#osha fanfiction

[calamiitywrites]

— qimir x osha

apothecary headcanon: a headcanon, mostly from osha's pov, of the apothecary scene.

note from author: So, we've been lowkey talking about this scene on my oshamir discord server because I pointed out how watery osha's eyes are in the scene. It made me feel like there was so much going on in her head the entire time this scene was happening and I just wanted to put my own spin on her thoughts. this is all from my own theories so please do not adopt it as truth. I would actually love to see other interpretations of this scene so if you have one please let me know / comment etc. thanks! - calamiity

The moon was her only friend with the way that it hid her secrets in the night. She would have preferred to work under its cover, but Sol and the others demanded answers now—and so did she.

Mae, was alive. That meant that she had survived the fire and had been living all this time. Where had she been hiding? Why had she returned now? What drove her to kill Jedi, and for how long had she been doing so? — so many questions, but no answers to satiate them. Just an endless precession of her screaming into the void praying to hear something back. Only to be faced with the darkness no different than the darkness that surrounded her now.

It curled its impeccable fingers around her and danced against the midnight blue cloak that she threw on to her body to resemble the phantom who wore her face. It was both a comfort and a torment; a guise that filled her body with a level of unease so powerful that it made her body ache.

Each breath she took rattled against her lungs with a sense of self loathing and discomfort. she felt like a stranger in her own skin and the moment she walked into the apothecary shop, she felt as though she were a marionette manipulated by strings that were far too short to get the job done.

Her body moved slowly across the front window of the shop and her reflection caught her eye in a twisted mockery of reality. she was nothing more than a semblance of the sister she once knew, a stranger whose form inspired nothing but betrayal and anger. Every detail of her disguise was a contribution of the deceit that she was meant to embody. Her walk, her cloak, the intricate style of her hair and even her tone. How was she meant to personify a sister that she didn't know? They shared nothing but a face, a mere shadow of kinship. Why was it so difficult for them to get that, beneath the surface, their very essences were in contrast?

“Hello...” The word slipped from her lips with a voice that was distant and cold. So altered and strange that it reverberated with an unfamiliar authority which was in complete opposite to the trembling anxiety within her.

"Hello." He responded casually.

"Hi."

"Hi." he retorted, the simplicity of his reply holding a sense of humor that seemed to mock her. "You alright? You're back so early."

There was a subtle shift in his tone, a smooth transition from casual to what sounded like concern. This surprised her to the point where she was nearly startled. If he was really just someone that Mae had bought a poison from then why did he bear such an emotional weight? Even his transition from behind the counter to align himself with her and offer his full attention suggested a deeper connection. Was it possible that he and Mae were more to each other than she first thought?

His words were smooth and enigmatic the way they wrapped around her like a silken thread, pulling at her curiosity leaving her with no choice but to engage. she couldn't lie, the concern reflected in his tone pleased her. it reminded her of how sol used to interact with her before she began working on the ship.

Every muscle in her body tensed, every nerve was on edge and she struggled to maintain the fragile mask of composure. In an effort to save her face from falling into a look of utter despair, her eyes ventured off to the boiling pot in the distance for a distraction.

"I wanted to see you." It was a risky confession to play on her suspicions, but when his eyes lit up in response she lifted her chin in an effort to avoid the feeling of her facade threatening to suffocate her.

"To see me, oh....Mae ...uh are you ok? Did the poison work?" his surprise was clear and his confusion seemed genuine.

She couldn't suppress the slight nod of her head as the realization of her mistake set in. It was as if an audible light bulb had flickered to life in her mind, so loud that she feared he might hear it. If they weren't friends then what were they?

Her overall sense of confusion gave way to an overwhelming anger at the idea that she was even being forced to do this in the first place. She had devoted her entire life to the Jedi. Every step she made was meant to bring her closer to her dream of being her own person. Yet here she was, forced to embody someone else. Her life was meant to be her own, but the Jedi had made it relatively clear that the only value she had to them was if she became a mere shadow of herself. They simply needed her to play the role of Mae — to wear a deceitful mask to extract crucial information. There was no proving herself. There was no working her way up. She would never be good enough for them.

The only reason she wasn't a jedi now was because of the decisions of Mae. The reason her coven was dead was because of Mae. The reason she was arrested was because of Mae. The reason she was here, talking to him, right now, was because of Mae. Mae's decisions had stolen her life, claimed her coven, led to her arrest and now her every action was dictated by the remnants of Mae.

Mae. Mae. Mae.

Did anyone ever wonder about Osha? Did anyone ask how she felt about discovering her sister was alive? Did anyone question her thoughts on the possibility of capturing or even killing Mae?

"You're acting so strange." He continued, but she could barely hear him over her own thoughts.

It’s not fair. Why am I even here with him? The Jedi didn’t destroy our family; Mae did. Killing Indara, Kelnaka, Torbin, and Sol won’t undo any of that. Why can’t she just take responsibility for her actions? Why did she have to set that fire? Why did she have to cause all of this mess? I just want to be myself—why is that so selfish? I hate her. I shouldn’t hate her… she’s lost, confused. It’s wrong to harbor hatred for her. She’s my sister. She’s family. If I hate her, doesn’t that make me just as bad?

"Wait...You killed Torbin without the poison, he will be so pleased." he continued with a voice laced in satisfaction. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't even notice that he had gotten closer to her. There was a brief moment of hesitation on her part where she had half a mind to back away, but it was too late.

"No I used it, I just wanted to thank you." her voice was barely above a whisper. She couldn't speak louder without revealing the tremor in her tone. She couldn't tell if it was rage or sorrow, but it was so intense that she could almost taste it. She was losing her control and the sight of his eyes on her simply made it worse. It was as if he were drinking in every movement she made, there was no room for error.

But it hurt. so. much. The pain of betrayal, the torment of loss, and the agony of deceit all came together, creating a storm that reflected in a rage behind her eyes. She was trapped in between her own chaos and the quiet atmosphere of his shop.

There is a sense of clarity in his eyes and they flickered to her lips in a way that was more intimate than what she was expecting. Did he see them quiver? Did he notice her attempt to keep them pressed together to stave off tears?

He moved again, closing the distance between them with a dangerous proximity that seemed almost predatory. It was something about the way his eyes looked at her that caused her to pause. It wasn't the casual look of concern like before, there was realization in his eyes. They searched her face and for a moment she could swear that he saw her.

"You look.....exactly like her." He muttered as if didn't mean to say it aloud. Even though his words were clear to her, she couldn't move. It was his eyes that held her in place. They searched her face, moved down her frame and drank in her posture in a way that made her feel exposed in more ways than one. It wasn't until his eyes returned to hers that she felt an ominous intent that she couldn't decipher, an edge that left her trembling.

She wanted to question him. She wanted to get to the bottom of his relationship with Mae and how he knew she wasn't her. But the distant, echoing sound of footsteps brought her back to the present. With a sharp intake of breath, she instinctively lifted her gun and stepped away from him.

The Jedi would get to the bottom of this.....

[romavitae]

heard the acolyte has been cancelled, i guess i'll meet you guys here

[jinprint]

why do you love people who can only so go far?

there she was, pulling his mouth away from her face and into the soft crevice of her neck, beckoning him closer, lower, allowing him permission—how strange, how new—and qimir was a lot of things, a lot of things, a lot of things, but satiated was not one of them, not when it came to osha. yet he willed his hands to stay gentle and tender as they cradled her before him; he forced his parted lips to move slow against the warmth of her flushed skin.

and denying himself was one thing. he'd had practice, after all. he'd done it all this time. from the moment she'd first come closer and broke the distance—albeit, angrily, her rage outweighing her fear—from the moment she'd had her forearm pressed firmly against his chest, his back to the stone, her fist clutching his own blood-red saber to his throat, him allowing it, wanting it, even.

her expression had been wounded and furious, her face only inches away from his.

the thought had, naturally, crossed his mind at the time—as his palm had moved up with a mind of its own to caress her arm—to close the gap, even if it would have been a wildly, absurdly inappropriate moment, even if he hadn't chosen to factor in that it was most certainly just him that felt it, even if it'd killed him.

she was beautiful, to be fair. almost unfairly so. wounds and all.

still—he'd denied himself.

denying her, however? now? that, he couldn't even fathom.

[windfalling]

THE FALL [1/5]

"You can unlearn what was taught to you," The Stranger said, his voice almost gentle. "We will do it together." Osha discovers her strength in the Force with The Stranger to guide her.

[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; Fangs; Bites; fingering; Blood; Spit; Jealousy and Possessiveness; Foreplay; violence; Swearing; Teasing; Unprotected Sex; betrayal; slut shaming; oral sex; dacryphilia; outdoorsex; 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: 4.9k

TW: THE SERIES WILL BE FULL OF DELICATE TOPICS!

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Chapter I: The Abyss of Temptation

(The shuttle landed silently on the verdant surface of the planet Khofar, a wild jewel among the worlds of the Outer Rim Territories. As the hatch opened, a wave of humidity enveloped the Jedi, carrying with it the intense scent of damp earth and the exotic fragrance of the lush vegetation. The forest stretched out before them like an endless sea of green, where the trees rose like ancient towers, their massive trunks covered in layers of gleaming moss. The thick, intertwined canopies above them created a natural roof, allowing only faint rays of light to filter through, speckling the ground with golden patches. Khofar was a living, wild planet, and they were only temporary visitors, intruders in an ancient and balanced ecosystem. Every rustle among the leaves, every distant call, was a warning. A premonition or prelude to what the day would bring.)

If only you had known in advance that your teammates would die one by one before your eyes as you returned from the hut where Jedi Master Kelnacca lived, you would have thought twice before agreeing to the mission. You had fought against the Sith who killed your friends, battling with anger and bitterness, in a grief too fresh to fully comprehend. In the end, the pain of your body hitting the hard ground was nothing compared to the searing agony in your side from a nearly fatal wound. Your vision began to blur, and you could only see footsteps approaching before everything faded to black.

You awoke slowly, as if emerging from a hibernation that had lasted for years. Your eyes opened with difficulty, greeted by a nearly suffocating gloom. The dim light of a few torches was the only source of illumination within what seemed to be a cave. The rocky walls, uneven and cold, seemed to loom over you. You felt weak, every movement was a struggle, and a dull pain throbbed in your side. You tried to sit up, but your injured side forced you back down, a hiss of pain escaping your lips. You brought a trembling hand to the wound and felt the rough texture of the bandages wrapped around the torn flesh. Despite the agony, the wound had apparently been cleaned and treated with care. Someone had taken the time to tend to it, to ensure it would heal, though it was still far from being fully recovered. You looked around, trying to piece together fragments of memory that crowded your mind. You remembered your friends' deaths, Sol screaming, your lightsaber changing color, and a battle. You recalled the fierce confrontation with the Sith, your fall, and the darkness that enveloped you. But beyond that, nothing. You had no idea how you had ended up in that cave, nor who had brought you there.

Your heart raced, panic beginning to seep into your thoughts. Were you a prisoner? And if so, who had shown such mercy to tend to your wounds? The most unsettling question was the most obvious: why hadn't the Sith eliminated you when he had the chance? A shadowy thought slithered into your mind, and the face of the Sith echoed in the depths of your being. The idea that he might have been the one to save you, to care for you, was as chilling as it was improbable. Yet, you couldn’t shake the possibility from your mind, no matter how absurd it seemed.

You dragged yourself out with great effort, and through the blinding light, you saw the silhouette of a man, barely identifiable. You followed him stealthily, still holding your side and trying to endure the pain from the wound. For a moment, you lost sight of him, only to find him again shortly after, immersed in a pool of water in what seemed to be a coastal area with black sand you couldn’t identify. Your eyes fell on the figure facing away from you, submerged in the water, his muscles relaxed, his raven hair wet and slicked back. To your eyes, the man seemed completely unaware of your presence, though he appeared to have a vigilant awareness of the surrounding area. You moved silently among the rocks and vegetation, observing your target until your gaze fell upon a pile of clothes near the shore, where the deactivated lightsaber lay. With swift and somewhat precise movements, you approached the lightsaber. Tension mounted inside you as you crouched to pick it up, aware that any sound could betray your presence. You grasped the metallic object and assumed an attack position as the man began to speak, still with his back turned while he calmly washed himself.

"how does it feel?" he said, turning towards you. You recognized him immediately. The mere sight of his face sparked rage within you. "Pleasant, don't you think?" His tone was a piercing screech to your ears. You gritted your teeth, not responding, remaining in your attack stance. "Your stance is good despite the wound on your side, but your elbows are a real mess. I had my doubts when we fought last time, and now I see why it was so easy to defeat you. Your elbows are too low; you should keep one higher, you know?" he continued, observing you. "…To block more quickly and strike with more precision." He took a brief pause. "Since you don’t know how to use the Force, you should learn to block better," he concluded, stepping out of the water, now only a few steps away from you.

"Don’t move," your stance changed, now aiming the off lightsaber directly at him. Your gaze was sharp and cold. "If you don’t want to join me, at least let me put my clothes on" he said. You took a slight step back, allowing him to exit the water. You swallowed, trying not to let your gaze fall on the naked, wet defined body of the man, keeping in your mind that he was your enemy. You began to ponder whether it was appropriate to attack him now. But it was neither Jedi-like to strike a defenseless man nor to act in such a dishonorable manner. "Surely, you’re wondering if it’s honorable to kill me like this," he began, his tone different from the one used in battle. You swallowed. Your gaze fell for a second on his chest, and you cursed yourself for the terrible idea. "In battle it’s justified, but days later isn’t it revenge?" he asked with a sarcastic tone, as if he already knew the answer. "And now you wonder if I can read your mind… and the answer is… no. Anger betrays your thoughts" he continued, dressing himself as if you weren’t pointing a weapon at him. His gaze seemed oddly gentle, more delicate, almost innocent. So much so that he almost didn’t seem like the same man who had killed seven Jedi just a few nights before.

"Why did you bring me here? Why didn’t you kill me?" you asked, watching him sternly, uncertain of what to do next. "Am I your prisoner?" "Prisoner? You’re the one with a weapon" he said with an overly calm look and an obvious tone in his voice, as he walked back towards the cave, passing by you without fear. You followed him, teeth clenched. You wanted revenge on this man, but what a miserable person you would be to strike him from behind while he was unarmed. "If you keep me here, Sol will come for you. He’s found me before, and he’s powerful with the Force." Your voice sounded threatening, though not as forceful as you’d hoped due to the stabbing pain in your side. The man turned and looked at you with a puzzled expression. "Do you think he’s powerful with the Force? It’s you who’s powerful with the Force, y/n. Someone should teach you," he said. You were stunned for a few seconds, as he knew your name. To you, he was a stranger, but you didn’t seem to be as unknown to him. The stranger walked back into the cave, and you followed him, confused. "In what way am I powerful with the Force? You should know it’s something to be practiced. If you don’t train it, it fades" you said, your voice still sharp as you scrutinized the man who seemed so at ease in your presence. You had long abandoned being a Jedi, retreating shortly after becoming officially part of the Order. If it hadn’t been for your sister leaving a trail of blood wherever she went, you would have stayed far away from that world. You had lost every Force ability, not having practiced it for many years. You vaguely remembered how to use a lightsaber, thanks to Sol, who had helped you recall the skills during the time you spent together, training with his young Padawan Jecki.

The stranger was seated next to what appeared to be a small campfire, while you kept your distance. He tasted the food he was cooking. You didn’t trust him; something about him made you suspicious, aside from the fact that he had decimated your team. "You know… The Jedi teach that there’s only one way to access the Force, and if you don’t do it their way, it fades. But there’s another way," he said gently, turning his gaze toward you. "Beneath the surface of consciousness, there are powerful emotions." "Anger. Fear. Loss…" he slowly mentioned the emotions you had learned to suppress, as you had been taught in the Order during your time as a Jedi Padawan. "…desire." The last emotion was spoken almost in a whisper as he took on a more serious and penetrating expression. You swallowed, observing him with disdain, though you subconsciously held your breath as he listed the emotions. "That’s the path to the dark side," the words came out acridly from your mouth.

