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turning-dreams-into-chaos · 3 years

Text

The Lie (Part 6)

*Moodboard made by @lenalxvegood*

~The Lie Master~

Word Count: 1.5K

~Master~

A/N: Guys I finally did it! Part 6 baby, lets go! I’m hoping part 7 (the final part) will be out before the month is up, but you guys know I suck at updating and schedules, so I promise it will be up before the end of the year! (That was a joke, pls I promise I’m funny) Also, I’m sorry about tags? I just copied and pasted from last update, I’m probably missing people and that’s- I’m so sorry. Feedback?

Previously...

It was nightfall, the moon rising in the sky and perfectly reflected across the black lake, small ripples in the water giving the moon’s reflection movement. You wanted to reach out and touch it, run your fingers across the surface just to know this was real.

But the fire whiskey burning down your throat told you enough that this was real. Remus and you were broken up. You let your eyes close again, trying to replicate the feeling you had before while standing here with the wind on your face, but you couldn’t. All your emotions just needed to come out and so you did the one thing you’ve wanted to do for a while.

You opened your mouth, taking a deep breath before screaming as loud as you could, letting all your emotions pour out with it.

Hogwarts had a new ghost it seemed. Everywhere you went, eyes followed and whispers grew, but you kept walking. James had gotten out of the hospital the next morning, sporting a dark bruised eye. Remus’ hand was still red and slightly blistered and he had a small cloth bandage barely wrapped around it, but he kept picking at it, every few seconds, every time he zoned out. Sirius, who normally knew how to lift his friend’s spirits and who at the drop of a hat could cause smiles and laughs fell silent. Lily kept her nose in her books, only speaking to a few people a day.

You’ve ruined your friend group.

Sitting through classes were the hardest, you couldn’t walk away from the comments like you could in the hallway. You tried to focus on your work, writing down notes more detailed than you had ever before, all in the hopes of ignoring your classmates.

Meals were hard as well, your friends scattered about the Gryffindor table, barely sparing glances at each other. You sat alone for days, watching people look at you through the corner of your eyes. You couldn’t take it any longer. You stood up quick, keeping your head down and walking swiftly out of the Great Hall. You felt eyes on you, multiple eyes but you didn’t turn back until the doors were slammed behind you and you kept walking as you wiped the tears off your face.

“Running from your problems won’t help.” You slowly stopped walking and sighed. Sirius, who followed you out of the Great Hall put his hand on your shoulder, spinning you around. He frowned when he saw your tears. “I hate seeing you cry.” He mumbled before pulling you in for a hug and you buried your head in his chest as he put his cheek on your head and rubbed your back, keeping you in his hold.

“I’m not running from my problems, Sirius.” Your voice cracked as you pulled away, feeling Sirius’ let go of you a little to look at you. “I am the problem. I messed everything up.”

“So, you did.” Sirius shrugged, only getting you to look away out of shame. “But what happened wasn’t just on you. You’ve got to remember that.”

“Remus and I broke up.”

“I know.” Sirius nodded. “He told me that night.” You should’ve figured Remus would have. Sirius hadn’t done anything wrong. If anything, he’s been helpful in so many ways. You were lost in your thoughts before hearing a few laughs and whispers pass you. You wiped your tears quickly, looking up to see a pair of eying you smugly. You tried to ignore them, but it wasn’t working. “Come on,” Sirius whispered as he pulled you out of your thoughts, “let's go somewhere else.”

It was then you realized you were just standing vulnerable in the middle of the hallway. You nodded and Sirius threw an arm over your shoulder and let you away as you sniffled. “I’m sorry.” You mumbled to him but he shook his head. “I always drag you into my shit.”

Sirius paused before nodding. “Yeah, you really do.” He joked, hoping to drag a smile on your face, which was successful when you saw the look on his face. “But I’m serious Y/N, I’m always here for you.”

“I know.” You leaned onto his shoulder as you walked away with him.

You hated relying on Sirius so much lately, but you appreciated it. It almost seemed normal again. Almost.

You walked into divination later that day with a half-smile on your face, your afternoon with Sirius cheering you up. You weren’t paying attention to the whispered that spurred about until you were seated and pulling out your notes.

“Come on, you’ve seen her the past couple of days,” a girl a few rows behind you, the same girl who happened to see you earlier with Sirius, had whispered rather loudly to her friends. You slowed your movements, listening in on their conversation. “She’s looked like a bloody nightmare and one afternoon with Black and suddenly she’s better? Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was shagging him too!” A chorus of laughs went around her group as your stomach fell.

They thought you were sleeping with Sirius.

“Oh, shut it, Kelly.” Your head perked up as Lily spoke up for you, telling the girl off. “You’re just upset that Sirius didn’t take you up on your offer after the Quidditch match. You know the one I’m talking about, don’t you? Where he said he wouldn’t sleep with someone as boring as you.” The girl fell silent, shooting Lily a death glare but Lily just shot her a fake smile.

You caught Lily’s eye and her smile faltered. “Thank you.” you mouthed. Lily nodded back at you with a thin smile. A thin smile, but still a smile.

The rumor of Sirius and you spread like wildfire, although just as quick as it spread, it was over. You had to leave it to Hogwarts, it was a big school, but rumors seem to be a high form of entertainment for everyone. Ignoring them had gotten easier, Lily came around soon as well, being one of the people to shoot down all the rumors that were told. She knew your friendship was damaged, but your friendship went deep. You hoped it was salvageable.

You had just left your class, waiting until you were the last one out in hopes of avoiding as many people as you could when you heard his voice for the first time in weeks. “Y/N?” Your name was all he said as you stopped walking immediately, feeling the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You turned around, seeing Remus’ frowning face. “Do you have a moment?”

Your mouth opened and closed repeatedly before you nodded, your words failing you. He started walking and you stood in a daze before your mind snapped and you walked after him quickly, staying back enough as he led you to the astronomy tower.

Both of you fell silent, Remus’ thoughts suddenly leaving him as he looked at you, wanting to brush the hair that fell in front of your face out of the way but he held himself back, much aware of the ache striking his heart. “You wanted to talk?” Your voice was soft, much different than it was the night he ended things with you.

He nodded slowly as he cleared his throat, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I did. I did.” He licked his lips, glancing to the floor as you stood there awkwardly, calming your racing heart. “I heard the rumor.” He said and you quirked a brow.

“Which one?” you mustered a laugh, crossing your arms.

Remus’ looked confused. “There’s more than one?”

You nodded, moving towards the ledge of the tower as you leaned over. “There’s at least 7,” you told him before looking back, “that I’m aware of.”

“Oh.” He mumbled, joining you on the ledge yet leaving plenty of room between you both. “I didn’t know.” He watched you laugh sadly as you looked out at the grounds. “I was talking about the one about you and… Sirius.” His throat closed as he said his best friend’s name.

