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selene-ella · 2 months

Text

" Relics of the Past | III "

Pair: Qimirxfemale!reader

Summary: still unable to face your hidden feelings, Qimir offers you a solution.

Warnings: mdni, slow burn, mind reading(?), improper use of the force, fingering, unprotected piv, sensory deprivation(?) I still don't know how his helmet works like, possible typos.

Notes: excuse my English. That's it.

Part I , Part II Part IV (final)

Word Count: 3.7k

Qimir’s fingers traced the jagged seam of his cortosis helmet, the metal cool against his skin. The helmet had saved his life more times than he could count, but now it lay broken—a reflection of his own fractured existence.

As he worked, the dim light of the lantern cast shadows across the cave’s walls. .Repairing the helmet was a distraction—an attempt to silence the racing thoughts that filled his mind.

Beside him, you stirred in your sleep, caught in the grip of visions. Your murmurs were unintelligible, a language spoken only in dreams. Qimir glanced at you, concern etching lines into his weathered face. The Force had always been unpredictable, but earlier, it felt like a revolt tearing at the fabric of reality.

Your mind remained clouded, the aftermath of opening the Sith holocron. Qimir had asked you if you wanted it—the ancient artifact held power beyond comprehension. It was meant to reveal glimpses of the future, but its whispers had become a cacophony, mingling with your own fears and desires.

And then came the dream—the one that shook you awake, gasping for breath. In it, Qimir stood before you, lightsaber drawn, facing a faceless force being. Its eyes glowed like dying stars, and its intent was clear: to end him. The vision left you trembling, your heart racing.

As you tried to piece together what had transpired, your ears buzzed, and your head spun. The holocron’s influence lingered, a phantom weight on your soul. You remembered Qimir’s offer to help you unlock its secrets, the way he’d guided you through the process. But afterward, everything blurred—a haze of fragmented memories.

Now, as you lay there, puzzled, your gaze shifted to Qimir. His back was to you, hunched over the helmet. The marks left on it told stories of battles fought and lost. Did he sense your wakefulness? His focus remained on the helmet, meticulous and unwavering. Was he able to see more of in that short amount of time?

You wondered if he regretted helping you with the holocron. If he knew the cost—the way it had woven itself into your mind, a tapestry of prophecy and emotion. And what of the faceless being? Was it a harbinger of doom or a warning? Qimir’s fate seemed entwined with yours, and the Force whispered secrets neither of you fully understood.

As dawn approached, casting a pale glow through the cave’s entrance, you debated whether to speak. Would Qimir welcome your questions, or would he retreat further into silence? The helmet sat before him, a puzzle waiting to be solved. But perhaps the real puzzle was the connection between you—the one who left to forge her own path—and the man who danced on the edge of darkness.

And so, you watched him, wondering if he sensed your gaze, if he felt the tremors of uncertainty that echoed through your very being. The next steps were unclear—the path veiled by visions and the remnants of a shattered holocron. But one thing remained certain: Qimir held answers, and you were determined to uncover them—even if it meant risking everything.

The cave seemed to hold its breath, cocooning you both in a fragile intimacy. Qimir’s hands—once skillfully repairing the helmet—now hung still, forgotten tools resting on the crate. His hair, dark and unruly, fell across his forehead, framing the edges of his face. You watched him, as if drawn to him by an invisible thread.

Your gaze dipped, tracing the movements of his body. There it was—the scar that marred his lower back, a testament of his first betrayal. As he lifted his shirt to wipe sweat from his face, the scar peeked out, a raw reminder of how those who are the closest, can hurt you the most. You wondered how many nights he’d spent alone, nursing both physical and emotional hurts, after you've left.

Closer now, your breaths mingled in the close space. Inches apart, you reached out—a hand resting on his shoulder, the other finding its place on the small of his back. The scar tissue was rough beneath your fingertips, a map of resilience etched into his skin. He remained still, as if afraid to break the fragile closeness built between you.

The silence spoke volumes—a language of longing and restraint. Qimir didn’t pull away; he allowed your exploration, a silent invitation. Your hand moved upward, tracing the contours of his the scar adorning his back, memorizing each imperfection. His shirt yielded, riding up as your fingers ventured higher. The rest of his skin felt warm and soft and made you wondered if he felt the heat radiating from your palm, if he sensed the ache that mirrored your own.

And then, as if guided by a force beyond reason, your other hand joined the first. You circled both arms around his middle back, your body hovering above his. The cave walls seemed to lean in, conspirators in this clandestine dance. Qimir’s breath hitched—a barely perceptible tremor—as if he, too, craved the closeness.

The helmet lay forgotten.In this moment, it was just you and him.