The man’s expression darkened for a moment, but he quickly masked it with a mocking smile. "semantics… You Jedi are so closed-minded," he replied, turning back to the fire, stirring the stew he was cooking. "The light side isn’t the only way to access the Force. The dark side… amplifies emotions. It’s just another way to access the Force. A way… to freedom." His convincing tone almost seemed reasonable, though it was contrary to your way of thinking. "You killed my friends," your gaze grew even sharper and more bitter, as your hand still gripped the hilt of the deactivated lightsaber, seeking comfort in the familiar cold metal. The Sith’s words were like poison seeping into your mind, exploiting the insecurities you had always tried to suppress. "Friends? That’s what you call people who come to seek you only in moments of need and then ignore your existence?" His voice was laced with a mix of disdain and feigned compassion. Every word from this man was a blade sinking into your soul, touching raw nerves you had tried to ignore. You had been trained to combat fear, anger, desire—all emotions that, if left unchecked, could lead you down the dark path. But at that moment, you felt the internal storm growing, fueled by suffering and loss, a mourning.

"War isn’t pretty, y/n, sometimes…" he began, his voice dropping to a near-whisper as he stood up, beginning to walk toward you with determined steps, never breaking eye contact. "Sacrifices must be made for a greater good." He stopped just inches from you, his penetrating gaze studying you with a mix of cynicism and desire, as if challenging you to contradict him. Every fiber of his being radiated an irresistible force, a magnetism that seemed to envelop him like a shadow. He leaned slightly toward you, his warm breath brushing against your skin as his lips dangerously neared your ear. "Your friends," he whispered with a cold, almost contemptuous tone, "were just collateral damage." His words were like sharp knives—cutting and relentless—but the seductive tone with which he spoke betrayed an unsettling intimacy, as if he were confiding a dark secret that only you could understand.

The stranger leaned back slightly, just enough to meet your gaze. His dark eyes, deep as an abyss, stared at you with an intensity that seemed to penetrate directly into your soul. His face was close, too close, and his expression was serious, almost sorrowful, but there was no trace of remorse—only a dark understanding. "Why do you love people who can only go so far?" His voice dropped further, becoming a near-confidential whisper. "Who can’t go as deep as you can?" His gaze was intense, his eyes locked onto yours with an expression that seemed to reveal far more than his words had. There was a hidden desire, a need struggling to surface, but the man skillfully masked it, maintaining a subtle balance between cynicism and seduction.

You held your breath, feeling the weight of his words and his proximity. You knew that behind those words lay a darkness trying to corrupt you, but his allure was dangerously real. Your mind was conflicted, torn between repulsion at the Sith’s cynicism and the irresistible magnetism surrounding him. The man gave you a slight smile, a smile that never quite reached his eyes, as he pulled back just a few centimeters, leaving you teetering between temptation and inner struggle. "Maybe, y/n," he added in a mellifluous voice, "you’re destined for something more… something greater… something that I can show you." "I’m not my sister. I’m not so easily corrupted," you said, looking him straight in the eyes, trying to maintain control over yourself. Every fiber of your being struggled to suppress the tumultuous emotions the stranger had tried to awaken in you. Your heart pounded loudly, betraying you, but your face remained impassive, covered by a studied veil of disgust. With a slow, deliberate motion, you took a step back, putting distance between you, your gaze charged with superiority and defiance.

Qimir observed you with an impassive expression, but behind his dark eyes was growing interest, a sort of admiration for your resilience. To him, you were not like the other Jedi he had encountered, too weak or easily swayed. In you, he saw a potential acolyte, someone with an inner strength that could be nurtured and guided toward an even greater power. A subtle smile appeared on his lips, a nearly imperceptible curve that betrayed his pleasure at seeing you so determined. "You’re not like your sister, that’s true," he admitted with a tone that seemed both a compliment and a challenge. He took a step toward you, closing the space between you once more, but this time with an even more calculated calm, like a hunter who knows its prey. "But don’t mistake your determination for invulnerability," he continued, his voice soft and sharp as a blade. "The force you suppress within you, the force you’ve learned to stifle, is what could make you great—much greater than the Jedi could ever imagine. I see in you a potential that goes beyond the limitations of their dogma, and that is what frightens them." He stopped just a few steps from you, his gaze locked on yours, trying to pierce through the mask you had erected. "I’m not here to corrupt you," he whispered, his voice almost persuasive. "I’m here to offer you a choice, a path that the Jedi have always denied you. A road to a freedom you don’t yet know." You felt a shiver run down your spine, but you refused to show any weakness to him.

"I don’t need your freedom," you replied coldly, your voice steady despite the internal turmoil. "Your whispers don’t touch me. I know who I am and what I represent." "So sure of yourself" he murmured, with a tone that seemed to appreciate your determination. "But what do you truly represent, y/n? A Jedi struggling against her own nature, stifling the potential that could make her truly powerful? Oh… perhaps I should say, ex-Jedi?" he asked with ironic amusement, towering over your figure. You clenched your teeth, pointing the hilt of the deactivated lightsaber at his stomach.

He tilted his head slightly, amused, his gaze growing more penetrating as he sought to reach that part of you he knew existed—the part that thirsted for knowledge, power, something more. “You feel the Force, you perceive it in ways that even the Jedi cannot understand. And you know there is a greater, deeper power calling you. It is not betrayal to explore that possibility. It is… evolution.” His words, spoken with such conviction, seemed to echo in the cave, breaking through the barriers you had erected to protect yourself. You raised your lightsaber to meet the man's neck. “Do it… light it” he ordered, his tone of challenge making your blood boil. The Sith, on the other hand, seemed delighted by your anger, his sharp and contemptuous smile only fueling the tension. Qimir merely tilted his head slightly to the side, offering his neck completely to you, his penetrating gaze fixed on the lightsaber you pointed at him, waiting for the moment you would decide to ignite it.

“A Jedi… does not attack the unarmed" you said through gritted teeth, your voice a murmur of frustration and determination. Your mind was a tumult of emotions, but your will to remain true to your principles was steadfast. “Do you still think you’re a Jedi?” he asked, his voice low and enveloping, almost hypnotic. “Don’t you remember how your lightsaber changed color the last time? Do you still believe you must adhere to a code you’re questioning within yourself?” Those words hit like a punch to the stomach, evoking images you would have preferred to forget. The blade of your lightsaber, once glowing a pure blue, had trembled, taking on red hues like those of the man before you. You took a step back, your heart racing, desperately trying to put space between you and that voice which seemed to read into you with ruthless precision. But the man gave you no respite. His hand moved with surprising speed, gripping your arm in a gentle yet firm hold. His fingers closed around your wrist, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you from withdrawing the saber from his neck. The contrast between the contained strength of his touch and the relaxed calm of his face left you breathless.

His penetrating gaze was fixed on your eyes, a subtle yet relentless challenge. “You know yourself that after what’s happened you couldn’t return to the Jedi even if you wanted to,” he whispered, his tone charming and confident, as if he had already won this silent battle. “Sol has seen it, don’t believe that after succumbing to rage and revenge you can return to a position that no longer belongs to you.” You felt trapped, not so much by his hand holding you but by the words resonating inside you. His words seemed to challenge every certainty you had until that moment. Every fiber of your being wanted to reject him, but there was something in his tone, in the way he looked at you, that made you doubt, even if just for a moment. Qimir moved closer, his warm breath against your skin, each movement calculated with lethal precision. “It’s not a matter of principles, y/n,” he continued, his tone now almost seductive. “That pain, that anger… this is what you are.” Your breath grew irregular, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to maintain control. “Let me go.” you threatened, your voice a low growl, but you knew there was a shadow of hesitation you couldn’t hide.

“Sol saw it… the Jedi saw it” he continued, his tone now softer but laden with cruel truth. “And for that, they will throw you away, again.” His piercing gaze cut into you, as your eyes took on an expression of anger and fear at his words. You felt his words like a sharp blade piercing through your defenses, and your gaze hardened, but you couldn’t hide the flicker of fear in your eyes. The fear that, deep down, he might be right. The fear that your Order, those you would give your life to protect, might indeed see you as a threat, something to be eliminated. The Sith sensed that shift within you, and his gaze became even more penetrating, probing every corner of your mind. It was as if he could see every weakness, every hidden thought, and he used them with a terrifying skill. “You can’t hide from what you are, y/n. The dark side isn’t a weakness… it’s your strength. And you know it.” You gritted your teeth, disgust and anger mixing into an explosive blend that pushed you closer to the edge. He seemed to know exactly which buttons to press; every word, every look was a sharp blade striking at your raw nerves. The tension inside you grew, turning into a knot that threatened to snap. Until you could no longer hold it back, and it was in that moment that you ignited the lightsaber, the glowing blade just a breath away from his neck. “It won’t be like that,” you hissed, your voice barely above a whisper, desperately trying to stay calm, though your eyes betrayed the mask of confidence you wore. “I will not succumb to the dark side.”

The man remained still, his mocking smile slowly widening as his eyes stayed fixed on yours, as if he were looking through you, reading every hidden thought. He swallowed slowly, a gesture that seemed almost like an invitation, a further provocation. The blade of your saber illuminated his face, but there was no trace of fear in his eyes, only a cold calm. “It’s not something you have to give in to… it’s inside you,” he said with that velvety voice of his, each word a whisper insinuating doubt into your certainties. His words struck you like a blow to the heart, breaking that fragile barrier you were desperately trying to maintain. “Your potential is immense,” he continued, lowering his voice to a warm, almost intimate whisper. Your gaze grew sharper as the subtle poison in his words sought to seep into your consciousness. The lightsaber blade barely touched his skin without making contact, his calm expression only annoying you. It was as if the threat had no effect on him, as if he knew you would never have the courage to go through with it. Every movement he made was slow, deliberate, calculated to keep you on edge, playing with your emotions like a master puppeteer. Anger bubbled within you, a fire growing ever stronger, fueled by his words, his confident smile, the way he seemed to control everything. You couldn’t deny it; there was a part of you that wanted to give in, that wanted to let go of the anger, the pain that burned so intensely. And he knew it; you could feel it in his voice, see it in his eyes.

“I understand…” His voice was a seductive whisper, just above a breath, as his hand rose with studied slowness, approaching yours without ever touching it. His eyes, which had been filled with impenetrable confidence until now, took on a new light, something deeper, almost vulnerable. “I’ve lost everything, y/n…” His gaze now seemed sincere, almost pleading for some strange reason. “But when you lose everything,” he continued, his hand now resting on yours, which still gripped the cold lightsaber handle. The contact was surprisingly gentle, a light pressure, but enough to make you feel the warmth of his skin against yours. His grip was soft but firm, and the contrast between his words and the apparent gentleness of the gesture made you waver. “That’s when you’re truly free,” he concluded, his voice a whisper carrying an inescapable weight, an invitation to surrender, to let go of everything that still bound you to the light. His gaze locked onto your eyes, deep, almost pleading, but not for pity: for understanding, for sharing. It was as if he wanted you to see the world through his eyes, to understand that the dark side wasn’t a condemnation but a liberation. His words struck you forcefully, penetrating your defenses once again with lethal precision. It wasn’t just a mental game; there was something genuine in the pain that lingered in his voice, a shadow of loneliness that echoed your own torment. And in that moment, the Sith you had seen as an implacable enemy became a figure that seemed to understand your suffering, your anger.

“The anger you feel, the pain that consumes you… you don’t have to fight it,” he continued, his tone calm and inviting. The tension between you was thick, almost suffocating. You felt the dark side’s pull toward him, the promise of freedom shining like an irresistible temptation. But there was something more in that man, something human, making it harder to you to ignore. The sincerity in his gaze, his voice dropping to an almost intimate whisper, made you doubt your certainties. His hand, warm against yours, made you feel dangerously close to an abyss you weren’t sure you wanted to avoid. You remained still, analyzing his words in your mind. The lightsaber still tightly gripped in your hand, your teeth clenched as you swallowed before sighing, thinking about what you should do. You deactivated the lightsaber and stepped away from him, pressing the hilt of the now-deactivated saber against his chest. You wouldn’t be deceived by his seductive words. You knew who you were and what you fought for. But, inside, a small part couldn’t help but wonder: what if he was right?

“You don’t know me to tell me these things. And as I’ve said, I’m not corruptible like my sister,” You hissed, your voice charged with a tension the man couldn’t help but appreciate. He let his smile spread slowly across his face, watching with almost amused interest as you deactivated the lightsaber and then pressed the hilt against his chest. The determination in your eyes, the resolve in your gesture, fascinated him. It wasn’t the reaction he had expected, but there was something in you, an inner strength, a resilience that intrigued him deeply. He could see the internal struggle you were facing, the conflict between the Jedi code and the emotions he had deliberately stirred.

The Sith, with a slow and measured gesture, placed the hilt of the deactivated lightsaber on a nearby rock. The smile on his face shifted into a smirk of satisfaction. “Perhaps I know you better than you think,” he admitted, his voice soft and filled with an intensity that echoed in the silence of the cave, where only the crackling of the fire could be heard. “I see who you are… who you could be. Your strength, your will…” His steps continued to close the distance between you, and you took a step back, trying to maintain the space between you. He gently took your wrist and pulled you slightly towards him, towering over your smaller figure. He looked at you with what might have seemed like admiration or… desire. You held your breath, swallowing, paralyzed by what could be the gentlest yet most dangerous of predators. The man brought his face closer to yours, the distance between you reduced to mere centimeters, his breath mingling with yours, warm and slow. His touch was once again firm but never painful. His eyes, dark as the abyss, glowed with an intensity that slowly captivated you. You found yourself hanging on his lips, almost asking for permission to breathe regularly. “It is rare…” he concluded. You took a deep breath, and the tension between you was growing increasingly palpable. His tone was like sweet poison, flowing slowly through your veins, making you doubt once more everything you had always believed. His hand slowly moved from your wrist to your side, stopping just below your ribs, where the wound, though treated, still throbbed painfully. The contact, though light, made you flinch, a mix of pain and something else you couldn’t quite identify. You felt the warmth of his body against yours, the tension between you becoming almost unbearable.

“You’re still loyal to someone who didn’t think twice about abandoning you to the enemy on Khofar some nights ago…” You swallowed at his words, feeling the knot in your throat that blocked every word and the weight in your stomach. “Deep down, you’re still searching for a master, someone to guide you… That life, you’ve never truly felt it as your own; they never understood you,” he continued, his gaze fixed on your eyes as if he could see inside you, reading every thought, every hidden emotion. “But I can.” For a moment, you felt yourself falter at those words. The tension between you was palpable, and you could not take your eyes off what must be your enemy, although your mind tried to keep lucidity. Your breathing was slow and irregular, each breath an attempt to hold back an invisible and unknown force that seemed to want to overwhelm you. The knot in your throat was getting tighter, blocking the words you wanted to say. Your eyes were mesmerized. There was an incredible intensity in those foxy eyes, a mixture of fear and fascination that left your heart inexplicably throbbing and mind confused. You failed to swallow trying to make words come out to counter his claims

“You are like me…” he whispered a short distance from your lips.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Notes :

Well, yes, the sexy hot af villain who will be the protagonist of the new series is Him. Qimir, from The Acolyte. If you don’t know him, go and watch that series because Manny Jacinto put all his effort to seduce us towards the dark side. This is just the beginning, still do not know how many chapters will have but I hope not many, I would like to write about more topics for him.

if you haven’t seen the series there will be some spoilers, so please watch the series first

-Mel

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

[sithbabe15]

#Oshamir #RenewTheAcolyte

The way these two broke through all my emotional walls, & the only reason I say men need Leslye more than we do.

Qimir’s no bullshit personality, his willingness to be open,VULNERABLE, his CLEAR INTENT. Osha is really living the dream that most women Want. We want a man/woman to DESIRE TO BE WITH US. We want someone who’s not confused, hesitant or undecided about how they feel. You don’t have to be a creep by expressing interest someone, and I think that’s what Qimir does so well, he LETS Osha decide if she wants to pursue Things. He’s not haranguing her, or coming off as desperate. Osha has ALWAYS needed to be the one to make the decisions, she resents feeling like her destiny is out of her hands, and HE gets that. He lets her make the decisions in the relationship & doesn’t get upset taking a Backseat to her needs.