“I suppose for a fraction of a second that you believed it, didn’t you?” When Remus said silent, you had your answer. “I’m not even going to take offense to that. If I was your position, I probably would’ve believed it too.”

“Y/N-“ you cut him off just by simply looking at him, looking in his eyes for the first time in forever. Your heart skipped. Remus’ did too.

He was leaning in faster than you thought possible and your lips collided. You let yourself melt against him, losing all sense of hesitation when his hands cupped your cheeks before one drew across your back, pulling you closer. Your noses bumped together repeatedly as you breathed in his scent, dragging your teeth against his bottom lip. He moaned and pulled away, keeping your foreheads touching as your breaths met, breathing heavily. You separated fully, running a hand through your hair as Remus ran his down his face, shaking away the forever lingering effect of the kiss.

You were the one to speak first, taking a deep shaky breath that caught his attention. “You know, when I followed you up here, I did not expect that.” Your words were followed by an awkward laugh, unsure of how to address this.

“Neither did I.” Remus muttered, looking at you one last time. He didn’t know what came over him, but the need to kiss you outweighed the voices screaming not to. A frown made way onto his face as he started backing away from you. “I- I have to go.” He said quickly before he was gone, leaving you alone in the tower once again as his footsteps faded from your ears.

ALL TAGS ARE CLOSED!

Sorry If I forgot someone! I deleted tags off taglists that weren’t working!

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#Remus Lupin x Reader #James Potter x Reader #Remus Lupin imagine #James Potter imagine #remus lupin series #James Potter series #Remus Lupin #James Potter #The Lie #Part 6 #series #Harry Potter imagine #Harry Potter series #Harry Potter x reader

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shyvioletcat · 4 years

Note

Rowan and Aelin talking about their dream house

Guess who’s back? Enjoy the return of our favourite firefighter.

Fluffy prompt-a-thon masterlist

Striking Matches Masterlist

~~~~~

Aelin was only half way and she had given up. She had three more flights of stairs to go and she was puffed and exhausted and didn’t know how long it would take her to gather the strength to get up the rest of them. The fact that it was winter was a blessed relief, at least she didn’t have the heat to contend with, even though she was most definitely sweating. She was only 7 months pregnant and she was struggling to make it up the stairs. How was she supposed to do it once she was even more pregnant? How was she supposed to climb six flights of stairs with a baby?

Those were things that she had been thinking about a lot lately. She loved her little dingy apartment, or rather loved what had happened there. That was where she met Rowan, where the whole door fiasco had happened. He had proposed to her in that apartment, carried her all the way up these damned stairs after they had got married. The apartment meant a lot to her, but it was getting more and more obvious that their time here was running out.

Finally catching her breath and willing away the tears in her eyes Aelin started to climb again. And she refused to stop until she got to the apartment door, even if that meant she had gone at a snail's pace at some points. She was just glad that Rowan wouldn’t be home and she would be able to compose herself and swallow back her emotions for when he got home, hopefully. Her emotions and hormones had not been her friends of late. So when she opened the door and saw him sitting on the couch it caught her unawares and she almost burst into tears at the sight of him.

Rowan immediately saw that something was wrong and he was up from the couch, taking her work bag from her and put it on the ground before gathering her into his arms.

“Aelin,” he said onto her head and she held him tighter. “Love, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Aelin said into his chest, her voice muffled. “It’s just a lot of stairs.”

Rowan kissed her head once then let her go. “You sit down, I’ll get you some water.”

Aelin did just that, sitting on the couch and taking her shoes off her swollen feet. Rowan was back in a few moments, giving her the bottle of water as he sat down beside her. Aelin immediately lent into his side, taking comfort of the feeling of his body against hers. Then she took a drink.

“What are you doing home?” Aelin asked, her voice still a little strained.

“I convinced Lorcan to let me be on call from home,” Rowan said. That explained while he was in his uniform. “I had a feeling you might need me.”

That was what broke the dam on Aelin’s tears. Damn him and his intuition.

“We can’t stay here,” Aelin said before he could ask. “We can’t stay here and that makes me sad. Because this place was so important to us, but we can’t have a baby here. I can’t do the stairs pregnant, I can’t do the stairs with the baby. There will always be so much to carry and I know I can’t do it. We can’t do it.”

Rowan looked down at her, as she looked up at him. “I know.”

“You do?” Aelin asked.

“Yeah,” Rowan said, the left corner of his mouth dropping in a frown. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”

“You have?”

Rowan just nodded. Then they were both quiet for a while, both just thinking Aelin guessed. That's what Aelin was doing, a thousand different thoughts running through her mind. All of it getting a little overwhelming. Would they buy? Would they rent? Where would they go? When would they go? They were on a pretty defined deadline.

“One step at a time,” Rowan said quietly, no doubt reading the tension in her body. “We don’t even know what we want.”

Rowan was right again, they had never really talked about moving in a real sense. It was one of those things they just assumed they would do when the time was right.

“What’s your dream house?” Rowan asked, relaxing back into the couch. “What makes or breaks the deal?”

Aelin took another sip of water as she thought. “I think it has at least four bedrooms.”

“Four?” Rowan said looking down, brows high. “What on earth are we going to do with all those rooms?”

Aelin smiled coyly up at him, her hand running over her belly. “Oh, I don’t know.”

Rowan chuckled. “I think I want a place with our own private bathroom.”

“Why’s that?” Aelin asked.

“Privacy,” Rowan said simply.

“For?” Aelin pressed.

Rowan just rolled his eyes at her. “Whatever your imagination wants, Aelin.”

That made Aelin laugh, then she glanced around the room. “I want a dining area. Somewhere we can have a real dining table. And a big kitchen. Not huge, but big enough that we can move around in it together without running into each other.”

“I like running into you in the kitchen,” Rowan said.

“But things always burn, or we’re late. I think it’s best if we have some space,” Aelin explained matter of factly, but she didn’t miss how Rowan's arm tightened around her at the mention of taking ‘space’, like the thought of it right now was abhorrent. Aelin found his hand and squeezed it. “I want a yard. Big enough so we can get a dog.”

“And space for the baby to play and run,” Rowan added.

“I want the house to be cute too,” Aelin told him. “I don’t want some ugly modern thing. I want it to have character.”

“I like that idea,” Rowan said. “Maybe we could find a place on the edge of the city. Still close enough that we can keep our jobs, but a little quieter, more land.”

“I think I would like that,” Aelin agreed. “I don’t want to leave all our friends.”

“Even Lorcan?” Rowan asked.

Aelin let out a burst of laughter. “Yes, even Lorcan. But mainly for Elide’s sake, but please don’t tell him that.”

By some divine intervention Rowan wasn’t called out to an incident, so they spent the whole evening talking about and discussing their new house. They playfully fought over room colours as they ate dinner, whether they would have carpet or floorboards in the bedrooms as they half paid attention to the show on the TV, discussed what exactly they would use all those bedrooms for while they got ready for bed. By the time Aelin was tucked into Rowan’s side under the covers they had a decent idea of what exactly they wanted from a house.

Unbeknown to Aelin, Rowan started looking while she was asleep, trawling through pages of houses. By the time his own eyelids were dropping he hadn’t found anything, but he knew he would find something, it might just take a little bit of time.