And so, you held him, your heart echoing the rhythm of his. The whispers of what's to come are still echoing in your mind, indifferent to your vulnerability. But here, in this hidden sanctuary, you dared to touch the edges of something profound—a longing that transcended words, a shared ache that defied fate.

You bent down, your cheek grazing his shoulder, replacing the weight of your hand that of your cheek. The fabric of his shirt coarse against your skin, as your eyes traced along his pulse points.

This intimacy was uncharted territory—a map drawn in stolen moments and shared glances. If something happened—some unspoken confession or desperate kiss—it was always a distraction from sorrows too heavy to bear. For both of you, this closeness was a fragile bridge between survival and surrender.

The dim light of the lantern painted Qimir’s skin in a glimmer. His jaw clenched, and you wondered what battles he fought within.

You let yourself immerse in this feeling—the warmth of him, the salt-scented air. His skin glowed, and you wondered if he felt the same pull.

Qimir’s gaze met yours—a galaxy of uncertainty. But there, in the dim-lit cave, he was pleased with this side of you—the unguarded vulnerability, the ache that mirrored his own. Perhaps, just perhaps, it was enough—a chance for redemption, a reclamation of all the feelings they’d lost.

Remaining silent, his hands searched for yours, joining them as if he wanted to pull you closer. You broke the embrace, one of his hands still gripping your arm, fighting for attention. You shifted, changing your position, and found yourself guided to match his level—seated on his thighs. His curious gaze lifted to you.

His voice, rough and deep, sliced through the silence, laced with anger and desire. “Want to kill me, still?” he asked, his gaze unyielding. Your throat felt like sandpaper, and memories surged. Everything connected to him weakened your resolve. You wanted to sob—to release the weight of it all.

“No,” you managed, your voice a fragile whisper. It was your first word, a denial that held more truth than you cared to admit. He traced the faint red shadows on your skin, and you flinched.

"You know," he began, gaining back your attention " unlike others, I cannot read minds", but he could read guilt—the way it clung to you like a shadow.

His hand moved toward your neck—a threat or a promise, you weren’t sure. Big accusations had been thrown, and now, with clarity returning, you realized you’d projected your guilt onto him. The lines blurred—the boundaries between right and wrong. But he was right about one thing: you’d have to talk.

“Don’t worry,” he interrupted your spiraling thoughts. “We’ll get there.” His other hand reached past you, fingers closing around his helmet. Sternness filled his tone. “Put it on.”

“What? Why?” Confusion colored your question. His demand cryptic.

“You like to push your limits,” he said, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. “Battle with the unknown. Put it on.” His eyes never leaving yours.

And so, you hesitated, torn between fear and curiosity. The helmet sat before you. You wondered if it would reveal truths you weren’t ready to face. But then again, perhaps it was time to embrace the unknown—to confront the guilt that still bound you to him.

"It's gonna be just you and the Force. Nothing from me, or any outside source to cloud your mind" he gently pushed a few strands of hair behind your ear, "trust yourself."

Once the decision was made, the helmet settled over your head, its weight heavy, pulling you into darkness. Thoughts retreated, replaced by a quietude—an emptiness that both unnerved and intrigued. All your senses diminished, as if a veil had been drawn between you and reality.

The Force surged—a river of energy coursing through your veins. Your heartbeat quickened, a counterpoint to your breath, which slowed, muffled by the helmet’s confines. It was as if the very air conspired to keep you breathless.

Tension unravelled. Your body relaxed, surrendering to the heaviness of the Force. You fell back, supported only by Qimir’s workbench—an anchor in this shifting tide. “Qimir…” The name escaped you—a breathless sigh, a plea for understanding.

His arms—strong and unyielding—pulled you closer. The proximity was both intimate and dangerous. You felt the heat of his groin, the magnetic pull that defied reason. His voice—close yet distant—commanded you. “Focus.”

And so, you did. The helmet’s darkness became a canvas—a place where guilt and longing danced. Redemption or damnation? The Force held the answer, and Qimir was your guide.

The air crackled with tension as Qimir's hands moved with

deliberate precision, unraveling the layers that shielded you from his touch. The foreign heat intensified, searing through your veins, and you wondered if it was the forbidden thrill of your yearning for him or the real touch of his fingers that ignited this wildfire within you

All of his focus was on you--the fabric slipping away, revealing skin that trembled under his touch. The imagined caresses you'd conjured in your mind merged seamlessly with the reality of his hands mapping every curve, every hidden desire.

Your top pooled at your feet, forgotten, as Qimir's palms replaced its confines.

His voice, low and intimate, sent shivers down your spine. The room seemed to close in, the air thick with anticipation. His hands, deft and purposeful, worked on your belt.

You had no idea which Qimir was to blame for this pleasure--the one from your fantasies or the one standing right in front of you. The room seemed colder now, and you sensed him shifting.

