Archive of Our Own ^beta

Anya sighs. She hasn’t been getting the best sleep ever since the crash—well, truthfully, she’s barely slept at all. This whole ordeal has been miserable, with her time dedicated to panicking over the Tulpar manual or taking care of Curly. When she has time to herself, she feels terrified and on edge; the only time that she ever feels at peace is when she’s with you.

“I miss home,” she says one night; the two of you got creative several months into the crash and made a makeshift mouthwash box fort, located deep within the cargo hold. The bottle-filled cardboard boxes make for decent insulation, as it turns out. You were kind enough to drag a couple of medical beds all the way into the cobbled-together fortress.

It isn’t exactly a five-star hotel, but so far, Jimmy hasn’t discovered the little haven. In fact, the self-proclaimed Captain even told Anya directly that he was too afraid to go into the cargo hold due to a supposed horse that stalked him every time he approached the massive room. Anya has no idea what the hell he could possibly mean with that, other than the implications of his words leading her to believe his mental state must be on the decline.

If he doesn’t like it down here, though, then that’s a good thing. Having you down here with her, for safety and companionship alike, is also a good thing. There are so few places that Jimmy won’t go, and Anya counts her blessings that she has a little haven away from her abuser.

You’ve always slept with an eye mask. You claimed, early on, before the ship crashed, that it helped ground you when you went to bed at night. In the deep darkness of the cargo hold, one wouldn’t need to block out the light. Even so, Anya finds herself curious.

“Sometimes, when I close my eyes… I like to imagine that I’m back at home, safe, in my own bed,” Anya mutters, her voice soft and low as she gazes upon you. “Do you ever do that, Y/N…?”

“Sometimes,” you reply. “It can be nice to pretend I’m not stranded in space, every now and then.”

“Right? It’s… nice,” Anya answers; the more she thinks about it, she begins to slowly frown, adding, “but then I open my eyes and I remember where I am, and the fantasy just dies so fast…”

Your brows furrow. “I’m sorry, Anya… I know it must be terrible, especially for you, when you’re…”

Pregnant. You don’t say it outright, but the implication hangs heavy in the air. Harboring a parasite. Anya never wanted to be this way, to have been violated so deeply by that horrible man. She feels a sense of nausea well up within her at the thought of it, her heart rate picking up. If she doesn’t stop ruminating, she’s going to be sick. She’s been sick a lot these days, and she doesn’t want it to happen again now.

“I want you to blindfold me,” Anya abruptly tells you, her words as sober as her expression is. She sits up, staring you down. “I— I don’t want to see this place right now.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh! Uh… okay!” You shuffle through your belongings, pulling out the eye mask. “It’s a good thing this survived the crash… I haven’t been able to wash it, though, so you might get a face full of my oils…”

“I don’t care,” Anya answers with a shake of her head, her hands trembling. Your bodily secretions are the least of her concern, given everything the two of you have done together. “I just— Do you think we can make a game out of it?”

“In what way?” Your face heats up. “Like… a playing pretend thing, or something kinky, or…?”

“I don’t know. Anything. Either. Both? It– It doesn’t matter,” Anya stammers out. “I just want to go to a world where I’m not constantly… A world where I’m not always afraid, no?”

You nod in understanding, your brows furrowed. “Of course. Absolutely. Um… Do you want to lie back, and I’ll put this on you?”

“Please,” Anya all but begs, lying back on her flat medical cot, the pillow beneath her unsupportive at best. She keeps her head lifted from it to give you momentary access to her. “Thank you. I– I’m sorry if this is a… a weird request.”

“No, no. It’s okay,” you gently reassure, approaching with your eye mask. “I’ll blindfold you, if it helps.”

Anya shivers as you wrap the soft fabric material around her eyes. It’s held firm by a strap around her head, her view of the world instantly shut out. She rests her head back on the pillow; even when she opens her eyes, everything is dark. She’s just where she wants to be.

“Okay,” you say. “Does that feel comfortable?”

“It’s perfect. Thank you,” Anya replies, taking a deep and shuddering breath.

You continue with, “You said you like to imagine yourself in your own bed at home. Let’s say we’re in your room… What’s it like there?”

“Cozy,” Anya says. In the darkness, she has an easier time envisioning her home as it was when she left it—the details all seem to stand out, one by one, as a picture builds in her mind. “My bed is soft, queen-sized. It’s old. I’ve had it since I was a teenager, so there’s a bit of a dip in the middle where I like to sleep…”

“So, if I got into bed, we’d just roll right into each other?” you ask.