~~~~~

It took Rowan about 2 weeks to find something that fit almost all their requirements. He hadn’t expected to find the perfect home but this came pretty damned close.

He’d spent the night at the station on night shift, using the quiet the time waiting looking through every real estate site he could think of searching for right house. And found it he did. It was nearly 2 am so he didn’t call or message Aelin in case she was sleeping, something she was getting less and less of these days, but it left him humming with an excited energy.

When he walked through the apartment door Aelin was in the kitchen making herself breakfast. Rowan went straight to her, kissing her sweetly before holding his phone up for her to look at.

“Rowan, what…”

Rowan watched for her reaction, as her brows furrowed in confusion but then when she saw what was on her screen her eyes went wide.

“It’s… that’s perfect,” Aelin said, taking his phone from him.

“Well, it’s not,” Rowan said, swiping his fingers across the screen to flick through the photos. “The kitchen is old and terrible and the paint job throughout the old house is retro and not in a good way. But those are all things we could fix. The yard is huge, there’s this big old tree in the yard we could hang a swing from. It’s got some flaws, but I don’t think we’ll find anything much better.”

“I love it Rowan,” Aelin said, putting his phone on the counter and wrapping her hands around his neck. “I’ll contact the real estate on my lunch break and –”

“I already have,” Rowan said with a smile. “I’ve emailed them, expressing our interest. I’ve got it all started.”

Aelin grinned and then kissed him. “Thank you, Rowan. You are too perfect.”

