#qimir x you

[amarmoria]

Nepenthe Ⅶ

Qimir x Padawan! Reader

Why would your master want a padawan like you when he has his acolyte?

Wc: 2.7k

His eyes landed on the pot still simmering gently over the dying fire, the smell of the stew still lingering faintly in the air. A subtle reminder of your effort, despite the chaotic emotions you’d gone through earlier. He moved quietly, his gaze fixed on your sleeping form, curled up on the cold stone floor with nothing but your tunic to keep you warm. His jaw clenched at the sight.

Good girl. He thought again, but this time, there was an edge to the sentiment. Despite everything, you had stayed here, cooked, waited for them to return—no matter how much it racked your brain. And yet, there was something undeniably satisfying about seeing you this vulnerable, completely unaware of his presence.

He crouched beside you, his fingers hovering near your cheek, close enough to feel your soft, rhythmic breaths but not quite touching. The firelight flickered against his skin, casting long shadows across the room as his thoughts twisted in dangerous directions. You were always so dutiful, so eager to prove yourself, but what did that Jedi make you feel? Was it loyalty? Curiosity? Or was it something else, something deeper?

His eyes narrowed as he watched you sleep. He could kill the Jedi—he had the skills, the connections, and the resolve—but that wouldn’t satisfy the gnawing doubt he felt. What would be the point of eliminating competition if he didn’t know where your heart truly lay? If your loyalty was split, if your desires wandered elsewhere, no amount of violence would keep you his.

He rose silently, his hand finally pulling back from your face. He wasn’t ready to lose control, you, not yet. But you needed to understand your place—your duty to him. And if fear was the only language you could understand, he would speak it fluently.

Qimir turned towards the hearth, picking up a bowl and ladling some stew into it. He took a bite, the rich flavors coating his tongue, but his mind remained elsewhere. He kept glancing back at your sleeping form, the taste of the meal tainted by his brewing resentment.

After finishing, he extinguished the remaining embers in the fire and strode toward his bed. Tomorrow, he will need to do it. There would need to be consequences for your actions—something to remind you who truly owned you, body and mind. He could only hope that, after this, you would finally understand.

---

The next morning, the air was thick with an unsettling quiet, broken only by the distant sound of the wind howling through the cave's entrance. You woke slowly, the cold stone floor stiffening your muscles as you blinked the sleep from your eyes. For a moment, you forgot where you were, but the reality hit you quickly enough.

You sat up, your thoughts immediately clouded by the memory of yesterday’s events. Qimir’s harsh words, the tension between you, and your own spiraling emotions left a bitter taste in your mouth. You rubbed your temples, trying to clear the remnants of a restless sleep.

The cave felt emptier than usual, almost hollow. You glanced around but saw no sign of them. Good. You needed space, time to think, to process everything that had happened without feeling his looming presence over you.

But as you stood and stretched, the familiar weight of dread settled in your chest. What would happen now? Would Qimir tell the master about your encounter with the Jedi? Would there be repercussions you hadn’t anticipated? Your mind raced with possibilities, none of them good.

You busied yourself with cleaning up the remnants of last night's meal, trying to keep your thoughts from spiraling further. As you wiped down the table and scrubbed the pot, you noticed the other bowl empty, surely no animal would use a spoon and cleanly eat on the table, you shrugged and put the cloth down, then you caught sight of something out of the corner of your eye—a small piece of paper, folded neatly and left on the edge of the stone bench.

You frowned, wiping your hands on your tunic before picking it up. The paper was crisp, freshly folded, and bore no markings on the outside. You unfolded it carefully, your heart pounding in your chest as you read the words inside:

'Meet me at dusk. Don’t keep me waiting.'

The handwriting was unmistakable—your master's sharp, angular script. You stared at the note, the weight of his words sinking in.

usk.

He wanted to speak to you, and whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

A knot formed in your stomach as you crumpled the paper in your hand. You had no choice but to go. Whatever your master had planned, it was clear he wasn’t going to let this go easily. You weren’t sure what you feared more—his anger or his silence.

-

The rest of the day passed in a haze of anxious energy. You went about your usual tasks, but your thoughts were consumed by the looming meeting with your master Every sound seemed sharper, every shadow in the cave darker as the weight of his presence crept back into your mind.

As the sky began to dim and the familiar colors of dusk bled into the horizon, you could feel your nerves tightening like a string pulled taut. The note stayed crumpled in your pocket, as if holding onto it could somehow anchor you to the reality of what was coming, you brought your saber too, safely tucked in your hip, rule no. 2, don't ever let go of your saber, ever.

Finally, you made your way outside, the cold air biting against your skin. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to keep warm, but no amount of heat could fight the chill creeping up your spine. The meeting place was in a secluded corner near the cliffs, away from the cave's entrance where the wind was harsher and the shadows were longer.

As you approached, you saw your master standing with his back to you, his silhouette outlined against the dying light of the day. His posture was rigid, unmoving, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could sense the tension radiating from him like a physical force.

You swallowed hard, your steps slowing as you got closer.

“You wanted to see me,” you called out softly, your voice barely carrying over the wind.

He didn’t turn immediately. He stood there for a moment, letting the silence drag on before finally speaking.

“Do you know why I asked you here?” His voice was low, controlled, but you could hear the strain beneath the surface.

You shifted nervously, feeling the weight of his unspoken accusation. “I... I thought we could talk about—”

Before you could finish, he turned sharply to face you, his expression dark and unreadable. “Talk about what?” he cut in, his tone laced with something that sent a shiver through you. “About how you defied me? How you put everything at risk because of your reckless curiosity?”

You opened your mouth to protest, to explain yourself, but the words caught in your throat. He stepped closer, his presence towering over you.

“You think I didn’t notice?” he continued, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “The way you looked at that Jedi. The way you were so eager to listen to his words, as if I haven’t taught you enough.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a twinge of confusion, how you looked at the jedi? "That's not—"

"Do you even realize what you’ve done?" His voice rose slightly, the mask of calm slipping as he loomed over you. "You’ve drawn attention to yourself, to us. You’ve jeopardized everything because you can’t control your feelings."

His words hit you like a blow, sharp and unforgiving. You hadn’t meant for things to escalate this way, but now, standing here under his intense scrutiny, the weight of your actions felt suffocating.

"I was just trying to understand," you whispered, trying to hold onto some shred of your own reasoning. "I wasn't trying to betray you. I would never do that."

His eyes flashed, something like anger and something else—something far more unsettling—swirling beneath the surface. He stepped closer, so close now that you could feel his breath against your skin.

"Understand?" he echoed, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "There is nothing for you to understand. You belong to me. Not to him, not to anyone else. And I will not tolerate any disobedience."

Your breath caught as his hand came up, his fingers grazing your jaw with a touch that was too soft for the intensity of his words. It was a strange, disorienting contrast—the way his touch seemed almost tender, but his words dripped with possessiveness and control.

"You will listen to me," he continued, his eyes boring into yours. "You will learn your place. And if I ever see you acting against me again... there will be consequences."

You wanted to shrink away, to retreat from the suffocating proximity, but your feet felt frozen in place. His hand slid from your jaw to your neck, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse. Your heart raced beneath his touch, each beat a reminder of the dangerous line you were walking.

"I'm not afraid of you," you whispered, though the tremor in your voice betrayed the truth.

His head tilts a bit, if only he didn't have his mask, you could've seen him smirking. "You should be."

And with that, he released you, stepping back as if to give you room to breathe—but the tension in the air remained thick, choking. He turned his back on you once more, his voice calm, as if the storm had passed.

Then it came.

The cold, metallic hum of the Sith's crimson blade echoes through the air as it clashes with your own lightsaber, sending a ripple of energy through your body. You're locked in a deadly dance, the red glow of his saber illuminating the setting sun around you. His strikes are quick, calculated, and full of malice—he's testing you, pushing your limits.

You deflect another vicious strike, the weight of his power pressing down on you as your sabers grind together in a shower of sparks. His face is obscured by his hood, but you can feel his eyes boring into you, searching for any sign of weakness.

"You're holding back," he growls, his voice a low snarl. He steps forward, forcing you to backpedal as he unleashes a flurry of brutal, precise strikes. Each one tests your reflexes, your endurance, but you parry and deflect with determination, your body moving almost on instinct.

"I'm not!" you bite back, gritting your teeth as you push him away with a Force shove, creating a brief moment of distance. But the Sith is relentless, immediately rushing back at you with an overhead slash. You raise your saber just in time, blocking the blow, though the sheer force of it sends shockwaves down your arms.

The dark energy radiating from him is suffocating, clouding your mind with doubt. But you push through, focusing on your training, on the rhythm of the fight. He steps to the side, spinning his blade toward your midsection. You pivot, barely dodging the strike, and bring your saber around to counterattack. For a brief moment, you manage to go on the offensive, forcing him to block and evade your strikes.

But he’s fast—too fast. His saber flashes red as it whips toward your face, and you duck just in time. The heat of the blade burns the air inches above your head. Without thinking, you lunge forward, thrusting your saber toward his chest, but he sidesteps with a cruel laugh.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he sneers, sending a shockwave of Force energy that knocks you off your feet and slams you into the cold floor. Your lightsaber slips from your grasp, skidding across the room. Panic floods your veins as he slowly approaches, his lightsaber humming menacingly at his side.

You reach out with the Force, calling your saber back to your hand, but he’s already upon you. His foot presses against your chest, pinning you to the ground. The tip of his blade hovers dangerously close to your throat, its red glow casting eerie shadows on your face.

“You fought well,” he says, his voice dark and mocking. “But not well enough.”

You huff as your saber falls from your hand, your too tired to even pick it up, but the sith in front of you seems opposite.

"Return to the cave. Reflect on what I’ve told you."

You hesitated, unsure if it was truly over, but when he didn’t speak again, you took a shaky breath and forced your legs to move. With one last glance at his rigid figure, you turned and made your way back to the cave, the weight of his warning hanging over you like a shadow.

Inside, the fire had gone out, and the air was cold and still. You collapsed onto the floor, your mind spinning with the events of the evening.

You sat there, staring into the darkness of the cave, your thoughts swirling like a storm. The tension still gripped your chest, refusing to let go. His words echoed in your mind, his possessive touch still lingering on your skin, the surprise duel. You tried to reason with yourself, to find a way to justify what had happened, but nothing made sense anymore.

He had never spoken to you like that before, he was always quiet, judging from far. The man you had once trusted, respected, even admired... now seemed like someone entirely different. The thought sent a shiver down your spine. What had changed? What had you done to make him so... volatile?

Or had he always been this way, and you were only now beginning to see it?

You pulled your knees to your chest, trying to steady your breathing. You weren't afraid of him. You had told him that, years ago didn't you?

Every beat of your heart reminded you of the danger you were in. His words had been a warning, a promise. He would not tolerate disobedience. The consequences, should you defy him again, would be far worse than tonight's encounter. And the way he had touched you—possessively, as if he owned you—sent a ripple of fear through your veins.

But beneath that fear, there was something else. Something deeper, more unsettling. A flicker of defiance.

You weren’t his. Not really. You were more than just an obedient apprentice—more than just a pawn in his game. You had thoughts, feelings, desires of your own, and no matter how much he tried to control you, he couldn't take that away. Could he?

You stood, your muscles stiff from sitting on the cold stone floor, and moved to relight the fire. The warmth spread slowly, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the chill that had settled inside you. The crackling flames offered a momentary distraction, but your mind kept circling back to one thing: the Jedi, what if you just ignored him that day, went on with whatever you wanted to do and left him be?

What had Qimir said to him that caused this reaction from the master? Had you really acted so carelessly? Or was he simply seeing threats where none existed? You couldn’t be sure anymore.

A part of you wanted to push back, to prove that you weren’t weak, that you weren’t just going to roll over and accept whatever he decided for you. But another part of you—the part still trembling from the weight of his words—knew that crossing him again could be catastrophic.

You had no choice but to tread carefully. For now.

As the fire crackled louder, casting shadows on the cave walls, you stared into the flames, thinking of what the future held.

With a heavy sigh, you lay down near the fire, the warmth slowly soothing your aching muscles. Tomorrow was another day, and you would face whatever came. But tonight, all you could do was hold onto the small spark of defiance inside you, hoping it would be enough to carry you through whatever came next.

As sleep began to pull you under, his voice echoed in your mind again, soft but chilling: "You belong to me.”

But no, you thought, your resolve hardening.

I belong to no one.

And with that, sleep finally took you.

[devieuls]

ˋ Haunted . ✺

Qimir x Ex Jedi Fem Reader < SERIES >

Warning of the Serie: MDNI. Sith Lord Qimir x Fem ex Jedi Reader.

(during the series)

SMUT: Dirty Talk; Bites; fingering; Blood; Spit; Jealousy and Possessiveness; Foreplay; violence; Swearing; Teasing; Unprotected Sex; betrayal; oral sex; dacryphilia; outdoor sex; jealousy BDSM. Dom Qimir ANGST: toxic relationship, self-harm, derealization, suffering, Requited / Unrequited love, prejudices, bullying and insults. There will be flashbacks in this series

Aged characters: Qimir 35 y.o / You 22 y.o.

Synopsis: In a twisted web of light and darkness, two opposites are facing each other, dancing on a thin thread called fate. What happens when light and darkness dance on a wire called destiny, two eternal opposites that inevitably attract each other and create something perfectly powerful and chaotic to unite the power of two in one? The answer emerges in a journey of tension and attraction, where yin and yang discover that their opposition is nothing but a reflection of a deep and unexpected connection. This is the story of how destruction is akin to peace, how the moon one day decided to save the sun, how darkness is not so dark and evil so bad. A journey towards change and desire, where opposing forces merge into a future that no one could have predicted.

(Following some events of the series)

Lenght: 8.3k

TW: THE SERIES WILL BE FULL OF DELICATE TOPICS!

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⠀⠀Chapter VIII: Connections

The silence that followed was thick, almost tangible. Still sitting on him, your breaths mingled with his, but in your mind, everything had grown cold and distant, serene. When you pulled away from the kiss, resting your forehead against his, your eyes closed as if shielding yourself from what you felt, isolating your thoughts while the weight of your decision suffocated you. Qimir still held you, but he seemed to sense the growing distance between you.

His hands moved with an almost painful tenderness across your skin, caressing your cheek as if trying to hold onto you in that moment, pulling you back from your thoughts.

"You don’t have to do this" he whispered, his voice filled with sweetness and concern. He was trying to bring you back to him, into the present, into the world you two had built in that fleeting moment stolen from fate. But he already knew, deep down, that his words would carry little weight.

You swallowed, your eyes still closed, but you felt that void within you, a space that seemed impossible to fill. When you finally opened them, he saw something different. The light that once burned bright and fierce was now replaced by a darker, deeper shadow, fueled by a fire that even you seemed unable to fully control.

"I owe it to Mae." Your words were cold, filled with fierce determination. The name of your sister slipped from your lips like a vow, an unbreakable promise. And Qimir felt a shiver run down his spine. The pain you had kept hidden beneath layers of suppressed emotions had turned into pure resolve.

"You already know where this path will lead." His piercing gaze sought yours, as if trying to stop you from fully giving in to the darkness that was slowly taking hold, the same darkness he had once offered you to accept. He could sense your determination like an impenetrable wall, reminiscent of what he himself had experienced so many years ago, when he was a padawan and embraced the dark side.

You turned your face, firmly brushing his hand aside. Your gaze, unwavering and sharp as a blade, was now devoid of the sweetness you had offered him just moments before. Then you stood up, composed, a figure full of authority and resolve. Every movement was measured, almost cold, mirroring his.

“You can’t know that,” you retorted, your voice icy and devoid of emotion. “I’m no longer a Jedi; there’s no light or darkness left for me to follow” you declared in a cutting tone. Your gaze briefly shifted to the nexu, watching you both silently, almost entranced by your interaction. “You said it yourself. I am who I am, and I choose me.” Those words, so final and distant, sounded like a sentence as you turned and began walking toward the ship’s corridor, moving away from him.

Qimir watched you as you distanced yourself, lowering his gaze in frustration. A long sigh escaped his lips as he turned back to the ship’s controls, raising a hand to his face to rub his temples. Yet even as you physically pulled away, he could still feel the shadow of your presence. The bond that the Force created between the two of you was powerful, a web of life and power that made every fiber of your beings vibrate. It was as if he could feel every thought, every emotion, without needing to enter your mind.

And as much as he tried to suppress the fear, he knew something was changing in you. The Force flowed strongly within you, but with it came danger. The Jedi would never have allowed you to fully give in to the darkness, yet your refusal to choose between light and dark made you unpredictable a volatile threat to Him…

What he had glimpsed in your false memories during that kiss left him deeply shaken. The fragments he had seen showed a future where your path seemed carved out toward a dark destiny, one he had followed himself, one he both hoped and feared you would embrace. Inside you was a power that the Jedi had never fully understood, a latent force now emerging with newfound ferocity, fueled by your thirst for vengeance and your search for freedom. For your own identity.

Qimir knew what that path meant; he understood the consequences. Yet deep in his heart, there was a spark of hope that your decision to face Sol would draw you closer to his mission. Perhaps, deep down, he even wanted it. He had invested too much in you, in the moments you two shared, to let you slip away so easily. Qimir had sacrificed a part of himself to find you, to bind himself to you, and he was willing to sacrifice even more if it meant not losing you.

He knew that if you killed Sol, you would throw open the doors to the part of yourself you had so long tried to deny. And perhaps, when everything was over, you would realize that your freedom would never be complete unless you fully embraced the bond between you.

The hours dissolved quickly as your ship glided through Coruscant’s atmosphere, landing far from the bustling chaos of the central capital. The metal and glass dome of the vessel allowed you to take in the sprawling labyrinth of the capital city below, oppressive and vivid all at once.

Qimir sat beside you, still in the pilot’s seat, his gaze fixed on the familiar landscape with a look that betrayed a certain caution. For him, returning there meant reopening old wounds, scars from his past that had never fully healed. He knew he was taking a risk by coming back into the heart of danger, into the wolf's den where his old master awaited him, perhaps unknowingly. If she sensed his presence, his survival would hang by a thread, but that didn’t stop him. He knew he was doing this for you, to give you the freedom and peace you had been chasing for so long. And yet, as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye, a part of him wondered if it was truly worth it.

Once you landed, you rose from the co-pilot’s seat, distancing yourself from him for a brief moment. Then, like a shadow fading in the light, you felt something shift. You turned, returning to him, expecting to sense the familiar flow of the Force coursing around his body, that subtle vibration that linked every fiber of his being to your perception. But there was nothing. No trace of him, no echo of power. It was as if Qimir had been swallowed by a void, as if his connection to the Force had been snuffed out.

This wasn’t the first time Qimir had suppressed the flow of the Force within him, masking it as he did when he first encountered Sol in what had been his cover shop.

You stood there, staring at him, surprised, almost destabilized, as he donned his black cloak. You couldn’t read his presence as you had so many times before. He was there, right in front of you, yet he wasn’t. Or rather, it felt as though his essence had been wrapped in something invisible, a cloak that obscured every signal, rendering him almost imperceptible to your senses. It wasn’t just his power that was hidden, but his very essence, as if his soul itself had receded deep within, distant and unreachable.

It was unsettling, surreal. He had become a complete stranger, a faint outline in your field of vision. Yet there was something incredibly captivating about this ability of his. His capacity to conceal himself, to merge with the darkness, was something you had never witnessed before, something not even the Jedi Masters had taught, as they knew too little of such techniques.

You walked with determined steps along the wide streets of the capital’s outskirts, the burgundy cloak that once belonged to Mae covering your head, hiding your face from the many eyes of the city. You didn’t ask how Qimir managed to hide himself so perfectly. Every time you tried to sense him, to touch that spark in the Force that made him recognizable, you were met with a disconcerting emptiness. He was there, just a few steps behind you, yet his presence seemed to dissolve like smoke in the air.

It was afternoon, and the outskirts were brimming with life and movement. Merchants argued loudly, vendors shouted to promote their goods, and from the bars, the sound of music and raised voices mingled with the rowdy hustle of tipsy customers and the sweet perfume of prostitutes who tried to charm passersby with false smiles and hollow eyes. The scent of spices, the worn air, and the sweet aroma of the women of pleasure invaded your senses, and the crowd served as a perfect cloak to hide your presence. You ignored it all, as if the city itself had become nothing more than a faded backdrop to your mission. Nothing else existed but that dark call, the pull leading you toward your master.

The cloak protected you from curious glances, but not from the chaos within. You walked with a steady pace, ignoring the external world, focusing every thought on Sol. You could feel him, his power in the Force was like a beacon in the storm of emotions within you. You knew exactly where to find him, and each step brought you closer.

Qimir followed silently behind you, though every so often, his warm, low voice seemed to try and bridge the invisible distance you had created between you, like an underground current trying to pull you back.

“You're still in time to…” he began, as if offering you one last chance to turn back, but you silenced him with a cold, almost icy response without even looking at him.

“I know.” Your gaze remained fixed ahead, among the crowd that moved like a river around you. Your voice carried the weight of someone who had already decided, immovable. Yet you felt a thin tension between you that threatened to snap. You could sense his concern, even though he had rendered himself invisible to the Force.

The streets grew more chaotic, and you moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where they were going. The voices of merchants echoed in your ears, offering exotic goods, jewelry, and food, but your mind was elsewhere. Behind you, you felt Qimir’s gaze following you, silent but palpable. He knew what you were thinking; he could feel it.

“You’re not ready to face him, Y/N,” he finally said, his voice lower, almost choked. The tone was filled with concern but also with a cold awareness that you were refusing to acknowledge.

His words, however, struck you like an electric shock running down your spine. You held your breath for a moment, feeling the heat of resentment rising within you, the weight of his judgment making your blood boil. Your gaze hardened.

You couldn’t afford to waver.

“I’m not you.” Your words were sharp as a dagger, cutting into the wound that had never fully healed in him. “I won’t let my master strike me down only to run away wounded. I’ll do what I came here to do,” you finished. Your voice was hard, almost cruel, and as you walked, you didn’t realize how those words came out, sharp like a blade, sinking into Qimir’s heart with lethal precision. The pain in his gaze was unmistakable, even though he tried to hide it behind a veil of silence.

Only when you turned, searching for his figure behind you, did you notice that veil of pain in his gaze. You had touched a nerve, and you knew it. Qimir had never forgotten that wound, neither physical nor emotional, but he had opened up to you, letting you glimpse that fragment of his past.

You felt the weight of your words falling back on you. His gaze lowered slightly, and the silent pain he carried seemed to etch itself even deeper into his features. You bit the inside of your cheek, cursing yourself for having spoken so harshly. But it was too late to take those words back.

That expression struck you harder than you wanted to admit, and a pang of remorse tightened your breath. You didn’t understand why, in that very moment, you had become so cold towards him, as if part of you had built an icy wall. Perhaps it was the pressure, the growing tension as you approached Sol. Or maybe your own heart was too full of conflicting emotions to see clearly.

“I…” you began, your voice breaking. “You know I didn’t mean what I said.” you whispered, resuming your walk, your voice finally softer, almost regretful. You didn’t want to admit it, but you truly felt sorry for having struck so harshly. Qimir had always been there for you, and in that moment, you realized how much your emotions were taking over.

“I know” Qimir replied, but his tone was hollow, distant. He tried to mask the pain you had caused, but he couldn’t entirely hide it.

You stopped again without turning, your breath uneven as you tried to gather the pieces of yourself. The chaos of Galactic City continued around you, but for a moment, everything felt distant, as if the world had retreated to the background. Clenching your fists beneath the burgundy cloak, you searched for clarity in the turmoil consuming you.

