#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

[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

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

[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.

[satalxo]

satal masterlist 💖

so i guess this is a thing on tumblr? allow me to jump on the bandwagon!

i'm satal, i write smutty oshamir fanfic on ao3, both canon-divergent and au. my asks are open :)

One Shots

born out of a fire - 3.3k. Explicit. Canon Divergent. When she attacks him with his ligthsaber outside the cave, Qimir convinces Osha to let him help set her free.

upended - 3.7k. Explicit. Canon Divergent. Nothing could have prepared Osha for the way her entire universe changes when she dons the Stranger’s helmet.

strangeness & charm - 4.5k. Explicit. Modern AU. Mae drags Osha to a house party she really doesn’t want to attend. There she runs into awkward loner Qimir from her Mechanical Engineering class.

Multi Chapter

you could be mine tonight - 2/2. 10k. Explicit. Modern AU. Qimir Stranger is notorious for being the best one-night-stand at Khofar University. After a string of shitty boyfriends and lackluster hookups, Osha decides she wants a try.

we bleed the same - 3/?. 11.5k. Explicit. Canon Divergent. Osha Aniseya has a soulmate. She's known this since she was six years old, when the vicious scar first appeared on her back. But the galaxy is a vast place, and her chances of ever finding her soulmate seem impossibly small.

a glow like this - 3/3. 27k. Explicit. Bridgerton AU. A year after meeting a greasy but charming stranger at a salon she wasn't supposed to attend, Osha discovers he's the Duke of Bal'demnic, her sister's betrothed.

wanna be loved, wanna be afraid - 2/?. 16k. Explicit. Modern AU. DEAD DOVE dubcon darkfic. When the greasy bartender realizes their IDs are fake, Mae offers to blow him in exchange for access to the VIP lounge. He agrees to the deal…only he doesn't want Mae.

abstraction - 2/?. 44k. Explicit. Modern AU. Qimir POV companion to masterpiece.

Longfic

masterpiece - 25/25. 181k. Explicit. Modern AU. College Sophomore Osha is perfectly content with her choice to pursue a Mechanical Engineering degree. But when she needs an elective to round out her coursework for the semester, Mae convinces her to join Intro to Studio Painting. There she encounters Professor Qimir Stranger, who turns her whole world upside down.

masterpiece official playlist

masterpiece reader playlist by GotMochi

masterpiece art by thepoisonofgod

[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

[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.

[sephirothsplaything]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐰𝐨- The Acolyte

A Star Wars Fanfic

In which a Jedi faces her dark side

OR

In which Rune finally figures out what she is missing

PARINGS: BLACK OC/QIMIR,SLIGHT YORD,OSHA/JECKI

....

"What do you want then?"

"The power of two."

𝐀𝐍𝐀-𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐘𝐀

or

The Darling Moon of Brendok 

The Galaxies' Abomination

❝ 𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓❝ 

❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐍,𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐎❝ 

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑/𝐐𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐑

or

A Sith

The Master

❝ 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅  𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐔𝐌𝐏𝐇,

𝐖𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐇 𝐎𝐅 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑.❝

[I will repost once the chapters go up! If anyone wants to be tagged lemme know😼]

VOLUME ONE

  𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐏!

   You sweet starry maiden

.......

000./prologue/ the thread/ 001./ the moons/

002./ the stranger/

003./ the ascension/

004./the longing/

005./the journey/

006./the jedi/

[unhinged-summer-fun]

edāx (oshamir)

edāx (Latin) greedy, gluttonous, voracious, devourer.

Rating: Explicit (22+)

Pairing: Osha Aniseya x The Stranger "Qimir"

Summary: Osha goes out with Fillik after all, and makes the acquaintance of a dangerous man — if he is a man at all.

Warnings: Vampire AU and all that entails, sexual content. 11k word count deserves a warning.

A/N: This is my gift for @tourmaline-dream for the Oshamir Holiday Gift Exchange 2024! I hope you like ittttt~ And many thanks to @starlightafterastorm for betaing this fic <3

“Would you quit looking at him?” Fillik hissed across the table. Their section of the cantina was loud enough that he didn’t have to whisper, but the quieter reprimand got the point across better than if he’d spoken regularly or even if he’d shouted it. None of the other nearby diners seemed to notice them—but that wasn’t unusual in this end of the galaxy.

Osha returned to herself, snapping from her reverie as if Fillik had poured his fussy little mixed drink on her head. The breath Osha took was ragged, like she’d been holding her breath—or forgotten how to breathe entirely. She avoided responding to the remark, this time gazing in the opposite direction of the man who’d caught her attention.

Her restraint lasted for all of three seconds before she peeked back at the shadier side of the dining area, catching a glimpse of dark hair, pale skin, eyes that glinted crimson—

“Osha,” Fillik said at a normal volume, flapping a sticky menu in her periphery to act as blinders. “You have the subtleness of a bantha, my friend. At least get up and talk to him instead of just gawking.”

“What are you talking about?” she said, breathing out in a slow, controlled exhale that did nothing to calm her nerves. Stars, but that man had rattled her from across the room.

“You’re going to have no chance at picking that guy up if you just stare at him like—”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s going to eat you or something.”

She rolled her eyes and sipped her drink, shaking her head at her friend. “I’m not here to pick anybody up, Fil.” Osha slapped at the flimsi he held up as a privacy barrier. Despite her protests, she checked again.

The man was gone.

Disappointment filled her chest, heavy and cold. The feeling sharply shifted to tension, hairs standing on end when—

“Hello.”