Rowan smiled, “Anything for you, my love.”

~~~~~

I just love these two SO MUCH!

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songsformonkeys · 4 years

Text

Burning Alive (dave york x reader)

summary: Dave York smut, inspired by the lyrics to the song Fire Meet Gasoline by Sia

word count: 2600

rating: explicit

warnings: there’s no plot here, just filth

notes: Thanks to my lovely friend @yespolkadotkitty for beta and enabling this weird and sudden obsession with Dave York <3

Link to AO3

Burning Alive

It's a beautiful house, small but picturesque. It has a big wrap around porch and it is painted in a light shade of blue, which you suspect makes it blend into the sky on cloudless days. It's too dark to tell now. There isn't really a garden but rather a big expanse of grass with the occasional appletrees strewn about and, standing just outside the front door, you would have the most beautiful view of a mirror-flat lake during daytime. The place would look like the perfect postcard. If it weren't for the four dead bodies inside and the, close to, overwhelming smell of gasoline.

”Come on now. Strike the match,” your partner says, a little impatiently, as he emerges from the depths of the house with the now empty canister of gasoline. You have half a mind to tell him to chill and ask him if he'd preferred that you set fire to the house while he was still in it, but you're a little too afraid of what the answer would be. Besides, you know that whatever argument you start with a man like Dave York, you're going to regret later.

Dave snaps his gloved fingers. The sound of the snap is dulled but it gets the point across. You pull the box of matches from the pocket of your jacket and strike one. For a moment, as the small flame flares up, it feels like time is slowing down and you look up at Dave's face. He's watching the tiny flame too and the harsh shadows the glow casts across his face makes him look just as dangerous as you know he is. You want him to kiss you senseless, take you right then and there against the car. Your grip on the match tightens and you toss it into the house before you accidentally snap it in half.

The flames immediately take hold and start spreading. Dave spares it only a moment's glance to make sure the match survived the trip through the air before turning back to the car. You stay for a few moments longer, to watch, feeling a sense of wonder at the beauty and power of the flames as they engulf the house.

When you eventually tear your eyes away and turn to join Dave, you catch him leaning against the side of the car watching, not the house but you. It's too dark to make out the expression on his face but you know and as you walk over to him you put a little extra sway into your hips.

¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨

The car ride back to the motel is silent, apart from the purr of the engine. The purr might as well be coming from you. The thrum of excitement and anticipation has your body feeling taut like a bowstring. Every time Dave moves, you almost jump out of your skin. You never know when the first touch will come and his face is impossible to read, even after years of watching him. Sometimes you don't even make it off the scene of the crime before he's on you, and sometimes he suggests you stop for dinner on the way home and by the time his hands finally touch you, you're close to tears. You can't tell which scenario you prefer.

You and Dave have been working together for five years. On the job, you know just how he works and what he's capable of, but outside of the jobs you do, you know next to nothing about him. You don't know what he does other than killing, if he has a different job or a family even.

Dave knows more about you than you know of him. You don't know exactly how much. He knows where you live at least. He proved that a couple of years ago.

It had been a particularly nasty job. Things had gone to shit, the wrong mark had been killed and you had decided that was the final straw. You wanted out. So the next time the phone rang with an offer of a job, you ignored it. It rang again half an hour later. You ignored that too. After the third time, it stopped ringing. As the day passed, you felt lighter, like the air was a little easier to breathe. You went to the movies by yourself and watched a movie you had little interest in, but you felt normal. On the way home afterward, you even bought a bouquet of yellow tulips. You felt free.

Right up until you'd entered your apartment and found Dave in the kitchen. He'd been furious, demanding to know where you'd been. He'd paused for a second when he spotted the flowers in your arms. It had been as if he couldn't quite fit the puzzle pieces of you with flowers, instead of a gun or a knife, together. The confusion lasted for a brief moment before he'd stalked over to you. You'd dropped the flowers, ready to defend yourself, but Dave hadn't fought you, at least not in the traditional sense. Instead, he'd crashed your mouths together with a force that you thought might crack a tooth. That was your first time. After a kiss that felt like a punishment, you had proceeded to rip each other’s clothes off, the tulips trampled to bits on the floor, before Dave had bent you over the kitchen counter. And as he'd sunk deep into you, he'd leaned over your back to hiss in your ear:

”You don't get to quit. We burn together, you and I”.

Sometimes you still entertain the thought that he will show up at your home again, but deep down you know that if he does, it'll be to kill you.

¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨

You get to the motel and Dave kills the engine. He doesn't say anything and there's a frown on his face. It doesn't matter. You know the drill. In a smooth motion, you slide out of the car and walk towards the front desk. As you walk, you can feel the slick between your legs that has begun to seep through your panties. You rent a room for the night and the person behind the desk hands you the keys without barely even looking at you. You wonder if that's something they've trained themselves to do. The people who come to a place like this don't want to be seen.

As you walk out, you wave the keys in the air for Dave to see before heading straight for the room. You hear the car door open and slam shut behind you. The numbers on the keyring are a bit worn and it takes you a minute to figure out whether the last number is an 8 or a 9. In the end, you're 90% certain that it's a 9 and you decide to try it.

You have barely gotten the key in the lock when two hands suddenly grip your hips roughly and pull you back against a hard chest. You jump, hadn't heard Dave come up behind you, and as the surprised noise escapes your throat you hear him chuckle.

Dave bats your hand away from the key and unlocks the door himself. He yanks the key out and tosses it on the table, where it skids to a stop just before it slides over the edge and onto the floor. And damn if that isn't symbolic of what you're pretty sure is about to happen.

Dave propels the two of you forward, kicks the door shut behind you and before you have time to register what he's doing, he has you pressed up against a wall. His forearm is like a vice across your chest and he uses one of his knees to nudge your legs apart. He's staring you straight in the eyes. There's a wildfire there and you know, without a doubt, that you're gonna let him burn you.

”Dave,” you breathe and when he reaches a hand up towards your face, you think for a second that he's going to caress you. Then he presses the tip of his index finger lightly against your lips and murmurs ”Open.”

You immediately obey and suck the digit into your mouth. Dave makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and presses closer. You can feel the hard line of his cock firmly against your hip.

The pad of his finger feels rough against your tongue when you suck it deeper into your mouth, still holding his gaze with yours. His hand smells faintly of gasoline.

When Dave pulls his finger out, it's with a soft 'pop' from your lips. His other hand has cleverly worked open the button of your pants and the slow 'tic tic tic' as he pulls the zipper down, sends shivers down your spine.

You've done this so many times before. There's never a question of if this is going to happen, only of when and how. There's an unpredictability about Dave which makes every time feel as exciting as the first.

He holds you trapped against the wall as he works his fingers into your pants and into you. You gasp at the first stretch of his fingers and he wastes no time before hooking his fingers to rub at that spot inside you, that's he's well aware drives you absolutely wild. Your eyes fall shut. You toss your head back and it connects with the wall behind you with a thud.

”Careful,” Dave says, in one of his rare moments of showing consideration.

”The wall isn't what's gonna kill me,” you whimper as his fingers pick up pace.