His breath hovered inches from your heated core, his hands tracing a tantalizing path up and down your body. "Ready to give in?" His voice, low and intimate, accompanied a kiss placed on your inner thigh.

The air crackled with anticipation as you struggled to form a restless “yes.”

“Good,” you heard him murmur, the command a velvet thread weaving through the charged air. You struggled to lift the helmet, your fingers trembling as you carefully placed it on the surface behind you. Qimir remained knelt before you, his gaze intense. “As much as I’d like to have you in that state,” he said, voice low, “I wouldn’t be a fan of hearing muffled moans.”

He straightens himself, his body molding against yours. As your senses return, a newfound confidence surges within you—a desire to assert control, to match his intensity.

"I used to dream about it years ago,” you confessed, “but I never dared to pressure you into anything.” Your slender fingers worked deftly, untying his white shirt. You pushed the fabric away, revealing the contours of his chest—a canvas waiting for your touch.

“Now where were we?” you questioned, your touch both deliberate and gentle as you guided Qimir back to his seated position. The air hummed with anticipation, as you placed your mouth to his.

Qimir’s eyes traced every nuance of your movement. His gaze, intense and unwavering, mapped the contours of your form—the rise and fall of your chest, the delicate curve of your neck. In that charged space between desire and restraint, he drew you closer, his fingers entwining in your hair. The strands yielded to his touch, a cascade of midnight silk slipping through his grasp.

You, too, were not passive. Your breath hitched as you tugged at his hair, unraveling the facade he wore—beneath it all lay vulnerability, a raw ache that mirrored your own. His neckline yielded to your exploration, revealing skin still unmarked by your teeth. The pulse at his throat echoed your own racing heart.

And then, with a hunger that defied reason, you leaned down. His scent enveloped you—a heady blend of leather, sweat.Your lips met the exposed skin, a silent confession etched in the press of flesh. Each kiss was a revelation, a promise whispered across the expanse of his collarbone.

In that stolen instant, you both surrendered. Not to the dark side or the light, but to the desire swirling in the air. And as your lips molded to his skin, you tasted the bittersweet truth: lust was the most dangerous game they played, and yet, it was the only one worth winning.

A trail of kisses ignited along the contours of his chest, each one a whispered promise of desire. And then, as if the force itself conspired, a soft touch slid upward, finding it's trajectory against your inner thigh. The sensation was both fire and ice, a paradox of pleasure and anticipation. Your breath hitched, caught between surrender and resistance.

His dark eyes, twin black holes of need, pierced into yours.

The kiss resumed—filled with hunger and longing. His lips mapped your skin, leaving trails of fire and memory. The holocron’s hum echoed in your veins, a symphony of fate and desire. And as his touch ventured higher, closer to the heart of your vulnerability, you surrendered to his pull.

His touch was a solar flare, searing through the fabric of your resistance. Fingers, calloused and unyielding, found their way into your core—the epicenter of longing and vulnerability. The tightness that welcomed him brining a faint smirk to his face.

You gasped, in mixes of pleasure and surrender. Your body trembled, caught in the gravitational pull of his action. Your existence narrowed to this singular moment.

“Qimir,” you breathed, the syllables a prayer and a plea. Your grip on his arm was desperate, a lifeline in a tempest of sensation.

And then, with the precision of a cosmic clock, his fingers worked on your needy cunt. Their curling motion unraveled you, leaving you gasping for air, for sanity, for something beyond the boundaries of flesh and bone.

You had no time to breathe, eyes fluttering closed, you surrendered to the tidal forces of pleasure.

His fingers retreated all of a sudden— bringing part of your sanity back . The hiss that escaped you was not pain; it was desperation, a plea for more, for everything. And Qimir reveled in your unraveling.

Your gaze shifted toward him. Brows furrowed, you sought answers in the depths of his eyes.

He brought those same fingers to his lips, a siren, and licked them clean. The taste of your arousal lingered—a blend of spice and sweetness. His gaze searching for yours.

“You think,” he murmured, his voice deep “that I’ll let you go with mere fragments of pleasure?” His fingers caught the length of your hair, swirling it around them. “Can I read your mind?” he teased, “No. But your actions,” he pointed at your hand gripping his hip, “they betray you.”

His head tilted, and a mischievous smile curved his lips. He had you where he wanted, drenched in your rawest want. Toying with you was an art form at this point.

“Now,” he murmured, his voice a velvet tremor, “do me a favour.” His hand caressed your face—a touch that could bring you to your knees. “Turn around,” he breathed, his lips grazing your ear, and your years started buzzing. In that whispered command, you surrendered to his demand pulled by the thread of his desire.

You turned, back facing him. His fingers traced a line along your spine, memorizing each spot of your bare skin. "Qimir, please", cave’s walls absorbed your breathy plea, echoing it like a sacred hymn.