A deep voice, smooth as whiskey and dark as night, cut through all her thoughts with exacting precision. Her mouth went dry despite the taste of her drink still on her tongue, and she turned to look up at the person next to her, up and up and—

Dark hair with eyes to match, pale skin with teeth to match, bared in a half-smile that made some primal side of her soul shiver. Up close, the stranger looked even more fascinating, all cheekbones, lips, and jaw that would have looked ridiculous on any other face—but he wore his features comfortably, not an ounce of insecurity hidden on his person. She only caught a glimpse of his teeth before the smile grew closed-lipped, but she swore she saw something predatory around his canine teeth: too long, that primal soul said. Too sharp. Too dangerous.

But Osha had never let that little voice stop her before. She was a meknek, for fuck’s sake. She took strolls through space and risked her life every other day to distract her from the nightmarish silence of space.

“Hello,” Osha said, feeling a little silly. The stranger’s brown eyes sparkled with amusement.

“Hi,” he said, and damn, there was that flash of a tooth again. It caught her breath, but not before she made an even greater fool of herself.

“Hi.”

Silence rolled in like the tide, awkwardness threatening to overtake their meeting.

“Please join us,” Fillik said, breaking the silence. When he caught her eye, he raised his eyebrows and gave her a look that probably meant, don’t be weird and act like a normal person.

The man slid gracefully into the seat beside Osha, and from this close, she caught a glimpse of long, dark eyelashes. It may have been the harsh lighting of the spaceport’s refectory, but he seemed almost sickly pale were it not for the grace of his movements that spoke to his relatively good health. Fillik cleared his throat, pulling her head out of the nebulae and back to solid ground.

“Um.”

This was going great.

“What’s your name?” the stranger murmured, lips moving only as much as necessary to communicate. It made her lean in, as magnetized to him as her boots were to the outer hulls of starships.

“Osha,” she whispered, even softer than he’d spoken. An amused expression crossed his face, one eyebrow raising so naturally she almost didn’t notice it. She said again, louder, “I’m Osha. This is Fillik.”

Her friend didn’t seem too convinced of her normal person act, but he stifled his teasing in favor of taking on the role of a wingman. “We’re mekneks.”

The stranger hadn’t looked away from Osha once. “How daring,” he commented, the other eyebrow joining the first before his expression relaxed.

Osha’s small-talk abilities fizzled like a dying candle when the stranger didn’t offer his name or profession. “You don’t have a drink,” she said bluntly.

Fillik looked like he wanted to run headfirst into the nearest wall as hard as possible.

But the stranger wasn’t repelled by her awkwardness. The corners of his lips inched upward, and his eyes finally strayed from hers, dipping downward but not scandalously so. No, his eyes seemed more focused on her collarbone, tracing the delicate line of it back and forth with so much intensity it was almost a caress.

“I don’t drink all that much,” he said, still smiling softly, secrets galore held behind his lips.

“A cantina’s kind of a weird place to be, then,” Osha said. She heard Fillik suck in a breath, almost wincing at her observation.

“I was looking for a bite,” he shrugged. “Something smelled good over here.”

For the briefest moment, as his mouth wrapped around the word bite, Osha could have sworn she saw that impossible glint of too-sharp, too-long, dangerous teeth again. But at his affable, easygoing shrug, she stifled that instinctual urge to flee. Heart racing, she didn’t know what to do or say besides sit there and breathe.

“Oh, a menu.”

The stranger reached across the table, his hand glancing over Osha’s wrist. She flinched at the sharp, biting cold of his skin when it brushed hers. It reminded her of the frost that collected on her exo-suit after a long shift. After those shifts, when she stepped into the tepid spray of a shower, her body reacted to the warmth as if it were open flames. She wondered what her skin felt like to him, and watched his expression carefully. He must have felt something when he touched her, but his expression gave nothing away.

“Do you recommend anything?” the stranger asked, acknowledging Fillik. A brief thrill of satisfaction raced through Osha as Fillik straightened up beneath the stranger’s piercing, dark stare.

“What’d you see that smelled good?” he managed to stammer.

The stranger’s eyes flicked to Osha briefly—so briefly that she had to write off the red glint that reflected from behind his irises. Stars, but something about that was familiar. Her poleaxed expression gave way to outright curiosity, but on Osha’s face, it looked more like a glare.

Fillik and the stranger exchanged words, agreeing on what to order. Osha observed the stranger with blatant curiosity. She wasn’t used to this whole flirting thing, as much as Fillik tried to convince her otherwise. Yet, without a single word, she’d seemed to snare this gorgeous man’s attention from across a crowded room. To Osha’s surprise, Fillik rose from the table to get the order—“I wanted to get another round anyway. Be right back.”

She’d never seen him walk so fast.

This left her alone with the stranger, who turned to her as he’d done before. Now that she thought about it, he’d never not been facing her. Even when he spoke to Fillik, he’d only turned his head a little. His entire body seemed trained on her, and she didn’t know what to do with that kind of attention.

“Osha,” he said, drawing her name out like a song and ending it on an almost-whisper. The curling smile on his lips made her wonder if he was addressing her or testing out the feel of her name on his tongue. “Do you like being a meknek?”

Startled by the question, she answered honestly. “I like being paid for it.”

This shocked a laugh out of him—throaty, deep, and warm. With his head tilted back, she got a full view of his teeth, and there was no denying it now.

Those were fangs.

But she’d been a meknek for six years now and seen all kinds of species from all sorts of places. Plenty of species have fangs, she reasoned. Carnivorous species, her instincts added. And how many of them look like humans?