”I know,” Dave says and your eyes fly open as he roughly thrusts his fingers deeper inside you, forcing you up on your tippy-toes. You don't ask him to elaborate on his comment.

Dave knows just how to keep you balancing on that fine line between pain and pleasure. He's rough but it's what you need, to know for certain that you're still alive. Years of working these jobs have turned you numb to so many things in life. These moments with Dave are the only times when you truly feel something. It's not love. That's too sentimental an emotion. But desire, pure and raw, and all-consuming. You want Dave, and there's no scenario where that ends well.

Your first orgasm has your knees buckling and it's only Dave's arm, still across your chest, that keeps you standing.

In yet another act of kindness, he lets you catch your breath slightly, before he pulls his fingers out and holds them up to your mouth. You lick them clean and he watches you like a starving man.

His fingers are soon replaced by his lips and he gives you a bruising kiss. Dave's left hand rests gently around your throat, his thumb and index finger only just grazing your jawline for support. He doesn't press down, not yet anyway. But with Dave, you can never quite know how far he will take it. Sometimes you suspect that he doesn't quite know either. More than once, after the heat and flames have died out, you've caught him touching a bruise on your skin with an almost surprised look on his face. Like he can't quite remember marking you that way.

It's all part of the Dave York experience, and you want more. Reaching between you, your fingers find the zipper to his green camo jacket. You yank it down and push the jacket off his shoulders before reaching for his pants. Dave doesn't help you. Instead, he just watches you, with his own face inches away from yours and with an infuriating smirk on his lips, as your desperation increases over not getting his clothes off fast enough. It's only when your fingers attempt to sneak under the edge of his underwear that he steps back and lets you go. You stumble as the pressure of his body against yours suddenly disappears, but manage to regain your balance just in time to catch Dave kicking his pants off. He stands before you and for a few seconds, you allow yourself to just drink in the visage of this man before you, wearing nothing but a worn t-shirt and a pair of underwear.

Beautiful isn't the right word, but your body yearns for him.

So you quickly shimmy out of your own pants and soaked underwear, and pull your shirt and sports bra over your head.

Dave holds his hand out for you, like he's asking you to dance. In a way, that's just what this is. When you take the hand, he yanks you close and bites down on your neck as he lets his hands rediscover the newly exposed skin. You can practically feel the bruises forming as he grips your hips tight and grinds you against him for some friction.

”Bed,” he orders and by God if that doesn't send a surge of heat through you. You grip the hem of his t-shirt and begin walking backwards towards the bed. Dave follows but lifts his arms to allow you to pull the shirt off. As soon as he's free of the fabric, he manhandles you onto the bed.

It's half wrestling, a half-hearted attempt for dominance, but Dave always wins and soon he's got you on all fours in front of him, keening as he runs his thumb along your slick folds. You can't think straight. You hear the tear of a condom-wrapper and when the head of his cock pushes into you, you feel like crying from desperation.

Luckily, Dave is well past the teasing portion of the evening and so he immediately sets a brutal pace that would have had you banging your head against the headboard repeatedly, if you hadn't anticipated this and given yourself some extra space.

You moan and say his name, the sounds forced out of you which each violent thrust. His breathing is labored but he doesn't say anything. You're used to this. Dave isn't really a talker, unless it's to give orders.

Your second orgasm is rapidly approaching and you can feel Dave's thrusts getting more and more erratic, which is a sign that he's drawing close as well. Balancing your weight on one arm, you reach down to touch yourself with the other. You're impossibly wet already and your finger slides easily over your clit, which is good because the pleasure is making you rapidly lose all fine motor skills.

Dave comes first, with a low groan and a few more punishing thrusts before he folds his upper body over you to suck a mark into the skin of your shoulder and to reach around and help push you the last short distance over the edge. The second orgasm is just as powerful as the first and this time you actually do collapse onto the bed, with Dave still on top of and inside you.

¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨

Afterward, Dave is still silent. But it's a different silence from the one before, less charged. This is where you take the reins. This is where he shrinks and you grow. He's next to you on the bed, with his head resting on your chest. He looks smaller somehow. Softer. This is where you get to push his buttons.

You grip his chin gently and tilt his head up. Then you kiss him like he's something precious and with each kiss, you feel him break a little against your lips.

”You and I, we burn together,” you whisper. This is all you have and there's no telling for how long. There's no happy ending for people like you. Just a box of matches and the promise of a spark.

#dave york #dave york x reader #dave york/reader #equalizer 2 fanfiction #smut #my fanfiction #burning alive

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sasorikigai · 5 years

Text

A Beautiful & Baneful Contradiction || A Hanzo Hasashi & Kuai Liang story (feat. Scorpion). [ Part 1 ]

A part of him still yearns to find the certainty of intense emotions, as Hanzo’s hellfire manifests akin to the brewing epicenter of the storm. He is the storm amidst the autumn-saturated, sun-loving deciduous trees shedding its Phoenix plumage as the scorching intensity replaces that of the saturating depth of the midnight’s color.

Kuai Liang’s surging chill becomes the field of pristine diamond and sapphire, and barricading walls of his permafrost blocks the agglomerating maelstrom, threatening to consume him in a fleeting, all-consuming moment. Kuai is used to the raw viscerality of Hanzo’s hellfire; capable ot buzzing and being angry like a pack of wasps as the scattered tendrils would even cause his cage to rattle.

If it weren’t for the walls to mitigate the wreaking havoc, such ruthless authenticity of the Shirai Ryu’s hungry passion, then perhaps his own cryomancy could be rendered naught. Yet, Kuai Liang has seen enough feat of surging tides to know how to escape it relatively unscathed. A faint, imperceptible orb surrounds him in a defensive barrier, as numerous stacked sheets of blades (that resemble Hanzo’s kunai) conjure between the webs of his clenched fingers, ready to be discharged with sharp velocity.

“Such devouring fire is impressive, but I think I have figured out how to endure myself of this stifling heat, I have you to thank you for,” Kuai’s voice is mellow, almost saccharine amidst their harsh sparring, mirroring the death match that they may come across unexpected. Both Grandmasters are agile, exceptionally quick with their feet. It is effortlessly easy to get lost in the training, stances, exchanging strikes. Both are familiar with each other’s movements; Hanzo more graceful and viper-like, with unfurling limbs moving about as the ebb and flow of his heartbeats carry forth the stretched limbs, his kunai drawn close to his palm, ready to strike as viper’s fangs would. Kuai’s more solid, whirl of snowdrift and ectoplasmic mist perpetually concocting from his forearms as the foundation of his unbreakable stance anchors him to the supple earth below. “I have altered my cryomancy to thwart your attack.” He proudly acknowledges, as he appears unscathed from the tendrils, swill swarming like the ravaging tornado, scattering the dry earth below.

The burn of Hanzo’s muscles sing with excessive use; the natural warming of his pyromancer’s blood that had nothing to do with his pyromancy and the cold air clashing persistently against his skin. He only focuses upon with mindless passion and fulfilling movement, as his animal eyes gleam wild, past the flaring embers as they penetrate the sizzling air saturating their milieu. As soon as flurries of Kuai’s kunais close in with their gleaming intensity, Hanzo’s latent energy thrums, pulsating around him as the katana is swiftly drawn, deflecting each and every one, except one that grazes his cheek.

“A man’s never too old to learn, I believe that was your most recent lesson.” The stretched radiance, the open roads of their receptiveness and admittance of each other’s formidable, ever-expanding powers continue to fuel their familiarity, shaping the silhouettes of their form beneath the clarity. They are the most magnificent sculptures, slick with the saturated luminescence of their respective powers, reflected in silvery gleam, as the perspiration and hint of blood swell and soak through their battle garments. “Know that you are not the only one who’s holding back.”