"I'm sorry," you murmured through gritted teeth, nearly choked by your own frustration. "It’s just… I'm full of emotions, sensations … That I can't think straight. It’s this place." Your words were sincere, but you knew they wouldn't be enough to erase the pain you'd inflicted. Inside, a storm was raging, hatred, fear, pain, and a glimmer of hope, all intertwined and clashing.

"You're more like her than you realize" Qimir said, his voice an echo of the past, heavy with an observation he'd carried for a long time. His gaze, laced with recognition, held a weight that hit you deeply. The mention of Mae, always a thin thread binding everything you did, twisted painfully inside you. Hearing her name associated with you in that way made a lump form in your throat.

You clenched your jaw, pushing down the wave of emotions his words stirred within you. At that moment, it seemed only fair that he had found a way to wound you as well, even though he hadn’t meant to hurt you, just a thought spoken aloud. You took a deep breath and started walking again, this time faster, ignoring him. Your steps grew more resolute, almost angry, as you headed towards the upper part of the city.

After fifteen minutes, the city's energy shifted. You could feel it, an oppressive presence in the Force, like a heavy cloud wrapping around you. Jedi on patrol, Jedi strolling, politicians, they all resonated like notes in a rising symphony within your mind. Swallowing hard, you tried to focus on the connection with Sol, but something about this place unsettled you, as if a part of you wanted to retreat. A pure, distant, yet palpable energy teased your senses, like a whisper urging you to reconsider your actions.

Your heartbeat quickened, and with it, your frustration. Anxiety clouded your focus, and suddenly, the thread of Sol slipped through your grasp like sand between your fingers. You stopped abruptly, breath ragged, muscles tense. You had lost control, and Qimir noticed immediately.

"Relax," he whispered, his voice gentle, soothing against the confusion assaulting you. His hand rested lightly on your shoulder, and despite everything, the gesture anchored you to reality for a fleeting moment.

"If you keep pushing, you'll attune yourself to the Force of the entire city. Focus on your connection to him, find it within you. Use your emotions to guide you," his voice was calm, a guide as you followed his instructions, slowly finding your center.

His words flowed through you like a fresh breeze, cutting through the storm of thoughts and feelings swirling inside. You took a deep breath, letting the uncertainty slip away. Closing your eyes, you dove into the Force, trying to feel Sol once again. The chaotic vibrations of the city began to fade, blending into the background as you focused solely on him. The invisible threads of the Force around you shifted like taut strings, each belonging to someone in the capital, but you sought the one that bound you to Sol.

One heartbeat, then another, your breath deep and steady. Finally, you felt it. That thread, intense, familiar, pulsed in the Force like a blinding light. You recognized it.

“That way.” you murmured decisively, opening your eyes and fixing your gaze in the direction that now seemed inevitable. You began walking, your steps still filled with tension, but this time they were purposeful, deliberate. Each meter you covered brought you closer to the Jedi Temple.

Qimir followed closely, his gaze watchful and silent. He could sense the struggle within you, feel your uncertainty growing with every step. He knew how much this was costing you, how hard you were trying to maintain control, but the fear that your determination might lead you back to your master crept into his thoughts. He prayed it wouldn’t happen, it would be unbearable to watch you die in front of him.

When the Jedi Temple finally appeared in the distance, an imposing and solemn structure, you paused for a moment, your breath short and nervous. You had hoped with all your heart that Sol wasn’t there. You didn’t want to step back into that place you once called home. You didn’t want to face the ghosts that resided there.

You ventured deeper into the temple, followed closely by Qimir, whose presence seemed to envelop you like an invisible veil, making you almost imperceptible as you crossed the main atrium. Each step was accompanied by the irregular beat of your heart, an incessant drum of nervousness. You prayed you wouldn’t encounter anyone you knew, and fortunately, no familiar faces appeared. Yet, every corner, every corridor whispered forgotten memories, the voices of the past calling out to you. Your time as a Padawan resurfaced like thin blades, slowly and imperceptibly cutting into your skin with each recollection, with every step forward.

The towering walls of the temple’s ziggurat loomed over you, cold and silent, heavy with history. They had once been your protectors; now, they felt like ghosts, shadows of what you had lost. You continued walking, your steps growing more hesitant, until you reached the First Knowledge Quarter, in the northwest section of the ancient building. Each step in that direction strengthened the bond with your master. It was a sensation that shook you to your core: a mix of familiarity and terror, like the pull of a truth you had tried to escape.

The corridor leading to a place that had once been your refuge, your sanctuary from the sharp tongues of those who doubted you were worthy of being a Padawan, struck you with a wave of emotion. You felt a longing for it, feeling almost the nostalgia of…

"The Room of a Thousand Fountains…" Qimir whispered, completing the thought you had kept to yourself. His words echoed like a shared memory. You glanced at him, surprised to remember that he too had walked these halls, many years before you. His face was unreadable, but in his eyes, you glimpsed a deep understanding of what you were feeling.

“He’s there.” you murmured, swallowing heavily.

In front of you lay the entrance to the room, a gateway that seemed to conceal far more than just a physical space. Entering meant turning back, facing not just Sol, but everything you had been, everything that had driven you to become a Jedi, and everything you had lost.

The Room of a Thousand Fountains was exactly as you remembered it, yet something about it felt different. Time hadn’t altered its majestic beauty: exotic flora and fauna from all over the galaxy filled the space, creating a landscape both alien and comforting. The artisans and botanists who had designed it had managed to craft an oasis of peace and serenity in a temple that, although dedicated to the Force, could often become an oppressive place. The sound of water flowed softly, gurgling from a thousand small fountains, reflecting the light in delicate cascades that seemed to dance among the lush trees and bushes. A light mist rose from the streams, cloaking the air with a freshness that carried the weight of ancient tranquility.

A part of you longed to stop, to breathe deeply in that peace, and lose yourself in the place that, as a child, you had considered your true home. Sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting the water of the fountains in golden and azure hues. The trees, covered in bright flowers, swayed gently, moved by a breeze that seemed to come from another world. But today, this place was no longer a refuge. Today, it was the stage for your battle, for your fall.

With every step you took into the room, you drew closer to Sol, and with it, the weight of emotion grew heavier. There was no room left for serenity; everything within you was transforming into a grip of tension. Your breath was quick and shallow, your fingers instinctively tightened around the edge of Mae’s cloak. The memory of her, of her loss, fueled the fire of your determination, but at the same time, it consumed you.

Behind you, Qimir followed you in silence, his gaze piercing, as if he could sense every conflict raging within you. He felt your nervousness, the way your strength seemed to waver between control and impulse, between light and darkness. And he said nothing, letting you sink into your thoughts. It was your battle, and he knew it.

When you stopped in front of the central area of the hall, time seemed to slow down. The beating of your heart echoed in your ears like drums on a battlefield. Sol was there, sitting cross-legged, immersed in meditation, his unmistakable figure at the center of that oasis which had once been your refuge. But now, that serenity seemed to you like a cruel illusion, a mirror reflecting a calm you could never reach again. The sound of the fountains blended with your thoughts, amplifying the inner turmoil devouring you. Every drop of water seemed to fall as heavily as a blade on your skin, flowing slowly but relentlessly, carving invisible wounds.

Inside you, the storm was growing. Fear, nostalgia, pain, anger… Every emotion you had repressed was now rising to the surface, like a river that had burst its banks. The image of Sol in front of you was both familiar and foreign. You could no longer recognize the man you once considered a guide, an almost fatherly figure. Now, seeing his calmness, the contrast with your fury was unbearable. Your hand clenched around the hilt of the lightsaber that Osha had wielded at Qimir's side for years. The cold sensation of the metal against your skin was the only anchor to reality.

Sol's voice shattered the silence with devastating power.

“Y/n…” Sol's voice cut through the air with the same intensity as the water from the fountains crashing onto the ground below. You shivered at the sound of your name on his lips, a blow to your soul. How dare he speak to you with such familiarity? How dare he drag you back with just one word?

You didn’t respond. Every fiber of your being strained to contain the fury rising within. You felt the heat of anger burning inside, mixed with a deeper cold: the cold of betrayal. You watched him rise with the same calm that had always been his, as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed. You saw him turn toward you, his expression shifting from the relief of feeling your presence again to the gravity of the situation he now faced. The serene, relieved look quickly gave way to the shadow of understanding. Your stance, the lightsaber in your hand, everything, spoke louder than words.

“Master.” The word slipped from your lips like a blade of ice, sharp, cold, laced with pain and resentment. It was the first time you had called him that since he abandoned you on Khofar. Every time you spoke that title, the poison of the past resurfaced, tainting every thought, every memory. You had admired him, followed him blindly, and he had left you behind, without explanation, without a helping hand. Abandoned to the enemy.

Sol swallowed, and you saw the flash of realization in his eyes. He understood. Finally, he understood.

“Don’t do that…” His voice, now broken by a plea, seemed almost surreal. He, who had once been your rock, the one who always knew what to do, was now there, disarmed, vulnerable, almost defenseless, a shadow of the man you once considered a father. His lightsaber lay a few steps away from him, but he didn’t call it to him. He didn’t want to fight you. Or at least, he still hoped he wouldn’t have to.

He could sense everything about you: the turmoil of emotions, the growing hatred, the fear consuming you. He could read your thoughts, see the depth of your suffering, and he understood exactly how far you were willing to go. But that wasn’t enough to stop you. Not anymore. You belonged to the darkness now.

Pain gripped your chest like a vice. Your time with Qimir had forged a different person, a harder, more ruthless one. But the real blow, the true trauma, had been being abandoned by him, right when you needed him most. He had fled, leaving you to face the pain and the Sith without looking back. Your mind was a whirlwind of contrasting images: his teachings, the warmth of his affection… and then the coldness with which he left, abandoning you. The open wound that had turned into a scar burned, and you no longer knew if you were driven by the desire for revenge or the desperation to understand.

And then there was Mae.

A wave of hatred surged through you at the thought of your sister, dead under circumstances that still tore at your soul, so inexplicable they were. You had feared that Sol might have been involved, that he had made the fatal decision that led to her death. You couldn’t look at him without seeing hands stained with blood—the blood of your family. The uncertainty, the anguish of not knowing if he was responsible, strangled your soul.

Betrayal, abandonment, hatred. And fear.

Fear that, deep down, he truly was the man you feared he had become. Fear that his wisdom had been an illusion, that everything he taught you was merely a shadow of what he really was. The possibility that he could have been the one behind Mae’s death terrified you, made you lose control.

Your breath was becoming more labored, and your fingers clenched around the lightsaber as if the mere grip could contain all the chaos you were trying to tame. But you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

‘I can’t stop.’ you thought, the echo of your own determination reverberating through the peaceful hall.

Qimir watched the scene from a distance, hidden in the shadow of a massive tree at the edge of the hall. The sound of rushing water seemed to muffle everything happening, but he could sense every single emotion coursing through you. It was as if your emotions were an extension of his own, a distorted reflection of his past.

The hatred burning within you was palpable, a poison spreading through the air like an invisible gas. Qimir felt it vibrating in his bones, seeing in your fury what had once been his own. The hatred for his Jedi master, the repressed anger at the teachings that had imprisoned him, the thirst for revenge that had consumed him. It was like a flashback swallowing him whole, a cycle repeating with cruel precision.

He remembered perfectly when, decades earlier, he had found himself in the same place you were now. With a trembling hand on his lightsaber, ready to lash out at his master, blinded by pain and rage. He knew what it meant to be devoured by hatred, to understand that there would be no redemption in committing the final act, losing everything. That revenge would not bring peace but only an unstoppable spiral of chaos. Qimir had been drawn into that darkness and had never managed to find a way out. His life had been marked by that one decision that had finally set him free.

And now he saw you there. He knew perfectly well that you wouldn’t find peace in killing Sol. The illusion of relief would last a mere heartbeat during the confrontation, and then emptiness would claim everything. But he wouldn’t intervene. Not this time.

Qimir had already made up his mind. He wouldn’t stop you.

If he interfered, he would break that cycle, and somehow your suffering would redeem his. But he wasn’t ready for that. In a sense, he shouldn’t be. Allowing you to commit that act was necessary, as it would lead you down the path to the dark side. It would be so; He had decided it would be so, and he found himself succumbing to a decision he knew would be destructive for you.

He knew it wouldn’t be your hatred that would destroy you, but your conviction that this was the only way to find peace.

Sol's voice was like a sharp blade piercing your soul, but the pain wasn’t enough to stop you. His words,

"This isn't you, my old Padawan" echoed like a distant memory, buried beneath layers of hatred and resentment. Every fiber of your being screamed for vengeance, each step you took toward him charged with an unstoppable tension. Sol's paternal tone grated against your ears, covered by anger and bitterness, as you found the strength to ask the fatal question.

"Mae… Where is she?" Your voice trembled, and you hated yourself for that weakness. You desperately sought a thread of hope, a sign that she was still alive, that it had all been a mistake. A part of you even hoped to discover that she was actually alive and that you didn't feel the Force bond with her only because she had used a skill similar to the one Qimir employed to disguise herself. But that was not the case; Sol's expression answered you more than his words could.

"Y/n… we-" he began, desperately trying to find the right words, but it was useless. Your grip on the lightsaber was so tight that your knuckles turned white.

"You killed her." Your words were pure poison, a definitive condemnation. The resentment and darkness in your gaze would have made anyone tremble, even the bravest of Jedi Masters.

"That's not what happened…" His hand reached out toward you, hoping to reclaim what was left of the Padawan he once knew, but his other hand was ready to call his lightsaber.

You advanced slowly, each step heavy as lead, uncertain yet determined at the same time. For a single, desperate moment, you hoped that somehow he could tell you that he hadn’t done anything, that he wasn’t responsible for what had been your sister’s death.

"But it was like that…" you murmured, almost trying to convince yourself, still in disbelief and confusion. Then you saw it in his eyes: betrayal, guilt. The fragments of your heart shattered into a thousand pieces, burning with hatred.

"You… you killed her." Your whisper became a verdict, and for the first time, you noticed fear in your old master's eyes. The man you had once revered now trembled before you, aware of how much you had changed, completely consumed by hatred. And it was in that moment that everything collapsed.

"I… y/n…"

Sol quickly called his lightsaber to him, the familiar sound of its activation resonating in the hall. You struck at him with all your strength, the weight of your pain pouring into the violence of the attack. He blocked your strike at the last second, but the clash of the blades echoed in the room, breaking the harmony of the waterfalls and the chirping of some birds.

There, amidst the beauty of nature, the serenity of the place shattered under the fire of combat. The blades hissed in the air, illuminating the waterfalls and the exotic plants around you, while the water reflected flashes of red and blue light. The rough stone floor beneath you vibrated with each impact, and every time the lightsabers met, a spark of pure energy lit up the green of the surrounding garden. The leaves of the trees rustled beneath your swift movements, as your heavy breaths mingled with the constant sound of flowing water.

"Y/n, don’t succumb to your darkness…" Sol still tried to reach you, but his words were drowned out by the clash of lightsabers. Each strike you unleashed was fiercer than the last, an explosion of uncontrollable rage. Your technique merged with a brutality you had never known. Sol, his face etched with pain and disappointment, struggled to defend himself, blocking your attacks with increasing difficulty.

In your fury, you had lost all control. Every thrust was heavy with hatred, the blade of your lightsaber sliding close to his flesh, grazing his Jedi robes with lethal precision. The sound of water became more distant, muffled by the pounding beat of your heart. Each blow that Sol parried drove you to strike harder, faster, as if only his destruction could quell the turmoil within you.

"You’re not like this!" Sol shouted, retreating, almost pleading, as he defended against yet another strike. But he knew he could no longer stop you. Your emotions were a raging river, overwhelming, uncontrollable. The past, the lies, Mae’s death… everything had pushed you beyond your limit, and now you were unstoppable. Sol, the master who had once taught you calm and peace, was now the target of your deepest hatred.

The hall transformed into a theater of destruction. The harmonious sound of the artificial forest was drowned out by the sharp hum of lightsabers and the violent clash of your blades striking with ferocity. You felt nothing, saw nothing; all you felt now was hatred. The vibrant green of the plants and the blue of the waters no longer existed for you. Only the red of your fury.

"You promised to protect me!" Your scream exploded in the hall, echoing against the walls as your saber finally found its mark. The blade sizzled as it struck Sol’s shoulder, leaving a burning cut. It wasn’t enough. His face contorted in pure terror as he used the Force to throw you back, the instinctive gesture of a man pushed to his limit, yet still reluctant to hurt you. "To protect both of us!" you continued, your anger resonating in your voice like thunder as you rose again, fueled by hatred. You lunged at him once more with uncontrolled fury, your strikes becoming faster, more precise, as you sought every possible opening. Sol was now forced to defend himself desperately, parrying your thrusts with quick but increasingly fatigued movements, barely dodging your last attack.

"It was a mistake…" he said in a strained voice, his breathing heavy, bringing a hand to the burn on his shoulder, seeking relief he would never find. He retreated, his face twisted in pain, both physical and emotional, unable to tear his gaze from you, as if he were looking at someone he no longer recognized.

But you could no longer hear his words. Each time your blade met his, your frustration grew. You struck with such violence that pieces of flora fell to the ground, severed and charred. The fountains, once symbols of your serenity, now reflected the darkness consuming you. Your emotions, once controlled, were now an uncontrollable torrent of pain, grief, and anger. Your lightsaber sliced through the air with ferocity, hissing like a snake ready to strike, destroying everything you had once loved. Every blow you dealt was an act of accusation, an open wound.

"I trusted you…" Your voice cracked, a mix of hatred and regret reflected in your movements. Sol, despite his fatigue, still managed to defend himself, but his movements grew slower. Your anger made you stronger, but also more unpredictable, and he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer.

With a scream of rage, you plunged your saber with all your might, aiming for his chest, seeking the decisive blow. But Sol, in a last desperate act, blocked the strike with a speed you wouldn’t have thought possible. Your blades crossed with devastating force, sparks flying in every direction, illuminating the space around you. The sound of metal and energy colliding was deafening, and for a moment, everything else faded away. Only you and Sol remained.

Your sabers sizzled and screeched, locked in a struggle of strength and will. You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of remorse, any confirmation that the Sol you once knew still existed. What you found broke your heart.

With a furious cry, you pushed with all your strength, forcing him to retreat once again. But he, breathless and moving slower, had no intention of hurting you. He blocked every strike, dodging with pinpoint precision, but he did not counterattack. His gaze was that of a broken man, aware of what he had lost, powerless to reclaim it. The gaze of a father…

"Please…" he whispered, but his words were drowned out by the roar of your blade approaching once more. The movements became frantic. Your legs moved agilely, jumping over small ponds and the carved rocks decorating the hall, seizing every hold to try to strike him from a new angle. But Sol, despite the pain and fatigue, still held his ground. He jumped back, parrying and dodging, but each time he was closer to his limit.

The beauty of the Room of a Thousand Fountains was consumed by the fury of battle. The waterfalls, once symbols of calm and contemplation, now reflected the destruction around you. The exotic trees, once lush, fell to the ground one after another, struck by your merciless blade. The air itself felt denser, suffocating, as your strikes grew more desperate. Broken plants, shattered statues, water splashing everywhere as your blade mercilessly cut not only the nature around you but also the memories of your childhood, the moments when this place had been your home, your refuge. It was no longer any of that. Now it was just the stage for your revenge.

Sol continued to defend himself, desperately seeking a way to stop you without hurting you. But you were now unstoppable. Every blow, every movement, was heavy with the weight of years of pain and betrayal. Yet beneath all that anger, there was still a part of you that didn’t want this end. A part that screamed to stop, that knew if you continued, you would lose yourself forever.

Every strike you unleashed against Sol was a cry of despair, an explosion of years of pain and betrayal. Your blade buzzed in the air, seeking its target, but each time it was halted by the stubborn resistance of your old master. Yet, he did not counterattack. Sol would never raise his blade against you, even as death approached ever closer. His face, a mask of torment, reflected not hatred but only regret and love, wounded by your darkness.

"I believed in you!"

The words choked out of your throat, a strangled cry as pain cut through the armor of rage that surrounded you. Tears threatened to fall, but you held them back, fueled by the fury that now completely dominated you. Every movement was fierce, every strike a silent scream of your broken heart. You were close to the edge, and he knew it. Each blow he barely parried, each step back he took, pushed you further toward the point of no return. Yet, deep within you, something still screamed, desperately trying to stop you. But you no longer listened to that voice.

Frustration grew inside you. The awareness urging you not to do this was no longer enough. Every blow parried by Sol felt like a rejection of your vengeance, a denial of the last act of love you could have offered to Mae.

Sol managed to send your lightsaber flying with a decisive wave of his hand, using the Force one last time with the last of his strength. You felt the absence of the familiar weight of the weapon, and panic mixed with rage surged through you. You were disarmed. He knew it. He sheathed his inactive lightsaber at his side and moved quickly toward you, his face etched with pain and determination. Before you could react, his arms enveloped you in a desperate embrace, the hands that once supported you now holding you captive.

His arms, once a refuge, were now a cold, suffocating trap. The force with which he held you was not just physical but emotional: a desperate attempt to bring you back, to save what remained of his padawan. You felt his voice break against your ear as he tried to explain himself, the hope of changing your mind clashing with the growing despair.

"I had to do it, I-"

But his words were muffled when your hand, driven by an unstoppable dark impulse, found his lightsaber.

And then, something broke inside you.

It was as if an invisible thread, the one that had kept you tied to humanity, had snapped. You felt your hand become steady, your mind go blank, frozen in the moment. In that brief instant, the world seemed to slow down.

In a fluid, almost mechanical motion, you activated it without hesitation at his side. The sharp sound of the energy blade piercing his flesh, burning it, echoed in the room like a sudden crash in the quiet. You felt his body stiffen, a strangled sob escaping him, and the warmth of his blood rising in his throat, splattering on your shoulder. That blood, thick and dark, burned your skin like the mark of an irreversible wound.

Time distorted, and everything became a distant echo. Sol stood still for a moment, almost in disbelief, his eyes widening as they met yours with a mix of pain and surprise. The deep brown of his irises seemed to fade, replaced by profound sadness, an emptiness that reflected your own. His lips trembled as if he wanted to say something, but no words came.

As he felt his life slipping away, his gaze deepened further, becoming a window into all the emotions he had suppressed until that moment. There was infinite disappointment, not in you, but in himself. He should have protected you; he should have been there for you. In that final moment, he realized that he had failed.

Sol's eyes searched yours, as if still hoping to see the young padawan he had trained, the girl he loved like a daughter. But he found nothing of what he remembered. He finally understood that there was no way to bring you back, and with that realization, a deep sadness clouded his gaze. There was no hatred in him, only a silent forgiveness.

Sol staggered, collapsing to his knees as your gaze remained fixed in the void, devoid of any spark of compassion. The weight of his body grew lighter in your arms, yet you felt nothing. Inside you, something had broken forever, but it was not pain you felt, only a cold emptiness that enveloped you completely.

As he fell to his knees, Sol's eyes never left yours, as if he wanted to imprint that final message in you: despite everything, he would always love you, until the end. His eyelids slowly closed, like the lowering of a curtain on a tragedy, and with one last whisper of your name, he surrendered to his fate.

"You promised…" you whispered, your voice no longer seeming like your own, drained of emotion and warmth, as if it were rising from the depths of an endless abyss. As you slowly clenched your hand into a fist, giving him a death more painful than he deserved, suffocating him with the Force. There was no more hatred, no more anger. Only a deafening silence now.

And as Sol's body fell to the ground, his gaze now slowly empty, you understood that there was no redemption, no return. Inside you, there was nothing left. The fury, the hatred, the desire for vengeance that had guided you until that moment had faded, leaving you only with the unbearable weight of the realization: you had lost everything.

Tears streamed down your impassive face as you gripped the iron hilt, watching the now semi-destroyed hall. The blue blade slowly began to take on the crimson hue of Qimir and your sister. You had nothing left. You had nothing left, not even vengeance.