“It’s funny,” his voice low, interrupting your thoughts “how you brought me to this state.” His hand gripped your nape, anchoring you. “You fled,” he chanted, “leaving me a prisoner to my own want.”

Guilt swirled within you, a black hole devouring reason. “Always eager to face your trauma,” he said, his words dripping with invitation, “yet avoiding pleasure and desire" the hardness of his arousal pressed against your back.

His touch was teasing your entrance, waiting for you to finally break. “I won’t go further,” he murmured, “unless you tell me what you want.” His fingers danced around your sweet spot, drenched in your early release.

You both loved and hated this game—ot filled you with desire and frustration.

“By the looks of it,” he hummed, his hand palming your cunt “you won’t even be needing my cock.” His palm pressed against your skin.

“For the Force’s sake, Qimir,” you groan, frustration echoing through the cave. “This is torture.” Your words loud.

He pulls you into his embrace, “then,” he murmurs, his lips a comet’s trail against your skin, “what would it be, hm?” His voice is a sweet chant. “Do you want me to fuck you right now, right here?” His breath fans your neck. “Or perhaps,” he continues, “you feel bold enough to show me?”

You turned, your heart racing inside your chest, and took a breath—a gulp of courage. “Qimir,” you began, your voice a quivering, “I—” The words hung in the air, as his chuckle brings back your attention.

“Okay,” you said, “I never dared to go further because—” another stop, “Gosh,” you continued, “I feared your rejection, Qimir.” His name on your lips was heavy this time.

“You were so deep into your head,” you confessed, “about plans and creating your new legacy.” I felt like a threat,” you admitted, “to your grandiose scheme.” Your feelings swirled within you. “I didn’t want,” you paused, “my feelings for you to hold you back.”You hid your face in your palms.

He listened quietly, his finger tracing across your lips once your face peeked out from behind your palms. “What about the jealousy outburst from earlier?” he asked.

“Risking your cover?”

“Hm,” he considered, “understandable.” But there was more. “I wanted someone to teach and make use of,” he continued, his grip on your hips accentuating “Do you think I wanted an acolyte so I can fuck her?” His mocking tone was making you feel stupid.

“Still,” he hummed, his voice light as a breeze, “this is not what I want to hear from you.” His eyes not leaving yours.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “what you want from me.” The words hung in the air.

"Still, this is not what I want to hear from you, your jealouseness. Tell me what you want from me"

He peers into your thoughts:

I want you to strangle the light left with me. I want to break me. I want to consume me until you can only hear me screaming from how good it feels to finally have you pull me apart and leave me aching for more- ...

The realisation hits you.

"That will do do" You hear him say. "You have no idea how long I've imagined being inside of you like this," he admits as he toys with your entrance.

You feel a surge of excitement as he pulls you into his lap, toes curling when you feel him press against you, hard and throbbing.

You lick your lips, whimpers leaving them as he sinks deeper, filling you all the way in, hot breath hitting your face. "How does it feel?" He breaks the silence, "finally having me fill your warm, needy cunt?"

You tighten your legs around him, gripping his shoulders, nails leaving red marks behind, and you hear him speak " no need to tighten up sweet thing" he adjusted your position.

"Who would have thought you feel this good and welcoming" his voice coarse.

Your mind was a blur. His steady thrusts were clouding all of your fields of perception.

" I want to have you filled up, filled up with me, make a mess out of you, and repeat it all over again"

Were you in his mind? Or is he in yours? It didn't matter anyway.

"Feels good right? I want you to let me make you feel good, lose the grip on reality. I'll give you everything"

Your mouth was dry, head fallen back, supported only by Qimir’s hand, arms pulling you back down on him.

You feel a wave shattering inside you. Not pain, but ecstasy. Your legs locked around his hips, chasing your high, a pool of heath soaking your insides.

You feel Qimir’s breath hot against your skin, consciousness falling back down into your body.

His mind, a quiet nebula, observed the aftermath.

"You still have a bit of me left in you" he said, referring to the energy he passed you earlier to aid you with your task.

"I think I have way more than a bit of you left inside me" you laughed while pointing your eyes at the place your bodies connected.

He kissed your shoulder, slowly sliding out of you. "You know- you still have a mark"

You quickly started to inspect your body.

"No" he pulls your attention back to him" it's on your back, near your shoulder blades" he pointed. "Does it feel... like it changed something?" He asks while making his way to the hot pool in the middle of the cave.

"No." , you shrugged, "It's just - there. I don't feel different" you confessed.

"Good" he follows, "then care to join me for a bath, or will try to fit your sticky body back into your clothes?"

He offers you a hand, guiding your steps into the warm water. An urge to have him closer fills you up, and you don't resist it this time. You place your head on his chest, arms pulling him closer.

"I love you, Qimir."

"I know.”

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