It wasn’t true - as Hanzo would struggle with the spike of anger, then the rage, then the bloodying of his knuckles against a brick wall, he would struggle beneath the desolate colors, which would continue to haunt him. Hadn’t he already triumphed over Scorpion, who sought to destroy Hanzo’s entirety in its beastly fervor, as he would be shackled; vulnerable and helpless - beneath the seemingly inescapable shackle of the hellspawn minion’s hold, while ashen Scorpion’s lifeless visage had mocked him of his pathetic mortality?

The truest expression of a heart could not convey him the utter drawl and empty horror of the directness of feeling. As their exchanged blows heighten with saturating velocity and embedded strength, as they continue to bargain with their shared desire and yearning to perfect the craft of their supernatural abilities, Kuai begins to gain significant advantage, through his exemplified ruthlessness evident through the sweeping arch of his arms, the wielded double-axe zoning Hanzo’s fire-imbued kunai from dealing a considerable damage. Hanzo’s sharp, astute eyes are honed enough, parrying and sweeping his form in malleability to dodge every vicious blow of the cryomancer’s series of relentless sweeping arches.

“Hanzo, please! Pay heed to the direction of the blows themselves and their projections. You very much know my intentions are not to gravely wound you,” the massive blast of ice begins to form, as its potent force threatens to sizzle through Hanzo’s hellfire and render the conflagration naught. The waves of gelid ice would cancel each other’s element out, and that was what Kuai Liang hoped; but the Lin Kuei notices something out of norm.

Kill. Kill. Kill. Why still hold yourself captive beneath the pathetic emptiness and chronic depression when you could walk free once again?

Hanzo’s heart feels as if it’s being torn in multiple directions every time Scorpion crosses his mind; one that which irritates him so much so that he wants to roar out in agonized scream and throw things. Hanzo does not confront him just yet, but he fears that if he ever faces him again, then he may not emerge victorious. The equilibrium of his power was thrown off-balance, and Hanzo had noticed the anomaly in his condition and perceptive power he governed against the volatile nature of his hellfire. He is not quite demolished, but the depth of this night’s deafening stroke thickens as both his pupils and irises retract further towards unnatural milky white, with his sclera fading to reveal sickening orange, above the crumpling lifelessness of ashen complexion, overwhelming to take over Hanzo’s natural sun-drenched copper in a gradual descent.

“Get the fuck away from me, Kuai Liang,” through flooding surge of obliterating wrath, Hanzo gasps for the air that is not there, as his lungs burn and squeezes, as the scalding smoke fuels beneath his core, as if dark magic had been discharged in a series of fuel-pumping pistons. Eyes hollowed, void-like, as the concave features of the skull flashes over Hanzo’s hidden darkness beneath the black hood. Scorpion’s clawing fingers, the gaping maw of hellfire breaching through the xylophone of his ribcage becomes excruciating; as Hanzo’s torn apart inside stirs. He is as relentless as the perturbed silence itself, as through gritted teeth, Hanzo lets his vertebrae spiral with unimaginable heat as his katana remains drawn, with distinct orange glow hissing, as does the gravely depth of Scorpion’s demonic presence, inciting the mantra Hanzo had heard for what seemed like eons.

You will burn in the Netherrealm for all eternity - as you were meant to be.

“No!” Hanzo would refuse to be held captive by the emptiness - the kind that consumes him from the inside out. No longer would he be trapped in a skin, as he would fall apart like fragmented sunset over the approaching darkness of the night. “Hanzo?” Kuai Liang’s soul has been painted the color of concern and love, as his eyes glaze over. His body already in the projectile as the sheets of ice below carry him forward with such momentum and force; and Hanzo’s gravity has been long gone, as the sputtering bile and blood tumultuously threaten to erupt as the veins of his thick neck singe with scorching acid.

“Speak to me, what in the Elder God is happening?” The phlegmatic composure of Kuai Liang’s calmness begins to shatter, as he returns back to his battle stance, as he watches Hanzo rather ungracefully fall face-first into the wet earth, drenched with their sweat, hardened with incessant steps of their rigorous training. He offers his arm, as the air stings with Hanzo’s affliction, as Kuai’s bone-dry heart squeezes in the grotesqueness that only reminds me of his own resculpting. Mercy has no place when Scorpion is considered and all he wants to do is to quell the agglomerating pain, something that could separate life and death. “Nothing will pay the dues when you have suffered more than enough.”

As red and black mix on the banks of Kuai Liang’s worry-etched face, the fire of Scorpion stares, taunting, and one passenger, Hanzo Hasashi, remains afloat as he takes the challenge, leaps into the magmatic fire of the Netherrealm, and doesn’t resurface. Kuai Liang’s eyes move forward, as if continuing downriver to retrieve Hanzo’s lost soul. “Is this the heavy price we must pay if we want true happiness?” He almost pleads, as ice-coated forearm seeks to turn Hanzo’s downturned face. Hanzo’s collapsed form writhes, as if in a seizure-like state.

All the Lin Kuei will perish, as the tides of icy blasts and merciless gale of wildfire has consumed the Shirai Ryu. Hanzo will begin the world’s most ill-fated voyage and you, powerless scum, can do not a single thing.

The cesspit of humanity long been drained in deprivation as Hanzo’s tenacious resistance begins to chip away as a steel rod would be grounded into stacks of needles. Hanzo Hasashi was never meant to carry the Atlas, so perhaps it was doomed from the start. “I suppose this is the impermanence of my world, Kuai Liang. I’m sorry - for a broken, gnawing hunger still consumes me through this depression, the essence of my physicality and the evidence of the truth.”

A scratchy, fading cry expels as a deep groan, as clawing fingers seek Kuai Liang’s forearm, attempting to hoisting himself up. “You are stronger than Scorpion, Hanzo, you always have been.” It was this separateness Kuai feared; the distance that Hanzo created between the deep love to live and thrive in himself, against the nihilistic depth of the abysmal hollow that would dig black holes, causing an intense, scarlet fire.

The demon’s teeth remains, causing Hanzo to stay bloody. The absence of the warmth becomes the catalyst of brawling, as his head sinks with the weightless crown, for the heaviest head as his futile attempt causes him to plummet back into the Lin Kuei’s outstretched arm and bent knees; as once he’d bathed in the entrance and exit of sworn allegiance, Hanzo’s eyes and psyche will perpetually resist in appeasement and endless wanting.

He would give up everything, even his life over and over again if he could permanently extinguish the demon’s grasp. Even all the brief halcyon tranquility and happiness shared with his lover as his consciousness remains dust in the wind.

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ bone-deep chill of despair (sub-zero)#✗ again and always (scorpion x sub-zero)#(drabble)#(I spent over five hours writing this..... but did I execute it like I wanted to?)#(the obvious answer is NO)#(my insecurity is a bitch)#(let me know what you think. those of you who read this)

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hydrospanners · 5 years

Text

every doubt we had

like a scene from a nightmare he'd never admit to having, darth marr's ship goes down and takes his sister with it. rhese velaran has never had to live in a galaxy without nirea, and he's not sure he knows how. he leans on an unlikely shoulder while he figures it out. SWTOR genfic. M!Jedi Knight & Doc friendship (fraternity?) fic. Background Established F!Jedi Knight x Doc. Grief & angst. 3300 words. AO3.

The chrono reads 0300 hours. 0400 hundred until their arrival on Coruscant. 17 minutes since he checked last.

Rhese turns his eyes back to the ceiling. Landing prep starts at 0600. He could still get three full hours of rest if he could just get to sleep.

He draws in a slow, deep breath, willing his racing heart to slow. There is no emotion, he reminds himself. There is peace. No emotion. Peace. No emotion. Peace.

Peace, peace, peace.

Peace is a damned lie. There’s only war, constant and consuming. War, where the players may change but the game never does.

He’s fucking tired of war. Tired of running and killing and being too little, too late. Tired of leaving people behind.

