walled-flwr - Tumblr blog

walled-flwr · 11 months ago

Text

Bookmarked

"CONSUME ME"

PAIRING: Black!Fem! Reader x Qimir/The Stranger

Reader is the sister of Mae and Osha.

SYNOPSIS: When the lines between desire, fear and rage blur, all that is left is an urge to consume.

CONTENT WARNING: smut that turns into a freaky dream,

PARTS: ONE, TWO, THREE.

YOUR BODY COILS LIKE A TIGHTLY WOUND SPRING AS YOU PROCESS THE WORDS THAT FALL FROM YOUR SISTER’S MOUTH. Osha looks like she��s always had, a mirror of what you never were. Wide doe eyes, pretty, sharp features and her dark brown hair wound into tight locs that your mothers had taken great pains in starting all those years ago and that she has maintained.

You on the other hand do not compare. You never have. It was a fact that you had learned to accept since you were children. Three children Mama Coral birthed—but two were a soul halved—a perfect mirror of the other, and then there was you. The third other, the unexpected stowaway, the one who existed outside the two, forced to circle like a dejected moon.

You taught yourself to braid your pale grey hair, spending hours forcing your fingers to weave the tight coils into something worth the effort. You did not share the angles of her cheeks, the curve of her nose. Your similarities were subtle.

You were not her mirror in the way Mae was.

Mae who you watched die.

Mae who was never dead to begin with.

Mae who would look like an exact replica of the girl currently watching you through the grey sheen of a ships hologram.

“Sisi?”

You blink at her and she cocks her head worriedly. Like a big sister would—it frazzles something inside of you. You haven’t been a little sister in a long while. You hadn’t been a sister in nearly twice that time. The youngest of three, the moon ejected from the planet they were once a part of.

“I see,” you force yourself to say as lightly as possible. You are being watched from all angles as is Osha, you cannot risk your position by reacting the way you crave to. You want to wail, you want to pull at your hair, you want to sob in failure.

You do neither.

“They are saying she is killing Jedi—she killed Master Indara.”

You nod, “And you say she was the one responsible for the attack on Master Torbin—do you know why?”

Osha shakes her head, “No—I don’t care either way, what she’s done is evil, she can’t keep doing this. She must be punished.”

Your try not to frown.

Your Master interrupts further discussion stepping into the Hologram’s line of sight, replacing you. You stumble back at her sudden interference.

“I’d like to speak to Master Sol,” she demands before turning to you. “You have meditation to do, leave us.”

“Can I—.”

“Go.”

Can I at least say goodbye?

You bow to your Master and leave the room, thoughts twisting around your head so violently that you feel nauseous. Mae was alive. Mae was alive and she was in this temple. Mae was alive and she was killing Jedi—not just any Jedi either.