Just one, she thought.

She bit back the question that threatened to spill out of her mouth, content with just watching him enjoy himself, even if she was what amused him so. In all honesty, his laugh and the sight of those fangs made a coil of desire tighten in her gut so quickly that it almost stole her breath. “What’s so funny?” she asked once she regained her composure.

“You,” he said, leaning an elbow on the table and resting his head on his fist. He no longer hid his teeth behind a smile; he grinned widely, showing off the lethal points of his canine teeth. She knew, evolutionarily, that a smile was meant to set people at ease, promising good intentions. On him, however, his smile seemed to promise something far more primal and bloody. “Most would lie or, at the very least, give a neutral answer. You, however, seem to have no problem being honest with a stranger.”

“How do you know I’m not lying? That I’m not harboring a deep passion for thrill-seeking and advanced mechanics?”

His head tilted to the side, eyes sliding back to her collarbones and back up again. She gripped her drink to keep herself from shivering. “I’d know if you were lying,” he said.

“How? Are you—” That damn word stuck in her mouth. Jedi. Even now, the memory still pained her. She shoved it away.

The stranger was kind enough not to make her finish her thought. “Your heartbeat,” he explained. “For many people, especially humans, their heart races when they lie.”

Something about how he phrased it struck a nerve, like an old memory was stirring, vying for her attention.

Just one.

His hand reached out, but he didn’t touch her. His hands were so cold, Osha could feel it from where they hovered just over her skin, just above her pulse. He didn’t need to touch her to know her heart had skipped a beat. Osha got the feeling he was more than aware of her heartbeat, even without reaching out to her.

He continued, “Some humans can fool themselves with their lies, making it harder to tell when they aren’t telling the truth.” Those ice-cold fingertips trailed over her neck, still hovering above her skin. Across her collarbone before he returned his hand to where it rested on the table.

“Then how do you tell if they’re lying?”

“It’s in their eyes.”

She looked up at him again, unaware of her wandering gaze. That crimson glint returned, strengthening and blooming behind his brown irises. In just a few heartbeats, the rich color overtook it entirely. At a glance, his eyes wouldn’t have been anything but dark, but up close like this, they were near-luminous in the way a predator’s eyes would be, lit up from the darkness.

That familiar feeling returned, this time with a name.

“You’re a vampire,” she whispered.

His head tilted back to center, and his face gave nothing away. “Does that scare you?” he asked. She caught no hint of threat or menace in his voice, just open curiosity. It was probably a deliberate choice.

“I don’t think it does,” she said with a breathy laugh. She didn’t sit back, but she didn’t rock forward either—as much as she wanted to.

“You aren’t sure if you’re scared of me?” he said, letting a trickle of amusement back into his tone.

“You say that like you want the answer to be yes,” she countered. She had no idea where this bravery and boldness came from.

“Yes or no, it doesn’t matter,” he shrugged, a mask of indifference settling in over his features.

“It does, though,” Osha insisted.

His eyes sharpened on her, flashing as red as the neon sign some twenty feet behind him. “Then answer the question, Osha. Are you scared of me?”

Her mothers had taught her about all manner of things before they died. Her and Mae’s training with the Thread had only been part of it; although they grew up sheltered, they had not grown up ignorant of the ways of the galaxy.

There are others, Mother Aniseya instructed, who are powerful and feared and hunted, like us. Those who seek power from the night, like us. Those whose power is a right by blood.

Should we fear them too? Mae asked then, inquisitive and eager.

You should fear nothing, my girls, their mother had answered with a smile. When the fearsome things that walk the darkness brush against each other, you will know them, and they will know you. You will not be afraid. The monsters who hide within the sunshine are the ones to be wary of.

She hadn’t explained what that meant at the time, nor could she now, but the look she’d given Osha felt full of meaning that only seemed to make sense at this very second.

“I’m not scared of you,” Osha said, realizing almost after the fact that she was telling the whole truth of it. Her heart still raced; would he think she was lying? The look he gave her was still indecipherable.

Objectively, she knew her mother’s guidance was meant to cultivate a child’s curiosity and encourage open-mindedness but not recklessness. After her death, the Jedi had impressed upon her just the opposite: a deep sense of caution and suspicion toward others. They also stifled her inquisitive nature. Questioning the masters at the Jedi Temple always ended in reprimand. Curious adventures into the restricted section of the Archives resulted in punishments. Her attachment and investment in the family she lost ultimately led to her expulsion from the Order. But six years had passed since, and she’d more than shaken off the rust from a decade’s worth of stifled instincts. That old recklessness had returned. 

If playing with fire would burn her, at least she’d die warm.

“Was that not the answer you wanted?” she asked dryly, draining the rest of her drink while she waited for an answer.

His eyes fixated on her throat as she swallowed, giving the gaze a different connotation, but one that didn’t evoke fear—at least not in her. The vampire leaned back, his face still an inscrutable mask. He couldn’t hide his eyes from her, however. The turbulent clouds of red in his irises churned like a maelstrom in a sea of blood.

Maybe she wouldn’t burn. Maybe she’d drown by the end of this.

“I think I like your answer,” he said, allowing half a smirk.

“You only think you like it?” Osha challenged.

He gave her the rest of his smirk. “Well met, Osha.”

They stared at one another for a while, letting silence fall between them even as the crowded cantina chattered away, oblivious to what was happening. She felt a static build-up in those few inches between them—between his hand and hers, where they rested on the table. As a meknek, she was trained to be cautious of electrostatic energy. (As a human, she was taught to be cautious of any creature that wanted her blood.)