A memory crashed over you like a sudden wave, trapping you in a fragment of time you had almost forgotten, yet it was there, buried beneath layers of pain and hatred.

You were still a young padawan, sitting in front of Sol in the council chamber, a vast and imposing room that made you feel even smaller. The Jedi council members were arranged in a circle, their serious and stern eyes focused on you. Despite the tension, Sol's figure beside you was a beacon of warmth, a paternal presence that shielded you from the oppressive atmosphere. His warm hands gently rested on your slender arms covered by your padawan robes, a gesture that spoke of affection and reassurance, and for a moment, you felt safe.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

He asked gently, his low, enveloping voice inviting you to look within yourself. There was no judgment in his tone, just genuine interest, a sincere curiosity to know how you imagined your future. His eyes studied you with affection, reflecting a trust that had always comforted you, even in the most difficult moments.

But that question, so simple, suddenly made you feel exposed. The knot in your throat tightened with unexpected force, the words seemed to be stifled before they could even form. You looked at Sol, searching his eyes for the answer, something that would make him proud, something that could alleviate the weight growing inside you. You could feel the weight of the other Jedi's gazes around you, as if the fate of your entire future depended on that one answer.

“Kind…”

You finally whispered, your voice weak and almost broken, as if that word had been drawn from the depths of your heart with great effort. Your lips trembled slightly as you held back the tears threatening to fall. You didn’t want to cry; you didn’t even know why that word had struck you so deeply.

Sol, sensing your hesitation and fragility, smiled. A smile full of understanding and comfort. His eyes sparkled with pure emotion, and without saying anything, he wrapped you in an embrace, enveloping you in his reassuring presence. In that moment, it felt like nothing could ever hurt you.

“Mh…” Sol murmured in a deep tone, full of satisfaction. He was reassured, as if that answer had confirmed everything he already knew or thought he knew about you. That sound seemed to contain all that needed no words: his approval, his pride, his joy in knowing he could guide you along the path you had just begun to walk. There was no doubt now: he would become your master. You knew it. He knew it too.

And for a brief moment, amidst the chaos of your fractured mind, that memory brought back the feeling of no longer being that innocent, hopeful young padawan; you had killed him along with the paternal figure now lying at your feet. But then, the memory shattered, dissolving into the empty echo of the present. And you were back there, with Sol's lifeless body on the ground, your hands still stained with his blood and your gaze cold.

You shifted your gaze to one of the trees, watching it slowly catch fire in front of you. You recognized its bark as coming from Brendok, your home planet. As a child, you loved to hide among its branches, climbing up and disappearing from your friends. You loved that tree; it reminded you of your mother, strong and wise, always ready to protect you. Now, you felt nothing for it. You turned and met Qimir's gaze, which seemed to understand your absence.

Was this what he meant when he told you he had lost everything and had finally become free? Was this the cost of freedom?

“Let’s go home.” you hissed coldly, pulling up your hood that had fallen during the battle. You didn't even turn to give a final glance at Sol's body. You reached out and retrieved Mae's lightsaber, placing it at your side before walking toward the exit of that place, letting the flames consume the green lung of the temple, burning the last roots that still tied you to it, abandoning the memory that had returned to you of your old master.

Qimir lowered his gaze in silence, wiping a lonely tear that wrinkled his face, feeling your pain for you, following you out of that memory with your ex master, sensing that faint flame extinguishing within you.

He nodded before following you outside, using the Force suppression once again to cover both your tracks, especially yours, which had become stronger. More chaotic.

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TAGLIST: @neteyamtanhi @blossomedfloweroflove @muffledgorillaviolence @princessakirika

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Notes :

I admit that I cried several times during the writing. Especially in the Padawan flashback scene, I felt a lot of emotions inside. I think it’s the chapter that I loved to write most of all. I hope to have also excited you in some way during the reading, I wish that you could feel my writing vividly, as if it were the real story of your experience.

Plus, who do you think is the "Him" that Qimir refers to?

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, tell me what you think. Love you, thank you for the support

-Mel

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[laracrofted]

let me drown

you meet qimir for a morning swim (qimir x fem!reader)... because i couldn't be normal about that scene.

warnings: 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni, an ode to manny jacinto's collarbones and also his shoulders and arms, slightly painful sex (but like... in a hot and consensual way), possessiveness, pwp basically (wc: 800+)

Droplets of water pool in the hollow of his collarbone, running down his broad shoulders in rivulets, shimmering in the morning sun like jewels, as Qimir cuts through the water. His muscled arms effortlessly slice into the still surface, sending ripples in every direction.

He looks ethereal, swimming in the cerulean pool. A long forgotten sea god, waiting to hook you by the ankle and drag you below the surface, drown you and breathe new life into you at the bottom of the sea.

It's beautiful and frightening in equal measures.

You wait on the shore, seawater lapping at your ankles and bare feet, arms around your knees, ignoring the puddling water that's soaking through your bottoms.

You wait for him to notice you there.

He doesn't keep you waiting – or maybe, Qimir sensed your presence from the moment you'd stepped onto the shore, from the moment your eyes had opened in the cave and looked for him, finding him gone.

A suspicion that's confirmed when Qimir lifts his gaze, unsurprised, sweeping escaping strands of damp hair from his face, and calls out softly, "Aren't you going to join me?"

His voice. You love his voice, as smooth as the surface of the water lapping at his strong shoulders, as the salt-licked rocks on the shore and the cliffs, as the weather-beaten pebbles that dig into your soles as you stand.

You undo the robe in a smooth motion and let it fall from your shoulders, baring yourself to him in the morning light, and Qimir doesn't look away.

He catches his lip between his teeth, dragging his gaze down your naked form, drinking you in with a kind of possessiveness that feels heretical; coveting you without so much as laying a finger on you, owning you with his dark eyes.

You wade in, and Qimir drifts toward you, moving silently and swiftly, predator-like.

An uneven rock catches on your foot under the surface, sending you forward. You tumble into him with a soft curse, and Qimir catches your arms with wet hands, steadying you, guiding your hands to his shoulders.

Flexing your fingers is almost an instinct, searching for a hold, like scaling a cliff, digging in to the muscles, and Qimir shudders, long lashes brushes against his cheeks, inclining his head to meet your gaze.

"Careful," Qimir cautions, soft and honeyed, a kind of music, and you don't know if Qimir means to be careful with the rocks or with your wandering hands.

You gamble on the former and let them wander further, moving over him, mapping him like an uncharted planet. One of your arms slips around his neck, giving him your weight, and Qimir's hand slips under your knee to catch you.

His hand is rough, guiding your leg around his hip, finding a balance.

He is pressed up against you now, cock hardening against your stomach. An involuntary gasp escapes from your mouth, and Qimir nips at the sound, sucking at your lip, beads of seawater dripping from his mouth into yours.

"Careful," Qimir repeats, only this time, it sounds like a question.

Should I be careful? Do you want me to be?

You shake your head slowly, a fine mist of salt water blowing in from the sea, coating your lashes, and Qimir's lips part in a half smile, pleased.

He's not careful. Careful is gentle caresses and the press of his mouth between your legs, warming you from the inside out, drinking from you like a nectar.

This isn't careful.

He doesn't get you ready, doesn't warm your cunt with his fingers, doesn't press you open in increments. He invites your legs around his hips, grasping at your ass with one hand for leverage, and pushes into you in one long and interrupted stroke that knocks the breath from your lungs, knocks your bones from your body.

You press your face into his shoulder, biting down with a whimper, probably leaving marks. That's okay. He likes marks, likes the feeling of your nails dragged down his back.

You're at war with yourself, split in the same way that Qimir is splitting you in half with his cock; a need to squirm away from the overpowering sensation; a need to invite him deeper, harder, faster.

He makes a soothing– borderline mocking – sound against your cheek and strokes your hair back from your wet cheeks; and holds you there, pinned open for him, fluttering and adjusting to the size of his cock.

"Oh? How does it feel?" Qimir asks, still stroking your cheeks.

"Good."

He smiles and lifts your chin with his knuckles and drinks a salt water kiss from your lips. "Good. You're ready for more."

It's not a question.

Seawater runs down your stinging cheeks, sensitive from the stubble on his carved jawline, mixing with the moisture that streams from the corners of your eyes as Qimir finally moves inside of you, dragging his cock out and pushing back in with a sweet and lethal slowness that borders on painful, so controlled; reaching inside and unraveling you from a place so deep that no one else could ever hope to uncover it; no one but him.

He likes it that way. Just him.

[teamred]

focus on me

✩‌ qimir x acolyte!reader | smut | fluff | 2.5k

SUMMARY | in which the tension finally breaks between you and your master when you train together one afternoon.

WARNINGS | smut, s*xual force choking, knee foreplay, finger sucking, f*ngering, dirty talk, piv s*x, unprotected s*x, violence (fighting and choking)

RATING | explicit

NOTES | i'm simply a girl who's fallen to the dark side for qimir!!! qimir's lowkey a softie in this, which might not be canon, but idc!!!

You stumble back with your palm soiled wet. 

Thankfully, you grounded the rest of your weight with your makeshift wooden staff. Panting, you drag yourself upward, readying yourself for what’s to come next. 

Sweat drips down your forehead as the sun begins to dip into the horizon beyond the abundance of trees and overgrowth, the heat felt by your exposed arms and through your thin sleeveless wrap top.

It's been more than two hours of training, but your master knows your limit. Pushes you until you break–and he knows you’re far from your breaking point. 

Perspiration also stains his forehead. Master Qimir wipes it away with the back of his hand, moving his hair aside too. 

Moments like these, you pride yourself in knowing his identity after years of him preserving his anonymity behind that intimidating, powerful mask. He’s gained followers over time since you've known him, but you’re his one and only acolyte. 

Your mind wanders further. Why does he choose to wear his mask in public when he can make nations fall to their knees just with a flash of his smirk? 

Said smirk is plastered on his face as he twirls his two batons between his fingers with ease. Beyond his smirk, there was also the ordeal of seeing his glistening, gorgeous arms every day and– 

Your master calls out your name playfully, “I hope you’re focusing on me.”

“You know I am, Master.” You’re not exactly lying. You inch closer, holding your staff firmly with both hands and pointing one end of it in his direction. 

He tsks and lets out of a deep chuckle. It always bothers you how his chuckles make your heart skip a beat, among the other things it does to the rest of your body.  

“You're focusing on things about me, Acolyte. Not on me directly, nor on my presence,”—he paces in a circle around you, with you tracking his every step—“If this was a real fight, you’d be dead.”

“Well, I can’t help it that my master can be so distracting!” you grit out, taking the opportunity to lunge towards him. 

Weapons clash. Loud echoes continually reverberate throughout the forest, along with your occasional grunts. 

Master Qimir’s style is aggressive and swift, always on the offense, so you’ve become accustomed to defend his moves well. He comes in with one baton towards your side, and the other towards your head. You deflect both smoothly, and without much thought, you decide to attack him. 

However, your confidence blinds you.

Too close. 

He elbows your arm and slams into your side, causing your staff to drop.  

Then, Qimir shoves you far with the Force, distancing you from your weapon, and gets close again to hook his foot around yours. Your back stings as you fall down. 

In the blink of an eye, he pins you down with both batons tightly pressed against your throat, cutting off your air supply. You struggle under him, trying your best to smack him away with your diminishing strength. 

“Breathe, think, and focus,” he calmly orders, despite the agonizing scene in front of him. 

You take a second to compose yourself, inhaling as much as you can for a second.

Suddenly, you feel his knee move up between your legs, spreading them.

And you feel him moving upwards again, but this time brushing against your core. 

Your sparring composure absolutely shatters–a gasp and small moan release, and you’re back to struggling once more. 

You assume it was a mistake, but you’re relishing in the pleasure nevertheless, even in your current state of distress. 

“Focus, my acolyte,” Master Qimir barks, and he presses the batons harder into you. “Focus!” 

Your vision begins to blur alongside the increasing pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. Gathering all your might and wanting to avoid disappointing Qimir, you breathe as much as you can and drown out everything to focus on how to get out of the situation. 

With a sliver of consciousness left, you will yourself to use the Force and seize your staff. Your fingers clutch around it and you thwack Qimir hard on the head, disorienting him for a moment. Without hesitation, throughout your excessive gasping, you skillfully maneuver yourself to switch positions. 

Now, your staff is pressed against his throat. 

“Is this better, Master?” you pant and cough with a grin, basking in your success. “Am I focused now?” 

He grants a brief nod, but you notice an unusual look in his eyes. 

It reads as a rare time he’s overly impressed, but there’s something else. 

Qimir raises his hand and gently curls it around yours, wordlessly asking you to lower your weapon. You ruffle your eyebrows, unsure why he’s letting down his guard against you during training.

“Master Qimir,” you whisper, still holding your staff to the side with a relaxed but guarded grip, “is this another test of yours?”  

He shakes his head, his touch now carefully grazing your forehead and cheeks. Your staff rolls away as your eyes flutter, savoring this foreign feeling from him–tenderness, affection, warmth. A hand softly cups your face. 

“Training’s over for today.” 

The warmth fades into familiar roughness with a sharp pull by the back of your neck downwards. 

His mouth drives into yours, each kiss igniting fire within you, sparking every inch of your body. Desire is bursting at the seams. He kneads your neck and body intently, mirroring you as you clutch onto his face and sturdy frame. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you had never fantasized kissing Qimir before, but this is everything you dreamed of and better.  

“Master–” you gasp sharply at the sensation of him pressing his knee up against you again. Reflexively, you writhe as your body screams for more. 

“You like this a lot…” His tone drips of arrogance. Further pressure is added and he happily inhales your moans between his teasing chuckles.   

You manage to muster the following amidst the rising pleasure, “So it was intentional before.”

“Of course.” His words are muffled as he leaves open-mouthed kisses upon the side of your neck. Your fingers dig further into his shoulder and scalp as he cups your breast. “You need to learn to push aside your desires when training.” 

“Should we stop then?” The neck kissing sears you, especially when he tugs skin between his teeth to bite and suck. “To teach me a lesson?” 

He shakes his head and removes himself from your neck, coming back up to drag your lower lip between his teeth. 

“It doesn’t mean I want to push aside my desires.” 

You catch a fleeting glimpse of his signature smirk before his lips are on yours again. Kisses become more electric as he dips his tongue into your mouth.

Hands fly erratically and grasp everywhere. His arms. Your ass. Fingers running beneath his top, feeling up his abs. His harsh grips of your thighs. 

Unexpectedly, he holds you close and flips you over; you’re back on top of him again and you can surely feel his prominent desire against yours. 

In a rush, you bunch up his thin shirt and attempt to pull it off him. He sits up with you in his lap and, with a fluid flick of his wrist, he rids you of your clothes and they are tossed to one side; his follow suit. Qimir promptly draws his nearby robes closer to be placed underneath you both, covering yourselves from the soiled forest. 

The look in his eyes is unmistakably lust-filled, completely insatiable. He wastes no time in taking your tit into his mouth, tongue flicking and lips puckering, while one hand holds you by your back and the other dips two fingers into your desire, wet and ready for him. 

You arch into him, leaning your head back and letting yourself go. Wanting to reciprocate, you reach out to stroke his cock. Relishing in the pleasure, he draws back his head, eyes closed, and leans his forehead against your chest.

The forest may be filled with the rustling of the wind against the trees and the odd bird cawing, but all you can focus on is Qimir’s throaty groans and every obscene squelch when he slides his fingers in and out of you. 

He glances up and attempts to open his eyes as much as he can to give you his full attention, despite the heavenly strokes you’re giving him. 

Eyes shine back at you with the utmost vulnerability–a sight you never see. A sight that you want to etch into your memory forever, knowing you, his Acolyte, could make your Master weak and let his guard down with just your touch. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve held myself back…”

The vulnerability dissipates as he darts his tongue against your untouched nipple. 

“...wanting to see you like this for me.” 

You two become one for a while as he plays with you like a toy he just received as a gift. He tries you out, sees what you like and what you can handle. How sensitive you are with your breasts. How many fingers you can take. How much noise you make when he thumbs your clit. 

At one point, he eventually removes his fingers from you, evidently drenched from your bliss. He holds out his fingers in front of you, and you realize what he’s suggesting.   

Obediently, like you always are with him, you open your mouth and let his fingers lay on your tongue. You wrap your mouth around them, and finally let yourself suck on them a bit, tasting yourself and treating his fingers as if it were his cock. 

When you finish, to your surprise, he sticks his fingers into his own mouth, sucking off the remnants of you. He then kisses you deeply. Tasting yourself in his mouth excites you, riles you up again and back to wanting the next step with Qimir. 

As if reading your mind, he adjusts himself to lay back down vertically, and takes you by your wrist to lead you to sit onto him. 

You hold his possession against you between your legs, teasing his tip by not quite sitting onto him fully, indulging in your control over him. However, at this point, Qimir lacks patience, so he grasps you by your waist and forces you to ease onto his length.  

The guttural moan you release could easily be heard at all ends of the forest. 

He fills you deliciously, stretches you in the sweetest way possible. Using the strength of your thighs and your hands to keep you steady, you bounce at a comfortable pace, not wanting this to end just yet.

When you find a good position to balance your weight, you allow yourself to stroke his perfect body. His chiseled abs. The solid planes of his chest. His strong forearms. The sharp jawline that you dream of kissing almost every night.

“You take my cock so well.” 

A more familiar look flashes through his eyes, one that you normally see him flash prior to slaying Jedi or when he's in a bad mood. It’s drenched with darkness and dominance, almost bordering on fury.   

You freeze, and then you feel it.

The constriction around your throat, created by the Force. He can easily kill you within seconds. He's done this only once to you, and that was when he was testing your loyalty to him years ago.

But this is different. Different than that time, and most definitely different than before with his batons. This is more controlled; the hold is mostly against the sides of your windpipe and it isn't overtly harsh. 

On top of that, your entire body is on fire, becoming wound up by this act.  

“Do you enjoy this?” he asks, tone teetering between curiosity and being threatening.

“Yes,” you mentally scream.

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“Yes,” you manage to croak. 

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Master.” 

“Nu-uh,” he says. “Say my name, my beautiful acolyte.”

You're too distracted to be caught up in the fact that he called you beautiful. Instinctively, you want to ride this new sensation to lead you to another high. But you know that if you don’t reply, he might not let you get there. 

“Yes, Qimir.”

His signature smirk takes up his whole face and your pussy clenches tighter at the sight of it. He may have the upper hand with his strength around your neck, but so do you when you notice the flickering of his eyes.

“And how does my cock feel?” He tightens a little more around your throat, and you're affected further. Qimir's collectedness can only take much longer too.

“Feels good, feels so fucking good…” 

Intoxication rises from your abdomen and to all ends of your body. Your eyes begin to roll, and you're so close— 

And it's gone. The tightness on your throat stops, and so is your near-high.

You're about to complain, but Qimir quickly hauls you in close to his body. Face to face, forehead to forehead, your breaths fan one another.

“Before I let either of us finish, I want to hear you say my name as you come on my cock.”

That smirk will be the absolute death of you, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

“Can you do that for me?” 

You nod breathlessly.

Your master holds you by your waist and immediately thrusts over and over, deep and fast into you. Desperate to reach his climax, and to ensure you get to yours too.

“QimirQimirQimir–” 

And so you unravel, voice rising with every iteration. Saying his name like you’re praying for forgiveness from all ends of the universe. 

Qimir then brings his mouth to yours once more, swallowing all your pretty whimpers and allowing himself to chase his own release moments later. 

Laying on his bare chest, you glance up at him and wonder how the relationship between you will be from now on.

You couldn’t just go back to what you were before; you would now be a master and acolyte intertwined sexually at least, romantically at most. Would it not be complicated? 

But of course, Master Qimir can hear what’s going on in your mind, and he doesn’t even need the Force to do so. Being his enigmatic self, he merely answers your thoughts by speaking the Sith Code: 

“‘Peace is a lie. There is only passion…’” 

He meets your eyes, strokes your face with a small smile. Affection blooms in your chest.

“‘Through passion, I gain strength.’” 

Holds your hand against his beating chest. 

“‘Through strength, I gain power.’” 

His grip tightens. 

“‘Through power, I gain victory. And through victory, my chains are broken.’” 

Qimir leans in and kisses you deeply as the darkness of the night sky engulfs you, the sun saying its goodbye for the night.

And with that, you realize that no matter what will happen from here on out, he’ll always care for you. 

That despite all the blood, sweat, and tears shed through training, stealing, and all the killing, he’s just as loyal and devoted to you as you are to him.

[rae-gar-targaryen]

darling, how could i fear any hurricane? [qimir/the stranger x force sensitive!reader]

Summary: Neither the backwater planet you’d chosen for yourself, nor the sanctity of your own mind, is safe from the nightly visitations of your dream stranger. Is he real, or just another trick of the mind? And what of the power he promises? Desire, he’d spoken of. Desire, desire, desire…

Pairing: Qimir/The Stranger x Force-Sensitive!reader [my reader is written ambiguously, but as with all of my reader inserts are written with a Latina!reader in mind]

Warnings: 18+ please – fingering, dry humping, the brief mention of choking, Qimir being a seductive motherfucker, relatively minor smut, all things considered. The briefest descriptions of violence; reader has female anatomy.

Word Count: 5.7k of sinful soliloquy and definitely no manipulation. No, you want this power, don’t you??

A/N: Breaking my writing drought with this. I don’t know if it’s any good, and no one asked for it. But I’m glad to be sharing my writing again. Please be gentle!! Also, if you’ve ever read my Mandalorian x princess!reader fic, there’s an easter egg in here for you!

--

The verdant planet of Vorduun was known for very little – A small, outer-world, far from the shiny Core planets that boast chrome, progress, and bureaucracy. Lush plantlife, a fertile place with brimming riverbanks, and jungles teeming and thrumming to life with flora and fauna at the turn of the seasons. Off the edge of the map. Off the edge of the world. A perfect place to hide.

To lose yourself. 

And the night is stifling, to say the least. Of all the Vorduunian summers you’d endured in your self-isolation, this one had to be the worst. The months’ long deluge of spring rains had made for a stiflingly humid summer, the green jungle steaming with sticky heat. If a saving grace was to be found in the swelter, it was that the night skies were unlike everything you’d ever beheld – a far cry from the fluorescent pollution endemic of your years on Courscant. 

Tonight's Vorduunian sky is no exception – a clear expanse of rich velvet, stars like diamonds crushed into the smooth folds of the expansive sky. Twinkling and winking richly down at you through the gaping slats of the shack you now called home. 

You twist, a serpent in your own threadbare bedsheets, attempting to find comfort in the sticky summer heat of the planet, chasing the elusive promise of coolness as you flip your pillow to the other side with a huff. 

Kind of a sick game, if you thought about it. That if you weren’t running from something, you were chasing something else. 

At present? Chasing a good night’s rest. Preferably dreamless, if you were honest. Your dreams of late are plagued with all sorts of incomprehensible flashes, feelings of being watched, feverish and hazy. Your subconscious’s foreboding certainty that if you’d only just turn around, you’d be met with a face that was not your own -– the disquieting sense of something, or someone, lurking just around a corner. Sprinting down echoing hallways with promises, greatness, a warrior's oath, all just out of reach, certain that if you’d slowed your pace, whatever was pursuing you might just snatch you, an unseen stranger.