He is a patient lover, and that is not only HOTT AF, but it makes any relationship that much more stronger bc BOTH PEOPLE WANT TO BE THERE. There’s no ambiguity, no mixed signals. It’s all right there. The looks, the touches, everything says I WANT you

[portrait-of-ariel]

I want Qimir to retwist Osha’s clay locs, taking his time to learn the texture of her hair and appreciate how different it is from his own. I want him to interlace his fingers around the coils, then massage her temples while he cleanses her scalp, as they shower together. I want Osha to trust him so immensely that she lets him do these wonderful things to her without protest or fearing judgment for her texture. Instead she leans into this new comfort, luxuriating in all the ways he makes her feel beautiful and special.

As a black woman, this would mean so much to me—having her be loved on in such a way that’s rarely shown on television.

[rhea-of-kaylie]

need an oshamir fic where qimir slips back into his buffon personality and osha is there trying not to laugh and give them away

[moonshine-nightlight]

NWWD: Divergent Revelations 2

Side story for NWWD, AU starting mid Chapter 23. Fanfic of my own story that asks: what if an honest conversation was had earlier? (spoiler: slow burn is much less slow)

During the fight with assassins, you and Dale are forced to confront the truth of what you each know about Dale's nature. How does the fight change to have this come about? How will the conversation about these revelations go when there's still more than a week before the wedding?

Main Story 'Nothing's Wrong with Dale': [Part One]

Status: Complete

AO3: NWWD: Divergent Revelations

[Part One] Part Two

You murmur as polite a ‘good night’ as you can to your maid before your door finally shuts, blocking out the rest of the Governor’s house, with all its people who can’t stop asking you question after question, hovering over you. Blessed silence fills your bed chamber. You lean back against that now shut door and try to breathe. Grandmother’s going to be alright, you remind yourself, no one seems to suspect Dale. He simply…hasn’t returned yet.

You tried to apologize to Grandfather for not anticipating that Dale would go after Two, but he’d waved off your ‘sorry’s with a worn, but sincere smile. His absolution was appreciated as was the way he seemed to have left all suspicion behind. Still you knew you’d not feel better until you saw Dale once again.

That’s holding true now. The waiting and hours you passed have been valiantly fought through with your highest caffeinated tea, but you were shuffled away to your private chambers after the last strike of the clock, though you can’t remember how many it was.

Nervous energy still buzzes through your veins, a heady mix of worry and adrenaline that makes you want to pace or hide or do something, anything useful. Instead, you walk over to your vanity where an array of candles is, their light reflected back and throughout the room. Aided by the full moon, your room is lit as well as it ever could be so deep into the night. 

Halfheartedly, you pick at the bowl of nuts and dried fruit your maid had persuaded you to take with you. You itch to have those books of Dale’s Bilmont had snuck to you, but they’re all back in Northridge. Neither of you had wanted to alert Dale to your perusal nor risk being found with them by keeping them for days or traveling with them, but if you did have the books then maybe you could prepare to do something in case Dale was hurt in a manner that could not be treated by a doctor.

He’d come to you, right? If he needed help? It’s all out in the open now. What you both already knew but still had pretended not to. Although, as long as he could control himself, he should go to the trained physician. But what if someone else found him? What if this had all been a trick by Two to get Dale to go somewhere else where a trap lay in wait? What if Dale had won, but was injured and vulnerable out in the night somewhere? What if Two manages to possess Dale? What if—

You sit down heavily on your vanity chair, shaking your head to try to dissipate such dire thoughts. Dale had been winning the fight, had managed to drive Two off, and had seemed to have no true injuries when he went after them. Morning would come. Dale will have returned while you slept and he will be fine. He has to be.

You look into the mirror, past and behind yourself to the bed. Speaking of sleep, you’ve no idea how you’ll manage it tonight. You suppose you could brew some sleepy tea, but would that truly work when you still feel your anxiety and nerves as significantly as you do? With the effects of your caffeinated tea still going? Do you even want to sleep? 

You know you should. It’s what you had told the others you would do. It's what you would have told yourself to do, if you were another person. It's the best course of action so you are well rested and ready to face tomorrow. Nothing good will come of worrying away the hours deeper into the night.

Yet you know yourself. You’ll not be able to manage it. Taking the tea would only leave you in a half-asleep state, constantly drifting off and waking from nightmares you’d not be able to tell from reality. 

Not wanting to bother moving the candles from in front of the large mirror at your vanity, you instead go to your desk and bring over your journal with the magnifier. Setting them up, you turn to a fresh page. The most useful thing you can think to do is to write down everything you can remember the assassins said so as to better find who hired them. Given the layers of who can know what, you decide to write down the truth in your personal shorthand, knowing between your handwriting and the few changes you made, it’ll be nigh indecipherable to anyone but you. It should be the best way to keep the actual facts straight for yourself so you can discuss with Dale, or obfuscate with Grandfather and Grandmother. Most of what Two said will only make sense if you know what Dale is and you’ll not be the one to ruin the facade.

You concentrate on getting everything down while managing your flickering light. The sound of your door closing takes a second to register. The next second has you on your feet, your hand dropping your pen in favor of your busk knife. You whirl towards the door, heart hammering in your chest.

A dark figure, more outline than person given how far they are from the miniscule light, is all you can make out. For a split second, you’re convinced Two has come back for you, until another step closer finally allows you to distinguish, “Dale!” 

You drop your hand to the table, body sagging in relief, both at the lack of threat and the confirmation he’s alive. “You frightened me half-to-death!”

“My apologies,” Dale replies, voice low and wary, but unmistakably his own.

You beckon him closer, needing a better look even if many of your fears are assuaged with his presence. “Are you alright? What happened?”

He comes more fully into your circle of light and you can see he has no obvious wounds, only a small bandage on his jaw. “I already spoke to Grandfather and the doctor.” You step closer as he speaks, hand drifting up to the bandage. “I’ve no serious injuries, only some bruisings and cuts. I caught up to Two and ensured they’ll do us no more harm.”

“Are you certain?” Your eyes search his form, noting his damaged jacket is nowhere to be seen. No blood stains or broken bones are obvious. Still, there could be damage under the surface, your eyes on his torso and then up to that single bandage. “The stonework was strong and Two was very adept at—”

“Yes, I am sure.” Dale catches your hand before you can touch him. 

Heat rises to your cheeks at the reminder of your impropriety, which only mounts as you fully realize that Dale is alone with you, in your bedchambers, at night. No one to see him here. Complete privacy. You in your nightclothes and robe, he in only a shirt and trousers. “Good,” you manage before you attempt to clear your throat. What do demons care of human impropriety? Dale’s played along well enough, but he’s not beholden to such petty sensibilities. “I’m relieved.”

“Yes,” Dale murmurs, continuing to stare at you as if you might be the one who needs a physical. “You do truly appear to be.”

“What…?” You blink up at him confused. Some of your concern fades to frustration. You give him an incredulous look. “Of course, I am. It was a foolish thing to chase after Two into the night. Who knows what they might have done to you.” Did he think himself infallible? Or you too oblivious to notice the toll the fight took on him? “I’ve been worried.”

“Curious,” Dale says, tilting his head to the side. His eyes begin to glow. A third one pops open on his forehead. The shadows cast by your candles gutter. “I’ve never had a human express such concern over me. Not when they knew what I was.” He blinks and all his eyes focus on you. “Yet, you appear sincere.”

“Oh,” your voice is small, but you’ve no notion of how to respond, how to actually have this conversation.

“I was not sure what I would be returning to,” Dale confesses, his voice lower and quieter. Instinctively, you lean closer to hear him better. You hold your breath to see what else he might say, now that it appears you are finally addressing the elephant in the room. “Would you have told Grandfather and the Captain? Would they greet me only to catch me in a binding circle?”

“What?” Your stomach drops at the mere thought. “No, of course not.” Alarm rises with your nerves, that Dale might still worry of this outcome. As if he still thought it a possibility for you to have done so. Does he think so little of your regard for him? Has he not understood where you stand despite your attempts to make that clear? You turn your wrist in his grasp and he lets you, but seems surprised when you clasp it more securely in your own. “Dale, I’d never—I don’t plan on revealing you. I thought that’d be obvious.”

Dale looks down at your hand on his and just as you start to worry it had been the wrong move, he turns his own in your grasp to hold your hand in return. “I suppose that appears to be the case.” His gaze moves from your fingers to tentatively meet your gaze. “It does not illuminate why you would do such a thing.”

“I…” you struggle for how to articulate your thoughts. Somehow all your imagined conversations with Dale had been focused on him and his secrets, motivations, thoughts—not your own. “I am aware that perhaps my actions appear…unusual.” You do your best to rally your thoughts and Dale lets you, no haste or frustration in his stance or expression. That patience helps you say, “However, you’ve never acted in a manner that made me worry for my safety or the safety of others. You have not tried to do harm to those around us, physically or with the power you could wield as heir to Northridge.” 

You stare down at your hand and his, unable to keep track of your thoughts when your eyes are locked on his. The flickering candlelight reflects strangely in his blue eyes that he looks more demonic than usual, but also more striking. You want him to think well of you, but you don’t want him to doubt your sincerity. “I’d not known the first Dale for very long. I think I’ve known you longer now. I confess, I had concerns about that Dale, prior to your arrival.” 

You chance a glance up at him and see some surprise in his expression. You’re rather pleased to have been able to surprise him since he’s managed to do the same to you at so many turns. Hopefully, like you, he doesn’t find the surprise bad. “Human concerns, but significant ones. The worries I have for you are different, but less.”

“Truly?” Dale’s voice contains even more of the surprise you’d seen in his face earlier, but no doubt or disbelief. “How could a human, who has always been who he is, worry you more than a stranger in his body?”

“Lord Dale was…arrogant, entitled, and selfish,” you admit, remembering back to your first talk with him. You remember your first meeting with Grandfather and with the other prospects that came up. “And he was the best marriage offer I received.” You frown, trying to articulate why you’d taken a chance with that Dale, aware now that you’re relieved more than anything that he’d been replaced in the end. “I believed he would consider me to be… an extension of himself in a manner that would shield me from some of his faults, so long as I did not interfere with his goals. However, that is certainly not a stable place to begin a marriage, although I had considered it worth the risk at the time.”

“And myself?” Dale asks softly.

You smile to yourself because how often had you asked yourself the same thing: about him and about why he might tolerate you. “You were an unknown,” you say slowly, “in so many ways—I admit you still are. However, you’ve not shown that callous self-interest. You appear… interested in m—the thoughts of others, dutiful to Northridge in a manner I recognize in myself.” You’d been preparing to take up the mantle of Northridge’s care yourself. You’d liked the idea of such a challenge, to an extent. You were eager to prove yourself. To be the one in control of your life. But it would have been lonely and you would have had to juggle Dale’s own plans for the fief. You hadn’t thought there was a better option other than hoping perhaps the original Dale might come around. That isn’t your worry with this Dale.

You take a deep breath and look back up at him. “You did not have to stay and playact the role Dale handed you with his identity. You could have left with his body to strike out on your own.” You hate how much the thought fills you with true fear, not just trepidation or frustration as might have before you got to know this Dale. If he has been genuine with you, you would fear for him out in the world on his own. “I don’t know if you still might do so, but that is my worry, not that you’ll mismanage what you have. I simply feel there is more common ground between us than between myself and the original Dale.” You swallow, suddenly all too aware you’ve been speaking for what feels like ages on end without Dale saying a word. You reach with your free hand to brush some of your hair behind your ear. “That could all be wishful thinking on my side. We’ve not had many chances for honest conversation, excepting now, I suppose.”

Dale finally blinks and stares down at you in a sort of confusion that you hope is fond and not frustrated. “I did not know what to expect when I arrived on the surface,” he confesses slowly, “though I was relieved not to have to contest for autonomy. My recovery from the ordeal was when I knew I would be most vulnerable and thought I might be discovered, necessitating my departure.” His fingers tighten briefly around your own before a small smile spreads across his face. “Thank you again, for your aid.

“I was relieved to be able to stay. I’ve no plans to leave unless forced.” Dale looks past you briefly, to the candles and the mirror behind you. “I have spent my life searching for a stable territory—a home.” His eyes fix on yours once more. “I’ve not had much in the way of surviving family and so find myself inclined to appreciate Grandmother and Grandfather, particularly with Dale’s memories.” His eyes unfocus as if viewing those memories now.

You allow him some time and shortly Dale pulls himself out of those thoughts with a rueful shake of his head. “The memories are both outside of myself and of myself in a rather confusing manner. I’ve not the language or nuance to explain well, truth be told. All of Northridge feels as if it was waiting for me and I’d be a fool not to seize the opportunity. Even you,” he strokes his thumb across the back of your hand, sending a thrill through you, “a lovely mate, was here, like a delightful dream. I’ve not earned any of this,” Dale continues, looking a bit sheepish, a bit chagrined, and a bit like he’s expecting your judgment. “And yet, I’ve had enough ill fortune in my life not let a stroke of good pass me by.”

Your relief at hearing him say he plans to stay is only matched by your understanding. “Even with his flaws, Dale had appeared to be good luck to me at the time. Now, you seem to suit me far better as a partner. Strange as it is to say, I was sometimes more convinced there must be a trick about when I felt we understood each other. It seemed too fortunate.” You take another deep breath as you try to think of what words might solidify Dale’s decision to stay with you, to be with you. The memory of the way he’d said your name only hours ago, the layers of meaning he’d somehow communicated, gives you the strength to say, “For what it's worth, if you’ve been sincere and wish to stay, to be Dale of Northridge, then I’m happy you are here above any other.”

“I have,” Dale is quick to say, catching your other hand in his. He brings your hands in his together and up, dusting your knuckles with a kiss, “and I do. I feel the same.” Your breath catches in your throat. Your heart hammers in your chest due to the warmth and release of tension you feel because you believe him. That Dale might want this too, with you, is hardly more than you can conceive. You haven’t even had to convince and persuade and demonstrate the value of such an arrangement over months as you’d begun to plan for first Dale. Weeks of uncertainty melt away in the face of his straightforward words. You must be smiling like a fool, but you don’t care.

Dale tilts his head to the side, bemused. “Is that common, among human pairs, to understand each other so quickly? Is that why these strange methods are employed? I admit many aspects of human society elude me, including mating rituals.”

“Not all do, but that is the hope of most,” you reply, before leaning forward, unable to help your curiosity. “Wh—” You wince when the movement jars your back and Dale frowns. You absentmindedly pull your clothes away from your bruised back. “Apologies, I am still somewhat sore after this evening's events.”

Dale glances around before leading you over to your bed. “Let us sit.”

“You were the one who fought,” you protest weakly, but the image of Dale on your bed is very enticing. Since you still have your curtains open by the bed, the moonlight has the opportunity to lend strength to the blue-ness of his eyes. You still feel some of the echo of adrenaline brimming in your veins, but it has nowhere to go with the night so late and Dale finally within reach. 

“And I am tired as well,” he agrees, giving a little tug to your hand before sitting down himself as if to be a good example. 

You’re certain that’s true and you’ve no real objection. If anything the mild impropriety makes your stomach flutter excitedly. You carefully sit down beside him, arranging your robe as you do so with only one hand, not wanting to let go of Dale quite yet. He’s only just come back to you.

He turns, bringing his knee up onto the bed in order to face you better as you tuck yourself against the footboard for stability. Dale looks boyish in such a pose. With some of the excitement and fear out of the way, your conversation begins to remind you more of sneaking between dormitory rooms at school. 

You try to bring your mind back to the conversation you were having instead of childish conversations and not so childish games. “How does courting work for your… society?”

Dale smiles, a little crooked, like he too finds your description of anything demonic as a ‘society’ amusing. “Truthfully, there are many varieties in how different demons approach such matters. Perhaps the original strange thing to me was how many humans approach it the same.”