Anya manages a smile. “Maybe just a little… but I like being close to you. So, it doesn’t hurt.” A pause, and she adds, “Why don’t you come lie with me now? That way, it’ll be more immersive.”

She scoots over to one side of the medical cot, leaving room for you on the other end. You slide next to her, lying on what seems to be your side. Anya feels warm and full of love when you drape your arm over her.

“Tell me more about your room.”

Anya takes a deep breath, imagining the surroundings of a room she might never get to see again. If she thinks too hard about that, she might make herself cry, but she’s determined to keep going.

“So… I have a lot of plushies on my bed.”

She feels you chuckle against her, your breath warm. “Yeah? Like the Glaceon you had in your room on the ship? Um, Katya?”

Knowing that you remembered her plush makes Anya smile a little. “Yeah! Like Katya… well, not exactly like her. They’re not all Pokémon. Some of them are just, ah, regular animals like my stuffed fox, or my teddy bear.”

“It’s so cute that you have plushes,” you tell her, rubbing your hand along her midsection. Anya shivers, pretending there isn’t a bump beneath your hand—that, in her room, she’s just safe and happy with you.

“You don’t think it’s… weird? That a grown woman who’s almost thirty has stuffed animals?” Anya’s voice comes out smaller than expected. She’d gauge your expression right about now, but the point is that she can’t see.

Fortunately, you answer almost right away in a reassuring tone. “You’re adorable, Anya. It’s not weird at all. If anything, I think it’s pretty common to have them.”

Anya smiles slightly, relaxing a bit against the stiff cot. “I also have a lot of medical posters and motivational posters—like, ones with positive affirmations… kind of like the ones I put up in my office.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. M– Maybe that sounds silly, but I like waking up in the morning to positivity and encouragement…”

“I think it’s awesome and so uniquely you,” is your answer, your lips suddenly on Anya’s cheek. She leans into your kiss, sighing softly. “What else is your room? What color are your walls?”

“Like a really pale sky blue kind of color,” Anya answers. “I have a lot of bookshelves with books, mostly for studying, but some are fictional, and some, ah… I think they’re called fairy lights? You know, Christmas lights, or icicles, or whatever.”

“It reminds me of how your sleeping quarters used to look, but better. You really make every place you live in feel like home, don’t you, Anya?”

Her cheeks heat up. “I try to,” she confirms with a slow nod. “I just, um… I like being comfortable. Especially when I leave home, since I know I won’t be going back for a long time.” Or ever.

Anya sighs, the instinct to open her eyes leaving her still in the dark. Something feels so grounding about not being able to see where she is.

“Hey, Y/N. What would you do if I told you my mom wasn’t home?”

There’s a short pause. “You live with your mom?”

Has she never disclosed that to you? Anya pauses, brows furrowed—not that you could see much of her expression behind the blindfold. “I mean, yeah. I don’t have any savings. It’s not like I could afford a place of my own, at this point… Is that okay?”

“It’s definitely okay,” you quickly clarify. “I mean, please, go on. Tell me what’s going to happen when your mom isn’t home.”

Anya scrunches up her nose. “I mean, I know we’re adults, but we could… fool around, couldn’t we? The two of us, alone in my room, nobody else around… Oh, right. I have house plants there, too. That— That isn’t part of the fantasy. I just want to build a better picture of what my bedroom looks like.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” you say. “What kind?”

“Some peace lilies, petunias, and a poinsettia.”

You chuckle softly. “So, we’re in your room, fooling around, and all of your stuff is there—it’s cozy. It’s safe. It’s home. What are we going to get up to?”

Anya smiles when you continue the fantasy, glad that you’re not too scared off by the mental image of where she lives, or how she lives. Along with that, she’s just happy you’re indulging her in this little game. “What if we’re lying on my bed, and I’ve been studying so hard for the medical school application I’m about to put in… and then, um, I start getting distracted because you’re so beautiful?”

You let out another little giggle. “I am?”

“Yes, you are! This is obvious,” Anya tells you. “I’ve always found you so beautiful, and, um… now that we’re alone, I keep looking at your lips, and I move a little closer, and I can’t stop staring at your lips, and– and—”

She blindly turns her head, reaching out to feel for your face. Her fingertips gently glide over your features until they find your lips, and she turns her head to kiss you. You easily reciprocate, sighing softly as your lips move in turn with Anya’s. It feels incredible—oh, she can just imagine it all so well.