Other nights, the dreams were different – the unflinching and unchanging grin set in a mask of metalloid teeth, baring themselves at you . Of ever-watchful eyes judging, as you forced yourself through training drills. The disapproving shake of your Master’s head, his disappointment palpable and always, always directed at only you . The seizing terror of being dropped into combat with no saber – of being skewered through by an unseen shadow with a red plasma blade. Of walls closing in on you. Of the Knights whom you had once considered your friends turning their backs on you while you fought tooth and nail. Of your lungs filled with your unreleased screams – of terror or frustration, you weren’t sure – pulling you down beneath the surface of your failure until you drowned in the disappointment of others’ unfulfilled expectations. Of hands on an unseen body tinkering with phials of something, producing poisonous concoctions of sickly green that the unseen stranger dripped down your throat, pouring them past your lips with sure, warm fingers pressing on your tongue. You swore you could feel the poison upon your waking, the phantom feeling of liquid shredding your veins with horrific heat, your heart thundering. 

Other nights the dreams were different yet, still. Of shadows shedding their inky cloak to reveal hands that caressed. Of hands that held you and wiped your tears. Of thorns falling from vines – leaving what once had pricked and scratched you to now soothe with velvety softness as the vines wound their way around your wrists, tugging you into an unseen embrace with whispers of promises humming in your ears like the tufty wings of insects. And you would go willingly. Of the warm breath of another in your ear, their body warm behind you, distinct in its softness from that of the sunwarmed cliffs the two of you would watch the sunset from, just you and your unseen stranger. Of those same metalloid teeth melting into a radiant smile of brilliant white, beheld in a sharp jaw – the critique of disapproving masters replaced by his balmy, sublime approval. 

Of the tease and taste of his cinnamon lips brushing your own, the fluttering fan of lashes along the peaks of your cheekbones. Of warm, wan whispers of want , desire , soothing your ears. Of warm, fine-boned, assured hands atop your own, guiding yours in a sensuous glide along your own skin. Promises of m ore, more, more as silken lips slipped their way along the column of your throat – your hitching gasps met with his rumbling hums of satisfaction that lasted in your ears for the duration of the following day. Of the gentle lapping of water over smooth-rocked shores, a hand grasping yours with a promise of power. Yet again of more, more, more, if you’d just … Well, you weren’t sure. 

What you were sure of was that it had been weeks of these dreams. Your exhaustion was tugging at the corners of your reality, manifesting itself into silly mistakes – a slipped knife while cutting your meals, or the prickling feeling of someone watching from the dark corner of your room. At times, you weren’t sure what was real and what was dreamscape. A slow descent into madness, torment that felt justified, somehow –-

This purgatory was clearly your penance for your failure. To atone for the fact that you could never be more than what you are now – a former padawan cast out of a renowned Order, thanks in part to her own passions and propensities, roiling rages, and lilting lust. A warrior stripped of all pomp and credential. A blistering reminder of something never to be, of someone you could never be. 

And so here you were. Piteous and exiled in the jungles of Vorduun with no one other than your occasional unseen dream stranger for company. And what of tonight? Had you slept? Were you asleep? The hazy jungle heat made it impossible to tell. When your days consist of the same, tedious routine maintenance to your little corner of jungle, purely isolated, save for irregular treks to the nearest settlement to barter … And when you tossed and turned your nights away in fitful fugue states of half-awake melded with oppressive dreams – well, who was to say what was really real?  

The ghost of a touch along your exposed shoulder didn’t merit a response … Until it happened again. Causing you to sit bolt upright in bed, eyes tracking the room for any disturbance – seen or unseen. 

That prickle, so like static rippling across your skin couldn’t be the Force. No, no. It was the trickle of sweat down the back of your neck, and nothing else. What reason would you have to feel the Force here, now? 

Just another heated night, just another heated dream….

And now, were your eyes deceiving you, or were the shadows in the corner of your room were moving, swirling into shape as a well-toned arm emerges from the darkness, raised in a gesture of … peace? And the rest of him follows, stepping into the muted illumination from your single gaslamp that sputters in the corner of your room, casting his shadow along the opposite wall, sinuous and slinking as he slowly approaches. 

You spring from your bed, eyes darting to the loose slat in your floor where you housed your ill-used saber, quickly considering the relative size of your room and how many steps it would take him to reach you, arms outstretched, to snuff the life from you before you could call the blade to your hand . 

His eyes track yours, clocking the floorboard, before placing both hands up in front of him now, a plea – 

“You don’t need that,” he murmurs, taking a tentative step toward you. And whether it was the room that shrank around you both, or that was just his presence in your space – so unused to anyone but you – you weren’t sure.

“Need what?” Play dumb, and he won't have any reason to harm you, leaving you an opportunity to strike. Your favorite trick, a minor deception for a tactical advantage.

He steps into the dim, flickering light of the gas lamp, a mild smirk blooming along his full lips, the lamplight warming his skin.

“Your Jedi weapon.”

You glance once more between the loose floorboard and the man slowly approaching you, cocking your head as his features became revealed to you, your mind tickling with recognition as you noted the sharp angle of his jaw and the baleful, syrupy darkness of his eyes –

“You,” you breathe. “I know your face.”

“Do you?” His eyes meet yours, searching. 

Yes. You had a good memory for faces, and his you had seen a few times before. Your trips to the nearest settlement every tenday for the open-air market to barter what you had cultivated from the land around your ramshackle home for fruit, thread, and other goods you didn’t often come by on your own. You had seen him at a stall selling tinctures and other apothecary-type goods. You’d never approached, of course. Hadn’t had a need for burn creams or toxins. But there was no denying the swooping lock of hair that would curtain over his eyes, the sharp angle of his features. The way his eyes would track the movement of the market, hawkish, despite the seeming ineffectual haze in them…

A minor deception, you now realize. But for what tactical advantage?

“The chemist from the bazaar,” you reply.

His lips quirk at your realization – the bud of the smirk now unfurling into a full smile. 

“You’re more observant than I gave you credit for, warrior,” he stands before you now, hands still lightly held up in a gesture of peace. “That’s good… A nice surprise ,” his voice taking on an almost-purr of satisfaction.   

You pause, lips parting lightly. What could he mean by that? 

“Qimir,” he gestures to himself by way of introduction.

Qimir. Likely not his real name. Still, you ponder, an interesting choice. Qimir. Like Chimaera, something ancient and unknowable. A monstrous creature signifying the parable of illusion – the promise of something only too impossible to achieve. You wonder if he knew what his “name” sounded like when he’d picked it.

And you hope your face hasn’t betrayed your whirring thoughts as you continue your assessment, hoping to keep a sweep of neutrality across your features as you address him again.

“If you say so. Business must be slow if you’re here to rob me, poisoner. I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed,” your eyes flit around the relatively bare bedroom, gesturing with your chin to the equally Spartan main room of your little ramshackle cabin. “Not much here of value.” 

He crosses one foot over the other as he takes a step to orbit you, almost swordsmanlike. As though he were preparing to duel. You mirror his step, your back to your bed now, facing your doorway. His body between yours and your exit. 

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” he brings a finger to his chin as if in ponderment. “You’re here, after all. And why would I give you my name, show you my face, if I intended to rob you?” 

“Why you do anything means nothing to me,” you bite, “and you’ll have to forgive my manners if I don’t feel like giving you my name. Leave, now , while I let you leave, Qimir.” 

His eyes sweep your form, note your weight on the balls of your feet, bracing for a fight. You probably have weapons other than your laser sword stashed away, if he had to guess . He takes a tentative step toward you, a low chuckle escaping him at the fire in your eyes, trying not to smile any wider than he has already, to give away his pleased impression of your fury. 

“I know who you are,” you blink at his statement, trying not to let the surprise show on your face. “You don't have anything to fear from me, little Jedi.”

“I am no Jedi,” you snipped, rolling your eyes at the insolence of the man before you. If he cared at all about your rude display, Qimir said nothing.

“I am more than aware of that, too,” he murmured, his voice like silk in your ears as he takes yet another small step toward you, invading your space, close enough to breathe your air, a hair’s breadth from touch.  

Too close. You flex your fingers, calling your lightsaber from its hiding place under your loose floorboard into the palm of your hand in a flash, the cool metal meeting your palm like an old friend, a sense of relief. You surge forward into Qimir’s space, pressing the hilt of the saber into his abdomen.

“If you know so much, then you also know you shouldn’t have come,” you snarl. “I don’t know if you didn't take the hint, here at the edge of the world, but I don't take kindly to uninvited guests.”  

“You did invite me, little viper,” he insists, his voice never losing its even, dulcet quality.

At your furrowed brow, he gently brings his fingertips to brush the bare skin of your wrist that’s pressing the hilt of your lightsaber into his stomach. A familiar, prickling ripple bursts across your skin, causing goosebumps to stipple your arms. So familiar. So like the feel of lips from your unseen stranger. So like the Force. 

The dark eyes that met yours in the low light of your room were familiar for more than just an observation in passing at the market. 

“Y-you,” you gasp, the realization causing your chest to seize, to clench your teeth in the wave of seething anger. “You’ve been … in my head … for months …” 

He cocks his head at you, watching the emotions process along your face. He had seen your fears and failures, your heart’s greatest desires. He had seen it all …

“The quickest way to your heart,” he reasons. “Through your head. So you’ll have to forgive my intrusion. I wanted to know you.” Sweet words meant to soothe.  

You aren’t sure if that makes it any better. Perhaps the reasoning makes it worse.

“So like a poisoner,” you level his gaze with a steely one of your own. “To try to slip through the cracks unseen. But I know the quickest way to your heart.”

“You do?” He seems surprised at your rejoinder. As if he hadn’t expected you to play. To be so quick of wit as you were of reflex.

“Between your fourth and fifth rib,” you hum, your voice taking on an almost-seductive tone – a contradiction to the reminder of you pressing the hilt of the saber into him, precisely where you mean to. 

“I appreciate a good threat. Clever,” he smiles, placating. “But there’s no need for that, little warrior. After all… I wouldn't leave you to the dark, not like they did,” he assures, brushing his fingertips against the bare skin of your wrist, so lightly you would’ve thought you’d imagined it. Using the contact to connect to you through the Force once more – your shared memories dancing behind one another’s eyes. Of your fellow Padawans succeeding while your Master only saw failure. Of the dazzlingly white smile of your classmate with the bronze skin and twists in his hair, his yellow lightsaber flashing as you drilled together, his smile fading to frown with the rest of his features as you had used the Force to push him away a bit too hard – rage bubbling to the surface – in direct violation of your training ordinances. Of your departure from Coruscant, no one to bid you goodbye, not even your training partner who had once called himself your friend.

You make to turn your head, to break contact with his dark, glimmering, all-seeing eyes. Like tar pits, drawing you ever deeper. His other hand catches your chin between thumb and forefinger, drawing you back to his gaze, an orbit you cannot escape. Would you even want to?

“And do you believe you would have belonged? The Jedi are deceivers. They deal in abandonment … cloaked in empty platitudes,” he trails his index finger along the curve of your  jawline, an almost illusory brush of his skin against yours – the whisper of a touch, as though to illustrate the point. “The wisp of a  promise, like spun sugar. Sweet, but false, their promises of righteousness. Of importance.”

Your lips part, catching the barest bit of his thumb as it does so, your eyes now searching his, seeking motive.

“And what do you offer instead? That's what this is, right? An offer?”

He smiles wider now, nodding in the barest acknowledgment. As though you’ve finally asked the right question.

“I … make the intangible tangible.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning …” his hand leaves the curve of your jaw to touch his fingertips to your temple, pressing, rendering a vision to your mind. And what Force magic was this? To make you see beyond your own eye’s sight. Foresight? An illusion? A vision? A memory? A promise or a deception?

Whatever it is, you see it so clearly – an uninhabited plant roaring with ocean as far as your eyeline can perceive. Waves lapping gently along grey-stoned shores. Moss-covered alcoves where you sit with him, your stranger, the sunset warming your skin as he caresses your face, your hair, whispering praises just beyond your mind’s own comprehension into your ear – the tone sinful, syrupy. His arms securing you in the night as you rest, no more dreams of abandonment. 

Warmth, endless warmth… as his lips trail the shell of your ear, down your neck, bestowing belief of besotted brushes of lips. Adroit affection aimed right at the heart of you. 

“Hmmm … meaning …. Your feelings, your power, your talent all working, to manifest toward something real. Something you want.” His hand leaves your temple and rests on your shoulder, taking advantage of your state of ponderment to gently guide you, ever mindful of the still-unlit lightsaber pressed to his stomach, leading away from your bed to the wall just next to the adjacent doorframe, the patient waltz of a waiting predator. He brings his hand to rest on the wall, next to your head.

“Something I want,” you reply dreamily, coming back to yourself just enough to realize what he’d said, exhaling through your nose in an indignant little huff. “In exchange for … ?”

“Tell me something,” he replies, lithely lilting around your question with one of his own, flexing his fingers where they rest on the wall. “Why are you no Jedi?” 

“I … abjured,” you admit, a bit too primly, the lightsaber now feeling like an unbearable weight in your palm at your words, the weight of choices – both your own and those of whom purported to teach you. To guide you to something greater. Was it as he said? Were their promises so meaningless? “Broke my oath,” you suck your lower lip between your teeth, pausing before daring to meet his gaze again. “I couldn’t … suppress how they wanted me to. I didn’t want to fail anymore. I was so tired of failing. So, I … abjured. I was weak.” 

Your eyes meet his once more at your admission, yours shining with unshed tears waiting to fall like stars. Shimmering promises to slip down your cheeks, unkept and unchecked. Your fingers fumbled, seemingly of their own accord, unwilling to hold the weight, the threat, of the saber against him any longer. The hilt clattered to the floor, a clanging finality to punctuate your words. And when was the last time you had been so honest, so vulnerable with another?

How … unlike you. 

“Not weak,” he cups your cheeks with both hands, fine-boned thumbs tracing the peaks of your cheeks, as though to wipe away your unshed tears. “The same as me. Power searching for its other half. An unwaning, unflickering flame.” 

Your unseen stranger, now seen, takes your hands in his, the buzz of the Force still tingling across your skin at his words, at the recognition of his power.

“You asked what I want. You want the same as me, and I the same as you. A companion . A partner. Unlike them, I won't judge you for your feelings. Won’t judge you for your power …  You want – I can feel it rippling across your skin,” he closes his eyes, cocking his head, shivering as though to illustrate the point. “... Mmm, and I want,  too. We can want together. If you'd let us.”

The flickering light of your room seemed to dim in tandem with his syrupy words, cloying and dripping like honey into golden nettle tea. The swirling honeytar of his eyes appraising you as the Force connection prickled with hazy heat between your bodies and the damnable musk of the jungle air.

You press yourself further into the wall he’d leaned you against, tilting your chin to appraise him in kind, searching for veracity in his words. Something more substantial than the “spun sugar” he’d accused the Jedi of weaving. 

As though he could sense your trepidation before it could cross your face, he placed a hand on your hip, the contact searing you through the thin fabric of your tank top.  

“They kicked you out because you feel. I'd never do that. I want you to feel … to feel power. To feel what you’re capable of. Of what it can become. Rage. Fear. Loss. Desire. Train with me, you’ll feel it all. I want you to feel it all … to feel me.”

Desire, he had spoken of. The gentle roll of his low voice over the syllables echoing perfectly in your ears. Desire, desire, desire. That desire, so  like venom snaking its way through your blood, hot and purposeful. An all-consuming burn through your blood, befitting of a poisoner as he. 

“You felt it, didn’t you? When I came in,” he iterates, somewhere south of a plea. “All. That. Power.” The hand not resting on your hip comes to cup your face once more. “I can teach you.” 

You had read somewhere once, in the Archives, about creatures on long-abandoned planets with the ability to draw their prey in through vanity. The flash of feathers. Or shiny scales. Big, baleful eyes, perhaps. Only to sink their teeth in once their intended had come too close. 

You draw in a breath, searching his pleasing face for any sign of a tell. Of the flicker of eyes that would signify deception. Of hidden fangs beneath his beautiful, full lips. Of anything that would bely his true intentions behind your Force connection. You swept your eyes across broad, defined shoulders, down toned, muscled arms exposed through his sleeveless shift. A warriors’ weapon wrapped in a pleasing package, to be sure. But … with no discernable hint of false suggestion. 

You shift your weight once more onto the balls of your feet, away from the wall and into him . Continuing your appraisal as you tilt your head, allowing the scent of his skin – the tang of sweat from the humid jungle air commingling with something sharp and clean – to wash over you. 

You invade his space now, leaning into the hand that grips your hip and the other that cradles your head, boldly brushing your lips along his with the barest hint of touch, feeling his lips smile against yours.

You whisper, your lips silken against his, “Tell me, poisoner … You seduce me with lies, is that it? You wish for me to call you Master? Forsake all else to worship at your altar?” 

You catch the flash in his eyes as the word “seduce” leaves your lips.

“I haven't lied to you,” his voice is a hum. An attempt to provide reassurance as he couples them with what he hopes is a comforting gesture. His fingers travel from your hip to trail your ribs, a partial embrace.

“Do you consider not telling the entire truth to be a lie?” 

“Have I shown you any lies? No. Just dreams. The promise of what could be. What I –,” he pauses, “– we could be. I cannot fabricate the Force, little warrior. Everything you feel tonight is you . It’s me. What more could you want? ” 

Your once-steely resolve is crumbling under the weight of his insinuation … "everything you feel tonight” –  the honey in his words sweet to your ears, you wonder fleetingly if he'd be even sweeter on your tongue. 

And he knew you, didn’t he? By his own admission, he’d seen your faults and flaws for months … your desires. And he had shown you promises, premonitions, predilections… a future of power. And if there is power in two hemispheres – one of sweltering heat, one of blistering ice. Which were you? And which was he? 

Together you would surely melt…

“No more rules, little warrior,” he sighs, “just the power of two.” He slides his lips across yours, purposeful, before capturing your lower lip between his teeth, nipping once before releasing, admiring the way your expression flickered from defiance to desire before surging forward, pressing you back into the wall as his lips capture yours.

He swallows your gasp, bringing his fingers to wrap loosely around your neck while his other hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt. 

You break from his kiss with a gasp between swollen, bitten lips. But he gives you no reprieve, his lips trailing to your neck, where he sets about pressing hot-mouthed kisses. Molten lava flooding the column of your throat, chased with the scrape of nipping teeth. Soothe and scrape. Push and pull. Give, give, give, take.  

You thread your fingers through the silken hair tucked behind his ears, tugging him from his ministrations on your neck and forcing him to meet your eyes – to see if the blaze of want you felt scorching your skin was reflected in the liquid coal, ready to ignite. 

His lips twist into a smirk at your insistent tugging; if he was at all surprised, he didn’t show it. His face the perfect picture of pleasure. 

“What would we do with it?” You inquire, “This power?” 

“Hmmm,” he pretended to ponder, suddenly scooping you, a brief lift as he crossed the short distance to your bed, seating himself with you on his lap. No concession of dominance; merely placing you precisely where he means to. To allow you to feel him beneath you. 

“What would you like to do, little warrior, hm?” His fingers flicked the thin straps of your flimsy sleep shirt, exposing your shoulders, leaning forward to trail his lips along the now-bared expanse of your shoulder, your collar bones, your neck, his eyes glancing up to watch your face as he went. “Make them pay? Take what’s yours?” 

His hands feel their way down your form, down your sides, along your hips, the skin of his palms rasping against the smooth expanse of your thighs has his fine-boned fingers make their way beneath the loose fabric of the cropped pants you sleep in, dangerously close to the precipice of your desire , urging you to move. Guiding your hips in a rhythmic glide in his lap. 

You gasp at his attentions, at the combination of his promises and the heady feel of his skin along yours, bringing your hands to grip his biceps – desperately seeking a way to anchor yourself. 

And if it’s his poison that will bring you to the edge, would you regret it? You were starting to believe you could never regret him , not at the feel of his chest pressed against yours, the toned muscle beneath your fingers. His sharp angles caressing your soft curves, replacing the lonely ache in your bones with the lovely heat of him, both his promises and his attentions.

His mouth was keyed and intentional in its work of you, with pressed kisses like flower petals blooming along the skin of your neck, followed by the scraping thorns of his teeth. Brutish and beautiful, as his fine-boned fingers crept to the inside of your thighs, rubbing along your clothed center, intensifying the ache you felt. He shifts your weight in his lap, causing your legs to spread wider, straddling him lowly as he tugs the offending fabric aside, guiding your hips into a roll over his clothed lap and his growing hardness. Manifesting his delight at the choked gasp you emitted in the form of a teasing little buck of his hips, guiding you down as he guided himself up, delighting in the sharp gasps that met his ears as he continues to sway you to his rhythm. 

“Desire isn't a sin, little warrior,” he breathes the words into your mouth, lips a hairs’ breadth apart, the better to swallow your moans. “What we feel feeds our connection to the Force, gives you strength ... If you know how. Let me show you. Touch me.” 

It was as though electricity was crackling, popping beneath your fingertips as you took his instruction and began to explore the expanse of his body, slipping your hands beneath his tunic to feel the silken heat of his firm torso, the ache within you mounting at the heady combination of the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips – so long since you’d touched another, been touched – and his hardness between the cleft of your thighs. Smoldering, low-heat burned along your skin and beneath your fingertips. Or was it his fingers that were doing the burning? It was hard to tell where he ended and you began, one arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you bodily into him, an infinite loop of power and pleasure.

As you continue to touch him, you could feel it – his connection to the force, strong, volatile, like lightning striking the ocean – crackling and formidable like the man who contained it.

And Qimir – you had long since given up trying to determine if it was, in fact, his real name – rewards you with a gift of his own, the velvet rumble of a groan of pleasure emanating from his throat at your touch. A sound of syrup and satisfaction. 

Pleased that you could garner such a reaction from a being as powerful as he, you smile, boldly meeting his lips with a kiss, opening your mouth with a gasp, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth, to taste the zip of power that he had determined in his moths of observation was just you, a torrent of citrus drizzle, bold and sweet. 

Reluctantly, he parts his lips from yours, ducking his head to tug the straps of your top down with his teeth, exposing your breasts to the heated air of the room. And if your desire at the repeated rolling of his hips beneath yours wasn’t enough to do you in, you figured this might. Bathing in the celestial feel the press his lips to your nipple, tongue swirling over the peaking flesh. Pleased at the goosebumps that erupt now in the wake of his attention. 

While he continues to tease your breasts with tongue and teeth, Qimir guides his other hand along your thighs, slipping his practiced fingers beneath your shorts, delighting in the wetness he was met with, basking  in the jolting shiver the motion elicited from you, at the friction of his fingers rubbing along the seam of you – causing you to wiggle, to roll your hips into his touch. 

And oh, as he slips his fingers inside of you, your eyes roll back, tilting your head to allow Qimir to admire the curving, elegant slope of exposed throat – prey before a predator, gasping at the pleasure he wrought. Breathless. If you thought he was teasing you before, his fingers inside of you were their own type of mocking punishment, well aware of his effect on you and the way your cunt throbs as he strokes inside of you. You could do nothing but wriggle your hips, whimpering piteously and attempting to roll your hips to follow his fingers as they work you, as this crescendo builds.

“Say you’ll be mine, warrior, and you can have it.” he promises. A new oath. One you’d never forsake. For him, you’d never turn, never abjure. Not so long as his touch made stars erupt behind your eyes, not so long as his lips dripped syrup promises down your throat.  

Kissing you once more, golden and slow, molten and revelatory as he works his fingers inside of you, your thighs parting to accommodate him. His thumb rolls repeated brushes over your clit, delighting in the starshine burst as you reached your peak, a broken little moan that sounded suspiciously like the word “master,” passing your lips in a keening sigh. 

You regard him through bleary, closing eyes and the warm, citrus haze of your orgasm as he slips his fingers from you, guiding you down to recline in your bed, stroking your hair as he does so, lulling you as a lover would. 

“Sleep, warrior,” his velvet voice meets your ears, lyrical and lilting. “I’ll be back for you.” 