“There is variety,” you consider, actually giving it some thought. So much of your life had built to where you were now, you’d not contemplated the process itself since you were a child. Primarily, fears about your ability to participate at all were what had dominated your thoughts then. “That variety tends to be geographic, however a culture evolved. This continent was once under the rule of a single large empire, before it fractured and so shares certain traits across country borders. The continent to the direct south is similar within itself. To the east across the Narrow Sea, there is still one empire. Only the more distant continents were never united—to my knowledge—and so I believe have a greater variety to their customs.”

“I see,” Dale nods. “The Depths is a very…scattered and varied place, physically and among demons themselves. No one group of any kind has ever controlled a large portion, not in the history I’m aware of. Still, there are trends among similar demons or those who live close to one another, customs that bleed into one another. The demons I am most familiar with either live in tight-knit clans and generally don’t mate outside of it or are solitary. Both consider time to become familiar with each other a critical component.”

You nod. “Many people who end up marrying have known each other all their lives, due to circumstances, or because they were neighbors, or because their parents decided years ago to link their families and lands.” Pivoting since you’re not sure demons have nobility, you continue, “According to those I know who aren’t nobility, that’s also far more common among the common people. Nobility enjoys overthinking, or at least that’s what my father says. A lot of marriage decision making is based on utility, alliances, and finances—not to mention tradition and honor. Tolerance of one's spouse is the expectation with companionship over time. Partnership or true affection as an ideal to hope for. Although, it is custom to play at appearing happily situated, regardless of one's internal feelings on the matter.”

“Surely you had more options than Dale,” the demon with his name protests, as if he’d been meaning to make the argument since you first mentioned such a thing and could no longer contain himself. “Sometimes his thoughts or memories—impressions of people or situations—occur to me. I admit I dislike many of them. I disagree with many of them.”

You’d known this was part of how demonic possession worked but it was still strange to hear of. “I’m certain his of me were not flattering nor were there many of them—one of the few commonalities we had was likely our rather poor opinion of each other,” you confess. “I doubt he suspected my true feelings. He agreed to marry me because he needed to in order to inherit, because I seemed amenable to his influence. Not to mention because I came with a larger than is typical dowry for a fifth child. I’m sure he thought me generally acceptable, if a bit disappointing—he told me as much. However, that was his fault for letting rumors reach the ears of potential spouses or at least their parents.”

The way Dale tightens his lips, but doesn’t disagree confirms your suspicions. He gives a small huff before saying, “Yes, I can recall. He was quite frustrated with the reputation he’d found when he made his way back home. At the very least he wished he’d been able to marry before they spread. I think he’d underestimated how many would not want to be associated with demonic research. Not to mention the more dramatic tales of carousing he and his compatriots got up to on their tour.” He rolls his eyes as he continues to list reasons why Dale’s marriage prospects had diminished. “How many of them would pair off with each other as they did, and so on. He believed he could have turned his reputation around in order to have a spouse he saw as more…” Dale winces, clearly trying to find the least offensive word, before giving up, “worthy, but was aware such an endeavor would take time he did not want to spend.”

“Yes,” you acknowledge because isn’t that what you suspected all along? In some ways it's hard to care much about what the original Dale thought, not when he was dead, but you find you hate the idea of echoes of those thoughts sounding through this Dale’s head. You care about his opinion. You want him to think well of you. You push those fears aside to focus on the conversation you are having. “In that way, we were compatible. We did confirm what we expected from this marriage along with what was required for our engagement to be initiated. It's simply that those items of import were easily discovered on paper and with minimal interaction in person.”

“You were engaged before you met,” Dale says, shaking his head in either disbelief or disapproval. “Truly mystifying.”

“What sort of traits are valued in your courtships?” you ask, wanting to meet him where you could. Everything so far has been how humans do such things. You want him to feel comfortable with you and your relationship. You want a chance to show him Dale’s lingering thoughts shouldn’t matter to him. You can’t find more time to spend together with the wedding so close. You can’t change how you only met shortly ago, but hopefully there are other elements you could honor. “I would be happy to participate in any rituals I could, as we have fulfilled the majority of the human ones already.”

Dale blinks at you with such surprise you worry for a second that you might have just made a foolish offer. Since you were in fact referring to demonic rituals that was likely a given. No, you remind yourself, you trust Dale. Dale closes his mouth within a second or two, and admits, almost ruefully, “In truth, many such questions and information have already been answered. What would take demons time and trust to reveal, humanity seems more free with, particularly over these last few weeks of intensity and socializing. My parents courted for years but saw each other far less than we have over the course of that time.”

“What sorts of things?” you can’t help but press, eager for anything to work with.

“General compatibility,” Dale begins to list with a shrug, “socialization, familial connections, and expectations. The majority of courtship negotiations for my parents was spent on territory and fitness to defend said territory, with the others learned as that progressed.”

“If the ability to defend territory is a sought after quality,” you say, wanting to fidget out of self-consciousness and holding still out of sheer self-determination, “I must be sorely lacking as a candidate.”

Dale immediately shakes his head. “No, it is a balance. I trained to fight and defend. It is a skill I can bring, not one that I expected any partner to possess. I would not have refused such a mate, but I hadn’t been seeking one out either. The terms of survival are different on the Surface.”

He leans back, bracing himself on one hand as he frowns in concentration. You resist the urge to lean after him, to maintain any closeness you’ve gained. He looks so distant in the moonlight, foreign with his demonic eyes on full display—there are two more than before—and with shadows moving as if in a gentle breeze around him. “My parent had staked out a large territory in alliance with another demon, who died soon before they met my mother. They were initially very hostile to the others settling nearby, including her. She managed to negotiate with them for her smaller spot and slowly they came to see they would enjoy being together. Since my parent had a lot of territory, my mother had to prove her worth as a defender. Even my parent had to prove their territory borders were sustainable with all the new interlopers.”

You try to even picture such an existence. It seems so solitary. You had often felt lonely as a child, and even after, but there were always people around, you simply didn’t have any connections with them. You weren’t actually alone. Perhaps you are missing something. “And it was just them?”

“Yes,” Dale replies, eyes softening as if he could hear your true question. “Shades are generally solitary and while my mother came from a clan, she preferred solitude as well. That was one reason for her departure.”

“And you’re a shade?” He certainly seems to be one, given his facility with shadows. Had he spent so much of his life in similar solitude? “The past few weeks of gatherings must have been overwhelming for you.” He’d not seemed to be. However, perhaps he was a better actor than you’ve given him credit for. He was coming from such a different place of experience.

Dale shook his head. “I’m only part-shade and even so, I’ve always enjoyed being around others. I’ve been to the Surface before and know how close you all tend to live.” It was so odd to hear him acknowledge all this out loud, to hear him say “you all” and know he meant “humans”. That he wasn’t included with them. “Even in the Depths I traveled, as many young demons do before they settle on their own territory. I have worked with others and even temporarily joined a handful of clans. Nothing ever fit or stuck. My first time on the Surface, as chaotic and overwhelming and confusing as it was, felt right. After one final attempt in the Depths to find a place to suit me failed, I knew what I wanted was up here.”

You want to ask for every detail, for every nuance and failed alliance he alludes to. At the same time, you don’t want to scare him off, by asking for more than he feels comfortable revealing. If you’ve already rushed the timing, you don’t want to push even more, not at the risk of driving him away. You want to hold this new honesty with both hands and protect it. You want to never let it go. In the end, you settle on a sincere, but generic, “I confess, the tales of the Depths make it sound fearsome,” in the hopes that he’ll tell more if he wished, but would not feel pressured if he did not.

“It is.” Dale has closed all of his eyes, clearly remembering. “It is lonely and dangerous.” He blinks open his eyes and they’re glowing once more, enhanced by the strong moonlight that falls on his face. “There are dangers here too, but so many more opportunities and ways of living. Not merely survival.”

You shake your head. “I’ve no notion of such a life. I’m pleased you are here and that we can offer you that.” Today has more than proven that Dale can defend himself and that you are certainly winning no accolades in such an arena, and yet you feel protective of him. You want to shield him from the harsh life he clearly led before this, fighting for so much of his life. You want to make a home where he can rest and enjoy life.

“Thank you,” Dale smiles, as if your simple words mean something to him. “I admit I’d been prejudiced against informing you of my true nature due to past experience.” 

He said he had been on the Surface before. You recall his trepidation, his fear as you now recognize it, both in the aftermath of the destroyed study and even when he first was in your rooms. What experience might that have been to caution him so? 

“It is freeing to be able to speak of this with you,” Dale continues with a smile you reflexively return. “To feel there is no curtain of confusion between us. My own hope had been for such a mate, a confidant.” You squeeze the hand still clasped with his because that is all you wanted as well. He squeezes back. “I’m not sure how we got here while taking such a stilted and quite frankly, human route. It is so far from what I would have expected and gone by so quickly.”

“The time has flown,” you agree, “and yet it also seems a lifetime ago I stood in your rooms after the incident and tried to meet you anew.”

Dale looks startled. “Did you know even then?” He runs his free hand through his hair, baffled. “But we’d no chance to truly even meet, for me to demonstrate any sort of trustworthiness. You knew then?”

“I suspected then,” you correct. “You were strange, but kind. It seemed very unlike the Dale I had only just started to get to know. He’d been acting oddly the night he must have summoned you. He did set the summoning in motion himself, yes?” Dale nods, still wide-eyed with interest and surprise. The effect is compounded by the five eyes he has with which to look back at you. “I knew of his studies with the demonic, I knew of his anticipation for the night, and then the sudden illness.” You shrug. “Well, I went to see him—you—on purpose. But all I could truly discern is that something demonic had happened. I didn’t know if he was still part of you and I’d frightfully little knowledge of demonology to leverage. It wasn’t until a few days later that my understanding solidified.”

Dale just shakes his head. “You knew all this time…”

“Were you not aware?” you can’t help but ask, nearly as surprised by the notion as Dale seems to be that you did know.

“I…No,” he frowns. “At times I thought you might. Later that first evening, I worried my reaction to the willowbark had been too vehement or that I’d said something strange while my memories and Dale’s were sorting themselves out. During the tournament, when you sought me out regarding Eastmount—that was when I came closest to thinking you knew what I was.”

“But you changed your mind,” you continue for him. You can see it in his face. “Why?”

“You assisted me,” he says plainly, lifting his eyebrows as if it were obvious. “You didn’t confront me or accuse me or try to leverage any sort of secret knowledge of what I was for your own gain. You didn’t turn me in or ask for my aid to advantage you or threaten me.”

“You thought so ill of me?” You can’t help the hurt that blossoms in your voice. “That I might do such a thing?” Hadn’t he known enough of you by then? You thought he’d understood, that he had seen who you were quicker than anyone else you’d known. Your hand starts to pull out of his without you meaning to. Unable to resist drawing back from him.

“That is what humans do with demons,” he says, almost pleading, pressing your hand to the bed to halt your movement, but not pulling it back towards himself. “Even if you were not one who sought selfish gain, then as a righteous human, you should have raised the alarm, formed a trap, done something to expunge the demon from your midst.” His vehemence is surprising, you feel caught out because he wasn’t wrong. Those are the two expected reactions. “I had thought I’d misjudged you since you had seemed to know, but not do any of those things. I was waiting for the demand of what you wished for in exchange for your silence. It never came.” Dale shakes his head again. “I concluded you didn’t know. It was the only explanation that fit. That, at most, you suspected Dale had enhanced himself with demonics and were willing to aid him in his one-upmanship with Eastmount.”

“I see.” On one hand you do truly understand his caution. He is a feared stranger in a foreign land, which goes doubly for Northridge given Grandmother’s attitude. You know plenty who would have done as he suggested, but… You also know some who would not have. Surely he must have Dale’s own memories of humans mixed up in demonology that wouldn’t have reacted so poorly. It's such a specific fear. “Has…has that happened before? When someone found out you were possessing a different human in the past?”

“I…” He freezes, all of his extra eyes closing up, although the two that remain are still glowing, black all but gone from them. “Yes. It has.”

A bolt of anger on Dale’s behalf straightens your spine, even though you know how humans react to demons. It's not even unwarranted most of the time. But this is Dale, your fiancé—your Dale. Did they simply not know him? From all the stories you’ve heard, most demons make their true intent, if it is destruction, known quite quickly. It’s why you’ve become more comfortable with Dale as time has passed. “I don’t know what circumstances there were, but you’ve not behaved in a way that would cause me to betr—to react in such a manner. 

“I would not have blamed you. Demons can be quick to turn on each other as well.” His voice was strangely soft and earnest as he spoke, as he tried to absolve you of these potential feelings and actions against him. “It’s not humans alone who have decided that it would be better to no longer act in concert with me before.”

It breaks your heart, to hear him say it so plainly, so gently. You can see now you are working against a lifetime of betrayal, or so it seems to you. You search for something, anything, to communicate your sincerity. A reason to push any lingering fear of such possibility in the future as far from his mind as you can. 

“You saved my life tonight, Grandmother’s life.” It’s the most tangible, most straightforward reason you could see that he might believe for your trust in him. You wait, but he doesn’t disagree. You have his rapt attention. “We are working towards the same goal, are we not? You’ve more than proven your dedication to Northridge tonight, to my satisfaction.” You don’t see it so plainly, so unemotionally, but you want to impress upon him that you are aligned together. You wait for his slow nod of acknowledgment. 

“Nothing you have done has persuaded me otherwise,” you work hard to make your voice as steady and sure as you can. “It never crossed my mind to try to entrap or exorcize you tonight.” You hope by focusing on now, he won’t try to argue this specific point. You don’t have such concrete reasons for your feelings before and so you’re not sure he’d believe you’d never really had the inclination once you actually met him. Otherwise, he’s right: some things need that time to grow and solidify. You want to make damn sure you’re starting on the right foot. You will gain the rest of his trust going forward.

Dale leans closer, an eye opening up. He tightens his grip on your hand as he does so. You wait on pins on needles for his response. “I believe you. Thank you.”

You want to shift the topic back to lighter matters, but you’re unsure of how to do so. “Demons truly have turned on you as humans have?” is what comes out instead. You wince.

Dale doesn’t seem to take offense. “Yes, as I was not born into a group that survived, I sought to join others.” You want to ask so much more about that, but you can tell by the way Dale is moving past this part of his past, that he doesn’t want to share that now. It’s late. It's been an incredibly long day, you understand. You’ll be able to ask him for details on all of this because you’re getting married. You’ll have your whole lives to learn everything about him. He’s staying, you reiterate to yourself. You can no longer picture your future without him.

“The majority of demonic clans are very insular and do not take kindly to outsiders,” he says with a frown. “They see nothing wrong with treating said outsiders with little…regard or integrity. This is why the courting ritual I described is spread out. To allow time to pass without betrayal or shifts in alliances to occur. To demonstrate the connection can weather time and outside forces.”

“And to feel confident in telling anything more personal to their prospective spouse,” you add, nodding. Sure there is gossip and alliances and even violence within the nobility on the Surface—tonight’s more than proved that—but not on the scale Dale’s describing. You’re abruptly very grateful for the world you live in. You’d likely not survived his.

“Precisely,” Dale confirms. “Information that might have been construed as weaknesses to be exploited, but not can be trusted to not be taken advantage of.”

This does fit with the rumors and heresy you’ve heard about demonic ways of life. It’s a wonder any of them manage to mate at all. Still, you’d hoped for something else, something you could do besides ‘not betray him’. For Dale. To show that you accept him. To demonstrate your sincerity to the marriage. To signify your clarity who he is. You know that marriage is with a demon and you want him, not anyoneelse. You want him to know that before the night’s through. “So there aren’t any other differences in courting that you are surprised about? Or that we have not participated in?”

Dale frowns as he thinks. You try to determine if it's the moonlight and wind painting strange shadows on his form or just him without pretense. He’s mesmerizing either way. “Couple’s often take a journey together or begin to merge their territories prior to being bound as formal mates. You’ve already come to live in our territory and we’ll be taking our tour after the wedding. I don’t believe much can be done to accelerate that at this point.”