“Why did you come over here?” Osha asked.

“Why were you looking at me?” he parried.

“I asked you first.”

“I’m sure they have the same answer,” he said with another sharp grin.

Because you intrigued me. Because I wanted to know more about you. Because I felt like there was no other choice but you.

Osha dropped the matter, running her fingers along the rim of her glass. She wished Fillik would return; she was so damned awkward around strangers—

He spoke so softly that she almost didn’t catch it. “You can call me Qimir.”

A new expression had replaced the intentionally blank face he had before. Now, he looked softer around the edges, more welcoming and trustworthy. Harmless with a touch of the uncanny, but not so much as the wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing smiles he’d given before. How much of this look was real? Was this another ploy to get her guard down? Was he still trying to scare her?

Osha swallowed down her unease, remembering her mother’s advice. You will not be afraid.

So she met his eyes. “It’s nice to meet you, Qimir.”

His eyes crinkled up in the corners as he smiled this time, and a pulse of truth came to her in such a way that she hadn’t felt since... Since…

He wasn’t only a vampire. But the answer of what else he was seemed well out of reach.

This thrilled her even more, but some mysteries were more fun left unsolved—for now. “When you said you were looking for a bite…”

His features took on a boyish tint, teasing and playful. “I wasn’t lying,” he said. “Man’s gotta eat.”

“That he does,” she murmured, allowing herself to look at the rest of him.

His clothes were baggy and misshapen, hanging off of him in a way that hid the powerful, muscular body beneath. From this close (and the brief look she’d gotten of his forearms), he was like a coiled snake, strength radiating off of him in a way that no amount of baggy clothes could hide. Added to how he towered over her just a few minutes ago, he gave off an aura that felt genuinely intimidating. She was confident that if she stood beside him, he would seem even more imposing than before. He’d moved so silently, too; there was no outrunning him.

She pictured him and her in some dark nook of the spaceport, bathed in shadows and intertwined. His mouth at her neck, his hands wherever they wanted to be, her legs around his middle as he drank and fed—

He sucked in a sharp breath, and exhaled in a quiet groan. The noise was so deep that she could feel it in her fingertips. His expression had shifted again, the crimson in his eyes whipping around near-violently. “What?” she asked.

“What are you thinking about right now?” he asked, his voice rough and deep.

“I’m—” Osha’s face flared with heat, and she prepared to lie. But she felt that rush of blood in her ears, her heart rate kicking up—

He smirked, realizing her intent before she did.

“Nothing,” she said, just to cover her ass.

“Liar,” he smirked, one hint of fang flashing from his lips.

The sight, the reminder, brought her imagination to new heights, picturing those fangs sinking into a vein, those lush lips sealing around her skin and sucking, drawing her blood into his mouth—

“Osha,” he rasped, his voice nearly a growl. His hands flexed, and his skin was so pale that even the whites of his knuckles didn’t show. “You don’t want to play this game with me.”

“Why not?” she asked, cursing the breathy quality of her voice.

To anyone else, he would have looked relaxed. To her, she knew his composure was in tatters, that whatever control he had was fraying by the second. A brief flash of concern, of desperation, gusted through his eyes. “I am… perhaps not as well-fed as I should be.” He couldn’t meet her eyes, focusing now on her neck and collarbone.

Her heart did flips in her chest, and her recklessness reached new heights. “Does it… hurt?”

“Does what hurt?” he asked.

The hunger? The restraint? She should have said those things, but they weren’t what she told him. “The bite. Feeding.”

He sucked in a breath, held it. He’d gone so still she almost thought he’d expired right there at the table. Stars, this situation escalated quickly.

“Yes and no.”

“How—”

“In that order.”

“Oh.” Osha blinked. Yes, the bite would hurt. She’d expected so; wounds of any kind were bound to hurt, even ones you were prepared for. But feeding? The act of drinking from another… didn’t hurt? “What do you mean?” she asked, leaning in.

The crimson in his eyes settled into slow, lazy swirls. “I don’t know how it is for others, but I can make it feel like anything you want. Pain. Numbness. Pressure. Pleasure.” He said this last part with his eyes heavily hooded, desire plain on his face. “How would you like it, Osha?”

Osha had no idea what to say to him. She was, of course, curious about exactly what he meant, but some measure of caution still held her back, cold and frowning.

“Would anything happen to me?” she said, avoiding the question.

“You mean, would you turn?” he asked, a husky chuckle following. “No. Vampires are, for the most part, born—or so I know.”

“What do you mean?” she said again, frowning.

“I wasn’t raised around others of my kind. The ones who raised me, they…” A brief flare of some hot emotion gusted through his aura—something like anger. It dissipated as quickly as it came, leaving her confused and a little wary. “They didn’t know what to do with me. I’ve had to learn as I go.”

A pang of sympathy rattled her bones. Osha knew what that was like. The Jedi her age were already well-versed in topics and routines she was unfamiliar with, and it left her feeling more than a little like an outsider to them. And when the Order cast her out? She had to do it all over again, learning to be a meknek to survive.

“So, no,” he said, drawing her attention back. “Nothing would happen to you, bar perhaps symptoms of minor blood loss… among other things.”

“Other things?” she said.

He grinned, fangs out. “Fun things.”

“I don’t know if I should trust your definition of fun, Qimir,” she said, picking up her glass and sighing when she realized it was empty.