And like each night before that one, his figure slips from you… as though he was never there. It wasn’t a dream, was it? It was hard to tell after months of this teasing game. After his promises built so much only to guide you to this release. 

And in the silvery light of the jungle’s dawn, you awoke with that very question on your lips, met with the sight of your saber placed gently on your little bedside table as opposed to its usual hiding spot. You wake to the sweet afterache of something between your thighs, to the scraped marks of teeth along the expanse of your neck. 

And to the promise of something – of a future of power and partnership. If only you’d be so bold as to accept it. As you eyed the saber, you recalled the prickle of his Force power along your skin, increasing with his proximity. And by the time he arrived to meet you again, you knew what your answer would be … 

--

tagging:

@phoenixhalliwell @withahappyrefrain @inklore @spiderispunk @flightlessangelwings @joannasteez @gretagerwigsmuse @kalliravenne @mxgyver @princessphilly @s-u-t @ohmagawd-life @maryannsstrawberry @themultifandompictureshow @kallista-diune @crypt-keeper-soul @monlight-prose @joaquinwhorres @bobfloydsbabe @themarvelousbee @soulores @moonyslove78 @sio-ina-bottle @theradioactivespidergwen @drew-garfi @thegirlwhowritesfics @lady-morrigen @flordeamatista @forever-rogue @aphrogeneias @withmyteeth @superhoeva @pettyprocrastination @mortwig @petcr3

[mirxndatano]

No one is going to silence me

No, Star Wars The Acolyte wasn’t perfect, and it’s not the best of Star Wars. In fact, nothing in this franchise has been perfect, not even The Mandalorian (I’ve just thrown three scorpions at myself, but oh well).

The Acolyte was like breathing fresh air after YEARS of repetitive content focused on: The Empire, Skywalker family, Rebellion, and that’s it.

The Acolyte was a series that reignited a spark and charm in people who had distanced themselves a bit—or a lot—from SW due to the toxicity or simply because they no longer connected with the new content.

The Acolyte made MANY women interested in Star Wars thanks to the fact that it was made and written by a woman who KNOWS what we really like, and that’s why it delivered a tremendous Female Gaze.

The Acolyte DOES deserve or deserved a second season. But as always, they’ve shown what their priorities are: to continually cater to the toxic crowd and the 40+ men who want to keep living in nostalgia and are stuck in The Empire Strikes Back."

[inklore]

— qimir x f!reader why would you run from him after everything he's shown and given to you. you are supposed to be his perfect acolyte. crafted for him. contents: p in v, over stimulation, semi yandere qimir | wc: 559+

You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve come. How many positions he has put you in. How many times you have begged him for a break, to rest, to catch your breath, to stop the throbbing between your thighs that only gets worse the more he fucks you. 

The more the underside of his cock rubs against your swollen clit. His fingers digging into your thighs as he holds your squirming thighs apart. The force taking over when he grows tired of holding you open for him. 

“Please.” You whined. 

“You sound like you didn’t cause this.” The lack of empathy on his face only makes it worse. Only makes your skin burn and gather sweat, barely filling your lungs. The underside of his cock pushing back and forth through your slit, wet and loud in your eyes. “You did this to yourself.” His words mock you just as much as your arousal does. Evidence of how many times you’ve come, of how your body is spent and can’t stop giving itself over to him. Letting him pull, take, and use you. 

The more his mouth sucks at your clit, the more his fingers curl up inside of you and press against your walls, the more you gush around him. His eyes on yours when you declare you can’t come anymore, and he pulls another from you. 

He allows your fingers to dig into his hair to try and push him away from your swollen cunt. The corner of his mouth pulled up when the flick of his wrist has your hands unable to move. 

Making a show of how powerless you truly are against him in so many ways. So many ways that should fill you with fear. Should anger you. But only heat your cheeks in the opposite effect. The reasons as to why you ran from him long forgotten, long regretted, long praised and thanked by the haze of pleasure, want, the need to rest—to be devoured by him. 

An overwhelming feeling of not being whole, not being able to be put back together unless it’s by his hands taking you apart in the first place. 

His fingers dig into your wrists, your knees pressed against his chest, pushing your ass up from the bed enough to have his hips driving deeper, harder, against it. The tip of his cock hits that part of your pussy that no longer aches when he’s this deep. When your walls are this swollen and fluttering around the thickness of him. 

His mouth leaves bites against your jaw, “are you going to leave me again?” You shake your head, tears sting your eyes, your body spent and overstimulated yet still pulling him in. Still aching for another release and to be awarded his. 

He groans against your cheek, “all I’ve shown you, given you, and you run from me. What happened to my good little acolyte?” His dark eyes look down at you, a hand at the crown of your head, thumb rubbing a soothing circle against your skull. “Are you still my girl?”

You’ll feel pathetic later, no matter how fast your head nods. A sick swoop of joy shoots through your stomach when he smiles down at you. His kisses, once rough, hard, and demanding, now filled with a passion fueled gentleness that makes you come again. 

[im-poe-dameron]

Okay last one I swear "You want me. I was inside you. I tasted you. That is a truth you will never escape." with… do I even need to say his name?? RAT BOI QIMIR

DARKNESS WITHIN

a/n: the way i was determined to write this. my laptop committed itself to death and i hand wrote this until i got a new battery. but anything to appease the current brain rot that has overtaken me. i love that we have a feral sith again. rip maul and revan you would have been obsessed with our boi.

summary: balance - the power of light and dark and everything that lingered between. a truth you held onto tightly for fear of losing yourself. but when false hope begins to fade and power tastes sweeter on your tongue than truth, you're left with what remains.

word count: 3.5k+

pairing: qimir x f!reader; the stranger x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, angst, lightsaber battle written messily, corruption, corruption kink, cumplay, choking, dubcon (possibly but just in case), the arc of a fallen jedi.

Petrichor lingered in the air as you stepped off metal and down into the soft soil below. The holomap still glowed inside your small ship. Illuminating the darkened space with a familiar blue you’d caught yourself staring at while the cold temperatures from hyperspace sunk into your skin. The name listed beneath caused your heart to leap into your mouth—the bitterness of him stuck to your tongue.

Eriadu.

An unknown jungle planet along the outer rim. The last place you expected to visit.

The cover of darkness and clouds blocked even the moon’s soft gleam. Your hand twitched, fingers stretching inadvertently to your lightsaber attached to your hip. From where you could see, the soft silver practically held its own light. As if to tell you this was not a path you walked alone—you would not carry the heaviness of your heart in solitude.

If you focused long enough, you could practically feel the leather grip along your fingertips. The urge to flick the switch and bring forth the comforting teal you’d come to rely on, nearly overtook you. But darkness was your ally on a hunt this straining.

For weeks you’d traveled between planets, digging for any information. A piece of a map that would eventually lead you here.

Though the one you sought out remained unknown, similar to the far reaches of the galaxy, you somehow managed to pick up a trace of him. Of the Force signature that nearly burned its way through your own. Where you expected a shimmer of light, a void of nothing welcomed you. Begged you for a sliver of company: in the hopes that you wouldn’t be able to resist.

The feeling sunk down into your nerves, echoing in your chest even now. A song you wouldn’t soon forget—yet craved to hear more of.

Darkness remained a Jedi’s sole enemy. Even while the tantalizing remnants of something so forbidden threatened to unravel you. The threads you kept a tight hold of were now frayed. And the more time passed, the more you felt his pull. The way his fingers had gripped you tight—leaving invisible marks you’d trace later in your mind. Shards of that cataclysmic emotion which tumbled through you like a tidal wave.

Jedi weren’t meant for this. For silent hopes kept in secret—the yearning for more clawing at your insides. Attachment held many names and you’d seen its power. Yet this…was raw uninhibited need. A hunger for his flesh, his mouth, his taste, for words that spilled so carelessly. But held enough freedom for you to grasp.

You weren’t stupid. You could see the breadth of his power that lingered under the surface. The signature of something foreign, something ancient.

That alone should have sent fear curling around your spine, stiffening your movements. You were taught as a padawan that Jedi fear nothing. They were the symbol of peace; a beacon of hope for the galaxy to look towards.

No matter how much you tried to fight it, that didn’t rid you of the way your body practically flinched at each sound. Your throat, tight and unforgiving the longer you trekked into the forest.

You knew the terror housed in your body didn’t stem from the thought of facing him. The realization bled through your heart the longer you were out there—you were going against the code you promised to uphold the day you were knighted. A vow that would one day cost you your life. But thus was the price to pay for knowledge, for training, for a purpose. Betrayal from another Jedi was a blow to everything your faith centered around. And what you thought was merely a faint blistering second of desire, fanned the flames of something worse.

A searing ache that refused to be ignored.

Your boots sunk into the ground with every step. Clear footprints now marked into the soil for anyone to follow. Forgoing your robes on the ship, you did what you could to look like a passerby. Someone here for peace and a stolen moment of tranquility. Hopefully they wouldn’t spot the heavy breaths you took, or the way your body was wracked with a type of suffering you weren’t used to: guilt. 

Trees engulfed your line of vision, blocking what you hoped was a path. Instead you were left with a vacant hole in the Force.

What once was loud—the embodiment of chaos—suddenly fell silent.

As if it never existed at all.

“You’re still here,” you murmured, eyes falling shut. The pulse of your own heart filled your senses. A reverberation that grounded you to the planet below. “I can feel you.”

Sucking in a lungful of air, you allowed everything else to melt away. The trees, the earth, the glow of the moon. Until you were left with the steady thump, thump, thump, that rang in your chest. The inky black mess of darkness shrouded your vision; hindering what you could reach. Forgoing a river blocking your only way forward.

You did what you could to push through it. Past the barriers of good and evil; beyond life itself. Until you reached the middle, the balance of everything that lingered between.

Your own soft blue green signature wrapped around your body, acting as a shield to what lay beyond. Pressing further, you felt the icy cold bitterness of him. It spread down your spine, wrapping around bone and marrow. A threat layered as a promise.

The obsidian emptiness was tinged with a soft gleam of crimson. Blood. Spilled by the very hands you craved to hold you.

The vibration of power nearly rattled you from the inside out. The amount of his capabilities that once beckoned you forward, now creeped closer. Mirth and malevolence seeped into the air, invading your senses. Until the pungent taste of copper spread across your tongue. Burning you within moments.

The hair stood up on the back of your neck, chills overtaking you with a wolfish eagerness. And you gasped. Calling your saber swiftly to your palm, you spun—the teal igniting like a flame, illuminating the area. Your eyes adjusted to the sudden burst of light, but in the darkness—melted into the shadows—you caught a glimpse of him. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you swung it forward, until the all too familiar sinister hum of a second lightsaber filled the area.

Red clashed with teal—sparks flying into the air—and you were met with the eyes of your mark.

The man who split you open down the center.

He stole the lid from Pandora’s box and watched in glee as every emotion you kept locked away, spilled free.

“What took you so long?” His lips curved into a smirk. Satisfaction gleamed from his eyes—a red reflection cast itself along his brown irises.

“You knew I’d come.”

“I hoped.”

“Hope…” You scoffed, attempting to steady the beat of your heart. “A dangerous thing for someone like you.”

With the tilt of his head you felt the ground level beneath you. “One could say the same for your kind.”

Heat from your blades clashing bled into the air. Yet neither of you backed away. This was no longer a fight of enemies, but rather you claiming back what he so callously stole. The sanity you once prided yourself on. Death would be an honor if it were to occur in battle. A worthy end to a Jedi as prideful as you, but the doubt he placed began to rise to the surface.

The answers to your myriad of questions—desires you sealed away—were gifted to you by him. As if he’d been waiting with baited breath for you to simply…ask him.

His smile deepened. “I can’t heal what’s been broken.”

You pressed your saber down, victory filling your chest at the sight of him sliding back. He’d been expecting a fight. Not your rage.

“Stay out of my head,” you spit.

“But it’s fun.” He huffed, standing to his full height, the strength of his body shoving you back. “Watching you grapple with the meaning of good and bad.”

“Shut up.” You swung at him again. Only for the attempt to be met with a slice of his blade. It nearly toppled you to the ground.

“It’s a lie. Everything the Jedi told you.” He advanced, his steps steady—measured. “There is no such thing as light or dark. It is just power.”

“You’re trying to get in my head. To tear me apart.” The clash of your blades pierced the air with a crack as you rushed at him.

“No,” he whispered, allowing his Force signature to brush against yours. You fell away, fear lacing your heart. “I was already in your head.” He swiped at you, the red crackle of his lightsaber singed your face as you ducked. “You let me in. You let me see every doubt, every fear, every desire. Willingly.”

“Shut up!” you cried, anger forcing its way forward. Hatred for everything you felt blinded you as you lashed at him with vehemence.

Loathing at the lust you gave into, the fear you let consume you. He worked his way into your heart and there was nothing you could do to combat it. You wanted to strip him from your body, tear away the flesh he touched. Yet the memory of how you begged, how you fell to your knees for him ripped through your head—punching the breath from your lungs.

Blow after blow, you watched as he fought you with ease. His slight shifts were enough to keep you off balance. Right where he wanted. Sweat prickled at your throat, pain spreading down your arms. He was purposefully wearing you down. Until your body gave way to exhaustion. Yet that’s not what fueled the rage you did your best to tamp down.

He was enjoying this. The way you struggled.

The final frail thread in your mind snapped and for the first time, you allowed your anger to bleed through. You let it fuel the adrenaline that filled your veins, pushing your body to keep fighting. With a hoarse shout, you shoved what Force you could his way and watched him slide back along the ground. Falling to one knee with a grunt.

Air burned your lungs as you gasped in time with the beat of your heart. Your arms shook with an unforgivable ache.

But you lifted your lightsaber. Teal casting a soft glow on your sweat slicked face—the echo of wrath glinting in your darkened eyes.

“You are the last person I’d let corrupt me.” You weren’t taught to despise someone this viciously. The Jedi spoke against it, but something hot burned in your chest. A promise that you would return to Coruscant with the handle of his lightsaber. His defeat would be your penance for the pain you caused.

“Why do you lie to yourself?”

“You’re wrong—”

He laughed, his foot slamming into your hip hard enough for you to hear a pop—pain rushing down your thigh. “I’m wrong? Tell me Jedi. What do you think they will do to you when you return corrupted? What will they do…when they find out how much you wanted me?”

Your scream pierced the air, burning your lungs. Ignoring the pain, you leapt to your feet, swung your blade in parries he quickly blocked, at a speed you’d never before witnessed. He fought against you with ease, but your refusal to back down is what threw him off. You wouldn’t let him win, refusing to back away from something like this. If he wanted to finish what started weeks ago, he’d have to impale you with his blade.

To your wonder, he seemed to avoid doing exactly that. Even as you fumbled, weariness settling deep in your bones.

With a twist of your wrist, his blade flew from his hand and landed mere feet away in the dirt. You half expected him to call it back, to end you where you stood, but he fell to his knees when your boot slammed into his leg. The teal of your saber now pressed close to his sweat glistened skin.

His head tilted up, eyes darker than you remembered, yet he never lost the mirthful smile that graced his lips.

“I didn’t want you,” you lied, in the hopes that he wouldn’t prod out the truth.

One final swing would silence him forever. You could release the Jedi from his threat, return home the same person you were before coming across him. And yet…you hesitated. Your eyes met his, the burn of tears welling up until you could barely see straight. His smile deepened, victory painted across his face, as you both came to the realization that would damn you right along with him. He could see it in your stance, feel how your Force signature begged to sink beside his, to feel the strength he once showed you—the tenderness that you knew existed beneath the surface.

Killing him ceased to be an option the second he opened your eyes to the truth.

“You do,” he said, his voice soft and raspy.

“No,” you whimpered, blinking back the tears.

He laughed, his hand calling his saber in the blink of an eye. Red flashed in the air, before your lightsaber was knocked out of your hands, now on the forest floor.

Instead of striking you down, he dragged you forward, your body forced to submit as his hand gripped your chin, angling you to face him. Your mind screamed at you to fight him, to resist the temptation, but his grip merely tightened. His eyes falling to your lips, to the way your jacket fell open at your chest, before finding your gaze again.

“You want me,” he whispered.

Where you expected to struggle against him—to flinch from his touch—you found that you craved more. You wanted him to bend you to his will, to show you the path to the dark side that remained like an echo in the back of your mind. A promise of more, wrapped in the threat of everything.

A gasp tore through your chest when he dropped his blade, his other arm hauling you against him as he walked forward. Your back scraped against a tree. Blood sprouting to the surface on the back of your neck. And if you had the ability to…you’d beg for more.

He grinned, seeing the flicker of uncertainty in the Force, the brightness of your familiar teal now a shade darker. His thumb pressed down, forcing your lips to part. To let him in.

Obedience was never difficult for you; having gone your entire life following orders left and right. But this…this knowledge that to follow his rule, to submit to his words, left you breathless. You were nearly angry at the person you let yourself become. Perhaps the Jedi were lying. You’d never know unless you asked, but to do so was to put a sentence on your head. To put questions in theirs. To push for more would reveal what you’d already done—what you couldn’t take back.

He watched the turmoil stream through you with interest. His eyes grasping what he could as you struggled with the truth he already gave you. Desire, want, hunger, it all stemmed from a place of power.

What mattered wasn’t that you needed it. You wanted it.

“I—” Your eyes fell to his lips, greed screaming through the Force as it all clicked into place.

With a snarl, he turned you, his hand wrapping around your throat as the other delved between your thighs, beneath layers of fabric you longed to get off. “I was inside of you.”

Breathing became secondary when his touch burned everything out of you, leaving a path of fire behind. Where he once caressed you with tenderness before, now turned rough. Shame should have ripped you from this intoxicating high, but the smile pressed to your ear when his fingers met your pool of slick, left you lost in the destitute darkness that consumed you.

“I tasted you,” he murmured, the rough pads of his fingers circling your clit—your mouth parting with a broken moan.

Dignity meant nothing to you when pleasure burned at the edges of your vision. Effectively blocking anything that might have come before.

“That is a truth you will never escape.”

Gripping his arm, you focused on the heavy breaths he exhaled, the shift of his body as he held you up where you couldn’t anymore. And beyond that, in the expanse of his darkness, you allowed light to pour through. To blanket him in what was once familiar, what remained buried in the depths of his mind. You gave him a piece of his past as he drowned you in your future.

“The Jedi will reject you,” he gasped, two fingers pressing into you, the memory of before sparking to life in your mind. “And when they do. You will find me again.”

“T-They’ll brand me a traitor—” If you were to return, you could never be a Jedi again. Never go back to the person you were before him.

Pleasure blinded you with every thrust of his fingers, the stillness of the forest now echoed with the mix of your breaths. You sunk into him, nails digging crescent moons into his skin, and he tightened his hold on your throat. He liked you this way. Pliant beneath his touch, eager and desperate for whatever he could possibly offer you. Being your prey was a mere fantasy, an act he allowed you to divulge in for as long as you needed.

Until the time was right.

His lips slid against yours, the kiss wet and heady. All the things you longed for, the past that you could not escape from. He kissed you without mercy. And you met him with an urgent acquiescence. The memory of his tongue against your clit pulsed in your mind, brighter than the day it happened as he stole the breath from your lungs. Saliva dripped down your chin, connecting you to him.

“Don’t you see?” he breathed, fingers curling forward—searching for something. The sharp inhale of satisfaction nearly tore you apart when your torso crumpled forward, a whimpered moan ripping from your throat. “You became a traitor the day you followed me into that temple.”

“I—”

The heel of his palm roughly pressed to your clit; your hips—acting on their own accord—sought his touch, grinding down with a pleaded out cry. You needed the bliss he once gave you. The sensation that haunted your every waking moment; that threatened to break you down and ruin all that you built for yourself. The feeling you were prepared to give up everything for.

“I can give this to you, all the time.”

“Please,” you sighed.

“Whatever you crave, will be yours.” He felt your walls tighten around his fingers, the hitch in your chest burned a hole through his. And like before when you cupped his face with reverence glowing in your eyes, he ignored it. Shoved it down into the pit with the remainder of his memories and feelings.

Your teeth dug into your lip nearly drawing blood when he sped up. The plunge of his fingers wet and loud in the air. To have you like this. Out in the open for anyone to discover, nearly drove him mad. He wanted to see your face, watch you shatter like before, witness the erosion of the Jedi spirit within you.

He wanted to bear witness to the corruption he caused.

“Say you’ll join me.”

Warning bells rang in the back of your mind, teal bleeding into your vision—the final hope of light that tried to pull you away from him. To remind you of why you were there.

Until darkness swallowed it whole, submerging it beneath the waves of a sea you’d never swim out of.

Grasping for the release you knew wasn’t far away, you bucked against his hand, mouth falling open as a cry pierced the air. With a grunt, he pushed his hips against your back, his teeth clamping down on your shoulder as you came with the taste of him on your lips. White flashed behind your eyes, hot and all consuming, your Force signature slamming into him with enough strength to send him stumbling. All with you still in his arms.

He collapsed to the ground, arm wrapped like a vice around your waist and fingers swirling around your pulsing clit.

“Yes,” you gasped, thigh quaking and face contorted in pleasure. “I will.”

Soft green began to morph behind your closed eyes. Dimming and bleeding to the edge of your senses, something brighter taking you over with a hunger you’d never experienced before. A raw ache that thumped in tune with your own heart. He turned your head, his lips finding yours, as your crimson signature called to his, bending and curving where his led.

He smiled, thumb running along the edge of your jaw. “Welcome my love.”

Your eyes fluttered open, lips pulling into a smile, as yellow slowly seeped into your iris. “Thank you.”

[rebelscums]

Apricity (Qimir x Lover reader)

Ratings: Angst | Slight fluff | Mentions of nudity | He doesn’t realize what he has until it’s gone

Summary: Qimir chooses his padawan over you, going back on his promise and leaving you with one choice… To leave.

For the longest time, it has always been you and him. The two of you against the entire galaxy, searching for a place to belong. Long nights spent tangled up in sheets and days spent traveling the galaxy. It felt nice not to feel so lonely anymore, to belong to someone and have a purpose.

Until he wanted more.

“You want a pupil?” You sat up in bed, the cool air circling from the cave entrance caressing your skin.

He sat up as well, his hand circling around your waist as he pulled you closer to him, “I want to pass my knowledge onto someone else…” His thumb brushed against your side, “I want an acolyte.” He leaned in to press kisses on your neck.

“Then why not just get me pregnant?”

He grinned, breathing a content chuckle against your skin, “You would like that wouldn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t mind it.” The thought of a child, a mix of both you and Qimir, running around excited you.

He pulled back to look you in the eyes, “I promise, once my work is done and I have an acolyte to carry out my will. You and I can finally live without constantly hiding and we can have all the children we could want.”

“Promise?”

“Promise my flower.”

That was two years ago before he found… Mae. You believed in his words, kept his identity a secret, and stood by faithfully as he spent all of his time training her.

He said that he didn’t want to risk your life, that was why your love would remain a secret. You could understand his reasoning and you complied as you always did.

Sometimes he would leave you on the unknown planet you both made your home…

You decided long ago to call the planet Apricty because no matter how cold it felt, your love kept it warm. But that warmth slowly began to fade with each passing month he spent away from you. It was always the same line.

“I thought that maybe we could take a tripe to Naboo?”

“I can’t my flower, but I promise soon.”

“Today is our anniversary. I wanted to make something special for us for dinner. When will you be home?”

“I can’t my flower, but I promise soon we will celebrate.”

“Can I come with you this time? I feel…” alone…

“I can’t take you with me my flower, but I promise soon.”

You spent most of your time walking along the beach, collecting shells and taking in the scenery of the waves crashing against the rocks. Today was no different as you sat on the edge of the beach, dipping your toes into the freezing water.

You were bored and lonely and you just, “I miss him.” You admitted quietly to no one. You’ve found yourself talking to the force lately. You weren’t like Qimir, you had no strong connection and you couldn’t wield the force, but you felt close to it as the force reminded you of Qi.