“No,” you have to agree, although you understand now why Dale had been so eager for the tour and are doubly glad to be doing it. “Not in our circumstance.”

“We already discussed and covered so many compatibility topics that there is not much left that I’d have wished to know about a potential mate. Well, I suppose it is unusual to have done little beyond dance,” Dale admitted, all but two of his eyes looking sidelong out the window now. “Physical compatibility in such matters is also considered relatively strongly. I suppose that has more weight for demons given our variety.” He sounds on the fence about how true he feels that statement is. As if he is giving you an excuse to brush past this topic and move on.

“Oh?” You hope that sounded calm. You hope your expression isn’t giving you away if your voice did not. “I, I do not mind, if you wanted, or rather,” you can’t get the words out in a coherent manner, too intrigued despite yourself, and your inability to talk sensibly is only making you more flustered. Memories of your fumble at a festival as well as memories dancing with Dale distract you. “If there was something else you wished to discover regarding our compatibility, I would not be opposed.”

Dale blinks at you in surprise, but without judgment. That lack of judgment is always one of the primary differences between who is Dale is now and who Dale was. It is the quality you appreciate the most. “Oh, you would not?” He sounds mildly intrigued and unflustered as he runs a few fingers through his hair. It’s unkempt and dark enough to melt into the shadows around you both, but you think it looks longer than it did even a few minutes ago. As if the strands spent more time tangled around his fingers this time around. “I constantly find myself torn between what Dale has experienced informally, what I know human society seems to expect, and what I would consider a reasonable level of intimacy for those who plan to join together permanently in merely a week.”

“Of course.” You can hardly keep the typical social rules straight, let alone your own memories and another persons and another society’s set of expectations. It’d drive you a little mad, you think. “I imagine such conflicting knowledge must be confusing.”

“It is,” Dales says emphatically, looking relieved to finally be able to speak openly. Then he sighs, looking mildly embarrassed for possibly the first time you’ve seen. “And I know I do not always play my part correctly.”

You feel a little bad for having had the same thought because, well, he isn’t wrong, is he? Nothing much you can say to that. Still, you want to reassure him. “When we are in private, you don’t need to worry about playacting correctly. You’ll wear yourself to the bone if you tried to keep up a facade constantly.”

“I appreciate your saying so,” he says with a tentative smile you’ve not seen before. It’s sweet. It would have looked out of place on the original Dale’s face and yet it suits this one so well. “It can be tiring. Not always and there are times when even in public, with you, I still feel as I do now.”

You smile, pleased with yourself at having made him feel even somewhat comfortable in a land so alien to him. “It’s not as if I’ve not felt out of place before, although not to the same extent, but I want us to help each other. That’s why I wish for you to feel comfortable here and now, with me and our courtship. We are to be married and I want that to mean a partnership, mates, a true couple. No matter our differences and the strange circumstances we’ve found ourselves in.”

“As do I,” Dale murmurs, leaning closer. At first you think he’s simply relaxing his posture, until his hand reaches out to put a finger under your chin. His eyes are dark as they stare at your lips and you recall what turn the conversation had started to take before being sidelined. “So, you would not mind if I…?” 

Evidently Dale wishes to push the conversation back on track. His intent is obvious and he gives you plenty of time to pull away, but you still reply, only a little breathily, “I would not” before his lips cover your own. It’s a far more tentative and gentle kiss than the one human Dale had taken from you. Less awkward than your first kiss had been. You melt into his hold as he cups your cheek more firmly, angling the kiss just so. His lips are cool, but soft.

Dale parts from you only to press another kiss to your lips the next second. Kiss after kiss, the rest of the world melts away until there is only the two of you in the faint light, safe in this room. Your hands end up grasping the front of his shirt to keep him close, not that he seems intent on going anywhere. His hand tangles itself in your hair, cupping the base of your head while his other splays along your side to better pull you closer. 

He deepens the next kiss and you can taste him on your tongue, like coffee and cinnamon. You relax into his hold even as he seems to get hungrier, as he steals the breath from your lungs and every stray thought from your mind. Dale pulls an appreciative noise from the back of your throat. Your hands, still fisted in his shirt, slowly release their grip to press against his chest. He’s wonderfully solid beneath them, safe and whole and home. 

Dale belongs with you and you won’t let anything keep him from you.

You bury a hand in his hair, the cool, silky strands almost wrap around your fingers in return. Eventually, you have to use your hold to pull him back enough to breathe, but you don’t give him more than the space to allow you to do so. Dale pants against your lips. “Breathing is so…” Dale starts to mutter, almost absentmindedly, before he leans back in to dot kisses along your jaw.

You hum in agreement, pleased with his attention. Desire zips through your veins. Shadows move like flames in the moonlight, shifting across Dale’s body and around him. You swear you can almost feel them, like velvet against your skin. This night feels like a wonderful dream.

Dale’s large hands land on your hips, strong and sure. He makes his way back to your mouth, determined that neither of you can truly catch your breath, and starts pushing you further onto the bed, away from the end. Your feet leave the ground while he moves after you. Your own hands are occupied, holding his strong jaw, buried in his luscious, dark hair. At some point, while stealing your thoughts with his nimble tongue, he lifts you entirely from the sheets to maneuver you fully into the middle of bed. Even when he sets you back down, you're only kept even remotely upright by your hold on him.

“Sana…” Dale pants against your lips when he pulls back just enough for your lungs to remember their job. His voice is raspy and deep as he speaks through his own breaths. You meet as many of his eyes as you can, half-lidded but rapt with attention. “I have been wanting, no,” Dale corrects himself, “needing to familiarize myself with your scent.” He runs his nose down the column of your throat before burying his face in the crook of your neck. You feel his words against your skin nearly as much as you hear them. “As your touch, your appearance, your voice are already solidified in my mind. All brief glimpses of scent I managed to steal pitiable and meager until now.”

Your mind struggles to think of a coherent response. Is this part of demon courting? Having Dale wrapped around you, against you so intimately? The desire to know you by every sense. “Oh?” If so, you want more. Even if it’s merely something Dale wants, he’s welcome to it, to you.

“Your taste…” he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone. “Half-remembered, filtered through that imbecile’s mind.” His derision for Dale’s opinion helps chase away your insecurities that he might be swayed by them. He scrapes his teeth against your skin and your mind fogs over. “I knew it to be a poor imitation of reality, but if I had known how poor, I’m not sure I would have been able to resist for so long. Want. More,” he says around licks and kisses to your sternum where he’s pushing against the barrier of your chemise.

“You, if you,” you stutter around the words, trying to string your thoughts together. You’d had daydreams about a fiancé you trusted enough and who felt passionately enough that you’d preempt your wedding night, like in so many hushed romantic stories. “Yes, you can, if you wa-ant.” When Dale merely continues to nose at your hem, you finally manage to say as plainly as you can, “Simply remove it.”

“Gladly,” Dale replies, eager hands already set on the task of riding you of your remaining clothing. It’s so freeing to be able to say exactly what you mean, what you want, and have Dale hear you. To have him immediately act on what you say. Your robe had fallen off at some point after his first kiss so there is only your chemise. He manages to divest you of it in record time, making sure the fabric doesn’t catch on your bandages. 

He stills to take in the sight of you, but only for a few seconds. As soon as the slightest inclination towards embarrassed self-consciousness starts to make themselves heard, Dale says, “Thank you,” so emphatically, you feel heat rise to your face and gather between your legs. 

“I—” Whatever you were going to say is lost as Dale immediately starts trailing kisses down from your neck to your chest. His other hand lands on your upper thigh and starts to massage and stroke at the skin there. You moan, eyelids slamming closed to better enjoy the sensations he’s provoking throughout your body. It's so much after so long of only dances and holding hands, but you feel as greedy as Dale is acting. With the taunt of courtship over, you want to be as close to him as you possibly can. 

He envelops a nipple in his mouth and lightning races down your spine to strike your core. You can feel yourself getting wetter as he continues. You ache for some friction between your legs but you don’t want to risk Dale stopping. As he switches sides, his hand coming up to tweak and rub your damp skin, you moan shamelessly. You want to drown in the sensation of Dale moving so eagerly against you. He’s ravenous.

Dale’s attentions push you back and you place a hand on the bed to try to steady yourself. It's not quite enough, not given your injured arm. You do your best to control your descent down on your side. Dale gropes at your hip as if to try to help keep you up before he realizes what you're doing and helps guide you down instead. 

His shirt disappears as you reposition yourselves. You move quickly to explore the skin now bared to you, feeling strange stripes of velvet mixed with soft human skin. The difference in textures reminds you of who you are with even though you can’t see his inhuman nature with your eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to weather the heat he’s stoking within your body.

Dale pushes you further back and you go with the motion until you feel the sheets against your bruised back. Flinching, your hands scramble against Dale’s skin as you arch away from the bed. “S-Sorry,” you pant, “Bruised. My back.” 

Dale’s already tipped you back onto your side and you see a tail with two eyes arc over your shoulder. He growls at whatever he can see in the dark. Shadow tendrils brace you between your shoulder blades and on your lower back so that you can relieve some pressure from your side and relax more in this position. His teeth seem sharper as he says, “I should have torn them to pieces for touching you. For hurting you.”

“You did,” you reply, not wanting to derail the mood even if the reminder of Dale’s defense of you certainly isn’t drawing you out of it. You don’t want Dale consumed by anger. You selfishly want his focus to be on you. “It’s treated as best it can be.” When that doesn’t seem to be enough, you cup his cheek, “Make me forget about it.”

Dale’s eyes ignite at the challenge and you feel a corresponding pulse between your legs. “Yesss, sana,” he hisses in agreement, pressing a kiss to that hand. He resumes his mission to memorize you with all his senses with renewed zeal. It’s easy to let him do so. With him pressed to your front and his shadow tails wrapped around to brace your back, you feel wonderfully enveloped by him. Safe from the world. Safe with him. 

“You seem like something I shouldn’t be allowed to have,” Dale murmurs, voice strange, distant and echoing. He presses more kisses further down your body. Even with nearly all his focus on the physical, he can’t help but think aloud with whatever part of him isn’t consumed with you. “Shouldn’t be allowed to keep.” 

The shadow tails supporting your back spread and his hands fasten securely to your hips. “Smoke in the wind,” a kiss to your stomach, “water in the hand,” a kiss above the thatch of hair you have, “a dream before waking.” He looks up the length of you, his eyes blue and dark and as hypnotizing as ever. “Fighting for this—you and Northridge—for this life tonight has made it feel so much more a reality rather than a far-off wish.” He presses another absentminded kiss to you. His thumbs stroke your skin and your hips roll in his hold involuntarily. “Something I would never truly be able to grasp.”

“You can,” you tell him, feeling nearly as desperate as he’s been acting, voice breaking on the words. Desire clogging up your throat. “If you d-desire… Dale,” you wail his name when he finally puts his mouth on you.

You lace the fingers of one hand into his hair, not able to judge what was too tight while your hips jitter in his hold. Overwhelmed by the sensation of that long adroit tongue dipping in for a better taste. Your head tips back as you try to push into him. He groans encouragingly as his hands move to your thighs and pry them apart to give him more space to work. The improved angle gives him more access, more contact, more ways to make you mewl with pleasure.

True to his words when he first began, Dale is ravenous for your taste, licking and sucking with an intensity that makes you little able to do more than take it. Unleashed, he must have truly been holding himself back before. The fight, that kiss, has broken some self-restraint he’d clearly been tightly holding onto. 

Dale devours you. He devours you until you’re a sweating, moaning, mess held firmly in his grasp. Until a final wave of pleasure pulls you under. 

You come back to yourself slowly to find Dale still between your thighs, carefully licking up every last drop of desire he’s managed to wring from you. You hope he’s satisfied with you. You hope he’s never satisfied. You hope he’s willing to make a meal of you again and again. “Dale,” you breathe out. Glittering, bright eyes look up at you, half-lidded and gratified, but still hungry.

Heat begins to rekindle in your veins as he lowers his gaze back down. As he begins to plant kisses and leave little sucking marks on your skin. As he works his way back up your body. You stroke through his hair encouragingly, languid and content to let him do as he pleases. He’s certainly proved himself worthy of the leeway. He pulls you upright as he goes and your free hand lands on his strong shoulder.

You don’t hesitate to pull him into a kiss once you're close enough. His mouth is wet with you still and you find yourself delighted with the evidence of his indulgence, his base appetite. When he pulls you into his lap, you take advantage of the additional height to lead the kiss. Dale gives way under you easily, letting you press your advantage and finally do some taking yourself.

You don’t break the kiss until Dale situates you perfectly in his lap to let his cock rock against your cunt. Your moan and instant attempt at grinding down against him leave you gasping. His large hands, spanning your hips and with fingers that dig into your ass, encourage your movements as he groans.

“You…” you try to give voice to the thought that’s been building in your mind without you realizing it, “the way you said my name…” You can still hear it echoing in your memory, but you need to hear it aloud. It’s what had helped stabilize your trust in him and you ache to hear it now. “After the fight…”

Dale shudders, something rolling through him, before he opens his mouth to breathe your name in that same resounding tone, the one that seemed to carry with it so much more than a single word ever could. Your eyelids flutter, as you feel that same comfort as before, but it has evolved. Now cinnamon spice and crimson tart berry streaked through that yellow warm honey. You feel it along your nerves, buzzing through your veins like warm, mulled wine. “Dale,” you gasp back, hoping you can convey something similar in return. 

Air flows from him like a breeze and his shadows gutter around him while he closes his eyes to the sensation. When he presses you back down against him there's a rumble you first mistake for a growl only to realize it’s a purr. “May I…?” His cock ruts against your entrance as if there was any doubt as to what he was asking for.

You're lost in this moment, in this feeling, and yet in that second, he takes to ask the real world breaks through. You bury your head in the crook of his neck, craving his own scent nearly as much as his craving for your own had sparked this fire into motion. “Yes, please, Dale—I need you.”

“Yes, sana, I do as well. I need you so very much,” Dale pants as he guides the head of his cock to where it needs to be and begins to push inside. 

Gods, he feels big. You remind yourself to relax, let yourself be pliable, and allow him in. One of his hands leaves your hip to stroke soothingly through your hair while he thoughtlessly babbles, “Yeeesss, so hot, so tight. Lights above, you feel better than… So good. Thank you, pretty, pretty mate for…for this, for this allowance, for this gift, f-fuck.” His words make you shudder and you must be dripping from them given how much more easily he makes his way inside.

Once he’s finally hilted in you, you both need the extra few seconds to take a breath. Him overwhelmed by you surrounding him judging by his scattered words and you for the stretch. The ache of being first too empty and then nearly too full. Soon you deliberately clench around him and he groans. You press a kiss to his neck to let him know he’s alright to move and then set to making it a mark on his skin.

Dale murmurs your name again, a faint echo of how he’d said it earlier. Shuddering, your teeth graze the mark you’re worrying on his skin. Instinctively, he thrusts in even though he’s only pulled halfway out which pulls a groan from deep in your throat.

The sound seems to set Dale off because soon he’s thrusting at a rhythmic pace, half with his own hips, half lifting you up in counterpoint to his movements. Your heat throbs at the demonstration of his strength. You pull your head back to take him in in the moonlight. Your demonic fiancé, demonic mate.

As you can feel another peak building, the pulsing between your legs getting stronger, Dale’s thrusts become more erratic. As soon as you notice, his thumb lands on your clit, obviously determined to push you over the edge with him. 

Dale buries his face in the crook of your neck. His voice resonates against you as he says, “I… I could…I should…” He starts to lift you off of him. “We’re not—”

His words are cut off with a loud moan when you push back against him, hands on his shoulders, muscles throbbing around him. To keep him inside you where he belongs. 

“No, no,” you say, mind overwhelmed with pleasure, but also coherent to understand he’s trying to cater to you even if it's not what you want, what you crave with a strength that would surprise you if you gave it a moment’s consideration. “Please. I trust you.” You know Dale wouldn’t leave you now. As far as you're concerned, you’re already married. He’ll never leave you again. “Please, stay inside.”