He’d frozen in place, and it took her a second to notice. She was about to ask what was wrong when he said, “I like how you say my name. More than is probably appropriate.”

She was going to pass out if her heart kept racing like this. Osha was once again speechless in the face of his brazen want, unfamiliar with the script or steps to follow here. She chewed her lip, and his eyes flicked to the gesture. The heat in her lower half only increased until she felt like she needed to squeeze her thighs together to grab some measure of composure. But that felt like a lifeboat drifting away in a stormy sea. She was going to drown in him, sooner or later.

“I…”

“Yes?”

“How badly do you need to feed?” she asked, the words slipping out almost by accident.

“Very badly,” he said simply. “Why do you ask?”

He was playing with her; he knew exactly why she was asking and was going to make her say it. The rush of embarrassment bloomed right from her cheeks, heating her entire body this time as she fought the shyness stilling her tongue. “Because I…” she swallowed. “I’m curious what it’s like.” There. Safer ground. “And a man’s gotta eat, like you said. Seems we can help each other out.”

He smirked at her but didn’t call her out. His eyes sparkled just the same as they’d done the last time she avoided the truth with him. Liar, his voice echoed in her head. The real answer—that she wanted him as desperately as he seemed to want her—refused to be spoken aloud.

“I don’t think your friend will approve,” he teased.

Oh right. Fillik.

She looked over his shoulder at the bar beyond, where Fillik sat beside someone draped in glowing green fabric. As if sensing her attention, Fillik looked over and made the hand signal for are you okay? They only ever used the code when their communicators shorted out while on jobs, but it worked well here.

Osha signed back, okay. Then, after a moment, she signed, see you later.

Fillik’s grin and double thumbs-up needed no translation.

If only he knew just what Osha was walking away with.

“Fillik’s fine,” Osha said, looking back at Qimir. He seemed oddly… charmed by the exchange. 

But his demeanor changed the moment she gave her answer, eyes darkening and going a little wild. She could have sworn the crimson in his irises had bled into the whites of his eyes, but the moment passed after a beat. “Then I think we should find somewhere more private, don’t you think?”

Her heart thumped heavily in her chest, the thrill of danger sparking her senses in a way no meknek job ever would, in a way the Jedi never could. Qimir stood, offering his hand to her. She took it, marveling at the coolness of his skin touching hers. He did not let go as he led her from the cantina.

They didn’t go far, but the sharp twists and turns down the side passages of the spaceport left Osha feeling a little disoriented. When they stopped, she caught sight of a familiar landmark and a sign that would lead her back to her ship when they were finished. He pulled her into a small micro-hotel, but it didn’t look as seedy as the ones she’d seen on-world.

Apparently, he already had a room because they bypassed the reception droid entirely and went to the back. The lights were down-lit around their ankles, making him seem even more dark and imposing than he already was. When he looked at her over his shoulder, his eyes pulsed with a glow that reminded her of sunsets… and lightsabers. It stole her breath.

Then they were in a room. Alone. With no crowd to drown the silence. Just her slightly uneven breathing—and his notable lack thereof.

“You don’t breathe?” she blurted out, trepidation making the words a little louder than she intended. She winced.

Qimir let go of her hand and sat on the bed, letting his hands hang between his knees. Making himself smaller, she observed. Non-threatening. “If I didn’t breathe, I couldn’t speak,” he said, his voice coming a little higher—another tactic to draw in unsuspecting prey or to calm the suspicious. “And I do have a pulse, despite all evidence to the contrary.” He gestured at himself, most likely referring to his cold, pale skin.

“Oh,” Osha said, laughing a little.

He caught her nervousness like one might catch a butterfly from the air. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. You can back out at any time.”

“No, it’s not—okay, it’s a—I’m a little nervous,” she admitted.

He rose to his feet, closing the distance between them. “I’m not so close to the edge that I can’t control myself, Osha,” he murmured, reaching up to tuck a loc of her hair behind her ear. His eyes were everywhere, dancing their phantom touch everywhere from her face to her chest in just a heartbeat. “I know what I am. You know what I am.”

“I do,” she whispered. “And I want this.”

“I think you just need the tension broken,” he said, a teasing smirk on his features. “May I?”

She had no idea what that meant, but she discovered the answer immediately when she nodded. He descended on her, and she held her breath, expecting pain—

But she got a kiss instead. His lips were soft, and though they were cold, they weren’t unpleasant. Her mind unwound itself from the tangled, anxious knot it’d been trapped in. His hands settled on her—one at the nape of her neck, the other resting on her hip. She realized that oh, she should probably be kissing him back, and moved, reaching for him just as he deepened the kiss.

A soft noise escaped her throat when he squeezed her hip, walking her back until her shoulders met the door. He didn’t pin her, per se, but the intent was clear: he’d trapped her. And she’d let him, gladly.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked, ending his question on a slight nip of her lower lip. It thrilled her, that reminder of why they were there, of what was coming.

She nodded, feeling much more settled in her skin, even though her heart was still racing. “Um, do I—?” She began to tilt her head to the side for him, but his fingers tightened against the back of her head, stilling her.

“That’s a bit… intense for your first go,” he said, sounding almost awkward about it.

“But I want—” She cut herself off, shame flaring through her veins.

He waited for her to finish her thought, but the bravery couldn’t break through to her again. “You want to know what it’s like?” he inferred. She nearly slumped in relief, nodding. Stars, but he knew just what she needed, and Osha had no idea how much she needed that kind of intuition in a partner until now.