“I miss waking up to him humming as he cooked breakfast… I miss his jokes and that lopsided grin of his… I miss cooking dinner for him and running my hands through his hair… I miss our adventures… I… I miss…” You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt tear drops hit your hands, “I miss him.” You sobbed.

You were concerned and you were scared for him that his ambitions would take him to where you couldn’t follow.

You were cutting potatoes to put in a stew, humming a song that Qimir used to sing to you. It gave you some sense of humanity staying here alone for the past couple of months. Your tears had long since dried from earlier today and your only plan was to eat dinner and go to bed.

“Your voice is just as beautiful as I remember my flower.” You heard him speak behind you and you froze wondering if you were imagining him again.

“Qi…” You whispered his name as you turned to find him standing there, a small smile on his face.

Your eyes tear up as you stood and rushed towards him. He engulfed you in his arms and you felt like you could finally breathe again.

“It’s been so long.” You cried into his shirt.

“I know, I’m sorry my flower.” He whispered into your hair as he caressed your body.

You pulled back to look him over, “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” You notice the tired look on his face, “What happened?”

“Jedi.” He muttered as he pressed his forehead against yours, “I took care of them.”

You breathed in his scent as closed your eyes… You were happy that he was back and you once again felt safe in his arms… That is until you heard a noise emanating from your room.

“What was that?” You wondered as you pulled away from him.

“My flower, there’s something I need to tell you about.” He said.

There was nothing in his expression that would allow anyone to know what he was thinking… But you weren’t just anyone.

“What is it?” A frown crossed your lips as you could see the guilt in his eyes.

“I brought Osha here.” He muttered knowing he could not lie to you.

“Osha?” Your brows furrowed, “Your acolyte’s sister? Why?”

“Mae betrayed me. I believe Osha is the acolyte I need.”

You pushed him away, your joy of him returning morphing into frustration, “You brought her here?”

“I had no other choice.” He pressed.

“You always have a choice.” You turned away from him. It was ironic how now you wanted space from him.

He took a step towards you wrapping his arms around your waist, “She was hurt, please. I wouldn’t have brought her here if I didn’t have a choice.”

You sighed and closed your eyes, “Alright.” You whispered quietly.

He turned you around and pressed a kiss to your lips, “Thank you my flower. You have always supported me and I love you for that.”

“Of course.” You brushed your nose against his, “I love you.”

You spent your evening tending to the girl’s wound, something you never dreamed of doing, but here you are. You were happy though that at least Qimir was back and hopefully now you can go with him places.

Or so you thought.

You both stood outside of the cave as he told you, “For my plan to work, you can’t tell her that we are together.”

“What do you mean?” You questioned him, “What does our love have anything to do with her as your new acolyte?”

“She needs to see that to truly be powerful she cannot have any attachment to her old life.” He explained, “Trust me on this, please.” He asked once again.

“Who…” You frowned softly, a sad look in your gaze, “Who would you have me be?”

“You’ll be my smuggler, just for a little while.” He placed his hands on your arms, “I swear that it won’t be for long. Just until she accepts who she is.”

“Okay…” You whispered unsure.

Why do you always say yes to him? Why can’t you just tell him that this hurts you more than slicing your own skin? Then being left alone. It felt as if he didn’t want to belong to you anymore…

“Who are you?” Osha asked behind you from where you were making lunch.

“No one important.” You spoke softly, “How is your wound?”

“It’s… Better… Thank you.” She spoke unsure.

“I did what I could with what I had.” You motioned to a bag, “There are some clothes and things for you in there. They are mine, but I’m sure they’ll fit.”

I could hear her make her way over to the bag and open it to inspect the items, “Why are you helping me?” She wondered.

“Because he asked.” You stated as you added more vegetables to the curry, “And because I’m not a bad person.”

You heard her pick up the bag and carry it to the back room to change.

“Qi is outside.” You told her, “I’ll come fetch you both for lunch when it’s ready.”

You hoped that you didn’t seem too mean or awkward as you brushed off your pants. At least the curry turned out good. You thought as you slipped on your shoes and one of Qimir’s coat that you stole. His scent was still there but faded from how many times you’ve worn it while he was away.

“You are not going to give that back are you?” He chuckled.

“You are leaving me for months. The least you can do is leave me this. I may forget you after all.” You teased though you were silently hurting, you didn’t let him know.

He pulled you in for a deep kiss, “I won’t be gone long. Once I find an acolyte everything will be perfect.”

But everything was perfect… At least to you.

You hummed softly as you left the cave, some seeds in your pocket to feed the cute little creatures that live alongside you. The walk felt nice as you finally had somewhere to go to without mindlessly wandering around until your feet felt numb. You wondered if Qi would like to go see the small garden you had been meticulously been cultivating since he left. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours.

Besides you always told him you wanted a garden and now you have one that you made all on your own.

“A garden hm?” He smiled softly down at you.

“Yes! I would like a big one with the most beautiful and exotic fruits, vegetables, and flowers that we have ever seen!” You explained happily to him as he spun you around in your little home, “Then I can make us the most delicious meals.”

“I see, I guess I will have to get started on building you one then.” He smiled.

He never did build you that garden; but it made you feel proud that you built one yourself. It wasn’t grand and it didn’t have the most beautiful fruits, vegetables, or flowers in the galaxy, but it was enough. It made you content in your lonely state. You continued on your path, knowing exactly where he would be. It was your favorite spot after all, a little cove that was perfect for taking a swim or just relaxing. You remember all of the fond memories the two of you had there when the only thought in mind was your shared future. You thought it was enough… You hoped it was.

You could hear two voices and you sighed silently knowing you would have to put up an act. You had secretly hoped that Osha would try to escape or get lost and you could spend some much needed time with Qimir, but you suppose that the force was not on your side this time.

“If you’re not going to join me then I would like to get dressed.” You heard Qimir say and the odd choice of words made a sick feeling settle in the pit of your stomach.

You turned around the corner of a giant boulder when before you made you step back in shock. There your lover was standing bare in front of a girl who was only supposed to be his padawan.

What was this…?

You didn’t understand as you watched him get dressed. He didn’t try to hide himself or make her turn away. He didn’t…

You turned away and wrapped your arms around yourself, silently leaving the two to their private conversation. There were many emotions and thoughts consuming your mind as you trekked back to your little home.

How long has that been going on? Was he that way with Mae as well? Was I just a placeholder until he found someone better? Why? Why? Why?

Your sadness grew into anger as the realization settled in you like a seed of doubt. He… Didn’t love me anymore. I wonder if he ever did? You thought.

You waited in your home, a place that you have worked hard to make it a warm and welcoming place for the both of you. You could hear them talking as they approached, could see them as Qimir twisted his way inside her mind as he did yours all those years ago. Watched as he grabbed her arm so gently that you wanted to cry. You wanted to look away as she pinned him to the cave entrance and he let her, the lightsaber so close to his neck you wondered if she would actually do it… You wondered if you wanted her to.

He set his claim over her with soothing words and a gentle touch and you knew… He didn’t want you. He didn’t even want a padawan.

He wanted an equal.

You couldn’t give him that, not with your small connection to the force. You weren’t like him. You never would be.

Your heart broke in that moment and nothing saved you from the sorrow that consumed you. All you wanted was a family… He was your family. He was everything to you and you… You weren’t as nearly important to him.

“At least three.” You lied in bed, curled up in his arms.

“Four kids?” He chuckled as he drew circles across your skin, “Why not make it four? Make it even.”

“Four?” You hummed in thought, “Do you think you can handle that many kids?”

“I handle you just fine, how hard can it be?” He teased.

You mockingly gasped in shock before rolling over on top of him, “You’ll see just how hard I am to handle.”

“Oh I’m counting on it.” He grinned, placing his hands on your hips.

You leaned down to press your forehead against his, “You’ll miss me when I’m gone Qi.”

“I’ll never let you go.” He stated sincerely, “Nothing will ever keep me from you, my flower.”

“I’ll keep you to that.” You kissed him.

It seemed that shattered piece of the force reminded him that you were there. He could feel that string of yours begin to fray and when his eyes met yours he knew that there was no way to bring you back.

It was early the next morning and you watched the tide begin to recede as you waited to board your ship, one that was smaller than Qimir’s, but still fast.

“Flower.”

“Please, spare me indignity.” You whispered.

“I can explain.”

You could see the hurt hidden behind his soft gaze, a pleading act that you knew too well. It was a look that he only gave when he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing.

You continued to look at him with tears in your eyes, “I don’t need you to explain anything to me. I’m not connected to the force like you, but I know you do the very core of my being and I know… I know Qimir.”

“That’s not—” He stepped towards you, but you held a hand up to stop him.

“I want to be loved only by you and… You swore that it would just be the two of us. You used to say you couldn’t bear to be without me… You used to run to see me… I want to be close to you and you still keep me at arms length. You think I’m naive, but I see more than what you want me to see.” You took a breath as you tried to keep your composer without breaking down.

You searched his eyes for the love he once held for you and you wanted to cry because you couldn’t find it anymore.

“You have my heart Qimir, you always have. My love for you is as warm as the sun, but I cannot continue to shine upon something that prefers the darkness.” You confessed, your heart barely keeping it together. You wanted to run back in his arms and forget everything that happened, but that would only leave you right where you are now… Alone.

“What are you saying?” His voice cracked and he felt a gnawing feeling crawl up his chest and towards his heart.

“I can no longer follow you on the path that you are taking, not when your heart no longer belongs to me so please… Give me some decency and let me leave you.” You pleaded not knowing how much your heart could take.

“I can’t.” He shook his head and his voice became desperate, “Please don’t leave me. I can’t bear to loose you. Not you.”

“Then tell her to go.” You looked in the direction of where Mae was watching at the entrance of your home… Your life… Your safe space.

“I…” He looked torn as he tried to decide and that hurt you all the more… He had to think about choosing you and… “I can’t.” He finally responded.

He couldn’t even choose you.

You nodded to yourself at his choice, silently confirming your decision to leave. It was best for you no matter how much pain you were currently in.

“No one will ever be able to truly see you the way I do… You were my apricity.” You turned and began to walk to your ship, “Goodbye Qimir.”

Osha took his place by his side and he suddenly felt a feeling of emptiness, no longer did he feel a purpose nor did he wish for anything except for his beloved flower.

“You won’t kill her?” Osha asked as she watched as your ship took off.

“Never.” He responded quietly.

[yandere-wishes]

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡Acolyte⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

𐙚Yandere! Qimir/The Master x Reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Plot: Your loneliness is suffocating, engulfing. Qimir is the only one who seems to subdue the pain. But every forbidden fruit has its price.

⁀➷Warnings: Yandere behavior, gore, angst (at the end), author having an anxiety attack over this fic  

🪐Note: Why is the longest thing I've ever written for a fandom that barely exists? Anyway, here's the long-awaited Qimir piece!

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ : Disturbia - Rihanna, Dark Vacay & Motion Picture Soundtrack - CAS

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆🍓⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Your master's anger is tangible. You harbour it stubbornly on your tongue. Relishing in the frustration. You aren't sure how many times you've cut out your soul to place at a master's feet. Gnawing on perfect lips to keep quiet during another scolding. Your new master's disappointment reverberates through the room. Thick and oozing like an infected wound.

You messed up again.

"We do not injure other padawans during training. We do not lash out and attack, especially when your training partner has fallen. How have you trained for so long without comprehending these basics?"

The rage that boils inside you is not Jedi in nature. It's something else, a bizarre second, something ancient, ghoulish. An all-consuming fire that burns inside your veins. It shouldn't feel so welcoming, so familiar.

You roll your eyes.

"With all due respect master. How is one to win, if they do not strick when given the opportunity? That too should be a basic notion, no?"

You see the anger snake across your master's face. A defeated, disgruntled, glance that you've become a bit too acquainted with. This is the look that all your previous masters give you. And yet none have yet to master its eeriness quite as well as your first master. Master Sol.

Your master sighs, a piercing noise, deflating every ounce of his willpower. You are exhausting to be around, his annoyance is becoming discernible. "Master Sol is coming by the temple to check your...progress. He's requested a few items to take back with him. Please go fetch them from the apothecary."

Progress is a gentle word and Jedi love using gentle words. It's easier to say than the full truth. Sugar-coated things always taste better.

But the sugar refuses to stick to you.

It burns away in your bitterness.

Coruscant is a distant memory, it was never your home to begin with. But the high bustling volume is something that is hard to forget. Here things are quiet, you slip through the bazaar undetected. Small basket clutched tightly. You wonder what's dragging your former master halfway across the galaxy. You wonder if it's really just to see you.

You gaze blankly at the holographic list. A few rare herbs and some medical roots. This planet grows them in abundance, and the local apothecary carries more than its fair share.

The apothecary is an old, disheveled thing. The older Jedi say that its presence is as old as the temple itself. Odd how some things have a will of iron. You gently rap at the worn metal door, waiting for an invitation to enter. The hinges cry as the door opens ever so slightly. You squeeze in, surveying the cluttered den. Careful to avoid the half-empty bottles and neon puddles scattered across the floor.

"Excuse me" your voice holds an urgent annoyance. Where is the pharmacist? What kind of store owner abandons their shop in the midday? You run your fingers across the strange bottles, letting your nails pick at the murky glass. The colors flash, begging to be freed, strange space pinks, and summer oranges all trapped inside square prisons. Baby poisons dying to taste the world, burning it if they must, but experiencing it nonetheless, tasting their own form of freedom. Funny, they almost remind you of yourself.

Trapped and fatal.

"Hello?", the voice behind you is languid, dozy. Mirroring a late afternoon nap. When the man next speaks you notice a lyrical lint "What brings you here little lady?". You turn to see it, the voice, or rather the man harboring the voice. He's loosely robed and shaggy in the way that only the most spirited vagabonds are. He smiles tenderly upon seeing your face, strange red fruit caught between his teeth. "I um...I" you click your tongue anxiously against the roof of your mouth. Feeling around for those pesky words, in the end, you just shove the hologram holder forward, hoping he'll understand.

"Oh, I see, out here doing some chores?" You nod, mind preoccupied with the otherwordly fruit. "what's that?" you ask, schoolgirl curiosity lacing your voice. "What, this?" he asks holding the freckled thing between his fingers, it's only in the mild light that you notice the shimmering gold scattered across its red skin. The stranger laughs, walking closer, he places the hologram base on the black table, clicking it on as he studies the list. "They're called strawberries. They're from the forest planets, not many grow here in the mid-rims." He's nimble as he packs the herbs and roots, fumbling with the straw ties. "care for a bite" he asks, handing you the bitten fruit.

Hesitantly you bite.

Letting the sweetness erupt on your tongue.

"Thank you" you mumble trying not to moan at the foreign taste. The stranger laughs, it's a cheery noise like birds chirping in first bloom tress. "you're a Jedi, aren't you?" he asks stepping around the table, eyebrows furrowed, caught in a dream he doesn't seem to understand. You choke on the rogue static as he steps closer, eyes half-lidded dreaming of nothing. "Here..."

"Wha-" your voice catches in your throat, it's getting harder to breathe.

"Your supplies" He hands you the brown paper bag, motion a little too phlegmatic to be right.

"Oh, right...thanks" You anxiously shove the bag into your basket and scurry out of the shop. Holding your breath.

"Come back soon." the voice chirps behind you.

Your old master arrives by spaceship, a newer, albeit worn model. The landing pad ejects to reveal a small escort.

Master,

Knight,

Padwan,

Apostate,

You stand still watching as they descend. Bits of envy bubble in your throat watching your former master and his band of little heroes. You wish you had their belonging. Forgoing the loneliness to find kinsmanship with your coterie. You swallow down the bitter thoughts as they finally approach you.

Master Sol's smile reaches his eyes. Gentle and wise. The true epidemy of a Jedi in every sense of the word. Funny how he now has two failures under his belt. None of which are capable of scratching his shining repute.

His hands are on your shoulders, bright smile. "My padawan, it's been too long." You try to bow, awkwardly and stiffly. "Mater Sol, I'm grateful you've come to asses my progress". If he hears your doubt he doesn't show it. Instead, he reintroduces you to Yord, Jacki, Osha.

You try to be polite. Gulp down the awkwardness

You imagine the taste of strawberries on your tongue.

Remember their stiff sweetness and prickly tasteless freckles.

You smile. Easier this time.

They'll stay here for some time. Hunting assassins and documenting progress in their free time. Jacki seems more invested in your training than you are, trying to teach you everything she knows. At least she doesn't mind the rough play, the violent strikes, and sloppy prideful defenses. She speaks in pointers and parries. She's the one to drag you along these assassin hunts. Welcoming you...or at least trying to.

But there is something else at play. Darker, broader, Sol and Jecki welcome you into the fray. Yet you still feel your old master's hesitance, he's still wary of you. Worried about your anger, your defiance.

The distance grows, some icy void.

Sol used to tell you fairytales. This was back when you'd been young and bright-eyed. Freshly welcomed into the order and still overflowing with artless hope for a colorful future.

But even back then, he had known there was something wrong with you.

Looking back it was evident.

Every story started and ended the same. Little princess against the big bad world. Holding out until her prince came along. Only problem was the morals never registered right in your little messed-up brain.

Why didn't the princess fall for the dragon, the wolf, the tyrant king with a crown of bones? Why didn't she swoon and sigh over someone rousing, compelling? A paradox wrapped in black ember? Why settle for a sun-painted prince, with no complexities, no mysteries to unravel?

You would have married the dragon, or the wolf, or the tyrant king with a crown of bones.

Even back then, it was evident something was wrong.

The temple's roof isn't restricted per se.

It's rather abandoned as opposed to forbidden.

Maybe that's why you find solace here. The abandonment feels familiar, similar. The chipped cement kisses the soles of your feet, you imagine it's something like walking upon the rough terrain of a star.

You breathe in the night air deeply.

Expecting the fragile scents of moonshine and star glitter.

Instead, you choke on heavy mist and blood-drenched air.

The thing standing in front of you isn't human. It can't be human. It's created from the blackness, ebony in all the ways a living thing shouldn't be. For a second you think you're staring at a black hole. No doubt this creature crawled out of one.

What sheer willpower one must need to drag themselves out of endless nothingness?

"Little Jedi should not brave the night alone."

It speaks

"There are far too many monsters roaming in the dark"

Its face never moves, statue in all the ways the figures towering over the entrance aren't. This statue is something else, a lost page to some forgotten epic. Carved from gems born in darkness. Evil and rotten.

"What are you?" your voice susurrate, quivering in this surreal scene. The air is thicker now, overflowing with raw static.

Your fingers itch for your saber. Only when the cold metal kisses your palm do you regain some semblance of reality.

The hiss, the green light.

The figure chuckles.

Its voice bouncing from every direction. Everywhere all at once. When it speaks the air cackles, raining as if it were a frightened child.

"I am something akin to you, another child of the force" His voice comes out distorted, uneven in tone. "I am what's birthed when one learns of the true strength of the force."

Your body moves on its own, feet kicking the ground sprinting faster and faster before the final leap. You aim for the helmet, for the morbid toothy grin permanently etched within steel. In a flash the word stills, floating around you like fluorescent bubbles, the rain tumbles around you, curving and diving for the wet ground. It dares not land on something within his grasp.

You feel the slithering across your body. They start from the ground, summed from the unknown depths. Clinging firmly to your ankles before inching up your knees, your hips, your neck.

long, slipper tendrils curling around your body. The figure watches, bare arm outstretched. You should probably be focused on how the unseen things are inching closer to your mouth. Not on the toned muscles and limber fingers of the monster. Not on how, for a fraction of a heartbeat, his smile appears genuine, caring, aimed straight at you.

Only You

They finally reach your lips, prying your teeth ajar and flooding your mouth. Sinking deeper and deeper into your soul, your mind, you.

The smile grows.

In a blink you're suspended in the space between worlds, dark damning thing cradling your body.

"The dark side once belonged to the Jedi, yet they chose to discard it. Deeming it malignant, ungovernable."

Your weightlessness unnerves you. You're malleable in this void.

"Those few who embraced its calling were dubbed Sith." He says the word with such fervent pride. Devoted to it's weight and all it carries. You try to roll the word off your own tongue only for it to burn the roof of your mouth.

The stranger stalks closer, lethal and lithe.

The void vibrates, the darkness bends to his will.

He reaches down to cup your face. His fingers feel warm, welcoming. You nuzzle into his palm, fighting the urge to kiss each finger and suck on the dark force they emit. "You..." he starts, his voice shakes you to the core. Its horror amplifies with the proximity. You wonder if it'll cut through steel, armor, flesh.

your flesh.

"You aren't like the other temple dwellers. You have potential."

His thumb presses your lower lip, demanding entrancing. You comply, needing to feel something solid.

Something you've been denied your whole life.

"They keep you locked away. Trading you between craven masters. Seeing who can tame you first."

He nicks his thumb on your teeth,

Pressing bone into dentin.

His essence drips into you.

He tastes of power.

Of dark, dreadful things you can not name.

"They do not know how to train you. How to use your power..."

The world crumbles, ebony midnights giving way to reality. You feel yourself fall, plunging through the air like a comet bent on destruction.

"They only break you further"

Your knees collide with the harsh ground. Skin splintering in the aftermath giving way to bruises and bloodmarks.

The ground feels too solid beneath you.

A poly, a ruse.

You all but expect to melt through it. Slipping and falling into the vacuum, into him, once more.

He hovers above. Absolute in his strength. You're beginning to believe that blackholes birth divinity. Eyes shimmering with fanatic fidelity, staring up at the holy creature commanding the storm.

"Teach me..."

You've never begged for anything so terribly in your life.

But you need this.

this power

this control.

him.

Sol never told just how the princess met the villain.

He never said it wasn't love at first fright.

Sol insists that the local apothecary knows the truth behind the Jedi-killer. Definite that the unseemly man can tell you something important. He sends Osha inside to play Mea. To get the man to talk.

You crowd around the communicator urging back giggles. Yord's chin is placed upon your shoulder and Jecki's cheek rests against yours. Their touches come so early. And yet they are utterly alien.

"He will be so pleased." No sooner have the words chime from the corroded speakers that Sol is ushering you all towards the small metal hut.

Yord entwines his fingers with you as he runs.

Jacki wraps around your arm.

You feel at times they are trying to tame you.

Befriend the feral puppy they found in the backyard.

The apothecary's face is utterly stunned. He's stammering over his words fear glistening in his eyes as he stares at Sol. "Please, please don't wipe my memories. Or whatever it is you Jedi do." A rosy blush colors your cheeks, at his terror. It's terribly amusing seeing someone so carless, anxiously list off everything he knows. You almost feel bad for the poor scared man.

There isn't anything important here. But Sol decides that you will all return at midnight. The Jedi-killer will be back. Apparently, Qimir -that's his name, that the strawberry-eating, disheveled pharmacist's name- is holding something of value for her.

There's a tug on your wrist as you go to follow the others. Gentle and firm as he pulls you to his chest. "Come by tonight. I'll have some strawberries waiting for you." why does he feel too genuine? When you turn to look at him, he's painted in his usual sweet carefree smile that tugs at your heart.

He looks so innocent...

Starlight really brings out his eyes. He's laughing with a nervous smile,

School-boy crush on full display. You're licking strawberry juice from your hands as you listen to him talk. Backs pressed against the rusty wall and bodies half sprawled in the dirt. He's telling you about the first time the Hutts made him retrieve a plushie for their son from another solar system.

Qimir's voice feels like rose peddles melting into your skin. Sweet, jejeune, free. You offer him a berry from your pile. Watching tentatively as he submerges the red fruit into his mouth. Missing your fingers by an inch. He's laughing after the fact, head thrown back as if he's about to engulf the stars. You decide to laugh too.  