Your feet lead you to your sister’s potential next victim and you frown as you stare at him. Your lips purse in indignation. You lower your guard as silence fills the night. “If anyone is going to kill you, it will be me,” you whisper so quietly it barely registers in your own ears you glare at him once more before you sweep from the room all but stomping in your rage.

~~~~

You do not go to meditate as your Master demanded of you. Instead you slip silently out of the temple onto the streets of Olega. A part of you, the childish part wonders if you would find Mae before she attacks again. You squash the thought as quickly as it comes. You didn’t know she was alive for sixteen years—not even the force had guided you to that conclusion. You doubt it would now—you didn’t want to find her—not yet.

You couldn’t handle it.

Your feet are silent against the ground as you move past civilians, a single place in mind, the itch for company uncomfortably loud against your skin.

The lights in the apothecary are off but that does not deter you as the lock suddenly clicks open, your fingers barely twitching in evidence. You slip silently into the cluttered spaces, deftly avoiding the half full bottles of beer.

Your nose scrunches at the sight.

You shed your cloak, revealing your pale curls to the moonlight. You make your way to the back of the shop. You can feel him there, hear his steady breathing. You tiptoe towards the sound.

“I thought you weren’t coming to see me tonight.”

You refuse to jump at the sudden address, you see his figure shift in the darkness, feel his eyes find you in the shadows. “I can leave,” you say to cover the way your stomach jerked in fear—in anticipation.

“No.”

You hum and shed your robes and unclip your lightsaber from your belt to place on a little table. There is a shuffle and a lamp bathed the room in warm light. Your eyes find him again. He is swathed in black oversized robes, his dark hair falling into his sleepy eyes, yet he tracks you without struggle.

You strip down until you’re in a black camisole and black shorts. He shifts to make room in the little cot and you invite yourself into his embrace. He is solid beneath you, warm, living. He smells of sandalwood, sea salt and sweat. It hits your sinuses and you melt like an addict as his arms wound around you. One hand running up and down your hip, the hem of your camisole riding up with each sweep, the warm, rough skin of his palm skimming over the soft flesh of your waist.

“Will you not get in trouble?” He questions languidly.

You toss a leg over his waist and tuck your head under his chin. “I have an excuse, don’t worry about it.”

“I always worry…about you,” he whispers and you hum a smile pulling at your lips. You lift your head stare into his dark vast eyes. Your fingers caress his cheek and eyes flutter as he leans into your touch with a content sigh.

Your heart flutters at the sight.

You feel overwhelmed in a way that makes your throat tighten and eyes burn.

“How sweet of you, Qimir,” you whisper and he looks at you again, dark eyes even deeper, darker. His own hand, bigger, warmer, rougher cups the side of your face. You lean into it as his thumb sweeps an escaped tear from under your eye.

“You’re sad…why?”

You inhale deeply and sniffle, eyes shutting for a moment before you look into his eyes again. “Have I told you about my sisters?”

He tilts his head as his large hand moves to rest on the back of your neck, fingers digging into the soft tight curls at the base of your neck. “I wasn’t aware you had sisters.”

You hum, “I have two,” you say quietly as you sit up back pressed to the wall, legs swinging over his waist and his fingers skim the tops of your thighs. “We’re triplets actually.”

He blinks at you stunned. “Triplets?”

You nod, “In the vaguest sense of the word. My older sisters were born minutes apart, as exact mirrors of each other. I was a surprise—a stowaway, I came three hours later. My sisters were everything—to me, to our parents, our family…I was always the one left on the outskirts of things but that was fine,” you whisper as you grab one of his hands, playing with his fingers. “I loved them.”

“Loved?”

You stare at the lamp that casts beams over your faces.

“There was an accident,” You whisper before explaining what you remember of what transpired that night. You feel white hot anger coursing through you when you tell him about Osha’s desire to be a Jedi, about Mae’s anger, about your own conflict. Your hands feel cold as heat drawn into your chest. You tell him about watching your sister die, you tell him about your rage at the Jedi. You tell him about Mae being alive. Alive. Alive. Alive.

He is silent for a long moment, deep in thought.

“Why did you join them? The Jedi?” He questions suddenly and you blink at him. “If you blame them for what happened?”

“Where else was I supposed to go?” You question. “I had nothing left—all I had was Osha and this is what she wanted, this was how we were supposed to stay together.”

“You could have left with her.”

“I could have,” you admit. “But I had already made my mind up about something.”

“And what was that?”

“I was going to get my revenge,” you whisper darkly and his vast, bottomless eyes spark with something adjacent to pride. “I’ll ruin them,” you promise.