Qimir pressed a kiss over her pulse, which ratcheted up the speed considerably until he pulled away. “So responsive,” he murmured, but she could hardly hear it over the pounding in her ears. He pulled back, and Osha almost whined at the loss of his closeness. “Why don’t I tell you what I’m going to do to you? Would that help?”

She considered it, then nodded. He brought her to the bed, sitting them both down side-by-side. “Thank you,” she said quickly. “And I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about and nothing to thank me for,” he said, leaning back in to kiss her and scatter her thoughts to the stars. “I’m a selfish man, Osha. But I’m not so selfish to look past your discomfort just to get what I want.”

She got the feeling he didn’t offer the same consideration to many others, which made her feel all shivery. A wide, cool hand pressed against her shoulder until she leaned back, laying fully on the bed beside him. He loomed over her, face half-cast in warm shadows from the lone lamp in the small room. “Why am I lying down?”

He seemed to ignore her question as he spoke. “I’m going to bite your arm first,” he said simply, but the casualness of his words made her breath hitch. “Riiight… here.” He traced his fingers over the inside of her forearm, near the elbow.

“Not my wrist?”

He shook his head. “Too many delicate little veins, bones, tendons, nerves.” He flicked a fingertip off the tip of one of his fangs. “These might do some serious damage to your hands if I’m not careful. I’m in control of my urges, but might not be as controlled about how gentle the bite would be.” He lifted her arm up, and for a moment, she thought he was going to bite her right then and there—

He pressed a cold, wet kiss over the spot he indicated, and beneath his kiss, heat rose to the surface. An ache bloomed in her belly, pulling at sensitive parts of her.

“And you’re lying down in case you pass out from the bite. As I told you, it will hurt, but not that much. Your anxiety will only make it worse, especially if it’s not what your body is expecting.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling a little silly.

He kissed her arm again, gentle despite his insistence he could not be. “Next, I’ll—”

“Bite my neck?”

“I will check if you want more,” he said firmly. His eyes flashed bright red again, serious.

The care he exhibited over her choice, her consent, and her safety made her insides feel all warm in a way she wasn’t used to. Master Sol had been concerned for her safety, but where Qimir’s care was warm, Sol’s had often been chilly and uncomfortable.

“Okay,” she whispered, squirming a little on her back. He noticed the movement, a teasing glint returning to his eyes. “What will you do after that?”

“Then, if you’ll allow it…” His hand trailed lower, brushing the side of her breast, passing her ribs, almost tickling her waist, then over her hip to rest on her thigh. “I’d like to feed from here.”

Even though his hand was cold and they had a barrier of clothes between them, she could have sworn his touch left a searing brand against her thigh. “Why there?”

“Some major arteries are down here, very active. And I’m hungry, Osha.” He didn’t elaborate, moving his hand back up her body. He brushed over the fly to her pants, fingers snagging over the bulk of her belt. She gasped and flinched, but he paid it no mind. He traced his fingertips up, up, between her breasts before his cool hand rested at the base of her throat. “And I’m selfish.”

“Wh—how is that selfish?” she asked, fighting between her desire to know and her desire to feel. He leaned down, tracing his nose over the shell of her ear. 

“Because when I’m done, you’ll feel the ache in your legs with every,” he kissed her ear, “single,” a nip, “step.”

Osha couldn’t help but moan. It was embarrassingly loud, and he was hardly touching her at all, but she was certain she’d never been more turned on and ready for him.

But Qimir didn’t comment, only looking her over with that heated crimson gaze—like he expected such a reaction.

“Do you want to know what I’m going to do next?”

She nodded, swallowing hard enough to feel the brush of his hand over the base of her throat. “Please.”

At that single whispered word, the energy in the room shifted. Qimir stilled, eyes squeezing shut as a shiver rippled over him. A low groan left his lips, the breath cool against Osha’s temple. “Fuck,” he whispered, taking a ragged breath and shaking his head. His hair fell into his face, out from behind his ears. It gave him a wilder look, eyes half-hidden behind a dark veil. “Fuck,” he repeated, drawing back a little and going still.

Osha didn’t dare move. She already knew Qimir was nearing the last reserves of his control, assurances made or otherwise. But all she’d said was please, and it nearly broke him apart. His arrival at her side in the cantina had made her mouth go dry, but now, it watered—she wanted to taste him, touch him.

“Fuck, Osha,” he said a third time. He got up on his knees and laughed, though there was little humor in it. He sounded doomed from where he sat above her. “You keep thinking whatever you’re thinking right now, and I’m not going to be as gentle or as polite as I would like to be.”

“Why do you keep saying that? Can you—can you read my thoughts or something?”

His face smoothed with forced ease, and he closed his eyes before shaking his head. “A vampire’s sense of smell is very good—and I can taste how aroused you are right now. Without even seeing, without even touching. I can taste how wet you are for me, Osha.”

Her blood oscillated wildly between hot and cold, the realization that his reaction back in the cantina had been because of—? Oh, shit. She was at once mortified by being so laid bare, thrilled by the acknowledgment of his predatory nature, and insanely turned on by his ease in talking about her desire. His were the hands of a dangerous man, but she was in good hands nonetheless.

“Sorry,” she whispered, chewing her lip again.

His hand lifted from her neck for his thumb to press down on her lip, freeing it from her teeth. “That’s my job,” he admonished, surprisingly soft. It made her heart flip in her chest once more. “So—” he took a breath, steadying himself. “Only after I’ve taken from your arm and your thigh, that’s when I’ll take from your neck.”