"Are you really that lonely," he says in a voice that's almost not his own. You're not expecting the invasive question, although you guess he means well. The words still cut deep. Piercing through the laughter, stunning you for a breath too long. "No...I'm a Jedi, we do not-"

"Form personal connection. I know...But you just look so lonely." He shuffles closer, the dirt particles almost look celestial in this light. Your fingers pitch a civil war. Pinching and clawing at each other. "No, yes. I don't really get along with the others." He rolls his eyes, bored and amused in the same breath. "Yeah, no wonder your money." He's picking at another strawberry, letting the crunch fill up the silence. You're beginning to think he just likes having something to chew on. Gulping down the anxiety with something toothsome.

He's a little closer now, fingers gingerly tucking back your hair. His fingerprints reverberate across the shell of your ear. Lips gliding against yours. You swallow as his lips fall across yours, pushing sweet stars past parted lips. He tastes of odd things, whimsy things. Everything you'll never come to understand. Xeno fruits and asteroid fields. His fingers glide up your arms, leaving moondust in their wake. He slowly parts, holding you softly with his soulful dark eyes

"You taste so sweet"

Strawberry, Starberry, You kiss him a little too deeply.

Maybe your new master is right.

Maybe there are other ways of being a Jedi.

The movie playing is doused in shades of rose and lilac. Gentle in all the ways. Everyway. The twi'lek girl is in love with the zabrak boy and their families do not approve. You think you remember Sol telling you a similar tale.  

The makeshift auditorium is cozy. Brown couch housing the three of you and your armada of blankets and popcorn buckets. Jacki's head is in your lap, you're playing with the end of her braid imagining the hair to be the lace of a Love-sick girl's ballgown. Yord's arm traverses the length of your arm, absentminded as he studies the motion picture, poking holes in the lose rose-tainted plot. Your head rests against his broad shoulder taking in his new cologne.

Maybe you really did miss them.

Jacki reaches for the popcorn, offering you some before shoving a handful into her mouth. You think the little symmetry-less kernels would taste better with a strawberry glaze. Qimir flashes across your mind, smiling sweetly as he tilts his head.

You think you're a little too similar to the star on screen.

Pinning after forbidden love,

Forbidden power.

Master Sol is growing acutely aware of your drastic improvements. He's noticed the betterment in your offense, your defense. To the way, you wield your saber, your techniques, and yourself. There is esteem in the way he smiles. In the words of praise, you've longed to hear. But you notice the lingering glances, the undertone of skepticism and worry when he asks about practice. He doesn't need to know of the black-glad creature that trains you in the unholy hours.

He doesn't need to know how beautifully your new master sculpts your rage into lessons. Teaching you how to wrangle the force and control it. How to use it to make the world bow.

These things will remain secret. For you fear Sol and the others will strip them of you. Strip them of the new master you've come to worship.

"Do you think people glow when they fall in love?" Jacki's voice is filled with sleep. Eyes closed as she murmurs remnants of movie memory. "No, I don't believe they do" you answer. "too...bad" There was a yawn there darling and vigorous like the rests of her. She looks so sweet like this, infantile in all the ways she can't be. Little girl dreaming of something impossible. You wonder if Sol's told her the fairytales too. You kiss the crown of her head, your baby sister you think. And big brother Yord, snoring with his head thrown back.

Maybe you should test her theory. rising softly from the couch you make your way to the door. Throwing one final glance at your sleeping siblings. Before going to find Qimir.

His lips ghost over yours, spilling star-clad secrets between each kiss. The apothecary has never been so dark, so secret, so secluded. Qimir's lips glided across your neck biting the flesh and licking the little diamond droplets of blood. Your nails rack across his spine, the wool of his throw-over itching the backs of your hands. "So precious" he mumbles, voice ridden with want, need. it's criminal how desperately he needs to feel you. You writhe under him, "Qimir, kiss." you whine. His lips feel like a lifeline, something keeping you sain. He pushes fireflies and lava pearls inside you, carving you open and enjoying you

He always enjoys you.

It's foggy outside when his tongue clashes against yours. A thick unsettling mist banging against the darkened window. "You're custom-made for me" Qimir mumbles against your lips. "Custome tailored" you boldly correct. "ummm, sure" his hands pinch at your hips, clawing mindlessly and leaving tails to your thighs. But the sensations are growing distant, you hear the heavy hum of saber activation. You psyche cracks

The world is dark,

He alone is absolute.

Your master's mask flashes dangerously across your mind. "Master Sol would be disappointed". You've heard that line a million times. Still, the words cut a little too deep coming from your demiurger. "Gullible" you don't understand, what have you done to earn his rage? He's gone, leaving you in the emptiness, you taste the charcoal from the landscape under your tongue.

Still, you long to call after him.

"Master"

The darkness subsides with the feeling of softness across your muscles. A breeze stirs you from the clutches of slumber. "Good morning" Qimir chirps, soft smile greeting you as you open your eyes. "Qimir, when did I?" he laughs, it's such a pretty sound this early in the morning. Sweet like caramel tea. He kisses your forehead. His quietude is commendable, he tries to calm you with feather-light kisses. You laugh pushing the covers away and still. Frozen.

What's this

The nightgown is lacy and short. It drapes expensively against your skin. Marring it with its tenderness. "Qimir, what's this!" he chuckles, "I couldn't let you sleep in those robes, they looked uncomfortable." You want to argue, to scream, and be angry. But the rage boils down slowly as you notice something dangling around your wrist. A bangle, and an anklet you notice later, black and gold entwined in patterns mirroring lighting stricks. "They're from Korriban, I had some relatives there." oh, why does that planet sound so familiar? "Thanks, but ask me next time before you go playing dress-up doll with my sleeping body" He pouts and can't help but trail a string of mouthy kisses across his neck. Qimir shuffles pulling you onto his lap. Pushing his nose under your chin. His eyes are honey-deo, adoring and scheming. "But you're mine." The possessive ness that flesh across his face is alarming. So is how tightly he grips your waist. It's only in this state of half-undressed that you begin to notice the taut muscles of his arms.

During your most recent lesson, your master gifts you a ripe juicy strawberry. He says it'll focus you, replenish your wither strength. You eat it a little too quickly, forgetting to savor the pink blush within. You believe too ferociously in everything your master says.

He can never be wrong.

You love the way your new master splatters blood across your sleeves. Be it yours or his enemies. He's started taking you out on his kills, having you watch as he hacks and mauls. His enemies must die, no one who doubts such marvels should be granted the privilege of life.

He's only ever spoken in half-riddles.

"Unfortunately legacy is a fickle thing. Tenacious, fervent, yet frail and erratic. No matter how hematological, we all read our bones differently."

The rain falls to your ragged heartbeat. Fast one minute and slow the next. You stick out your tongue desperate for a few drops. Your body is on fire, every muscle pushed to its limit. But the Force is screaming inside you, thumping dangerously between your fingers. You're ready for the next round. Saber ready and only half mesmerized as your master pulls out another blood-red saber. You charge, rage pumping deliciously through your body.

You forget to ask him where he got the berry from.

The next Jedi to die will be Kelnacca. That's why Sol is dragging all of you to the forest planet of Khofar. You think the name is utterly hilarious, the others don't understand the mirth.

Between briefings and Jacki and Yords packing quarrels. You sneak out to say goodbye to Qimir. Scribbling a half eligible not to leave for your master. But the apothecary is deserted upon your arrival, only a taped note on a half-full mortar.

'Gone to get more Strawberries.

Be back soon.'

You wonder if Khofar has strawberries.

Strawberry, Starberry, you're falling between the cracks of so many.

The Sun on Khofar is red, barely breaching the thick canopy. Maybe it's for the best. This scene is not one to remember, but how can you make yourself forget?

Death looms.

Permanent, Eternal

The fighting began in twilight.

The sky has grown two shades darker since.

He had floated in from the high reaches. You'd almost called out to him, 'master', the words die bitterly on your tongue. His saber ignites in the carnage, light growing redder after each kill. The bodies fall haphazardly stirring the quiet night.

Your saber falls onto the woodchip ground. No sound. He has followed you here. Yet it is not you, he seeks. Your master mask is haunting, in the dark the silver mouth glows bright white. Even against a massacre

the smile never relents.

He twirls the red saber with lethal accuracy, red arc severing another life. 'Take the right!' Jacki screams through the force, her eager voice bouncing inside your cranium. 'Don't' you scream but she's already attacked.

Saber sings saber.

Golden light flickers.

Forward. Backward. Lunge. Parry. Flunge.

Just like you practiced. Back in the quiet of the training room. Is it too late to return to the matted ground and wooden swords? Too late for safe comfort?

You won't take it for granted this time you swear.

Your master attacks with vicious zeal, cutting through the light. His black robes bleeding into the night. Jacki, scurries backward, trying to block with every ounce of strength. In one swift move, she spins freeing herself and assaulting his head with the metal of her weapon.

The mask clutters to the ground.

You scream.

He looks every bit the villain here. Blood drenched, water drenched. Smiling like the wolf in a child's picture book. Qimir's face stares back at you, hair matted to his forehead. He's panting, spent. You've never seen him toil. Dreaming him incapable of harm.

Yet he stands above the corpses. Wolf's teeth bared as he slices through the little girl.

It's been years since Master Sol tucked you into bed. Years since he's read you a story and listened to your baseless questions about romances.

You've finally gotten your answer. Painted in a shade of red indistinguishable from black.

Because the villain is too vile to be loved.

You run, catching the limp corpse before it joins the rest, you cradle her close. Tears landing on the orange of her face. There are no strawberry romances here. No sweet forbidden fruits. Just pain, hollow, empty, rotten. "Jacki" your voice muffles into her robes, rain-soaked, tear-soaked.

"Was that its name?" his voice doesn't sound right. No cheerful hellos or drowsy laughs. It's all menacing now, grating and hollow lilt. "Qimir" you wail, sob half caught in your throat. "It can't be you." He shakes his head, smile crooked and maniacal. "I'm afraid so, little one." The force pushed you up, pulling you to him. Qimirs head tilts, his fingers dancing around your throat. Squeezing squeezing squzing. Your glossy eyes take in his unruly appearance. Even now your master looks utterly perfect. Muscles relaxed as he steals your breath. "Master" you whine, your heart shouldn't be hammering like this, leaping through beats like something lovesick.

"(Y/n)" golden light fills the clearing. Yord runs, Prince Charming in every way you should have loved.

Qimir releases you, only to nestle your neck in the crook of his arm. "Don't worry darling. I'm almost done." He blocks the first attack.

Second, third. Yord scrambles to pull you away, missing each time. "Let her go" The urgency in his voice rattles you. He did love you.

Little sister, little princess.

Why is only starting to make sense now?

There's a crack, so loud it echoes across the woods.

"NO"

Yord's body joins the rest.

no no no

"Where were we?" Qimir is every bit the villain.

The dragon, the wolf, the tyrant king with a crown of bones.

"You lied to me, you killed them. Why, why would you do this."

"Because the Jedi say I can not exist." Sith, right those things were supposed to be evil. Hailing from Koriiban, the evil Jedi forced to flee. And here you were having so readily given yourself to the enemy.

The blood flows free in the rain. Dozens of bodies drained.

There's a river of blood. You kneel by the holy thing, dipping your cupped hands into the crimson. You drink deeply from the massacre thinking it'll taste sweet. Qimir pulls you in holding your throat as he submerges you.

Baptized in blood

The world flashes red.

It feels so free here. Floating weightless, letting everything be. The rage can not find you in these depths. Free like an adrift astromech. Free to float amongst the stars.

When you emerge again. The world has grown brighter. You see the wide-eyed bodies, even Sol is among the dead, you swear you see disappointment in his lifeless orbs. You gulp, swallowing the euphoric faint. You see your new master before you. Swimming to him carefully, following the gentle tug of the force. Prey meets predator. Qimir chuckles, the water is shallow by the banks. He sits awaiting, on his makeshift throne.

There is no sympathy here you should know better

"You took adorable" Qimir rasps. Hot breath fanning your ear. "Master Qimir" you mumble shifting as he pulls you onto his lap. He laughs this is submission, a breath away from grasping his desire. He cups your cheeks, drifting his hands to your shoulders. Pulling you closer, bodies melting into one.

His kisses still taste like strawberries. Sweet and metallic. All possession and domination. Biting lips and tongue and flesh. Spilling fresh poison with each snip of your neck. He licks the blood from your fingers with feral pleasure. Swirling his tongue around each digit and pulling it further down his hungry mouth. You swallow the darkness from his tongue, letting him snuff out the little embers of light. The stars are burning away bit by bit. He pushes you under again.

Mornings on Khofar are dark, caught in a perpetual twilight. Qimir wraps his robes around you letting the midnight sink into your bones. "The ships a bit off a walk. But we should be there before noon." You paddle after him. Fingers lashing awkwardly at his hand. He turns and offers you that tilted smile once more, mask bouncing in his free hand.

"Master qimir" you confess, it feels so light on your tongue. Like clutching dying white-dwarf-stars behind your teeth. He chuckles, snapping a berry from a nearby bush. His smile sings of triumph, victory, earned in blood. He places the fruit amongst your teeth. You, his little war prize.

"My little acolyte"

ᯓ♡ : @feedmestraycats @moonlovefairy  @wicked0clouds @phoenixes-and-wizards @peridedarling @morax-on-my-mind @magikmaik @lov4gor3 @manchuria @bucksdonkey @embersofimagination @hauntedhedgehogs @peter-laufeyson @papitas-con-sal @f0odie @boredtone @bluechissbrain @yourfilthydevil @n0t-skywalker @xsister-serpent @gabriqllas @zionysuss @i-love-my-babygirls @pagingoswin @jxp1ter @faebirdie @deezhutts565 @thesithdiaries @pagingoswin @hauntingwolf @scentedbanditlampwobbler @uwingdispatch @mask-knife-is-buggys-girl @lunarsvertigo @scintilla-morningstar @carpinchootaku

[siempre-bucky]

what am i to you?

Qimir x Reader

Summary: You decide to leave Qimir, thinking your feelings are one-sided till an encounter with the Jedi Order proves otherwise.

WC: 1.3k

Warnings: she/her pronouns, mentions of blood

A/N: I hope you like it Anon <3! Requests are still open for Qimir!

“What am I to you, Qimir?” You asked him as you placed your hood over your head, your small bag placed at the side of you, “Whore? Helper? Companion? What other names do you use to describe me to your Acolytes?” 

“This is new for you, my dear,” he chuckled, amused as if you were a child trying to use big words. You were never the one to bite back, you would normally happily accept your role as his right hand. Not now, the years of trying to convince yourself he loved you had your patience growing thin.

“You don’t get to call me that, you seethed. “I’m leaving, Qimir. I can’t be here, knowing you don’t feel the same. I’ll never be more than whatever this is.” 

The Sith stayed silent after that, he merely watched as you accepted your defeat and picked up your things to disappear in the night. 

Tears fell as you walked through the forest, trying to expel memories of late night tangled in sheets and days of trips to the beaches of his favorite planet. He showed you all those wonderful things and touched you in a way you could only imagine, only for it to mean nothing. You wasted years on him. 

Something suddenly felt off, the hair on the back of your neck began to rise and the forest grew silent. Someone was there with you in the forest. A small smile tugged at your lips, he came back for you! You turned around and smiled at the figure that stood in the trees. About to tease him, the figure reached for his belt, a lightsaber igniting. Yellow? 

Before you had the chance to run, the Force knocked you to the ground roughtly. The figure grabbed you by the hair and pulled you to your feet. The man frowned “You’re the Force wielder?” he questioned. 

“N-no!” You cried, punching at his arm. 

“The Order keeps sending you to die,” a third voice entered the space, and you could recognize that distorted tone from anywhere. 

The Jedi swiftly turned the two of you to face the Sith standing a few feet away. Dressed in his helmet and cloak, Qimir watched as the Jedi released your hair and placed you in a chokehold with his free arm. The other turned off the saber and placed it on your temple, the heat of the metal making you cry out. 

This Jedi wasn’t like the rest of the ones the Order sent after Qimir, there was something in his eye that screamed rogue. “You either surrender,” the Jedi panted, tightening his grip on your throat and his saber pressing harder to your temple, “or I kill your… Acolyte? Is that what she is to you?” 

“Those are words of a Sith, Jedi, are you sure you’re not on the wrong side?” The Stranger spoke calmly, his voice distorted by his mask. He couldn’t see the fear in your eyes or how the Jedi was starting to bleed from you digging your nails into his forearms. 

You wish you could read him, be able to get inside his head, and know what he’s thinking one last time. Maybe he had some compassion for you because love was out of the question. He was here to kill you before you could get away. The Jedi pressed harder, the metal cutting into your skin. You screamed in pain and he laughed? Amused at what was going on. 

This was it. You heard his finger slide to the trigger. 

Qimir. 

I love you. 

I love you. 

If there’s an afterlife I wish for something kinder. 

You heard the ignition of a lightsaber, and in an instant the grip on your throat released. Then there was a thud, the crunch of leaves and snapping of twigs followed after. You fell to the floor and curled into a ball, heaving for air. Were you dead? Was this the afterlife you were just praying to the Maker for? “Get up,” the distorted voice commanded. You crawled a couple of inches and sat up, pushing your hair out of your face and looking behind you. 

Lying on the ground was the Jedi, a red lightsaber right through the center of his head. Your eyes widened and the last of the tears flowed from your eyes. You watched as Qimir called his saber back to his hand, a perfect circle left in its wake. He pulled you up by the shoulder and hurried you back towards the hideout. 

You walked hurriedly in silence, looking back at the deep forest every now and then to make sure you weren’t followed by anyone else. The Jedi Order had been desperate to capture him since the murder of that one Jedi on Udea. Qimir kept a tight grip on your wrist, you didn’t dare to pull away since he was the only thing keeping you alive. 

That silence remained when you got to the small cabin. He whipped off the mask and threw it violently into the corner. Your body stilled, wondering if you were in for a worse fate than with the Jedi. Qimir killed violently, he’d kill anyone. You were nothing special. Not to him.

He turned to you with fire raging in his eyes, they only softened slightly when he saw the blood trickling from your head, a few drops of crimson landing on your chest. He extended his hand, a small wooden box rushing towards him. He caught it effortlessly and sat on the makeshift bed. “Sit.” 

You did as you were told and took a seat by his side. He went to work bandaging your wound, but you noticed something. Why didn’t he just heal it using the Force? Why was he taking the time for something so futile for a Sith? You also noticed his fingers trembling as he picked up the small scissors among the supplies. He made it halfway to your head before he shakily dropped them into your lap, the fabric of your cloak delicately breaking the fall. Your hands connected as you both reached out to collect them. 

Qimir let go of the scissors and held your hand. “Are you ok?” he asked, all bite vacant in his tone.

“I think so,” you nodded. 

Silence filled the air, and you could feel his stare burn into your skin. He just went back to work, dabbing at the blood and cleaning your skin of dirt and blood. You nearly begged him to say something, anything to release you from the choking silence. 

After the job was done, Qimir stood and collected his supplies, putting everything away silently. Your gaze followed him, you had always wondered how he could act so calm in these situations, you almost admired it. Then he stood in the center of the room, his shoulders hunched and his gaze lingered on the ground, analyzing the cracks in the wood. 

“I didn’t know they we—”

“—I love you.” 

I love you. Those words sounded so foreign to him, he had spoken them once, before the Order and before they took him away. It had been so long—too long. He was embarrassed that it took that long to say to you. Qimir had learned his lesson.

You stood up, the wood creaking below you as you closed some distance between you. “Why tell me now? When I’m about to die at the hands of the Jedi.” 

“I should have told you a long time ago,” he jumped in, his hands flexing, “I heard your thoughts, your pleas. I’m sorry.”

You lifted your chin, “What am I to you, Qimir?” You asked him the same question as earlier, this time you had no fight left. 

The Sith raised his hand and connected it to the side of your face, “I think they would have called it a soulmate?” He pulled you in closer, “I should have never let you feel differently.” 

“Never do that again,” you said bitterly, jabbing your finger into his chest. 

He pressed his lips to your forehead, letting his eyes flutter closed, “Never.”

[spiritsdiary]

— PRAISE with QIMIR/THE STRANGER

wc: 786 | content: p in v smut, i was again reasonably tipsy while writing this

❛❛good.” he breathes the word into the skin of your shoulder, watching intently as you work.

you wonder if he does it on purpose; if he’s feigning complete obliviousness to how suggestive he sounds. like right now— saying good like that when all you’ve done is properly mix a poison the way he taught you. maybe it’s because you’re a quick study when your reward is him.

when you first met qimir, you thought he was just like every other apothecary owner you utilized when necessary: clumsy, generally oblivious, a drunk who saw nothing wrong with being intoxicated before noon. to your defense, he played the part very well. it was only when you mentioned that you’d be extending your stay for a while and could use some work that you started to see the cracks in his facade.

spending so much time with him gave you a glimpse into his true persona— something darker, yes, but instead of scaring you off, it drew you in. you had a feeling that there was more to him underneath his baggy clothes and perpetually messy hair, but you never thought that all you’d have to do was let him teach you his trade in order to find out what more was.

“good,” he says again now as you insert the stopper into the vial of poison. “that’s perfect.”

you chew on your lip as you think about the last time he said that to you. “anything else you need from me?”

he hums, fiddling with the material of your sleeve at your wrist. “stay while i close up?”

you never understand how he’s able to get you to do what he wants so easily until you’re in bed with him.

his arms are so much more built than you’d imagined, his whole body really, and the first time he used that hidden strength to get you exactly where he wanted you, the words “thank you” genuinely slipped past your lips. you told yourself you were thanking the maker.

you do a lot of thanking the maker these days.

he moves differently in bed than he does in all other aspects of his life. here, he’s fluid, powerful, commanding. and he spares no detail.

“yes, yesyesyes,” he moans out when you sink down on him, his hands gripping your hips tight enough to leave bruises, slowly beginning to guide you back and forth. “just like this. you know how to do it.”

your hands are gripping his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him while he clutches at your back, and your hips seem to move with a will of their own. you don’t care if it exhausts you. if his pleasure is at your own expense.

“there you go, pretty girl,” he says, voice deep with desire, passion, for you. “let me see how good you are.”

you lean forward and press your lips to his, let him pry you open with his tongue, pull depraved sounds from your mouth. his hips cant up into yours as you do everything he taught you, everything that you know makes him feel good.

it makes you feel good too, knowing you’ve earned every gasp and moan and touch he gives you. he’s a different animal when it’s just the two of you, and you love knowing that you’re the only one that can bring it out of him.

“qimir,” you whine into his mouth, right when he hits that spot inside of you that has you seeing white. “good?”

you need to hear him say it. he needs to tell you.

“so good. so warm, so tight, so beautiful, fuck—” his hand is between your legs, thumb brushing you with practiced ease. “always my good girl.”

“only me?” you can’t think properly, not when it feels this good, this right to be so close to him, skin to skin, mouth to mouth, soul to soul with the way he reads your mind.

he nods, pushes your hair back from your face.

“only ever you.” he says it with such a passionate intensity, his dark eyes searching yours.

it sets you aflame, has you crying out mere moments later, collapsing into him as he gives you everything he has to give.

there’s something darker inside of him. a deep, yearning darkness prowling under his skin, simmering in his bones. you can practically feel it as you slide a hand over his chest, his pounding heart. like it’s calling to you.

“you always do so good for me,” he’s whispering into your hair, letting you press yourself against him. “sometimes i think i dreamt you up.”

you smile, kissing his neck just to make him shiver.

maybe there’s something darker inside of you too.

m.list

© spiritsdiary 2024. do not repost without permission.