Marr’s flagship explodes in his mind’s eye. Again and again, a bloom of sparks and flame stretching up and out until it’s nothing, fizzled out. Until the space where she was is nothing but dust and cannonfire and distant winking stars.

Blood rushes in his ears, the pounding of his heart the only sound in the heavy quiet of simulated night.

Dammit. Rhese taps the comm by his bed, wincing away from the bright blue-white gleam of the indicator light. Teeseven answers immediately, chirping a greeting that’s no less cheerful for having possibly lost his master. His friend.

“Any communications?” Rhese asks, and the comm terminal flashes, hundreds of messages flooding the screen. From the Council. From the Senate. From SIS. Saresh. “Anything from--” Even if she had survived, she would have had no way to send word. Not yet. “Any new information on Nirea?”

“Jedi = still missing,” the droid reports.

It’s what he expected, but knowing the knife is coming never made the cutting hurt any less. He swallows his disappointment. “Keep an audio sensor to the ground. Let me know the second you hear anything.”

“T7 = Looking. // Jedi = Still alive.”

“I know, Teeseven.” He’s reasonably sure, anyway. “Thank you.”

The indicator light blinks out, leaving Rhese alone with his thoughts.

He remembers a time when he would have killed for this kind of quiet. A chance at sober reflection. Isolation. When he believed peace could be achieved from structure. When a steady heart and an ordered mind were still his best chance at salvation. Or absolution. He’s still not sure what it was he spent all those years looking for, but he’s pretty damned certain it’s gone now.

Ringing fills his ears again. Someone’s talking shit about you, Ranna used to say. An old Corellian superstition, or maybe a spacer’s. She had so many superstitions it was hard to tell which was which. Either way, he didn’t inherit Ranna’s penchant for mysticism and the only person who’s ever cared enough to talk about him anyway is--Well, the point is that it’s just a symptom of his hearing giving out. He’s been meaning to have Doc look at it for a while now, but there never seemed to be any time.

Rhese glances at the chrono. 0321 hours. 21 minutes since he checked last.

He gets up and dresses quickly, trying not to think of all the shit Rea would give him for picking the robes. The ship is dark and silent, the passageways empty this deep into the night. Not that anyone is actually asleep. Rhese can sense the crew in their quarters as he passes them, all awake despite the hour, all pretending not to be.

He senses Kira’s restlessness. It’s familiar to him as his own anxiety, and he can almost see the defensive hunch in her shoulders as she paces back and forth in the too-small space of her bunk. He can see the little wrinkle between her brows as she kneels, trying her damndest to meditate. He can see the tremble in her hands as she opens up her saber, taking it apart and putting it back together as many times as she has to for the adrenaline to fade.

Rea would have gone to her. Would have laid upside down on her bed while Kira ranted, absorbing all her rage and being the soft place to land once it was spent.

Rhese keeps walking.

He senses Rusk’s tension. How tightly he’s coiled, primed and ready to strike at the first actionable target. He pictures Rusk standing at his worktable, the lines in his forehead cutting deep as he methodically disassembles his cannon. He pictures his hands, rough but nimble as he cleans every part, as he sets the chrono to time his reassembly. He pictures the way he keeps glancing at the comm, twitching at every noise like it might be the news he’s waiting for.

Rea would have offered to spar. She would have worked him until his muscles were loose and warm and tender, and then she would have worked his mind, cracking open some shitty beers to swap stories about the stupid shit they did when they were young and green. He would have laughed like only Rea could make him laugh. He would have slept a little easier.

Rhese keeps walking.

He senses Scourge’s fury. It’s a raging wildfire, consuming everything it touches and Rhese can almost hear the groan of metal bending beneath Scourge’s fists as he burns, feeding everything around him to the furnace of his anger. He is hungry to destroy, to quench the flames in his heart with carnage and violence. He wants a fight.

Rea would have given it to him. She would have poked and prodded until he lashed out, swinging his lightsaber at full limb-severing power, nothing held back. She would have let him. She would have matched him blow for blow until his fury burned itself out and when it was done, she would smile and complain at the scorchmarks in her deck.

Rhese keeps walking.

He senses Doc. Alert and focused, thrown completely into some project or the other. There’s none of the usual thrill he feels from Doc when he’s working, none of the anticipation or pride. The purpose of his work doesn’t matter right now as long as the work is consuming him, leaving no room for other thoughts. For worries.

He feels clear and steady in a way the others don’t right now, and Rhese sees, just for a moment, what it is that Rea must see in him. What it is that draws her to him.

Rhese enters the medbay without knocking, his left ear ringing.

“You should be asleep,” Doc says, not looking up from the viscous green liquid he’s measuring. Beneath the goggles Rhese can see his eyes are puffy and shot through with red. “Got a long day ahead of you.”

“And you don’t?” Rhese raises a brow, folding his hands in front of him. He tries not to think what jokes Rea would make about his posture. Something about the stick up his ass.

Doc just snorts. “I’m not a Jedi. Nobody cares what I think. Here.” He puts the green liquid down and pulls a small metal tube from his pocket, tossing it to Rhese. “Take one of those. It’s a low dose; should only put you down for an hour or two.”

“You carry sleeping pills in your pocket?”

“You’ve met my wife, right? About this high--” Doc raises his hand a foot over his own head “--brown hair, blue eyes, great ass. Only sleeps if you make her.”

Rhese smiles, feeling none of the usual discomfort and inadequacy he feels when he has these chats with Doc. For once he doesn’t mind being reminded what a giant Rea is in everyone’s mind, how much taller she seems despite being shorter than him by four inches. For once he isn’t embarrassed and annoyed by the reminder of his sister’s very active sex life. For once, he just feels… fond. “I may have seen her around,” he says.

“Well if you see her again, you tell her to come home. Her family’s worried.”

Do you hear that Rea? Your family is worried. Rhese wonders if she can feel their concern. He wonders if she can feel anything at all. He can’t feel her. She’s always been good at hiding, and there were years on Tython when he couldn’t separate the feel of her from the rest of the Force, but he could still feel that she was out there somewhere, could still feel their connection. This is the first time she’s ever just been gone, a hole in the Force where the tingle of her warm, fervent energy is supposed to be.

He reaches for her on instinct, and the void he finds in her place leaves him cold. For the first time in his life, he feels really alone. Careful what you wish for, Liss always warned him. You might just get it.

“You okay, kid?” Doc, with his bloodshot eyes and exhausted pallor, is watching him carefully, his brow furrowed in concern. Rhese can only think how he’s going to get wrinkles, scrunching his face up like that. How Rea’s going to kill him for aging her husband prematurely. ‘I only married him for his looks,’ she’ll say. ‘Now I’ll have to trade him in for a younger model.’

Rhese laughs a short, humorless laugh. Is he okay? “I’m going deaf,” he says. “In my left ear.”

Doc sighs. “Sit down.”

Rhese does as he’s told, climbing onto the exam chair and pushing his shoulders back, trying to keep his chin up. Trying to hold it together because someone has to now that Rea’s gone.

But there’s no point. That pinch in Doc’s brow says he isn’t fooled, that he knows too many of Rhese’s secrets, sees too much through Rea’s eyes. It says there will be no fooling him and Rhese can’t find the energy to try. He tips his head back against the chair and lets his shoulders sag, only a little embarrassed by his ragged sigh of relief.

“Ringing?” Doc asks, wheeling over one of his scanners. He pulls a headset with an alarming number of wires from the drawer.

Rhese nods. “Started a couple months ago, but things have been--” He thinks back to Ziost, to Tython, to Manaan. To all the blaster fire and running and death. “Well, you know how things have been.”

“No kidding. I’m surprised your ears lasted this long, the way you Jedi go on.”

“You mean the way Rea goes on.” She’s had cochlear implants almost as long as she’s been a Jedi. Went in for her first operation the day the treaty was signed, not even a year after Marefka scooped them up on Corellia. He’d been on Tython at the time, but he’d read the reports from her surgeries. It had taken six. “Most Jedi don’t spend so much time getting blown up.”