“Why?”

“The neck is quite the erogenous zone, Osha.” He brushed his fingers over her pulse, which tickled, but more than that, it set her trembling. “The nerves there are much more sensitive than the other places I mentioned. And therefore, the feeling you’d get from me feeding would be… heightened.”

“Heightened?” she asked weakly.

He did not explain. All he did was nod.

Fun things, she remembered him saying. Fun things would happen to her.

“That, and drinking from the neck is one of the most primal things I could do. You baring your neck to me… it both sates and encourages that part of me to give in to those instincts. I could kill you, drain you dry if I drank here first.” He almost sounded saddened by it, which was odd.

Osha brought her hand up to his wrist and wrapped her fingers around it. He watched her, fascinated by her curiosity. Osha traced her thumbs over his hand and pressed his fingers flat and open before she leaned up to kiss the center of his palm.

“Okay,” she said.

“Okay?” He swallowed roughly, eyes flickering over her face again.

“I think I like your plan.”

He smirked. “Oh, you think you—”

“Shut up,” she groaned, reaching up to pull him in by the back of his neck. Their kiss was more heated than before. For all his bloodless skin chilled her, he possessed a fire in his flesh that did not dissipate and did not waver after the initial rush of feeling.

When she was certain her heart wouldn’t beat out of her chest, she said his name. It brought him back up, and she traced how his lips had grown a little darker, the shade of old bruises. He looked obscene like this, truly rumpled and fueled by want. “Yes?” he whispered, breathing quickly.

“Do it.”

His pupils dilated sharply, almost to the point where the crimson in his irises disappeared entirely. A heartbeat passed, then he leaned down and bit her exactly where he said he would.

Instantaneous burning pain slashed at the pleasure his kiss and touch had brought, setting her body rigid on the bed beneath him. He did not stop, even at the tight whimper that escaped her. At the stomach-flipping sensation of him withdrawing his fangs from her, she made another weak noise, wondering if this had all been a mistake—

But then his mouth touched down next, encompassing the bite mark wholly. Both his hands cradled her arm like something precious, something fragile. There was a bit of pressure—then release. She couldn’t help the wild moan at the new sensation, her surprise warring with the wanton waves of pleasure his mouth was giving her. She felt her eyes cross a little until the shock waned. Phew. Don’t pass out.

He remained hunched over her, on all fours across her vulnerable form. Once she steadied her breathing, she could hear the little noises he was trying to hide. Small whimpers and whines, near-animalistic against her skin. His noises rippled through her bones, resonating with her like a tuning fork pressed against her skull. Her hand moved without warning, pushing up through his hair and grabbing hold at the root. He made a small, distressed noise—

But she did not pull him off. She pushed him closer, feeling his lips slip against her arm even as he drank. His whines turned to moans, and his shallow breaths turned to deeper, harsher breaths than before.

Stars, if this was how it felt on her arm, how was it going to feel on her neck?

He seemed to have found himself again after some time—how long, she had no idea. The whole room had gotten a little fuzzy and sparkly, stars dancing against her skin. Qimir dragged his tongue over the bite, which stung a little in the cooler air once he let go.

Because Qimir had grown warmer since drinking from her—or she’d grown cooler. But her first guess was correct. He turned around to face her, and she saw the flush of blood high on his cheekbones, of life in his features.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice wet and raspy. Idly, his thumb brushed over the wound, but she wasn’t focusing on that. She could only see the dark red of her blood staining his teeth, his tongue.

She blinked a few times, processing that he was speaking to her. “Yeah. Holy shit,” she laughed. “I’m okay.”

Something soft and almost distressed fluttered through his features when she laughed, like he didn’t know what to do all of a sudden.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

He seemed just as stunned as she’d been by the question. “Good.”

“Still hungry?” she asked. His eyes traced down her body and rested on the place he’d planned to go next. She went for her belt—

“Let me.” He stilled her hands, and while he wasn’t blazing warm, the difference was notable. “Please.”

Her whole body jerked at that single word, and shit, she understood why he’d been so affected earlier when she said it. The amount of desire that could fit into a single syllable was fucking astounding, and she had no idea why she was so affected. She let her hands fall to the side, wondering what, if anything, she wouldn’t do when he said please like that.

Her belt clinked a little as he undid it, and then the fly of her trousers. She cursed when he tugged them down, only for the blousing straps to get caught in her boots. She leaned up to help and was hit with a wave of dizziness that had the room spinning. “Whoa.”

“Lay back down,” Qimir ordered, planting his hand on her breastbone. She complied, and the dizziness abated. He did the work for her, taking off her boots and pants with shocking gentleness—he’d really meant it when he said he could control himself. That taste he took from her arm had done wonders.

“What does—” she bit off the question she’d been about to ask again. Qimir needed to eat, and she kept delaying that.

“Don’t do that,” he murmured, lips pressing against her knee. His eyes were a much warmer shade now, bright scarlet in the lamplight. She was unable to look away. “You can ask me anything you want, Osha.”

She took a shuddering breath and blamed her courage on the funny feelings his bite had given her.

“What does my blood taste like?”

He traced his nose over her thigh, lost in thought as he considered her answer. “I won’t feed you some bullshit line about it tasting like sunshine and fresh snow,” he said dryly, looking up at her with a half-grin. “Blood tastes like blood.”