[cryptfile]

no thoughts just qimir taking you as his acolyte.

warnings: violence, potential enemy to lovers, tension, sfw.

it's like an avalanche.

when you feel the blood going down in the left side of head, your vision starts to get dizzy and it's there, there when you just happen to know you're definitely dying, cause there's no way you're surviving him.

the regret it's instant, and you know a low life bounty hunter like yourself does not deserve any mercy, so you're ready to say goodbye to the promised credits and to life itself, cause you deep down you just know, know its your end right there.

his hand moves in the air and you feel the pressure in response, the way the air seems to leave your lungs instantly choking, tears filling your eyes as you turned red: how did you think you were even standing a chance against a sith lord? the unknown client that contacted you seems to have lefted out the most important details when explaining you who you was your target, cause that was far from a simple formal smuggler who used to work for the hutt clan.

you had it coming. all those years getting away with murder, not responding to anyone in the galaxy. it's clear that death was always following closely, patiently waiting for the day you finally get what you deserve.

your combat skills are not as good as the sith, giving him at least a couple of minutes of a decent fight before experiencing the devastating pain of falling over and over again like you're nothing— "just kill me already," you would say when he finally lets you breathe, chin high cause you're not spending your last minutes being a damn coward, spitting blood in the concrete.

he seems to be enjoying every second of it, that smile creeping across his lips as he looks at you, the pain in your muscles that leaves you on the floor, the vulnerability. he enjoys how you're clinging into life, the hint of pride in your tone when you talk even when you're not in position to be snarky about anything at all.

you think he had enough with you already, an almost pathetic fight in the middle of the night that will mean nothing to him in the future. he turns the light of his red lightsaber on and it just glows against the dark night waiting for his next move, making you shiver as you’ve never saw one so damn close. there it is. your lame end.

and you don't know how, but you don't look scared. you've faced death before in your life and it does not scare you, even when the heat of the saber is close to your skin threating you to slide you open, you wait. wait for him to make the final move, to finally end with your life.

you look at his eyes hoping to torment him forever or something like that, but you wait for a death that never comes, a quick pain that has you forever expecting, receiving instead a sudden relief when his palms point to you and the large gash in your back starts to close by itself.

its confusing, and you don't move at first thinking it's a mistake, but you soon realize it's him closing your wounds like the tissue of your skin is nothing against the power of the force, it makes you gulp in response, how he's now sparing your life — you know it means he’ll want something in return for it.

so you just look at him. and it takes you minutes to even try to understand what he's doing, why he's helping you when minutes before you were trying to kill him. sweat covering his body, chest still racing as your attack catches him off guard: why show mercy?

"get up" he would say stone cold, eyes glued on you when you're trying to do what you're told. you know he can get you killed in the blink of an eye if he wants to. "you're coming with me."

[teamred]

obvious

✩‌ merchant!qimir x acolyte!reader | fluff | angst | humor | 2.3k

SUMMARY | during an evening of drinking with qimir, he strangely asks if you've ever thought about dating your master.

WARNINGS | kissing, drinking, implications of a spicy time post-story

RATING | teen+

NOTES | again this is probably outside of canon but all i can say is ilq (i love qimir)

///

In the lower level of Qimir’s newest target of a store invasion, several drunken bottles of alcohol and used shot glasses clutter the front counter. You sit across from him on a high stool, as if you were a customer to his bartending. 

Which wasn’t quite far off, since he was the one who poured and bought everything for you tonight. Qimir had called for a celebration; you had successfully raided a small village nearby, seizing all valuable goods and leaving no witnesses behind. You did it for yourself, but also for your anonymous master–the same one Qimir serves. 

While you are your master’s dedicated pupil, Qimir’s tasked with being your resourceful guide. He follows you across the galaxy, always having anything you need at your disposal and knowing where to go, who to find, and how to concoct everything from anything.

Sure, he may be clumsy and occasionally overly inquisitive, but you’ve grown to like him. 

So much that you're retelling the time when a female Gungan tried to fight you in a cantina on Tatooine.

“And so, it turned out they thought I was the one who stole her ex-boyfriend, but it was the human at the table next to mine!”

Qimir breaks into a smile and nearly spits out the lomin ale in his mouth. After a fit of coughing and swallowing his drink, he shakes his head fondly. He seems truly amused and fully relaxed, though perhaps mostly due to the alcohol.

A few beats pass. It's a comfortable silence at first. 

But then he starts playing with the stem of his bottle, and the air slowly begins to shift. It shifts entirely when he asks the next question–

“Why aren't you like this around him?” 

Him referring to your shared master. 

The mixture of spicebrew, lomin ale, Corellian wine, and whatever else you had has lowered your filter completely. You answer frankly, folding out your fingers to list the reasons. 

“Firstly, he needs to get me drunk. Secondly, he’s not you, Qimir. And third, disregarding everything I just said: how do you know I'm not?”

“Am I wrong?” he presses, his eyes fixed on you as he raises an eyebrow and takes another swig of his drink.

“I mean, if he eventually shows his face to me, maybe I could. But until then…” 

Nonchalantly, you lift a shoulder and down the rest of what’s in your cup. After finishing, you lean back onto the counter, resting your chin in your upturned palm, and wait for him to fill your cup again. 

And so he does, but Qimir becomes uncharacteristically pensive. Eyes focused on serving you, rather than on you. After pouring your drink, his playfulness with the bottle turns into a tight-fisted grip. Maybe drunk Qimir was more somber. Quiet.

“Maybe…” His voice drops to a lower, deeper register than you’re used to, his eyes avoiding yours as his mouth tightens. An index finger rhythmically taps against his bottle, like a dooming countdown. “Maybe he’s not sure if you’re loyal enough to see his face.” 

The sudden slamming of your cup against the counter breaks his demeanor, and he’s back to being his usual, easily-startled self. 

“Well, that frustrates the shit out of me because I respect him!” you cry, almost yelling at him. 

Qimir’s gaze sharpens, giving you his entire attention, and you stare back resolutely. Readying yourself, as if confiding in him might reach your master’s ears, wherever he may be. Hell, he probably was listening with a device somewhere on Qimir, on you, or within the store.  

“I obey him. I've killed for him. I’d do anything for him,” your voice slightly wavers, but you push on. “I am literally devoted to him with every breath in my body.” 

There’s a sting in your eyes, but you refuse to let yourself show weakness, even if it’s just Qimir in front of you. Bringing the cup to your mouth, you let the burn scald your throat, drowning any trace of sadness or frustration. 

You chug for some time. After a while, Qimir lifts a hand, but you abruptly stop drinking and interject with a tired chuckle and small smile; he awkwardly drops his hand. 

The serious moment passes swiftly with a twinkle in your eye. You silently thank the alcohol for that.

“Although, maybe that's half a lie.”

In the corner of your vision, you catch the intrigued quirk in Qimir’s eyebrow, along with a flicker of anger. Barely noticeable, but it’s there, and you wonder why he would be angry.

You waggle a finger. “Keep this between us, but”—you lean in closer and drop your voice to a whisper—“I'm probably more devoted to you than to him.”

You exchange a glance, and the expression on his face shifts from seriousness to amusement, the flicker of anger completely dissipated. He mirrors your earlier stance, resting his chin in his palm. 

“That's only because I help you all the time,” he says, granting you a soft smile that reaches his eyes. 

This is a rare moment from Qimir, so you try your best to commit it to memory. Remembering his warm glow, the crinkles around his eyes, and how close he is to you. So close that the hint of the alcohol in his breath brushes your face, but it’s not as strong as you thought it would be.

“Well, there's that…” you admit, nodding, and you break eye contact as you say–

“But you're also my friend, Qimir.”

You barely breathe the last few words out in a whisper, almost as if you were ashamed to say it. But you aren’t–worry merely runs rampant as you fear rejection or something of a similar shade, despite it being just a platonic confession. 

“I am?” 

His reaction causes you to peer back at him. He draws his head back with a tilt, and you’ve never seen him so puzzled before. There’s a brief pause as he gives it some thought, his eyebrows furrowing in contemplation.

Then, he nods his head and his lips curl into a crooked, almost cocky, grin. 

“Huh. I guess I am.”

You clutch your chest in jest and muster your best puppy-eyed frown. “Ouch, if I knew this relationship was that one-sided, I would’ve asked him for another one of his followers to replace you.” 

The glimmer in his eyes reads as good-natured, but the blatant flexing of his grip against the edge of the counter says otherwise. 

“You wouldn't.”   

You push back, jutting out your chin and getting close to him again with a flash of a smirk. 

“Oh, I absolutely would.”

You stare at each other, holding your ground. 

But then he breaks the little game when he slightly drags his lower lip between his teeth, followed by a fleeting glance towards your mouth.

Your breathing hitches. 

In an instant, the moment shatters when Qimir clears his throat and pulls back.  

“Do you…” Qimir begins hesitantly, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing a random spot on the counter. He inhales deeply, almost as if he’s steeling himself, then continues, “Have you ever thought you and him could be, like, something more?”

“You mean…” You squint, searching for the right words. “...have I ever thought about dating my master?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

You raise an eyebrow and stare blankly at him. 

“You've met him, right? We’re talking about the same guy?”

Before he answers, he sips again from his bottle. You become entranced by Qimir’s Adam’s apple as it bobs with each glug. Maybe these thoughts were being filtered through beer goggles, but if Qimir wanted to know about your current ranked dating choices, he'd probably be at the top of your list. 

A soft pop sounds as his lips detach from it. The word kissable flashes through your mind. 

“I mean, I know he's not really the talkative type but–”

“But what if he's butt-ass ugly?” you blurt out in a screech, pressing your hands into your cheeks in your drunken state.

“He is not butt-ass ugly,” Qimir cuts in, more defensively than you expect. 

You drop your hands and chortle loudly, so much that it echoes throughout the store. In disbelief, you grin ear to ear. 

“I thought you said you haven't seen him before!” you say, holding out an arm. 

“I—I didn't. Haven't! I haven’t,” he stammers, raising a hand and shaking his head. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “But why must you assume he's ugly?”

You groan, shaking closed fists and tapping them to your forehead. “Why else wouldn’t he take off that stupid mask?” 

You glance up, seeing Qimir’s nostrils flare as he opens his mouth, but you quickly cut him off. 

“And why would I like him that way anyway? All he does is just bark orders and share wise, yet oddly cryptic, phrases.” 

“Hey, so do I,” Qimir retorts, flicking the tip of your nose with his finger. The force he uses makes your nose sting a bit, but you’re sure he didn’t mean to flick you that roughly. In response, you ruffle your nose petulantly. 

You could definitely get used to being like this with Qimir more often. 

“Yeah, but you’re not as cryptic,” you point out, “and he’d be lucky if he was half as handsome as you, Qimir.”

You lightly touch his arm, expecting him to bask in your compliment, but he catches you off guard with a chuckle instead. 

“Why are you laughing at my compliment?” you ask, somewhat hurt.

“I'm just enjoying your company, my”—he hesitates for a second, as if catching himself from saying something else, before meeting your gaze—“my friend.” 

The way he says friend hangs in the air, carrying an unspoken weight. He shakes his head, as if brushing off a thought, and laughs awkwardly. “I’ve gotta get used to that.”

Surprisingly, he continues to dwell on the subject of you and your master. “I mean, if you really think about it, the guy's probably lonely. Probably also likes you a lot more than he lets on and–”

“Okay, stop.” You hold both hands out. “Why are you trying to set me up with him?” You gasp, “Oh, my god–is he your brother?” 

“Wow, time flies by so fast!” Qimir exclaims dramatically, quickly getting up from his stool and practically tripping on his own feet. “It’s getting late, and I’m gonna head to bed. Good night!” 

In the blink of an eye, he’s already darting upstairs to his temporary bedroom. 

“Qimir, answer me!” you call out. “Is he a distant cousin? You must’ve seen him before if he’s related to you.” 

“Good night, my friend!” he hollers back.

“Qimir, get back here!”

“Sweet dreams! And drink some water before you go to bed!” 

Even in moments like these, Qimir still manages to have the final say, his words always laced with the utmost care for you.

///

A few hours go by, the moonlight shining strongly in the night sky. In the comfort of your makeshift bed nestled in one of the corners of the store, you toss and turn aimlessly. Your mind replays everything with Qimir from the last few hours.

And then realization hits you like a sack of duracrete bricks.

You bolt upright up from the bed and switch between muffling a scream in your pillow and smacking it against your face. 

How could you have been so blind to how obvious it all was?

Throwing aside your covers, you carefully and quietly tiptoe upstairs. 

At the top of the stairs, with the help of a few burning candles nearby, you peek at the sight of Qimir snoring softly on his side, arms flopped in different directions; it warms your heart.

You approach and take a seat on the empty side of his bed, summoning courage to gently trace the contours of his face, following the sharp lines of his jaw. He stirs awake moments later, turning to face you directly. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Qimir mumbles groggily. He rubs his eyes. “Everything all right?” 

“Qimir, can you pass a message onto my master?” you ask urgently. 

“Right now?” he groans in annoyance, sitting up. “Can't it wait until morning?” 

“No, I'm sure you can pass it on now. It’s a pretty simple message.” 

You lean in. It’s a quick kiss as your hand rests on his arm. It has to be quick, or else you might change your mind. 

Plush lips press against yours. It’s still and tense for a beat, and then he replies with a slight kiss back. He’s the one who breaks away first, but he leans his forehead against yours.

“Uh, I… You want me to kiss him?” he asks in confusion. 

You slide your hands to the nape of his neck.

“If you mean kissing yourself, then yes, Master.” 

Like flipping a switch, Qimir’s demeanor transforms into something entirely else. His presence intensifies, exuding confidence and strength you’re unused to. His eyes darken, locking onto yours with a gaze that can penetrate your soul. 

His rich, deep voice returns from before, now tinged with authority.

“Took you long enough, my acolyte.”  

This Qimir—your master—moves swiftly with urgency. His grip on your body is firm, almost possessive. His kisses are passionate, his tongue exploring your mouth with fervor. 

“Told you I'm not ‘butt-ass ugly,’” he mumbles, almost growling, between kisses. You giggle, but your giggle quickly turns into a moan as he presses his body firmly into yours.  

“And my mask isn’t stupid. I'll have you know it saved me so many–”

You silence your master with another kiss, focusing on the present and pushing aside debates that could be saved for later.

For now, all you want is to remain in the comfort of his bed, letting the night truly begin, marking the beginning of what your master and you have unknowingly long awaited for. 

[merrygay]

Bound and broken

Qimir x reader (enemies to lovers)

Warning : Jealous Qimir, Yandere themes, Possessive Qimir, afab reader, Enemies to lovers. English is not my first language.

Synopsis : Qimir could never forget you, you consumed his every thought, haunting his senses. It’s been years since he last saw you… until now.

 “you”

Your voice cracked, you felt as if your legs were going to leave, your gaze traveled around his features, eyes widening in both horror and in a desperate plea for not to be true, as realization settled in, each breathing became rapid as if a hand was over your mouth smothering you. You lowered your lightsaber, putting your other hand over your chest, you tried to breathe but you couldn’t, tears frightening to trickle down your eyes as you were looking around you, dead bodies, after dead bodies, almost all the jedis that came with you were dead. 

The Jedi killer in front of you was standing still, in contrast to your emotional distress, his eyes lit on fire, he was ready to fight, ready about what’s going to come, his red lightsaber standing proud while yours was frightening to fall down in your own hand. 

“Hello old friend” He spoke with a nostalgic tone, his voice tinged with a wistful longing for the past, yet a faint smirk played on his lips, hinting at a mixture of amusement and irony.

That day you begged the maker like you never had before. You implored not to be true, it can’t be him… please. You begged a painful truth to be washed, to be erased from this planet, from the entire galaxy. My old friend wouldn't do this ! You tried to deny, please he wouldn't, I swear it ! You tried to promise. Lies, lies and lies…

You opened your mouth but no words came out, your lips, slightly parted, caught in a whisper of pain, trembled ever so slightly. The curve of your mouth was tinged with despair, a silent testament to the heartbreak you were enduring.

No attachment the Jedi order said, and you followed that rule dearly, but only one person could shatter this rule into pieces, and that one person was Qimir, your old friend.

He at least let you digest the unbearable truth, once a dead friend now a dark sider. He was patiently waiting for your next move, his eyes traveled around your features, you never really changed, he noted, after all these years, except for your demeanor you weren’t a hopeful person anymore, once a lighthouse, your smile was a beacon of warmth and hope in the stormy seas of his once padawan life. Now, the light has dimmed a long time ago, leaving the horizon dark and forlorn, your joy hidden behind clouds of silence. 

Was it because of him? He asked himself, clinging to the hope that it was. He longed for the thought of him to consume your days, your nights, and every fleeting moment in between. He wished to invade your dreams and nightmares alike, until your mind was clouded with nothing but him. Just as you had enveloped his every thought, all these years being apart from you. 

You tried to collect yourself, tightening your grip around your lightsaber, your gaze never wavering from the Jedi-killer you once called “friend”. With a deliberate motion, you unfastened the clasp of your cloak. The fabric, once draped around you like a shadow, fell away to reveal your form beneath. Your Jedi apparel was one of black, showing your never ceasing grieve after learning about his supposed death. You summoned the Force, drawing another lightsaber from the ground near a cold, lifeless body that was once brimming with hope. 

You got into a fighting stance. Eyes Locked in yours, Qimir angled his body and started moving to the right. You instantly mirrored him, the both of you circled each other with calculated steps. 

“You really didn’t know i was alive” He declared, disappointed. Was our bond throughout the force not strong enough for you to not know whether he was alive or not ? He asks himself. Is it because of the pitiful jedis that surrounded you and clouded your mind ?

He clenched his jaw, jealousy surged through him, consuming his every sense. He had felt the unique connection you shared with those two Jedis. Master Sol and the dead one, Yord was it ? It didn’t matter anymore. 

Without any warning Qimir wielded his lightsaber, clashing it against yours in a brutal force, getting rid of the distance between you two rather quickly, your face was now just inches apart from him.

Finally he spoke again, almost a whisper. A fragile blend of desperation, anger, and jealousy lacing his words. “Not even deep down ?”. 

With a determined growl, you pushed forward, using his lightsaber to drive him back. The brilliant glow of your blades illuminates the strain on both your faces, creating stark contrasts against the inky blackness of the forest. And it continued that way for a while, lightsabers clashing against each other while your movements wove together in a violent rhythm, a tragic dance. Qimir's fighting style was different, brutal, violent, he did not follow any rule, any principles. Eat or be eaten, peace was never an option.   

“Retreat now, this fight serves you no purpose ! Your life will be more doomed than it already is ! ” you urged, preparing yourself for another strike.

“My life as a jedi was already doomed the moment I laid eyes on you” he stated.

You frowned deeply, lowering your lightsaber with obvious confusion in your face “What are you talking about ?” you demanded. 

Before you could process any answer he jumped on you again, this time his leg kicked you right on your stomach making you curse yourself from getting distracted. The intensity of his action made your jump backwards, your back landed on a tree making you yelp in pain. 

"Fark!" you cursed under your breath as you struggled to get back on your feet. But it was no use, the distance between you and your lightsabers was too great. Desperation surged through you as you reached out with the Force, trying to summon at least one of the hilts back to your grasp. It began to stir, but before it could reach you, Qimir’s dark presence intervened. With a flick of his hand, he halted your attempt, his eyes fixed on you with a menacing gleam as he advanced, each step deliberate and threatening.

"How ironic that the very rule and lessons you Jedi swore to uphold have led to your defeat."

He lowered himself to get even closer to you, before you could make any sudden movement he pressed his red lightsaber against your shoulder. The intense heat of the lightsaber seared through your shoulder, causing a sharp, biting pain that radiated outward.

“I will die happily as one too”, you stammered painfully, your head felt dizzy as the agony surged through every part of your body.

He titled his head at your response, visibly a bit impressed at your stubbornness or did he find you rather stupid ? you couldn't really tell. He was getting dangerously close to your face, looking at your features carefully which was contorted with pain, every muscle tensed in a grimace of distress even after he stopped his lightsaber from harming you.

“I will kill the entire galaxy before I even kill you”, he whispered in your ear, making sure you heard each word clearly, before you felt yourself slipping away into unconsciousness as he used the Force to make you faint.

He looked at your passed out state. Carefully he slipped one arm under your shoulders and the other beneath your knees, lifting you from the cold ground, he could feel the faint, uneven breaths brushing against his neck as he started walking deeper into the forest before any other jedis came to your rescue.

————————————————————————————

Chat how do we feel about this, I might write a part 2

[interloved]

current status? just thinking about dark!qimir.

description box: just a little drabble about qimir from The Acolyte

warnings: nsfw warning, smut under the cut!, slightly toxic/possessive behaviour, dark!qimir thoughts, semi modern setting, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

dark!qimir whose favourite position is to have you bent over in front of a mirror, one hand gripping into the soft and tender flesh of your hip, steadying you whilst his other arm wraps around your neck because he knows how feral you go for his arm muscles. he loves how you squeeze around him just a bit tighter, how your breathing becomes just a bit more irregular and how your cheeks tint in a slightly deeper shade of pink. he thinks you look angelic like this, this is, in his opinion, you in your loveliest form—splayed out beneath him, defenceless and helpless, as his fingers assault your cunt and he thrusts into you so deeply you’re sure he’s rearranged your insides.

dark!qimir who just can’t resist his primal urge to leave marks on you everywhere, everywhere for everyone to see. he needs everybody to know you’re his, that nobody else can have you. he brands you by leaving dark bruises on your neck, tits, thighs, everywhere you’ll let him mark you. he just can’t stand the thought of anyone else having you so much he needs to make sure no one even gets the idea to pursue you. of course, when somebody does have the stupid thought of trying to rip you away from qimir, he will neutralise them.

dark!qimir who loves hair gripping. whether you do it when he’s latching onto you or whether it’s when he drags your head back. one of his favourite memories is you, looking up at him, all doll-eyed and cheeks hollowed as your head is bobbing up and down, his hand resting on your head while you suck him off lovingly.

dark!qimir whose favourite pleasure to see is overstimulating you, pushing you to your very limits, ripping orgasm after orgasm out of you, regardless of your whining and pleading. you’re his good girl after all, aren’t you? just one more, darling. just one more. you can do that for him, can’t you?

dark!qimir who fucks you anywhere you’ll let him. he likes glancing at the kitchen counter, knowing it’s where he ate you out a week ago, or when he looks at your book shelf, knowing this is where he’d had you rough and raw just the night before, hands almost printed on your ass, legs in the air and wrapped around his waist as his arms lifted your weight as he fucked you against it.

dark!qimir who is strangely possessive about you for a man who claims he doesn’t care about you, especially about men. if you’re laughing with an old friend from your childhood and place your hand on that friend’s arm while you’re laughing at some joke of his, best believe he’ll have you jerking him off with that hand the whole night.

dark!qimir who likes seeing you wearing his shirts, shirts that are too big for you. he enjoys seeing the soft curve of your perky breasts slightly peaking through the fabric, likes seeing you fumble around awkwardly at the ends of his shirt, trying to pull them down a little bit more. trying to cover up how naked and exposed you look in nothing but his shirt.

dark!qimir who likes pushing you around during sex. who likes thrusting into you from the back just to turn you around in the middle of it and crash his lips onto yours as he pushes into you brutally.

dark!qimir who is anything but soft with you, but sometimes whispers the most intimate but also dirtiest words to you, lips brushing against your ear softly, to coax another orgasm out of you.

dark!qimir who, despite is cold and rough personality, can be so seductively charming and romantic it feels like he hates and loves you when he has his way with you. who, when he lovingly snaps and pushes his hips into yours, you’ll let him have his way with you, if it means having your brains fucked out so good it’ll feel like you’ve taken a drug.

dark! qimir who will ruin you for any other man you may have after him. if they shall live long enough to have the pleasure of having you.