. You reached over and placed your hand on the dog’s head, stroking gently, a soft whimpering coming from it.
“Poor baby,” you muttered. You gestured for Riggs to bring the dog over to the back room and flicked on the light. The dog whimpered as Riggs placed him down, it was then you noticed the red smudges on Riggs’ hands and neck.
“You okay?” you asked, eyes secretly looking for any injuries. Riggs nodded but didn’t answer.
“Look, is he gonna be okay?” You examined the dog. Nothing broken, malnourished and a little cold.
“Was he kept outside?” Riggs nodded. “He needs a good feed and some warming up, but he should be alright.” You reached into one of the cabinets and pulled out a blanket with a wire attached. “This should do it.” You plugged it in and laid it across the dog who seemed to settle into the comfort that the heated blanket was giving him. “I’ll start him on a diet in the morning. I’ll slowly feed him until his stomach can tolerate a full meal.” The dog’s eyes closed as his chest rose and fell calmly. “Now you, sit down,” Riggs looked at you, eyebrows furrowed, arms crossed over his chest.
“What? No, I’m fine. This is nothing-”
“Sit your cowboy ass down and stop bleeding on my floor,” You replied sternly pointing to the chair in the corner of the room. He glanced down at the drips of blood that had fallen from his arm and pooled on the floor. Riggs paused for a moment and his mouth began to open. You could tell that he was thinking of arguing with you some more, but the stern glare you sent in his direction stopped the words from spilling out. “Now, where’s the blood coming from?” His mouth opened, eyebrows pushed up towards his forehead. “And don’t you dare tell me you’re fine, stubbornness gets you killed in your line of work.” He closed his mouth and sighed.
“Yes ma’am.” he muttered. “It’s just a scratch, no biggie,” You crossed your arms and waited for him to answer properly. With a sigh, he reluctantly pulled the side of his shirt down to show a graze on his shoulder.
“That from a bullet?” you asked, collecting supplies from the cupboards.
“Yeah, guy jumped out from the kitchen when we got inside,” Riggs explained. “Doesn’t even hurt-” He hissed as you pressed a gauze to his shoulder, a clear liquid soaked into the material and now soaking into his shoulder. “Damn it!” You rose an eyebrow.
“Doesn’t hurt, huh?” He pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead and glared gently at you with whiskey coloured eyes. “Seems superficial. I’ll wrap it up for you.” You muttered. “For someone who was shot at, you seem awfully chilled out.”
“Well, ma’am, I have to say, you seem pretty chilled out for someone dealing with a bullet wound in the back of an animal shelter like some backwater doctor’s surgery.”
“I grew up babysitting the neighbourhood kids, I learned a thing or two.” You grinned and wiped away the stream of blood that had covered his shoulder. You grabbed the antibacterial wipes and wiped the area once more before removing the backing off of a large bandaid. “There you go, detective. All wrapped up and good to go.” You pulled the gloves off your hand and dropped them into the waste bin. “Try not to go running into any more gunfire, okay?” You smiled and his lips pulled up at the side as he nodded.
“Yes ma’am. You’ve got my word.” You stepped around the table back to where the dog was laying, his head still resting and his body warming up under the blanket. You checked his temperature again and grinned.
“Looks like our friend here is doing just fine,” You stroked his head softly. “He needs a name, though. Don’t you think, detective?”
“How about Rocky?” Riggs suggested, coming to stand on the opposite side of the table. You smiled. “I got a thing for old movies.”
“I guess he does look like he’s gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson,” You giggled. “Rocky it is.”
Carefully lifting Rocky, you led Riggs into the back of the kennels. Most of the dogs had settled in their beds now, but you could see a few heads raised at your entrance. They were probably confused that you were still here.
“Just in here,” you instructed. Thankfully you had a couple of empty kennels right in the back. Rocky laid down comfortably on the bed in the corner, watching you as you placed down a bowl and filled it with water from the tap. “Sweet dreams Rocky. I’ll be back in the morning.” You closed the door behind you and walked back out to the front with Riggs, grabbing your things as you moved through the front of the shelter. “Thank you for your help detective,” You smiled. “I’m used to carrying dogs around but it’s nice to have some help now and again.” You stopped to turn off the lights again. “How’s that shoulder feeling?” The concern seeped into your voice.
“Good as new, doc.” He grinned. “All thanks to your delicate handiwork. Does this make me one of your official patients now?” he asked.
“The first human one,” You smirked. “Although I guess you do have that cute mutt thing going on for you.”
“Mutt? You think I look like a mutt?” he asked feigning hurt and pressing his hand to his heart.
“A cute mutt,” You giggled. “Guess that charm comes from all you Texans.” Riggs raised a hand to push his hair from his face, only for it to fall back against his cheek.
“You mind if I walk you to your car?” he asked, looking out the front of the shelter. The darkened orange sky had now disappeared into blackness. The stars littering across the sky providing minimal illumination. The closest street lamp was down the road on the corner. “Saying that, I didn’t remember seeing a car out there.”
“Oh no, I walk,” you explained. “I usually stop by the pizza joint on my way home from work. But tonight,” You glanced at the watch on your wrist. “I won’t be since the place closes at eight forty-five and it’s now nine-ten.”
“You walk? How far do you live from here?”
“Just a couple of blocks,” you replied, pretending not to see the concerned look on Riggs’ face. You’d been walking home for years since you’d started working at the animal shelter. Nothing had ever happened, nothing to scare you into driving. Most of the businesses close by, knew your schedule and often looked out when you passed by whilst they were closing up. You felt safe on this side of town. “It’s really okay, detective. It’s not that far.”
“At least let me give you a ride,” he replied. “As an apology for keeping you so late,” You paused. “Straight home. Scouts honor,” You giggled. “I’ll even drop you down the road if you don’t wanna give me your address. Which I understand, being a cop and all.”
“Alright detective,” You nodded, stepping outside and locking the door behind you. “Answer me one question and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“I’m an open book.” He grinned.
“Were you even allowed in the scouts?” His chuckle echoed around the quiet parking lot, shaking his head as he walked with you to his truck.
its almost embarrassing to admit that the most cathartic writing experience of my life so far has been Leviathan the Dog. It was just supposed to be a dumb Housepets/Homestuck crossover, but as time went on i got less and less confident in my ideas and ended up scrapping the Homestuck elements entirely, dooming it to being a shell of its former self. Then Riggs died and i poured all of my grief into it, this stupid fucking Housepets fanfic, because all of the sudden i went from writing about fictional character Becquerel Harley to writing about the experience of being forced to put down my dog and the grief in that one month that felt like it would last my entire life. Its very surreal to look back on, and because its so weird and dense (and written for the most obscure fandom ever) i cant really call it a good fic but like. i sure as hell did write that