He sees the explosion again. Marr’s flagship consumed by inferno, sparks and flame spitting from the cracks in the hull, a ring of fire expanding slowly around the whole fizzling mass. The only sound the static of the comm crackling over the speakers, the echo of her last words ringing in his ears. His own voice, shouting Rea’s name.

Rhese flinches.

Doc’s hand settles on his shoulder. “She’s gonna be fine,” he says, and there’s something in his eyes, in the warmth and certainty of his voice, that makes Rhese turn away. It feels too familiar. Too much like--Rhese can’t feel her in the Force, but he can feel her in the tender way Doc is looking at him, in the way Doc is caring for him, gently and thoughtfully, like family.

Stars. They are family now, aren’t they?

Doc’s hands are steady as he lowers the headset onto Rhese’s forehead. The nodes are cold but Doc’s fingers are warm as he massages them into place along Rhese’s forehead and around the delicate insides of his ears. And if he notices the way Rhese shivers, Doc is merciful enough not to mention it. “I know you’re worried, Junior, but this is Rea we’re talking about. She’s survived way worse.”

If anyone knows what Nirea Velaran can survive, it’s Doc.

“But it doesn’t take worse,” he argues. “One stray blaster bolt. One piece of shrapnel. One mistake.” Force knows she makes mistakes, no matter what she’d have people believe. “She’s not indestructible.”

Doc says nothing. A stream of rhythmic beeps fills Rhese’s ears.

He knows she’s alive. This nothing--the gap in his consciousness where she’s supposed to be--it’s not what death feels like. Rhese has felt death before. He’s felt it in strangers and in allies and in friends. He’s felt it in family. In Ranna. In Qarric and Daeleth. He would have sensed his sister’s death. He would have felt a piece of himself die with her.

Hell, if she was really dead she’d probably be here, complaining about it. She’d be haunting him the way Master Orgus Din haunted her, refusing the peace of death just so she could pester him.

Rea has to be alive. But for how long? And where?

Doc lifts the headset, gently peeling back the little nodes as he goes. “How do you feel about implants?”

Rhese sighs. “Resigned.”

“I’ve got a friend on Coruscant. She might be persuaded to do it for free.”

“Persuaded?” Rhese raises a brow, very nearly smiling. “Just what kind of a friend is this, Doc?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, that was a long time ago. I’ve got no interest in persuading anyone but your sister these days.” He pauses, considering. “Well, no interest in persuading anyone without her, anyway.”

“Ugh.”

Doc laughs, and it’s an effort to not laugh with him.

He feels better. No one is more surprised by it than Rhese--if you’d told him back on Balmorra that Archiban Kimble would ever make him feel anything other than annoyance and disgust, he’d have laughed you into the next sector--but here he is, sitting in the medbay and feeling better for having Doc there with him.

Here he is, sitting in the medbay because it’s where he wanted to be. Because it’s where his feet carried him when he was feeling lost and alone and there was no Rea to collapse into.

He’ll have to tell her when he sees her again. That she chose well. That he loves this little family she’s built. That he’s grateful and he’s happy and if she ever leaves him again he’s going to lose his starsdamned mind because he can’t keep doing this--

“Hey.”

Rhese blinks and finds Doc’s eyes boring into his. Dark and bloodshot and so, so serious. Worried. Scared. For him.

“Breathe, kid.”

Rhese realizes he hasn’t been. He gasps, once, twice, until his lungs remember how they’re supposed to work. He tries to recite the Code, but the words keep getting jumbled in his head. It’s like everything he’s been trying not to think and not to feel is breaking free and rushing over him all at once. “I feel like I’m drowning,” he confesses, voice tight like it’s trying to hold onto the words, trying to keep that truth hidden. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Must run in the family,” Doc says, surprising a small, shaky laugh out of him. “Now c’mere.” He opens his arms and Rhese only hesitates for a second before sitting up and leaning into him, his forehead pressed to Doc’s chest, hot tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. They start to fall when Doc’s arms wrap around his shoulders.

At least it isn’t blood. Doc’s always complaining about how many shirts he loses to bloodstains; tears should be easier to clean. Rhese doesn’t know why he’s thinking so much about Doc’s shirts, but he can’t seem to make himself stop. And he can’t stop thinking how that’s a stupid thing to be thinking about at a time like this. Can’t stop thinking how he’s blowing this out of proportion. Can’t stop thinking he’s not taking it seriously enough.

He can’t stop thinking. Thinking, thinking, thinking.

His breaths are coming too fast and too shallow, desperate, ragged things just barely escaping the tightness of his throat, and his skin feels so hot. Too hot. He wants to climb out of it. He wants to climb out of his whole body and just--He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he wants but he knows everything is too much.

Doc pulls him in tighter, blunt nails scraping gently at the nape of his neck, and it’s so much like--His mind swims with memory, of nights spent curled into Rea’s lap, of her body wrapped around his like a shield, of her fingers in his hair, her kisses on his forehead, her voice in his ear, whispering how she’ll protect him, how she’ll always be there no matter what, how it’s the two of them against the galaxy.

Where the fuck is she now?

“Me too, kid. Me too.”

“I don’t want to lose another family.” Rhese whispers the words into Doc’s chest, his eyes squeezed tight against the brutal truth of them. A brutal truth he’s been hiding from for years now. Years of keeping people at arm’s length, of reciting Codes and turning his back and telling himself he’s above it all. Years of trying to keep himself from connecting with anyone because he was so fucking scared of having another connection break.

You can’t lose what you never had, he reminds himself, thinking of the rest all locked away in their cages, drifting to their own orbits in the absence of Rea’s gravity to draw them together. They were Rea’s family. They’re always just Rea’s. Never yours.

But then Doc is kissing the top of his head, just like Rea would, and holding him just like Rea would and he can’t be doing it for her cause she isn’t here to see it. He can’t be doing it for any reason but--

“You aren’t losing anything,” he says, with so much conviction that Rhese almost believes him. “I don’t know where Rea is or what she’s doing, but I know her. I know she loves you more than anyone in this galaxy, and I know she won’t let anything keep you apart for long. She’s coming back, kid, and we’re all gonna be here when she does.”

Rhese thinks of Tython. Of ten years’ worth of secondhand reports and unanswered messages. Ten years of lonely nights and insecurities. Ten years of waiting.

“It could be awhile,” he says.

“We’ll wait.”

“I waited for ten years last time.”

“We’ll wait.”

Rhese lets his eyes fall shut, tilting his face up to the ceiling as breathes a long, shuddering breath. “Okay,” he says, his throat a little looser, his chest a little lighter. “Okay.”

He sits like that for a long time, listening to the slowing rhythm of his heart and the quiet gurgle of Doc’s equipment, bubbling away on some experiment he doesn’t want to know the particulars of. Listening to the distant ringing in his left ear. He flexes his hands against the exam chair, feeling the cool, smooth fabric shift beneath his fingers, and with each slow breath he feels the sharp sting of chemical cleaner burning his nose.

Doc is still standing there when Rhese opens his eyes, the little tube of sleeping pills back in his hand. “You’ve got a long day ahead of you,” he says again.

This time, Rhese takes the pills.

He curls onto his side on the exam chair, and when Doc lays his lab coat over his shoulders, Rhese pulls it up to his chin and breathes deep of the cologne that always seems to rub off, just a little, onto Rea’s clothes. It makes him feel warm and the drugs make him feel hazy and Doc, steady, certain Doc, shuffling around the medbay behind him and never leaving him alone--Doc makes him feel safe.

By 0430, Rhese is finally asleep.

#swtor #swtor fic #jedi knight #swtor doc #archiban kimble #rhese velaran #velaran legacy #hydrostuff #hydrofic #hydroswstuff #hydroswfic #aka the one where rhese has the horrifying realization he's doc's brother now #and maybe like six different breakdowns in a row #or the one where the author maybe projects a little too much on her character #but this is my blog and i do what i want #and what i want to do is deposit my feelings in this pile of words #and also cry a little #sometimes a lot #whatever one day at a time

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