He growls your name in response and pulls you back fully onto his cock without needing further encouragement. His hands stroke up and down your sides, shadow tendrils controlling the pace of his thrusts. The additional sensation of his hands on your skin, on your chest, your nipples, combined with the kisses and marks he’s attempting to suck on your skin drive you to the final heights you need to climax, convulsing around his cock. Dale falls over the edge with you.

Bliss spreads through your body as Dale collapses backward, you sprawled on his chest. You’re sweaty and overcome and the most satisfied, most content you’ve been in… You let the thought fizzle out and merely sigh happily instead. What more could you ever need than Dale with you in your bed?

Languid sleep laps at your mind, but when Dale prompts you, you go through the motions of nighttime ritual. He murmurs an apology when you shudder from the feel of tepid water and sigh from any movement at all that’s not horizontal. Soon enough you’re clad in a fresh shift, Dale in only his own shirt, standing by the bed. He looks, with hesitation at the door.

“Do not leave, not until you must,” you say as you lean against him, hand over his heart. Not an ask, but not a demand.

“I won’t,” Dale replies, the solemnity of an oath, the fervor of a declaration of love—more powerful in the dark of your bedroom. He shuffles you over to the bed until you’re lying down against his chest once more. “There’s nowhere else I’d want to be.”

That warmth of belonging wraps around you at his words and you gently kiss his neck in answer, before mustering the sleep-weary words to say, “There’s no one else I’d want.” It’s so easy to admit now, so freeing to say aloud. 

Dale presses a kiss to your head. He echoes, “Only you.”

[your-mums-nuts]

Every time an oshamir fic writes Osha to have no sexual or romantic experiences before Qimir a fairy dies.

Every time an oshamir fic writes Qimir coercing Osha into sex a fairy dies.

Every time an oshamir fic uses Yord as a previous love interest in place of the canonical romantic interest she had in Jecki, a fairy dies.

Every time an oshamir fic gives Qimir no depth besides being morally grey and hot, a fairy dies.

Every time an oshamir fic takes away all of Osha’s agency and flaws, a fairy dies.

[r7-b7]

"He slammed into her."

"He gently caressed the back of her hand with his thumb."

[izachin]

#oshamir fanfiction where Qimir acts a little bit different when they first meet in the apothecary, so he acts as if he and Mae are lovers to fuck with Osha 👀👀👀

[unhinged-summer-fun]

common grounds (oshamir) - chapter 1

Pairing: Osha Aniseya/Qimir "The Stranger" Themes of note: Modern AU, coffee shop AU, boxing/fighting AU, slow burn romance, personal identity exploration, sports injury & recovery, angst yada yada. First few chapters are rated T, but bumps to M eventually. Summary: One cold winter night, Osha meets a stranger while she's working late at the cafe. Like the spark that lights a very long fuse, there's no way this doesn't end in fire and upheaval.

A/N: Mehmehmehmeh I ain't back on tumblr this is just another horn of mine to toot lol it's also on my AO3 is why. This is also written for da bestie and is held hostage by them (affectionate). Dividers by @firefly-graphics

series masterlist

chapter 1: round one

Somehow, the mysterious problems with the espresso machine returned.

Not that anyone asked her, but Osha didn’t believe it was pure coincidence that this was the fifth time she’d been called in to fix the machine immediately after Yord was on the schedule. It couldn’t wait for her next shift because most people who needed espresso needed it in the mornings, and Mae worked the morning shift.

Regardless, it wasn’t a coincidence. Osha just wanted to get quietly pissed at a fixable problem so that by the time it was fixed, she’d forget what she was pissed about. With just the lights on behind the bar and the small flashlight in her mouth, she tried not to think about how eerie the cafe looked at night. The snow swirling in the windowsill outside served as an unhelpful reminder that her car was still in the shop, and the walk back to the apartments would be very, very cold.

But the hot water tap had priority over that. This was the most temperamental part of the whole unit, a half dozen little fastenings keeping it pinned to the machine wall to prevent it from lashing out all over the place every time anyone pressed a button. Each gentle click of her spanner sounded like a clap of thunder in the deserted shop, and a sensation of deep, deep dread she hadn’t felt in years rose in her chest. “Shit,” she whispered, forgetting about the flashlight in her teeth and spitting it out onto the floor. “Damnit.”

When she stood, a man was standing behind the machine.

“Fuck!”

The man was lucky; Osha might not have had the left hook her sister did, but that didn’t mean she didn’t still have one hell of a swing. She almost threw the flashlight at him but held on, wielding it like a four-inch baseball bat.

The man’s face went from neutral and stony to overly expressive in a heartbeat. “Oh! I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to startle you!” he said, laughing nervously and scratching the back of his head. Osha took him in, the baggy hoodie and jeans, the glasses, the toothy smile, the black bag slung over his shoulder. All in all, he didn’t look harmless, but he didn’t look like he meant her harm either.

“We’re closed.”

“The door was, uh, unlocked.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the door, giving her a shrug as if to say, what can you do?

“Even so, we’re still closed. You have to go.” For a moment, she considered grabbing the portafilter as a potential weapon. It’d certainly work better than the flashlight.

He put both his hands up. “Alright, alright. Can’t I just… step out of the cold for a minute or two? I’ll stay over here by the door.”

She shouldn’t. This man was undoubtedly a stranger, and a strange stranger, at that. But she knew the biting cold wasn’t pleasant, and her kind streak had never entirely been snuffed out.

“Fine. Sit there.” She pointed to a table where she could get a complete look at him while she continued working. He went willingly but faced her when he took his seat.

“Thank you,” he said, head tilting slightly to the side. “Not many people would be so kind.”

She didn’t look over at him, only answered him with a grunt as she tore into the hot water line with more ferocity than necessary. How in the hell did Yord mess this up? Nobody even touches this but me!

“I thought this place was open 24 hours,” the stranger said conversationally. When he realized Osha wouldn’t answer him, he continued. “Didn’t it used to be? It was always packed, classes at midnight and sunrise and sunset.”

That piqued her interest. Osha paused her crusade against the tap and frowned at him. “Are you a member at the gym?”

Even from here, she could see his jaw clench a little, one muscle feathering so quickly it might have been a trick of the light. “Oh, a long time ago. A lot must have changed if you’re the only one on staff right now.”

It sounded threatening. It should have been threatening. A strange man had come in, told her he had some measure of fight training, and pointed out she was alone. Yet, Osha couldn’t put her finger on why she saw it as bluster. The dread in her chest had entirely dissipated, and her heartbeat had returned to normal following the stranger’s sudden appearance.

“How long ago? I’ve been here a long time, too. Know everyone here.” She kept one eye on him as she worked, uncoupling the wall fastenings for the line to the group head. 

“It was a long, long time ago. But hey—there might be a few days of overlap if you’ll answer a question for me.”

She frowned and kept her focus on the machine. “Go ahead.”

“You’re Osha, right?”

Her hand slipped, and she dropped the spanner deep into the machine’s body. Biting back a curse, her attention warred between the stranger knowing her name and grabbing her tools.

“H-how do you know that?” C’mon, where is it?

In the seconds she’d been looking away, he had stood up to prop his hip against the table he’d been sitting at. “I remember two little girls coming in for one of the children’s sunrise classes I was in. Twins, and I swear they looked just like you and your sister.”

For an instant, she tried picturing this strange man as a child, but she hardly remembered anything from her first few weeks at the gym when their dad had taken them to train. Her imagination wouldn’t be of any help here.

“You know my sister?”

“Mae? Oh, I’ve met her a few times in passing. It’s a small city if you get out enough. I only knew your names as a child, though.” He gave a breathy, goofy laugh, pulling at something like interest in Osha’s belly.

She supposed he was near her age. He looked young, but some people’s genes aged more gracefully than others. “It—yeah. I’m Osha. What’s—what are you doing?”

Slowly, he walked toward the counter beside the machine. The conversation had thawed the ice of their meeting a little, which could have permitted a closer boundary, but it was still a little alarming. “My hearing isn’t the best. Get your bell rung enough times, and it never stops singing, does it?”

He tilted his head in the light to show her the slightly blue shell of his ear—it’d been likely drained from a hematoma to prevent cauliflower ear. You didn’t have ears like that without being in the ring for a while. She also saw a pair of charming little twists in his hair to keep it off his ears, which shouldn’t have been so… cute. This guy was a lot of things, but cute didn’t seem like one of them. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, leaning on the counter with his forearms. The hoodie covered his body shape well, but from where it dropped off at the shoulders, he must have been incredibly broad. “It’s incredible, actually.”

“What is?” She shook off her single-bed shoulder musings.

“You look… exactly like her.”

His voice had dropped, along with the convivial squint to his eyes. His voice sounded dark and rich as his near-black irises and every part of her perked up in response. “Um.” Osha racked her head for an intelligent comeback, settling on, “Well, that’s not uncommon for twins.”

The playful lilt to his voice returned. “Yeah,” he grinned. “But really, down to how you frown at me, you two look so alike. It’s impressive.”

Osha frowned at him, then tried not to and failed. The stranger only smiled, a flash of that darker look shining through. Now thoroughly flustered, Osha turned back to the machine. “How’d you know I wasn’t Mae when you walked in?”

“I just knew.” She saw him shrug again in her periphery and continued wrenching back the hot water tap. “What’s wrong with it?”

“What isn’t wrong with it, more like.” She grunted and released another fastening. Now that there was an open entrance for her to stick her hand in, she felt around for the spanner she’d dropped. “This thing has to be like 25,000 years old.”

“That may be truer than you think.”

She met the stranger’s eyes, charmed by his easy smile and laughter. She’d never been one to make fast friends; that was more Mae’s speed, but whatever this conversation was, she wanted more of it.

She found the spanner and made a slight noise of victory, carefully maneuvering her hand back through—

The tap line went taut quite suddenly, and without any fittings keeping it in place, the hot water line suddenly contracted, snagging a jagged edge into her wrist and pinning it to the inner wall of the machine. She could feel the water getting hotter around her wrist, and she tried letting go of the spanner to yank her hand out, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Shit!”

Suddenly, two huge hands were there, one wrapping around her forearm to still her and the other reaching into the machine without hesitation. The line loosened around her wrist, and she was pulled free immediately. After that, the stranger hit a sequence of buttons to shut down the machine but still didn’t let go of her forearm.

In the fading whine of the machine, Osha’s heartbeat sounded like a stampede in her ears. She could feel the body heat radiating off the man this close. The callouses on his palms spoke of hard work and discipline. His knuckles bore the permanent blush of a fighter’s hands. Carefully, he pulled back her sleeve and hissed softly, revealing the minor burn over the top of her wrist.

“Poor thing.”

Heat flared up Osha’s neck as if she’d swallowed the hot water line instead of basically wearing it. The stranger leads her to the sink and runs the cool tap before parking her wrist beneath the faucet.

Burns weren’t uncommon in the cafe, and little cuts and swollen bruises weren’t uncommon in the attached boxing gym. As such, the first aid kits for both were well-stocked for each common injury. The stranger moved with confident grace to the red box on the wall, leafing through the contents before finding what he wanted: an antiseptic wipe, burn cream, gauze, and medical tape.

“Let me see.”

He took her wrist back in his hands, gentle but firm, just as he’d held her before. On the spots where his skin touched hers, it burned differently.

He kept his head down as he dressed her wound, using his teeth to tear off pieces of tape. He had a serious aura; the goofy guy he’d been now shifted into an intensely focused man. When satisfied with his work, he didn’t let go, using the last few seconds of soft quietude to draw his thumb across the top of the bandage.

“How’s that?” he said, bouncing back to the playful person he wanted her to see.

But Osha had seen that other side, the rock-steady intensity that had come over him the moment she’d been in danger. That version of himself hadn’t left until he knew she was out of harm.

Osha had hardly been able to blink, let alone breathe, during his treatment of her. Something about his light touch made her wonder how he fought. No soft-handed, theatrical fighter would have been capable of aching gentleness like this.

“It’s—good.” She cleared her throat and fought to look him in the eye. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me. It was the right thing to do. Anyway, it should be less dangerous when it’s off.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t do that,” she muttered, embarrassment taking over from flustered.

“It’s late, and we’re all prone to mistakes in the dark.”

Her eyes snapped to his at the statement. It sounded so familiar that she could have sworn she had heard it before, but the stranger was already moving, pushing his sleeve past his elbow. Time stood still for a fraction of a second, and Osha could see his forearm, all corded muscle, and scars. And then he reached into the espresso machine, carefully pulling out the spanner.

“There. That what you were looking for?”

Osha blinked owlishly before taking the tool from him. It was impossible to avoid brushing her fingers against his, and the spark of his touch ignited something deeper inside her than skin could reach.

“Thank you, uh…”

“Of course!” Dutifully, the stranger returned to his post, and the counter was put back between them as it should have been. But Osha couldn’t understand why she’d been so adamant about it before. Maybe he was right; it’s late, after all. 

The rest of the work was fast, ticking away minutes as she found the culprit: an overenthusiastic portafilter had shifted the group head an inch out of place, which made every piece of fussy machinery within the casing rebel. “Yord, I swear to god…” Osha grumbled, taking a second to write a warning on scrap paper once everything was packed up.

“Ah, a consistent problem, then?” The Stranger had stayed quiet the whole time Osha worked, and only when he spoke up again did she notice he hadn’t pushed his sleeve down. Her eyes snagged on the sight the way her wrist had snagged on the jagged metal inside the machine.

“You could say that. Hey, um, I have to run it a few times to make sure it’s operational. And… thank you for helping me out. Can I make you something?”

His head tilted in such a way that she could finally see the look on his face was a smile. It felt like looking into one of those dichroic prisms, finding a flash of blue here, a flash of red there, but only at one specific angle inside the glass. “Whatever you want to give me, I’d be happy with.”

Ignoring that, she fell into another set of muscle memory. Even tired and irritated from the burn on her wrist, her hands never faltered as she made up a shot on each group. When the machine shouted itself awake, she watched as two twin porcelain espresso cups filled with darkness, noting the flow, the steam output, and the lack of grit in the pour. “Perfect,” she murmured to herself, satisfied with her work.

Osha assembled a drink to-go for him, sliding it over the bar. Unfortunately, muscle memory took over again, and she shouted, “I have a two-shot Americano at the bar for—oh my god, I’m so sorry, that was so loud.”

He threw his head back and laughed almost as loud as her barista voice had been. That toothy grin was back, and his hair fell into his eyes when he sat back again. “Thank you, I’m oh my god I’m sorry that was so loud, yes.” Their hands brushed again when she realized she hadn’t let go of the cup yet.

“I know it’s pretty late for caffeine, but it’s the least I could do,” she said, a little bashful. His laugh was nice. His smile was nice. He was nice.

He didn’t hesitate to bring the drink to his lips and take a sip, eyes locked with hers. All at once, her mouth went dry, and her blood sang. The smile evolved into a smirk when he set the coffee down again. “Never too late for me. I hardly sleep.”

“I know what that’s like,” Osha sighed, cleaning and shutting the machine down for the night. “I hope that drink’s okay.”

“It’s my usual.”

“No wonder you can’t sleep if your usual is twice the amount of caffeine normal people have.”

“The power of two is a potent high.” He shrugged.

“That’s a slippery slope to tread, stranger. It took me a while to quit.”

“Are you saying I’m an addict?”

Osha almost blanched at his words until she saw the playful tilt of his head. “I’m saying indulgence is a dangerous path.”

He shrugged. “Semantics.”

With the machine shut down for the night, she started flicking off the lights. The stranger took the hint, edging toward the front door.

When the main lights were off, he stood silhouetted against the storefront, snow swirling darkly around him like a smoky aura. He’d pulled up his hood; it gave him a more menacing outline than she’d thought him capable of. Like this, she couldn’t see the goofy smile or the glasses, the glittering dark eyes. He’d shed all of the attributes that made him approachable and safe.

And still, she was not afraid.

She walked to him, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder by the time he turned. “Thank you, Osha,” he said. The soft light from outside cast his features in sharp planes of shadow, concealing most of his features save his nose, lips, and chin.

