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sabretoothandsin · 4 years ago

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Your Words are Like Knives but I’m Used to the Pain

First of all I want to fucking kill myself cuz I was writing the author’s notes and info about the fic and stuff then tumblr glitched out and now it’ all gone. I’m not even sure if i remember the exact wording of my title. Anyways

I was inspired by this iconic post:

And before you assume anything there is absolutely ZERO physical attraction between the reader and Rocket the reader does NOT want to fuck him. I just thought it would be funny to hear Rocket say that line in an argument because I can totally hear it in his voice in my head, but nothing serious is meant by it.

Pairing: Rocket Raccoon x Reader, one sided

Word Count: 1178 // Warnings: swearing, verbal fighting // Genre: I don’t really know? almost a character study of Rocket but not super in depth. there’s some pain // second person POV, she/her reader pronouns but no physical descriptions

Summary: You and Rocket were fighting, as you always do, but this time Rocket says something that cuts much deeper than he intended, and he ends up learning a lot more about you, and himself.

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You and Rocket were arguing again. You seemed to be doing that a lot lately. For a few weeks now, not a day went by where the two of you didn’t find yourselves in a yelling match. It could be over anything, really. Plans for the next mission. The best way to handle Groot when he acts out. Who ate more than their fair share of those cookies from Skenarf-2 that only the two of you liked. Anything.

It didn’t seem to matter what you were fighting about - that didn’t seem to be what it was about. You were never truly angry with him, but there was something that drove you to always pick fights if he didn’t beat you to it, and raise your voice at him. At some point fighting had just become yours and his thing.

“You know you’re such a fucking alchoholic but you should be addicted to shutting the fuck up!” you called behind you, as you made your way down the ladder into the main area of the ship, Rocket following close behind.

Most of the other inhabitants of the ship were there, but they paid the two of you no mind - they had grown accustomed to your near-constant fights.

Rocket jumped down to the floor, storming after you, his fists clenched.

“You wanna fuck me so bad it makes ya look stupid!” he spat in that harsh, almost violent way you’d never heard from any other creature in the galaxy.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“All ya ever do is fight with me, but when you disagree with anybody else you just walk away. You’re obsessed! What are ya, in love with me or somethin’?” he laughed.

And he kept laughing. And you said nothing.

He stopped.

“What, ya got no smartass comment to say? Come on Y/N,”

But then he saw that all the anger had drained from your face now. You just stood there, looking at him. Your eyes were full of some emotion he couldn’t quite understand.

“Fuck you, Rocket.” you said flatly, before turning and heading back towards your room.

Read the rest on AO3

#rocket raccoon #rocket raccoon x reader #rocket x reader #gotg #guardians of the galaxy #fanfiction

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sabretoothandsin · 5 years ago

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Black is the Color

The reader fell in love with Ahkmenrah after meeting him at one of the ‘living history’ nights at the New York Museum of Natural history. A little while after finding out the truth about him and everyone else in the museum during your courtship, you were able to get a job as the second night guard. Sure you did help Larry out with some of the more unruly exhibits but mostly you just spent time with your love. The two of you have fallen into a comfortable, romantic, bliss. You spend a night teaching him how to paint his nails and just spending time together. The next night Ahk's world changes forever.

(It’s much better written than the description I’m just a bit burnt out as I right this.)

Word count: 1797 // Warnings: death of reader, mention of terrorism, slight talk of death and Ahk’s mummified state // Genre: very fluffy then very angsty // Reader information: she/her pronouns used once or twice but other than that nothing really gendered like a physical description or being called “a girl” or anything

One of those calmer nights, you were sitting on the floor with your hands resting on one of the many benches, painting your nails. Black first, then a shiny red top coat.

Ahkmenrah approached and sat on the floor beside you. "Would you teach me to do that?" he asked with a smile.

"Sure," you said, a bit surprised but eager to show him all the same.

"Here,” You took his hand in yours and inspected it for things like bad hangnails before setting it back down again.

As you held his hand you saw the way he was looking at you out of the corner of your eye. That way that he looked at you nearly every night, but that still made your heart flutter and your face flush. But you really didn’t feel like getting flustered right now.