When the kiss breaks, there’s a lingering grin on Anya’s lips. “Yeah, like that… Was that okay?”

“It was perfect,” you tell her, an unexpected kiss hitting the corner of Anya’s mouth to follow. “You’re so gorgeous, Anya… and you have such tasteful decorating skills. I love the mood lighting.”

Anya bursts out into a fit of giggles, rolling over to face you and pulling you closer. “Ah, you’re such a darling… I— I’m so lucky to have a girlfriend like you.”

“I’d say I’m the lucky one,” you gently reply, brushing a hand through Anya’s hair.

From the genuine way you sound, Anya doesn’t doubt it; your touch is so tender and caring. It feels so nice, she can almost forget that she hasn’t properly bathed in months, that she’s in a crashed space freighter with a gradually depleting air supply.

“What time is your mom getting home?” you ask, playing into her fantasy in a way that makes Anya feel giddy inside. “Do we have time to do more than just kiss, I wonder?”

“I… I don’t think she’ll be getting home from work until this evening,” Anya answers, raising her hand to mimic the checking of a watch that she doesn’t have and can’t see. “It’s only the afternoon.”

“So, we’ve got plenty of time on our hands.”

“Yes, tons!” Anya confirms. “Well, I mean… I think there’s definitely enough time for me to ask you to touch me.”

Your voice takes on a tone of excitement. “Oh, yeah…?”

“Y– Yeah! I mean, if you want to… You could touch me right through my outfit, and… I’d let you. I trust you a lot, you know.”

Your lips meet her cheek, and you sigh shakily against her skin, your hand traveling down her hips, over the Pony Express jumpsuit. “I trust you, too, Anya. You’ve always been so good to me… so kind. I’d do anything you asked me to.”

Anya shudders, your touch giving her goosebumps even through the fabric of her clothes. “I… Really? Anything?”

“Anything,” you confirm. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, whatever feels right and… safe.”

Anya blindly feels for your hand, taking a hold of it and bringing it up to her lips. She presses kisses to your knuckles, then to the back of your hand, then to your wrist. All the while, she hears your own breathing hitch and wonders if your pulse is racing in the same way her own is.

“I love you,” Anya whispers, guiding your hand between her legs; she carefully and shakily parts her thighs. “I know you probably can’t feel it through the clothes, but… I’m so wet for you. I’d just love it if you touched me.”

She lets go of your hand, and you keep it in place, adjusting your position to make touching her easier. “I love you, too,” you whisper, beginning to stroke her through the pants of her jumpsuit. “Is… is this all right? How does it feel?”

Anya nods her head. “It’s wonderful,” she says in a hushed, yet husky tone.

The arousal that’s been building between her legs throughout the course of this little imaginary game has left her easy to touch. Your fingers feel wonderful even through the layers, and she begins to shift her hips in turn with your movement.

She wishes she could see your face, but in the back of her mind, she can imagine you so well—can envision a world where you’re both in her room, just messing around, and you’re both clean, and you’re both safe. A world where she isn’t pregnant, where Jimmy never laid hands on her, where she’ll get accepted into medical school for real this time, and you’ll be there to congratulate her. Her loved ones will take her out to dinner, a rare treat in her low-income household, and you’ll celebrate along with them all. It’s perfect; she’ll finally get to be the doctor she wants to be, and she’ll never have to worry about funds or debts. You’ll be there, and when she graduates medical school, she’ll give you both the best damn life she could hope for as a doctor. Doctor Anya. It has a nice sound to it. It’s so very nice—

Anya comes suddenly, soaking her panties and leaving her clothes feeling damper than they probably should be. She groans softly, pulling you in for a kiss as you rub out the remainder of her climax. The blindfold comes in handy; she doesn’t want to open her eyes to see where she really is.

When she finishes, panting and gasping in your arms, she breathily asks, “Can I keep this on for a while…? I don’t want to see anything right now.”

“Of course,” you tell her, kissing her sweetly. “I’ll be right here with you.”

“Thank you. You did so good for me,” Anya whispers.

You giggle softly. “Happy to be of service.”

“We should… um, maybe we should get some fast food for dinner, soon,” Anya suggests. She’s not ready to leave this fantasy world yet. “I could really use something tasty.”

“That sounds great,” you reply. “My treat.”

“You really are the best, Y/N.”