“I love it when you’re angry,” he whispers heavily, “your rage is so beautiful,” he admits and your breath hitches as his free hand moves higher up your thigh. “And to think the Jedi want to deprive the world of something so stunning.”

“Are you trying to seduce me, Qimir?” You question coyly and he giggles as he sits up, you feel the hard planes of his muscles shift under your thighs.

“Maybe, is it working?” He hums, his one hand presses against the cot to keep him propped up while the other softly caresses the apple of your cheek.

“Depends,” You start as you look into his eyes. “Am I only beautiful to you when I’m angry?”

“You’re beautiful always,” he says it easily and your heart twists painfully in your chest. “But do you know when you’re absolutely stunning?”

“When?” You prompt and his crooked smile turns coy.

“When you take what you desire,” he coos and your thighs clench together. He leans in even closer, his breath on your neck. You shiver. “Do you want me, like I want you?” He looks at you through his lashes and something in your stomach stirs.

You lean in closer, nose skimming along his.

“Always,” it comes out of your mouth so easily you barely register it. He grins and closes the gap between you. His lips are warm and chapped as they mould into yours. He tastes of oddity, of starlight and natural sweetness. He tastes like a drug made only for you to get addicted to.

The position is uncomfortable, your neck craning at an angle that makes your muscles twinge. You rectify it quickly, shifting around until your knees are on either side of his waist, your chest pressed against his. Qimir wraps his arms around your waist, pressing the two of you closer. Your hands skim up his shoulders, one grips the back of his neck, fingers curling into his soft hair, the other pressing against his cheek.

A part of you, something dark and deep down wants to consume him whole. You want your ribcage to gape open and hold him inside you forever.

You kiss him deeper, tongue slipping past his lips to taste him better. He moans and you feel him shiver.

This was his fault. If someday you do consume him he will be the only one to blame. He made you this, opened a deep pit that had never been tread inside of you. It started with exotic fruits, offering them to you with his own fingers, prompting—seducing, it made you come back again and again. Then it was his skin, the pads of his fingers pressing into your mouth, wide dark eyes telling you to suck the juice off of them, his own taste underlying the sweetness. Then it was his mouth, his tongue—on yours, on your neck, your collarbones …between your legs…

Then it was this—.

You gasp as his teeth sink into the skin between your neck and shoulder it stings and causes your hips to buck against his, feeling his arousal through his pants.

“Focus on me,” he begs as his hands push under your shirt. “Don’t think about anything else.”

“Only thinking about you,” you whine as his fingertips squeeze and pinch and your breasts and nipples.

“Good girl.”

He flips you around, presses your back against his cot and he edges his hips between your thighs, pushing your camisole up over your breasts and he mouths at at them. You pant and moan as his tongue swirls around one nipple, his hand pinching the other one before switching his attention. You hiss and whine, fingers tugging at his hair. He groans, hips pressing against yours.

More. More. More.

His lips trail open mouthed kisses down your sternum then your stomach until his lips are hindered by the hem of your shorts. He looks up at you, your eyes meeting and what he sees in them is all he needs to pull your shorts and underwear down your legs. You spread them wide for him and he grins rakishly at you. “So wet, for me?”

You hum in confirmation.

He presses kisses on each thigh as he slowly descends to where you need him most, tongue laving at your skin . When he reaches where you need him most he doesn’t waist time as his head dips, the flat of his tongue laving a searing path through you slit.

You gasp, muscles clenching. Your thighs threatening to close. He hums scoldingly as he wraps his arms around your thighs, to pin you down, pull you closer and keep you spread.

“Qimir!” You gasp as he blow a puff of air against your clit. Your hand shoots down to grip his hair, tugging him closer. He resists and you want to cry out in frustration. “Don’t tease me,” you snap and he looks up at you innocently.

“I want to take my time with you, be patient,” he coos, pressing his lips to your slit.

He is slow and methodical in the way he devours you. His sucks at your inner lips, laps at your entrance, sinks his tongue into you as he artfully avoid your throbbing and desperate clit, only occasionally sweeping his nose against it. The room is filled with the sounds of his lips on you and your hiccuping moans. He breaks you down until you body attempts to mould into his cot. He consumes you, he is all you can feel and smell, all you can think about.

Qimir. Qimir. Qimir. Qimir. Qimir. Qimir.

Please. Please. Please.

“Please!” You sob, “Please.”

Perhaps he’s gotten his fill of you or actually takes pity but he finally—finally laves his tongue over your neglected clit. The sudden swell in pleasure causes you to cry out, your body jerks in his hold as if to run away, he grips you tighter, finger nails digging crescents into the flesh of your plush thighs.