“You can use this one,” you cleared your throat as you offered him the small bottle of black paint.

“Black?” he questioned.

“It’s very manly,” you mused, “And it would go great with all the gold you wear.”

Your fingers brushed over the beaded fabric that draped over his chest as you said this.

“If you say so, darling.”

You walked him through the whole process. You giggled when he awkwardly shook the little glass bottle as you had shown him, and at the frustration on his face when he spilled polish on the bench. "Oh it's fine," you said, "just don't drip it on that priceless capey thing of yours."

"It’s a tunic," he chuckled. That was probably the thousandth time you’d said that and the thousandth time he’s had to correct you.

When you showed him how to apply the nail polish, he was a little messy at first and hummed at each mistake.

“Ya know,” you began, watching him meticulously slide the brush over his nail, his lips pursed as he concentrated. Perhaps he was a bit too focused.

“Painting one’s dominant hand is actually one of the most difficult tasks a modern person can face."

"Oh really," Ahk half-laughed. “If that’s the case I don’t think the human race will survive to see another generation. That is, unless of course, we intervene.”

You hid your face as you felt it turn red. Sometimes you forgot that he could be… like that.

Your love nudged you with his elbow before he started to stand.

“You’re not going anywhere just yet, pretty boy,” you said, pulling him back down, “you've gotta sit here and let them dry."

"I can't do anything else?"

"Nope.”

"For how long?”

"Too long. Now sit.”

He obliged.

You blew on your nails in demonstration and he timidly mimicked you. He coughed and shook his head when the chemical scent hit his nostrils.

"Ah, yeah you don’t want that." you said, "give me your hand."

His hand rested on yours while you fanned the drying paint with your other hand.

After a bit, you showed him how to test if they were dry. You smiled at the way he cringed at the sticky feeling.

You two just sat there for a while, enjoying each other’s company. You loved every moment you got to spend with him even if all you were doing was watching paint dry.

"Ahk, they look great!"

He beamed at the compliment.

"Thank you for teaching me, darling," he said.

You kissed him on the cheek in response.

"Oh, and you should definitely keep this," you said, handing him back the bottle of black polish.

It was movie night at the museum. The whole time, both yours and Ahk’s attentions were completely on each other, rather than the film. You held his hand in yours beneath the blanket you shared, brushing your thumb over the smoothly painted surfaces of his fingernails. Your hands remained intertwined as you walked back to his exhibit.

"Good night, my darling," he said, kissing your forehead, "you are truly a wonderful teacher."

“Goodnight, Love,” you said.

You brought his hand to your lips and pressed a lingering kiss to the soft skin. Your lips trailed to his wrist and then his palm.

Without even looking up at his face you could practically feel how he was melting. His skin grew warmer beneath your touch. Had there been more time before sunrise, you knew he would have liked to grab you and kiss you hard and probably ravish you on his bed, concealed by the Anubis statues. But eventually, reluctantly, he pulled away and stepped into the sarcophagus, still holding your hand.

"See you when the sun goes down,” you said quietly.

“Until then, I’ll dream of you.”

He placed the little bottle in his encasing and you closed the lid. He had never quite figured out if he was able to dream, but it was a nice thought. He closed his eyes and clutched the glass bottle in his hand, trying not to focus on that familiar pain of the transformation back to a corpse.

Tonight he didn’t feel the decay of his flesh or the air being sucked out of his lungs. All he felt was the ghost of your hands holding his.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The next night, Ahkmenrah was greeted by Larry instead of y/n.

"Oh," he said, surprised. Larry hadn't been the one to help him out of his exhibit in years.

"Hey, Ahkmenrah," Larry said hesitantly, after the man had gotten unwrapped and dressed, "can we sit down? " he motioned to the nearby bench.

"Sure," he said, a bit perplexed, "is y/n sick?"

The man beside him didn’t answer. He just looked down at his hands in silence for a minute. The minute dragged on for ages, to Ahkmenrah. He shifted in his seat, suddenly overcome with a wave of anxiety. His hands fidgeted in his lap, fingertips running over smooth, painted nails.

"Um, so,” Larry finally stuttered, “this afternoon, there was a terrorist attack - wiped out three whole blocks."