“Don’t mention it,” she said softly, feeling trapped in a bubbled moment she didn’t want to leave. She’d reflect on this later; she wouldn’t scorn herself for doing what felt right in the moment.

His lips quirked in a half-smile she couldn’t resist returning. “I’ll see you around.”

And then he left in a blast of swirling snow and cold.

CHAPTER 2

[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; Fangs; Bites; fingering; Blood; Spit; Jealousy and Possessiveness; Foreplay; violence; Swearing; Teasing; Unprotected Sex; betrayal; slut shaming; oral sex; dacryphilia; outdoorsex; 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: 4.2k

TW: THE SERIES WILL BE FULL OF DELICATE TOPICS!

⇠ Previous chapter ✵ Next Chapter ⇢

· · ─────── · 𖥸 · ─────── · ·

⠀⠀⠀⠀Chapter II: The Loss

“You are like me…” he whispered a short distance from your lips.

The tension between you was almost tangible in the air. The fire burning in the cave cast shadows on his chiseled features, making his eyes shine with an intense and dark light. His gaze was piercing, but it was no longer just malice: there was a deep understanding, a dangerous invitation. His words, making their way into your mind, mingled with your thoughts, bringing you to a realization you didn’t want to accept. You swallowed. You couldn’t give in, you couldn’t allow yourself to become what he said you were. You were not like that. With a tremendous effort, you pushed his hand away, taking a step back to break the spell that seemed to envelop you both.

“I’m not like you,” you declared, your voice firm, though still charged with that tension that seemed ready to explode at any moment. “I won’t let the dark side consume me. I won’t become a monster like you.” Silence fell between you two. The man slowly withdrew, as if accepting your decision, but with an expression that suggested his offer was far from withdrawn. Perhaps, he thought, it would only take another moment of weakness, another moment of raw reality, to make everything you believed in crumble.

“A monster?” he repeated with chilling and sarcastic calm, his voice like silk sliding over your defenses. “Is that how you were taught to see us? What monstrosity is there in feeling free, y/n? Free, from everything that holds you back… free from the weight of a code that suppresses and represses emotions. Your emotions.” His words were a dangerous whisper, insinuating themselves into your heart with lethal precision. He knew exactly where to strike, where your hidden wounds could be opened. And every time he spoke, it seemed he was getting closer, physically and mentally, to a part of you that had taken years to hide. “See, I’m not bound by anything,” he continued, with a kind of dark pride, tilting his head slightly as if to study you better. “And neither should you be. Have you never felt that desire inside you? The urge to push beyond the limits that have been imposed on you? To let go?” His hand moved again, slowly, deliberately, resting on your shoulder this time, as his body moved close enough for you to feel the warmth of his presence. Despite everything, you couldn’t pull away. Every fiber of your being fought against yourself, yet his proximity was a temptation you were finding increasingly difficult to resist.

“You’re like me,” he whispered once more, his voice a warm breath near your ear. “No matter how much you try to deny it. No matter how hard you try to repress what you feel. The dark side flows within you… the anger, the pain… the desire. Isn’t that what makes us alive?” You swallowed, your breath short as you struggled to maintain control, but each word he spoke hit you with surgical precision. Each whisper dragged you closer to the edge of a dark and unknown abyss. Your mind was in turmoil, torn between denial and an unsettling awareness. There was something true in his words. Your pain, your anger… the emotions you had always suppressed were there, on the surface, and the idea of releasing them was alluring like a forbidden promise.

“Let me go.” you hissed, your voice breaking between the tension and the desire to break the spell that seemed to surround you both. “I am not like you. I will never be like you.” The smile that spread slowly across the Sith’s face was predatory, laden with a confidence that made you seethe with frustration. But there was also something more… a hidden desire, a dark curiosity that made him look at you as if you were an enigma he desperately wanted to solve. “Not now,” he admitted, bringing his face even closer to yours, his eyes probing yours with such intensity that made you shiver. “But one day… you will understand. One day you will see what I see in you.”

His hand slid down your arm, stopping at your wrist, the touch light but firm, as if he could control not just your movements, but also your thoughts. He leaned in towards you, his face now just inches from yours, his lips dangerously close, enough to make your heartbeat quicken. His warm breath brushed your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. “When that day comes,” he whispered, his voice a breath that seemed to penetrate every defense you had, “you won’t be able to turn back. And then, finally, you will be free.” His eyes seemed to linger on your lips for a moment, making you hold your breath once more inexplicably. You remained still, caught between revulsion and an attraction you didn’t want to admit or truly understand. Every word he said made your convictions waver, yet inside you, your will still resisted, clinging to that last shred of light that kept you anchored to your code, to your identity.

The man let you go slowly, aware of the tension between you, of the thin thread he was weaving between desire and temptation. He moved back slightly, never breaking eye contact, his smile faintly triumphant, as if he knew the battle was won, but the war between you was far from over. “Until then, I hope you enjoy your days with me as my guest,” he murmured, making you shiver. And as he walked away, you stood there, your heart still in turmoil, your emotions bubbling inside you. You quickly recovered from that moment of fragility, only to look at him with a sharp gaze. “Days?” you hissed as you watched him extinguish the fire that had been cooking the food he had been tasting only moments before. “The ship has sustained severe damage, and before it’s properly repaired, I’ll need a few days, if not weeks,” he said calmly and placidly as he took two bowls, filling the first with what looked like soup. “Weeks…” you whispered, swallowing, and then you watched the man. “I don’t have weeks. I need to find my sister.” You declared, advancing with a purposeful step, as if this might intimidate him. “Mae? You don’t need to find her.” he said with that soft voice, his eyes now shining with an unexpectedly delicate and sad calm. The atmosphere suddenly grew heavier, as if those words were laden with a weight you couldn’t yet fully comprehend. You stopped a step away from him, the stranger’s words echoing in your mind like a challenge. His calm tone, the apparent sweetness in his gaze, all seemed so contrasting with the darkness you knew was inside him. It had to be a mask, one of many he wore to get what he wanted. “I don’t need to find her?” you repeated, your tone sarcastic, looking at him as if you wanted to pierce through his deceptively gentle demeanor. The man offered you the bowl with the same calmness he had spoken, as if the entire situation was under his complete control.

“She’s dead.” His words were like a sharp blade that cut through every certainty and security you had left. The world around you seemed to stop, every sound fading as if it had been sucked into a silent vortex. The bowl of food he offered you seemed unreal, an absurd gesture amidst the horror you were experiencing.

That word echoed in your mind, bouncing like a distorted echo. Dead… Dead? Chaos began to spread in your head, a storm of pain and disbelief that overwhelmed you without warning. Your vision blurred, and the world seemed to wobble beneath your feet. It couldn’t be true. Not Mae. Not your sister, your other half, the only person who had always supported you, whom you would have given anything to protect despite the distance that had separated you two over time. She couldn’t be dead… not her Your mind refused to accept it. You felt your breath falter, as if the weight of the air had become unbearable. A lump tightened in your throat, preventing you from speaking, from shouting at him, at the entire universe for that unbearable cruelty. Pain enveloped you, an unrelenting wave that slowly suffocated you as you tried to breathe but couldn’t find the air.

“You’re lying,” you managed to whisper, staring at the floor, still incredulous. A part of you wanted to deny it, to fight against reality. But another part, darker and more destructive, knew it was true. You already felt that emptiness inside you, a chasm widening more and more. The man watched you in silence, his gaze becoming more serious, almost reflective. Perhaps, for a moment, he realized he had inflicted too deep a wound, that he had unleashed a pain even he hadn’t anticipated. “I saw her…” he said in a strangely gentle lower voice, a note of empathy contrasting with his dark nature. It almost seemed like he was trying to reach out to you in that moment of tearing anguish, as if, somehow, he could understand the storm that was devouring you from within. But even his calm seemed calculated, a hand extended into the darkness but with a precise purpose. “You killed her.” Your voice trembled with firmness, but there was no hesitation in the words. It should have been a question, but it came from your lips like a condemnation. A final sentence you had already assigned him, as if it were the only possible answer.

The air in the cave grew thicker, everything around you seemed to fade, the cold rock of the cave beneath your feet, all becoming indistinct. The only sound reaching you was the accelerated beat of your heart, echoing in your ears. The stranger remained still, his gaze fixed on you. For a moment, a flicker of compassion crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with the impassive calm that seemed to be a part of him. “No,” he replied slowly, his tone calm and measured. “It wasn’t me.” He paused, as if choosing his next words carefully, watching your reaction with unsettling precision. “The Jedi.” “You’re a fucking liar” you hissed, your voice sharp as a blade. Each word was laced with poison as the pain inside you twisted like a wounded beast. You felt your mind scream against the lie, the disdain for him consuming you.

He didn’t react immediately, his gaze softening slightly, as if he understood the chaos you were going through. Perhaps, you thought, he was enjoying the torment he had unleashed, like a patient predator waiting for the right moment to strike. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he sighed slightly, his face stoic, cold, and aware. “What do you think a Jedi does when they encounter a Sith who doesn’t bow to their commands?” His voice was a cutting whisper, like a sharp blade sliding across skin. The tone left no room for doubt: he was trying to dismantle your certainties, to confront you with a reality you had avoided, he wasn’t lying. “Sol said they would judge her… it’s not possible that—” you started to stammer, the words tangled in your turmoil.

“He killed her? Just because he’s your master, do you think he wouldn’t lie for a greater good?” He interrupted you with a coldness and frankness that seemed to penetrate your bones. “Do you think you would have followed him if he had told you that your sister’s fate was already decided?” His words hit like punches, shattering your ordered thoughts. Each word seemed to reveal a new uncomfortable truth, a missing piece in the puzzle forming in your mind. “You were a Jedi. You should know their tactics, their lies.” His voice was relentless, a cold whisper seeping into the deepest recesses of your being. “Think about it, y/n… why would I kill my pupil?” With a fluid gesture, he set the bowl aside, his gaze admiring your growing realization. Your knees gave way, and you collapsed to the ground, overwhelmed, forgetting the pain from your wounds. Your eyes filled with tears as you tried to understand the truth that was unfolding. Pain and confusion mingled, as the image of your sister, what you had lost, became clearer in your mind. The image of Sol, the master you had admired, was cracking, becoming something monstrous, something cold. You felt betrayed by the person you trusted most. The reality you had believed to be secure crumbled around you, as a cold tear traced down your face.

“I am not the enemy,” he said, his voice low and warm, but his tone was a mix of persuasion and understanding. “The Jedi betrayed you, they killed your sister… They lied to you, used you for their grand game.” Your mind struggled to push back his words, but they seemed to have a cruel and devastating sense. The pain you felt in your chest was nowhere near the anger and fire burning inside you. “I offer you freedom,” His words resonated like a dark chant, promising an escape from torment, a freedom that seemed as alluring as it was dangerous. His hand, offered with an almost elegant grace, was reflected in the dim light of the cave, creating a contrast with the darkness surrounding you. “I offer you revenge.”

Slowly raising your face to look at the man, you felt the world around you blur into an indistinct gray, as if your very existence was suspended between light and darkness. His face was a mask of calm, but your eyes, now glassy and full of pain, sought to grasp that gesture, that palm offered like a lifeline in a stormy sea. The pain of losing your sister, the betrayal you had just discovered, mixed with a growing awareness of how your life had always been manipulated. Every memory, every lesson you had followed, now seemed to question the meaning of your existence.

His words seeped into your mind, tempting you with the promise of revenge that you so deeply desired. His gaze, now so close to yours, was laden with an almost irresistible persuasion. Your trembling hand slowly reached out towards his, the idea of giving in to the dark side, of finding a way to channel your pain and anger, was seductive. But you also knew that accepting this offer meant abandoning everything you had believed in, everything you had fought for in vain. Justice, peace, impartiality… Yet, as you looked at him, the inner torment was palpable. Every fiber of your being screamed against this choice, but the temptation was strong, like a flame threatening to consume you. The moment your hand neared his was charged with palpable tension. Every movement seemed to slow down, as if time itself was holding its breath waiting for your decision. His words were a soft seduction, a call drawing you towards an unknown abyss, and your mind was torn between desperation and the desire for revenge.

As your hand approached his, an inner resistance made its way through you. You stopped your trembling hand just a few millimeters from his, as a wave of awareness and pain overwhelmed you. You swallowed hard and took a deep breath, closing your hand into a fist and withdrawing it from the Sith's. You felt a crushing weight in your chest, as new tears threatened to streak down your face. You pulled your knees to your chest, trying to shield yourself from the seductive temptation of revenge that was corrupting your mind. Your mind closed in on itself, a desperate refuge against the pain. It was an act of self-defense amidst the storm that Mae's death had unleashed.

The man, observing your refusal and your attempt to cling to that side of light, moved closer with a mixture of respect and understanding. He knelt before you, his intense and deep gaze almost as if he was peering into your soul. "What wonderful creatures we are…" he murmured, his tone reflective and tinged with a sort of fascinating sadness, as he placed two fingers under your chin, gently lifting it to make you look into his eyes. "Even in the revelation of the betrayal we have suffered, seeing the depth of our despair, we refuse to betray what has hurt us the most." His observation was both a compliment and a critique, a recognition of your resilience and a reflection on your internal struggle. You sighed deeply, your gaze now seemingly devoid of emotion, dimmed. "A special bond, isn't it?" he continued, watching you with an expression of admiration. "Between a master and his pupil." His words seemed laden with a sort of melancholic respect, almost as if recalling memories of his own, as if he understood your loyalty and your pain.

The man rose slowly, with a graceful and measured movement. His figure, elegant and imposing, stood out against the dim light of the cave, which seemed to illuminate almost naturally. With a nearly hypnotic calm, he approached the bowl he had set aside earlier, his gaze never leaving you. There was something surprisingly caring in his demeanor, a disturbing contrast to his previous coldness and stoicism. He looked at you as he took the bowl and approached you again, his physical presence emanating a kind of warmth, but now it seemed almost like a protective gesture. The bowl was still warm, the aroma of the soup wafting from inside was rich and inviting, yet you could only feel the weight of your grief.

"You should eat, or you’ll never feel better." the Sith said, his voice low and soft, with an undertone of concern you had never heard before. The tone was gentle, almost paternal, and his gaze was filled with genuine worry for you as he offered you the bowl. His hands were steady as he presented the food, as if the gesture itself was a demonstration of his intention to care for you. "I'm not hungry," you replied in a whisper, your determination to refuse his offer now a sign of pure and sincere sadness that held your appetite hostage. The feline-eyed man, however, did not seem inclined to yield. His expression changed, revealing a slight hint of frustration but also gentle determination. "Don’t make me force you to eat," he said, his voice growing firmer and harder, but maintaining that slight caring quality. He swallowed, clearing his throat as he moved closer. He knelt beside you, lowering his body to be at eye level with you. It seemed that every action of his was calculated to elicit a response, to persuade you to give in to his sincere desire to help you. His hands, as they offered you the bowl, were warm and gentle, contrasting with the coldness of your emotional state.

“I don’t want to force you,” he continued, his tone almost pleading, softer. “But you need to help yourself heal. I can’t let you destroy yourself. Not now, not after everything you’ve been through.” His concern for you was palpable, a stark contrast to the image of a heartless Sith. There was a tenderness in his gestures that seemed more easily associated with the behavior of two lovers, an inexplicable concern for you. You watched him for a few seconds, your heart a tumult of emotions, fighting a war you had always been careful not to create. The bowl was now there, in your hands, placed by that man whose name you didn’t even know. His gaze was kind, as if with just one word from you, he would have done anything. At that moment, he seemed like the only point of reference in a sea of confusion and pain.