It is too much but it what you desired, what you deserved. Your high crests quickly—too quickly. Your eyes blur with tears, your breaths come in desperate hiccups. It’s right there, so close—but there is something else seeping into you.

A coldness that pushes you down. It clouds your head, muffles the sounds of Qimir’s groans and your desperate cries. The sudden fear that grips your throat is what sends you over the edge and your orgasm washes over you so violently you drown, the world around you fades of colour—goes dark, goes cold and suddenly you’re standing alone and bare.

You look around the dark space, heaving and gasping for air as you whip around. There is nothing but darkness.

“Q-Qimir?”

There is no answer.

You shiver at the cold breeze that caresses your skin like a whisper. Your ears strain, your eyes squint there is nothing but vast space and the cold stone beneath your bare feet.

That’s when you hear it—the breathing. Breathing that’s not yours. It’s loud and steady, yet muffled at the same time—like—like someone breathing through a mask. It’s not you—you’re not alone.

The hairs on your arms stand on on end as you slowly turn your head. For a moment you don’t see anything in the darkness. For a moment there is nothing to be afraid of.

“I see the little Jedi has wandered too far from shore.”

The voice comes from all around you , deep and automated. You tremble, feeling the tips of your fingers go numb. “Where are you? Show yourself!”

It is the distinct sound of a lightsaber coming to life that makes your knees tremble. It is the disturbed glow in your peripheral that makes your eyes water.

You turn your head and struggle to make sense of what you’re seeing in the bloody red glow. There is now way what you’re staring at is a living being if any kind—they seem to be entirely made of shadow…of darkness. Carved from it, birthed from it. The red glow from the abomination in its hand reflects off the teeth of its terribly long grin.

“W-what,” you falter, “What are you?”

It’s head cocks, it’s breathing just as unnatural as itself. “I am what you can be,” It says. “I am what you want to be.”

“And what is that?”

“Powerful.”

You step back, your foot slips and you’re falling down, down, down , down.

Water consumes you like a tomb, surrounds your from all angles. You try to swim try to claw your way up to a surface you cannot see. It appears beside you as you drown, presence even colder. Its voice hollowly rings in your head.

“I am what remains when one kills the dream. I am what remains when one embraces their darkness. I am what emerges when you finally learn to swim.”

You wake with a shriek, your body shooting up from where you lay, you reach for something comforting, something grounding. Your lightsaber is a familiar and comforting weight in your hand as it comes to life with a familiar buzz. The familiar glow lightsaber grounds you.

You’re not drowning.

“Whoa—hey! Please don’t cut me in half!”

You blink, it’s dark but not as dark as it once was. You recognize the back room of the apothecary, register the familiar smell of you and Qimir intertwined.

You see him standing a few feet in front of you, hands raised in surrender, the glow of your lightsaber reflected in his eyes. You note the smell of singed cloathing, see the burnt cloth too close to his chest. The observation hits you so hard you gasp in horror, your lightsaber falls from your hands, the blade disappearing back into it hilt as it clatters to the floor.

“Oh—I’m sorry!” You surge forward stumbling, hands reaching for him pressing against his sides. “I-I didn’t mean t—did I hurt you?!” Your words escape in a jumbled panicked mess as you search him for injury.

He shakes his head, hands pressing against your cheeks, “No, no. I’m fine—I promise. Hey, hey breathe. It’s okay, I’m okay.”

You tremble as you grip his shoulders in shaking fists , “Okay.”

“Come on,” he leads you slowly back to bed, forcing you to sit. He crouches in front of you and presses his hands to your cheeks. “Are you okay? You had me scared for a minute there.”

You blink, and chew nervously at your lips, “I—I don’t,” you shake your head. “W-what happened? I don’t remember.”

“You blacked out,” Qimir whispered, dark eyes nervously flicking around your face. “At first I thought—but then you went so still and then you got so cold,” he presses his hands against the sides of your neck. “You’re still freezing, I’ve been trying to get your temperature back up—how are you feeling?”

It is only then that you notice the layers of his clothes you had been wrapped in, the extra blankets on the cot. Your fingers are numb and it was taking everything in you to keep your teeth from chattering.

“How—how long?”

“An hour at most.”

“I need to get back to the temple—.”

“No,” Qimir shakes his head, “Not until I know you’re better, I’ll make you some tea.”

“Qimir—.”

“You scared me,” he says. He says it in a way that sounds nothing like him. His tone is too firm, too demanding. “Please—let me take care of you,” he begs, the tone is gone. “Please,” he cups your cheeks again and you melt when you look in his eyes.

Your own hands shake as you reach for his cheeks, you pull him closer and press your forehead against his with a low hum. “I’ll stay.”

He hummed and kissed you sweetly, “Get back in bed, I’ll bring you tea.”