The pharaoh felt a pang in his heart at the same time as a weight lifted off his shoulders. The anxiety washed away.

"My friend, I'm so sorry," he said, resting a comforting hand on the other man's shoulder. “I will pray to the gods for all the innocent souls who were lost to your people.”

“Thank you, Ahk.” The night guard's face hinted at a sad smile before it became even more forlorn and... sympathetic.

"But, ya see," he said, the words getting stuck in his throat, "those three blocks included y/n's apartment."

The pharaoh looked confused. His head felt heavy. He furrowed his brow as he tried to comprehend what the other man was saying.

"She was inside," Larry continued, "when the building collapsed. I'm- I’m so sorry."

Pain and grief seared through the Egyptian, but he shook it off.

"It's alright," he said, taking a deep breath, trying to banish the sobs that threatened to breach his lips, "I know how to perform a mummification. I have all the same rights as a high priest. I can preserve her body and she can be restored to life by the tablet. Where's her body?"

The other man didn’t say anything for a moment as he wiped tears from his eyes.

“Where is her body, Larry?” Ahkmenrah demanded, urgency rising in his voice.

"Ahk, there is no body - the whole area is- it’s just dust." His voice trailed off.

"You mean-” Ahkmenrah’s head was swimming. He had just seen her last night. None of this could be real.

And yet the words still escaped his lips. His mind knew what his heart refused to admit.

“She's gone?"

His friend nodded, squeezing Ahkmenrah’s hand which at some point he had started holding without him noticing.

The beginnings of words sputtered out of Ahkmenrah's mouth as his face grew more and more distraught and his heart grew more and more heavy. Finally, a silent sob shook his body and he found himself falling onto his friend. Larry held him and ran his hands up and down his back. The tears flowed freely for hours. That night, the museum halls were filled with hardly any sound besides the anguished cries of an immortal in mourning.

That night Larry and whoever else was within hearing distance would learn that there’s no sound more melancholic than that of one who can not be touched by death, feeling its affects more than anyone else ever could.

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The once-strong pharaoh was never the same. The first night after, he asked Larry to let him remain in his sarcophagus.

"You know I might be too busy to let you out later?" the man asked, concerned.

"I know. Please close the lid." there was no emotion in the king’s voice.

He slept with the little bottle of black nail polish curled up in his hand. The next night, when Theodore did finally convince him to come out, he just sat on the edge of the glass case that covered his sarcophagus, staring at his hands.

He was never truly his old, more energetic self again. And his fingernails were always perfectly painted black.

Larry POV

"Larry! Larry!" a voice shouted, rapidly growing closer to the busy night guard. Running down the hall was... Ahkmenrah? He hadn't seen him run in months, ever since she had passed.

"What's wrong?" He asked. He figured whatever it was must be terribly serious.

"I ran out," Ahkmenrah panted.

"Of-Ran out of what?”

Ahk showed him the little, scratched up, empty bottle.

"I ran out!" he said again, the distress in his voice palpable. He sounded almost on the verge of tears.

Realization dawned on Larry. It must have been hers. In fact, it was probably the only thing Ahkmenrah had left from her.

"Hey, it's okay,” he said, resting a soothing hand on the pharaoh’s shoulder, “I'll pick some up for you in the morning, okay? It’s alright.”

"Okay" Ahkmenrah choked out.

End Larry POV

Ahkmenrah slept from that night on with the old bottle in his palm under his wrappings. Before he knew it, it had been decades since Larry had taken the job. Tonight was the new guard's first night.

A woman with short, blue hair let him out of the coffin. Her gold necklace dangled above him.

"Hello, I'm Kirstin," she said, offering her hand to help him out of his resting place.

Ahk looked at her apathetically. He sat up, took her hand, and inspected it. Her nails were painted a neon blue.

"I need some of this. Black." he said dryly.

He dropped her hand.

"Do you need help with the-"

"No."

When she left, he unwrapped his hands. His fingers brushed the aging glass of the bottle, before he gently placed it down in his sarcophagus.

'Good morning, my love.'

'Good evening, my darling.'

#ahkmenrah #natm #night at the museum #ahkmenrah x reader #x #reader #reader insert #y/n #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #angst #larry daley #pharaoh

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