“I don’t trust you,” you stated, your voice sharp and determined, as if every word was a barrier erected against any attempt to get closer. You felt that every word of his was a trap, a well-orchestrated game to break down your defenses. Yet, despite your contempt, there was something in his way of speaking to you that made it difficult to ignore him completely. “You are the reason they killed her. You are the reason for all of this.” The man sighed and then offered you a light, friendly smile. His face was now relaxed again, while in his eyes there was an inexplicable spark. “You’re right not to trust me,” he calmly replied, his voice soft and enveloping, while he slightly tilted his head in a gesture that seemed almost affectionate. “But trust your instincts.” His posture was relaxed. “Why would I want to hurt you after I saved you, healed you, and fed you? My aim, y/n, is not to destroy you.” His tone was sincere, and although you could sense a subtle manipulation, his words had a strong echo of truth. You wondered what he really wanted from you, but you had neither the time nor the inclination to delve deeper into the apparent kindness. Yet, every one of his actions still felt like a trap, an intricate mind game designed to break down your defenses.

For a few minutes, the silence between you became heavy, every word spoken seemed like a hammer blow on a glass wall. Your gaze landed for a second on the bowl in your hands. He wasn’t entirely wrong; after all, he had gone out of his way to save you when he didn’t have to, he had healed your wounds, taken care of you during your recovery, and now he had even cooked something warm to help you get back on your feet. You were the one being harsh at the moment. If he really had wanted to hurt you, he wouldn’t have hesitated—after all, you were injured and weak. With a quieter tone, but full of palpable unease, you spoke to him. “What’s your name?” you asked. Your voice was almost a whisper in the wind, broken but determined. The man raised his eyes, a shadow of curiosity in them. “I don’t have a name,” his tone was warm and harmonious, almost reassuring. “Qimir, call me Qimir,” he simply replied, once he saw the confusion in your gaze, with a tone that seemed almost intimate and sweet.

He slowly stood up from the ground, turning toward the exit. His shoulders were tense, but his step, like his demeanor, was elegant and measured as he walked away from you. He left you alone with your thoughts and the chaos of your emotions. With one last glance at you, he gently closed the door behind him. The metallic sound of the door closing echoed in the cave like a reminder of the solitude that now surrounded you. Inside the cave, there was a deep and absolute silence that would last only a short time.

Qimir leaned his back against the cold surface of the door, his breathing heavy and controlled as a weight inside him, at the height of his heart, grew heavier. The echoes of your sobs and tears penetrated through the door, and he remained there, motionless, listening to every single sound with closed eyes. The mask of tranquility and stoicism fell from his face with unprecedented speed, giving way to concern as he ached for your suffering. He tried to bury his concern for you with the pain of losing his own apprentice. But your crying was a heartbreaking melody, a stifled, silent cry of anguish that reflected in every sob and tear that streamed down your face. You were breaking, you needed to release the storm you had inside, clutching your hand to your heart. Inside the cave, the sound of your muffled sobs filled the air, your trembling hands gripping your skin, digging your nails into your flesh, trying to find comfort in the pain itself. You could feel the bond with your sister fading more and more, slowly, like a shadow that moves in the dying sun, fading into the darkness of the night

Qimir stayed there, sitting on the ground with his head resting against the door, his back rigid as he listened to the pain pouring into the room. Your stifled screams, the sobs, the sound of your crying that filled the air were tormenting him, but he knew your pride would prevent any form of vulnerability in front of him. Yet, as he listened to you, a part of him inexplicably found itself wanting to come in, to offer you a word of comfort, to share at least a fragment of that pain. He saw in you the same resilience he had seen in his old apprentice, reflected in your eyes and your voice, in your face. Mae, with her love for you and the pain of your separation, had spoken to him about you so much that he felt he knew you on an almost intimate level, even though you had never really met him before then. He realized that even though his affection for you was partly artificial, born from Mae’s words and his reflections, he was genuinely concerned for you. He wanted you to find some peace, to be able to face your grief without feeling judged or threatened by his unfamiliar presence, allowing you to mourn both your loss and his.

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Notes :

My beloved flowers, let me know if you like the story. Thank you for the support with the likes and reblogs, they help a lot my work and the commitment I put into it. <3

-Mel

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚

[uzumaki-rebellion]

"Tethered to You" Chapter 3

Masterlist HERE.

"It's unfortunate that when we feel a storm

We can roll ourselves over 'cause we're uncomfortable

Oh well, the devil makes us sin

But we like it when we're spinning in his grip

Love is like a sin, my love

For the ones that feel it the most

Look at her with her eyes like a flame

She will love you like a fly will never love you again"

Massive Attack – "Paradise Circus"

Qimir guided the sleek Exile II onto an obsidian wave-cut platform in the middle of the night off the coast of his own personal island retreat. The tide was out and the uneven rocky land bridge that led to his secret cave was visible by starlight. He'd be able to carry Osha into his hideaway right away. She would have to get acclimated quickly on her own before he had to fly out again to meet his Master in person for a few days. On his return, he would begin her training. Sitting in the cockpit he looked at his hands. They quivered with the overwhelming sense of satisfaction.

He found his true acolyte.

Closing his eyes, he rested his body and mind, becoming calm enough to luxuriate in the winning of Osha's trust to come with him. The inhospitable cold outside seeped into the starship. He flexed his fingers to keep them warm. Nights by the sea often brought a stinging pain, enough to split tender skin and make it bleed. He tapped a button on his display to keep heat inside Osha's cockpit for a few minutes longer. He needed time to decompress from the long flight.

Mae had been a failure.

Qimir had just been a means to an end for the other twin. She didn't look far beyond the killing of the four Jedi. Revenge was enough with her shortsightedness, and although she desired for him to be her true Master, Mae lacked the passion and follow-through to see the bigger picture: Destruction of all Jedi.

Osha? Well, she had the passion and inner will to do more damage than Mae could ever dream of. He flicked a switch to get a visual on Osha in the dual cockpit on the opposite side. She slept for the majority of the trip, mentally exhausted from her ordeal on Brendok. Once they broke away from the planet fleeing directly to his uncharted one using the hyperdrive, she shut down completely. He didn't speak to her or offer words of comfort. She had to eat her pain the way he had to a long, long, time ago. Betrayal was a hell of a thing to endure, but at least she didn't have to make peace with it. He would help her cultivate that pain into power. His hands, that were much older than they looked, finally stopped shaking from the adrenaline rush of securing a lifelong prize.

The moonless sky hid them against the icy black waters of the sea. A sharp whistling of the wind outside produced a soothing Aeolian tone against the protective cockpit canopy. From high above, the Exile II would look like a simple sea-stack on top of more black-gray slabs. The starship blended into the surroundings and they were safe for now. No doubt the Jedi would interrogate Mae and plot to use her to find them. He wasn't worried. His mind-wipe would keep the holier-than thou's scrambling back in the Jedi Grand Temple on Coruscant.

He glanced at Osha's sleeping image. Deep breathing. No eyelids moving with dreams.

The dark force was heavy in her. How many endless decades had he searched for his perfect one? He had traversed across the vastness of space and time, and now that he had her, the real work could begin. Training her to be his other half. He wanted the power of two and Osha would give it to him.

His dick almost got hard thinking of all the damage they would bring to the galaxy. Two orphans tossed away by the Jedi would become the architects of their destruction. He grinned reveling in the pleasure of the thought.

The tide began to turn back joined by the curtain of thick white fog creeping across the horizon. It would swallow the land bridge and them in an icy shroud if he didn't move soon. He shut the starship down completely and climbed out of the left side cockpit. His windswept hair became slightly wet from the spray of saltwater tossing foamy liquid across the rocks. Osha remained in her deep slumber. He carefully made his way to her side and popped open her cockpit canopy using the Force. Holding his right hand outstretched, he focused his power on Osha and lifted her with his mind. She floated like a limp ragdoll high into the air and he guided her down into his arms. He nestled her head gently in the crook of his neck. Her hair smelled like something sugary and sweet he remembered eating as a youngling on Coruscant. The sea already added its brakish scent to the damp locs that tickled his chin. She seemed almost weightless and felt tiny in his arms, but the power within that compact frame pulsed around her aura. He lowered his face to smell her hair once more.

She was his.

He would nurture her mentally back to health first before crafting the proper regimine for her training. Seawater sloshed across his inky black boots. His cape and body heat kept her warm while he marched across the wet rocky bridge toward his hidden abode.

The uncharted planet he lived on was mostly rocky terrain of chained islands with large veins of cortosis in some places that he mined for himself and turned into the metal to craft his helmet and gauntlet. Fortunately there was an abundance of food sources in the ocean and on land with plenty of fresh water to survive. Because it was uncharted, it became a safe pocket of refuge for others who didn't want to be found. Scattered across thousands of miles of archipelago were a few folks of ill repute, but everyone kept to themselves except for those occasions when they visited a rough-hewn set of humans who ran a modest bar/watering hole on the largest landmass on the planet. It was a place to gather intergalactic supplies and Intel discreetly. A place he would have to visit in a day or two.

His home was carved from a large rock mass near the sea. He claimed the abandoned property for himself two decades previous and his Master approved. He found the original owner dead and petrified like wood at the entrance as if it had been dead for centuries. Qimir fixed it up with modern fixtures turning it into a lab of sorts. Solitude and privacy was his and stepping through his front door, the interior lights automatically came on based on his biometrics.

The interior was chilly enough for him to see his breath as puffs of condensation vapor. He carried Osha to his full-sized bed. The top blanket was rumpled but the sheets were clean. He placed her on it and unfastened her boots. Her outer clothing would help keep her warm until he had the cave at a suitable temperature. He fumbled with her body to get her tucked under the covers without waking her. She curled into the fetal position. Pulling the covers over her shoulder he paused to watch her slumber.

Osha had delicate full features and still looked fierce in her sleep. He sat at the edge of the bed and let his eyes take in her relaxed state. She would sleep for a long time once her body fully settled into its new environment. He knew this. It would be a deep down in the bones sleep from shedding the weight of her past. He used his index finger to push back the front of her bangs to see her forehead. She didn't have the spiral pale marking on her forehead that Mae did. His finger lingered on her skin before touching one of her individual locs. Firm, yet soft, it felt like the thick yarn that made the heavy sweaters he wore during winter inside the cave. On his planet it was nearing fall. Luckily, Mae left enough clothing and grooming supplies behind that Osha could use until he went out for full supplies again. He bent down to sniff the scent of her hair once more and she stirred in her sleep. He froze, fearing she would wake up and find him hunched over her like some pervert. Distance. Give her space.

He moved away from the bed and shucked off his damp cape and outer layers, hanging them on a rack near the entrance. Untying his boots he scanned his living space for anything out of order. Scavengers often flew to the planet, but none dared to bother him in that area. At least not yet.

His cave smelled of salt, damp bedrock and sea foam. The tide brought in waves that crashed against the rocks below them. He would sleep pretty well himself once he made a pallet on the floor. First task was to make a fire and he grabbed wood and kindling from the stack against the wall where he prepared his meals. Tangled fishing nets waited for his mending on the floor in the corner. He'd need to fish and collect more food in the morning.

With a good amount of wood stacked next to the deep fire pit surrounded by heavy obsidian sandstone rocks that were great heat conductors, he built a fire . He layered the wood in a pyramid shape first, placing enough tinder at the top to make the fire last all night. Qimir stared at the tinder and it burst into flames. He glanced behind him. Osha still slept. He wondered if she already knew the power of pyrokenesis.

He stood near the fire in the middle of the cave to make sure it burned evenly. Light gray smoke rose up and out of the ventilation he made in the cave's roof. Holding his hands out, he warmed his palms and rotated his neck to knock out stiffness. He reached for some dried fragrant sea moss and tossed it on the fire. The scent of the sea rose up and gave him tranquility in the moment. Clarity.

He peeled off the rest of his clothes until he was naked and distributed them with his outer layers to dry near the fire. There was a chest full of clothing across from his bed in the back and he padded there barefoot on the clean earthen floor to retrieve soft beige trousers that always hung low on his hips. He pulled them on near the bed, keeping his eye on Osha as he tied the drawstrings. She'd rolled over onto her back with her hair in disarray across her cheek. The scent of sea moss finally reached the rear of the cave and so did the slow transfer of heat.

Qimir wandered over to his fresh water supply inside an ancient wooden barrel. He ladled a glass and the refreshing coolness pulled a groan of satisfaction from his throat. Exalted from his journey, he smiled as drops of water fell from his moist lips. He pulled a piece of seasoned jerky meat out from his dry food cabinet and settled on a bench in front of the fire with his front facing Osha. The plans running through his head for her wouldn't let him relax fully by the fire. How could he when the ultimate gift was in front of him? Secure inside a cave no one from her world would find.

"Oh-shaaa," he said softly into the fire.

She moaned in her sleep. He gazed at her form on the bed.

She had to consent to everything he wanted each step of the way. His seduction of her on the island before had been slow and deliberate. It helped that she was already physically attracted to him, but her fragile state would have her questioning every move he made from here on out. He was a master manipulator and could seduce anyone easily; her sister had been proof of that. But Osha? She was a woman who had been deceived to the core of her being. There was no way she would fully trust him even though she accepted his offer to train with him. Physical seduction wouldn't work on her the same way. He had to capture her mind first. It meant he was pushing her to do what he wanted, however nothing would stick unless she said yes to him. And yes to him again, and again…and again.

He steepled his fingers together and held them under his chin. How far could he push her? Would she buckle and run like Mae did? That would anger him. The longer she stayed in close proximity to him, the more potent their connection in the Force would be. Their bond would intertwine and grow stronger over time. He had to admit that it chilled and thrilled him to the bone to watch her burn all of her anger and grief and pure unadulterated rage into the cracked hilt of Sol's lightsaber, bleeding the kyber crystal into crimson fury. Chilled him even more when she force-choked her former Master and father-figure to death. She was sublime. Ripe for the plucking.

Now he had her.

He would mold her.

Teach her.

"Mae!"

Osha's shriek wrenched his eyes away from the crackling heat of the fire. She bolted up from her sleep and glanced around in fear.

"You're okay Osha," he said moving toward her slowly, "you've had a bad dream. You're safe. Mae will be fine."

Fiery eyes took him in and he knelt down next to the bed.

"We're safe on my island. In my home. You need rest…shh…lay back."

Red weepy eyes stared at him with so much anguish. Wracked with sobs, Osha flung herself on the opposite side of the bed and wept into the soft pillows within her grasp. Her entire body convulsed in agony and he couldn't allow her to suffer alone like that.

Qimir crawled onto the bed and spooned around her. She jabbed his chest with her elbow.

"Get away from me! Don't touch me…don't you touch me!"

Her voice cracked and she wailed, still flinging her arm back to cause him pain too. He stayed still and let her release the first wave of pain until she was spent and nearly lost her ability to speak from all the crying.

"You will use this, Osha. There is power in pain—"

"Shut up! Shut your mouth! I don't want to hear anything…I don't want to hear your voice!"

She held her body in a rigid ball and wept for an hour. He simply stayed next to her making sure she didn't hurt herself like he tried to do once. The fire heated the cave up and it appeared to settle Osha into warm comfort. He reached out a hand and touched her shoulder. She didn't resist the touch, nor did she scream at him.

"It's not fair," she whimpered, "He took everything away from me and lied to my face for sixteen years. They took away the only people who ever truly loved me and my sister."

Her voice had a despondent tone he had never heard from her before. It sounded like giving up. Qimir wrapped a muscular arm across her waist and snuggled against Osha's back, pouring all of his warmth and strength into her.

"Sleep, Osha. I am here for you. Always. Remember that."

She cried softly through the night and he held her close, listening to her profound despair until she fell back into a pitiful sleep. The icy wind howled outside, but they were warm and cozy together.

He never left her side until the sun rose.

Chapter 4 HERE.

A.N.:

Look at me me posting a day ahead of my Friday Schedule! Enjoy!

[portrait-of-ariel]

This post, while hilarious, has me thinking about what kind of lover Qimir will be with Osha. Tbh he doesn’t seem like a ‘backshots’ kind of guy. He’d want to gaze into her eyes as he goes down on her and makes love to her, watching her face come undone as they finish together. He would taste every part of her body. I don’t see him ever wanting to take her from behind - I think he would find it impersonal and maybe a little degrading …? Sorry I’m drunk, I’m eating truffle pasta and watching No Reservations.