~~~~

“I didn’t realize your lightsaber was that colour.”

“What?” You turn to look at him, not quite hearing his question, your mind stuck on your encounter with that thing.

“Your lightsaber,” he repeats as he grinds down herbs for an order later that day. “I’ve never seen it before.”

“It’s purple,” you state as you pull your cloak over your robes. “I thought I told you that.”

“You did,” he says, his grinding comes to a stop. “I just didn’t expect it to be that red.”

A part of you wants to get defensive, wants to snap and defend it. You have always worried about it. Purple was a rare colour, a purple more red than it was blue was worrying. You could remember feeling like you had been put on trial shortly after you put your saber together, how the Masters looked at you, forced you to bare it out for them to see, to judge.

But this was Qimir, he never judged you, never questioned your darkness.

“I never really thought about it.”

He knows you’re lying but doesn’t comment on it, “I think it’s unique and pretty,” he says brightly, “Kinda like you.”

You can’t quite keep your blush at bay and he grins at the sight of it.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It’s gotten me many places,” he retorts in amusement, “Especially with you.”

You grin slightly and lean over the counter to press a kiss to his lips. “I have to go.”

“Wait,” he grips your wrist as you go to pull away. “I have to tell you something—you’re not allowed to get upset.”

Your lips purse, “I already don’t like how this conversation is going.”

“I have a friend—.”

“You have friends? Shocking.”

Qimir rolls his eyes at you, “Isn’t there a saying about stones and glass houses that can apply here?” He questions snarkily and you giggle. “But this is serious.”

Your brows furrow as you watch him intently. “What is it?”

“My friend—well I wouldn’t necessarily call him friend but, I told him about you.”

Your frown deepens, "What exactly did you say about me?"

He hesitated, observing you with weary eyes, "About your...complicated feelings about the Jedi."

Your muscles coil,"I'm guessing those aren't the words you used."

"Listen," his voice is low and placating," He wants to strike a deal."

"A deal?"

"He wants a student," he says, his voice to firm. "He thinks that you have potential--."

"And why would I want this stranger as a Master?" You question sharply. "And who are you to go around and spread secrets I told you in confidence?"

You try to yank away from his hold, feeling something inside you begin to splinter painfully, but his grip is firm. "What do you think will happen when the Jedi finally realize you're unfit to be one of them? Hmm? They'll toss you aside, take away all of you have worked for. Sever your connection to the power you have a right to."

You open your mouth but he continues over you.

"You know it, I know it. You want to keep learning, you want to be powerful, don't you?"

"You know I do," you whisper in near shame and he nods.

"You want revenge for what happened on your home planet, he is your best bet to do to that and get what you really want."

"And what is that?"

For a moment all he does is stare at you, his bottomless eyes looking straight into you your very soul. He knew you too well, you realize. He looks at you as if you are nothing but an open book and it frustrates you--but it also warms you in a way that makes you insides want to eat themselves--or worse off, eat him.

"The power of two."

Your breath hitches painfully and your eyes dart around his face. "I--how did you--?"

He says your name firmly, centring you, his thumb caressing the skin of your wrist. "I know what it's like to be lonely, my love,' he whispers soothingly. "I see it in you--and I know you want more than what this life has given you. I need you to trust me."

You blink slowly feeling almost light headed, "Why?" You question. "Why would you try--why would--?" Words escape you but he knows, he understands.

Qimir leans forward and kisses you so hard it almost hurts. Your fingers curl into his collar as you lean in closer, desperate to be consumed by him--to consume him.

You pull away before you decide to put yourself in anymore trouble, "What do I have to do?" you question and the smile he sends your way is absolutely wicked.

~~~~~

The sun is rising as you slowly tread back towards the temple, your hands clasped behind your back, your head tipped towards the lightening sky in silent thought.

"You must kill a Jedi without a weapon. Kill the dream."

Your foot kicks a tiny stone as you happen upon the entrance.

Now how were you supposed to do that? To kill a person with a weapon--that was easy. But without one--especially a Jedi, that just made things harder. Harder but not impossible.

You let your fingers trace your raw lips, and let your thoughts linger on the ghostly feeling of his lips on yours.

"And where have you been?"

You stop and turn to the culprit, seated just under a temple window to your left. She beams at you and you can't keep the bright grin off your face as you squeal.

"Osha!"

You run into your sister's arms with a little giggle and she grips you fiercely, one hand to the back of your head, other gripping you robes.

Her hugs haven't changed, you think as you cling desperately to the familiarity.

"Hi, Sisi."

You pull away, your smile so bright and big your cheeks begin to ache, "When did you get in?"

"Last night," she beams, her rough hands tracing your cheeks as her brown eyes take in your every feature. "Imagine my disappointment when my little sister wasn't there to greet me."

"Sorry," you grin sheepishly, "I was...meditating."

She raised an unconvinced eyebrow, "Meditating? All night?"

"And then some," you add cheekily, earning a light giggle that fills you with a longing for home. You make a show of pouting, your shoulders slumping, "And I may or may not have fallen asleep in the forest--don't tell my Master."

Osha tosses her head back to laugh at you and you let it happen, relishing in the familiar sight so close to you.

"Hiding things from your Master, Little one?"

You turn, your smile dimming just slightly when you spot Master Sol watching you with a warm smile. You have always felt conflicted when it came to Master Sol and his bright, eager smiles. You think of the first time you ever saw him all those years ago, how his brown eyes picked you out from where you hid in a sea of purple robes, how he bribed you with a curious looking metal you had never seen before.

You were always too curios for your own good, eyes always drawn to the shiny and the strange. Perhaps that is how you grew so infatuated with the strange Qimir and his odd, bright and shiny fruits.

The warm smile that curls your lips falls into place too easily for your own good. You go to bow but his arms wound around tightly. He all but lifts you from the ground in sudden rush of affection. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and hide your face in his gold robes. "Master Sol."

"My dear," he sets you back on your feet with a bright smile, his finger reaches out to trace the white swirl stamped between your brows. "You look well."

"As do you."

"And where have you been?!"

Your masters voice is shrill as she all but stomps into your line of sight. You and Sol flinch at the volume while Osha giggles at your predicament.

For a moment the image cast is so familiar and warm it almost allows you to forget. To pretend. But your mind has already been made up--the pit in your gut tells you so.

You must kill a Jedi without a weapon. Kill the dream.

"I am what you want to be."

"And what its that?"

"Powerful."

575 notes · View notes