“Oh,” she said, about to feel silly again—

“But the warmth of it… it burned at first. Like drinking tea when it’s too hot. Scalding.” His thumb brushed little circles over her thigh, and he sunk down to sit on his heels between her thighs. It felt like an entirely inappropriate place to sit and have a think, but he seemed comfortable, so she didn’t say anything. She leaned up on her elbows as he continued. “And then, the longer I drank, the warmer my body became, and the more I could enjoy it. Enjoy you. And your warmth… it tastes like life. It tastes like the only light in a vast, cold darkness.”

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say more, but instead, he pressed his face against the inside of her thigh. For a few long minutes, he stayed there, just breathing her in. This close to where he knew she was wet and aching, she could only imagine what was running through his mind—or if her scent and taste stilled those thoughts in their tracks.

She put her hand back on his head, threading her fingers through his hair and tugging him forward. “You promised me another bite, and you’re still hungry,” she said. When had her voice gotten so husky and sensual?

He shuddered, moving where she wanted with no resistance. His throat bobbed as she pulled him back, exposing his own neck to her. His eyes sparkled with intrigue, like she was a wonder. “I did. I am.”

“So do something about it.”

“But you’re hungry, too,” he said, fighting her hold so he could level a look at her. She felt like she was wearing nothing beneath that gaze, like his hot stare had incinerated every bit of clothing left on her. “An appetite for something you can’t eat… but can fill you anyway.”

His fingers danced up her inner thigh, rubbing longingly over the darker veins beneath her skin before moving up and up and—

Osha jolted when his thumb pressed against the soaking-wet material of her underwear. “Can I feed you too, Osha?” he asked, that damned thumb moving in slow, precise little circles exactly where she needed from him.

She was seconds from making a mixing business and pleasure joke, but those words caught in her throat, leaving her only able to nod furiously. Qimir’s eyes flicked down to where his hand was splayed over her hip, just his thumb touching her indecently. He turned his hand and teased his fingers beneath the wet fabric. She held back her moan as his knuckles brushed over her aching core, where she needed him most.

“I don’t want to hear you holding back another fucking breath from me, Osha.” His eyes were suddenly ablaze, locked on hers. “Understand?”

She nodded, but at the increased intensity of his stare, she found her words again. “Yes, I understand,” she squeaked.

“Good.”

With that, he dove in. He pulled her underwear to the side, which made everything seem that much dirtier and taboo as he licked and sucked at her with abandon. True to her word, she didn’t hold back, grasping at his hair and practically shouting his name. The pleasure she’d gotten from him feeding on her was a strange, full-body kind of ache, like she was drowning in it. This pleasure, by comparison, was brutal, a crueler death than the other.

Burning and drowning.

He never stopped moving, not when he slipped one of those long, cool fingers inside her and not when her hips couldn’t help but rock up against his hand. She felt unbridled, chasing after an end she couldn’t see. But he guided her there nonetheless, never restraining her even once. He drew back after some time, sucking his finger into his mouth before returning his touch with another finger inside her. Osha moaned, settling into the rhythm and rolling against his hand.

Fuck, this was the best idea ever.

Qimir pressed his cheek against her thigh, just watching how his fingers moved in and out of her, seeing and feeling the way she grew tighter around him when he touched her just right. He was nearly locked in a trance, like he could spend the rest of his life just watching her fall apart from his touch.

She (barely) had the ability to speak a string of words that made any sense. “Qimir… please… c’mon, you said…”

Okay, maybe sense was stretching it.

Qimir caught her meaning, checking with her to make sure she wasn’t at risk of passing out for one reason or another. The bite on her arm wasn’t bleeding for whatever reason, and she wanted to know what it felt like with his teeth so close to where he had his hands. Wordlessly, he drew her leg up and over his shoulder, pressing his face against her thigh again as his attention caught on the way she seized up around his fingers suddenly. “Nervous?” he asked, his voice all throaty and rough.

“I won’t be if you just—”

He struck, sharp fangs sinking into her once more. The burning had felt all-consuming from the bite on her arm, but this time, it warred with the pleasure he was giving her just inches away. Instead of one drowning out the other, they intertwined in a song, leaving her ears ringing as she gasped for breath.

He pulled his fangs out and repeated the process anew, pulling her blood into his mouth with a helpless moan. He rolled his whole body against her, tongue coaxing out more and more of her blood as his fingers took up their rhythm once more. The waning effects of his first bite surged in, cranked to a higher intensity than before. The leg not around his shoulder shook as ecstasy began encroaching on her senses.

“Fuck, fuck—!” Osha’s voice broke when he pulled her over the edge. It felt like nothing she’d tried by herself in the privacy of her bunk and even less like anything she’d tried with a partner. She was certain she was hurting him, pulling at his hair like she was, but nothing could get her to let go until the pleasure abated.

And still, he drank.

She gave a weak whimper. “Fuck,” she said a third time. “You’re so good,” she whined.

Qimir gave a groan in return, and a deeper, subtler rocking motion joined his hand and his mouth. Fuck, he must have been grinding his hips against the side of the bed. She relinquished her hold on his hair to pet him gently, smoothing the strands out of his eyes and holding them back so she could see him better.

Red eyes lolled over to her in his first graceless move of the night. He seemed drunk, caught between watching her, fingering her, and drinking from her thigh. “So good,” she whispered again, brushing her thumb over his temple. His eyes closed, a furrow forming between his brows. She had no time to be concerned before he licked over the bite with his wet tongue. It left a smear of red behind on her skin, which he lapped at repeatedly until all traces of her blood had been consumed.

He gently slipped his fingers from her. That bone-deep ache had been abated somewhat from her orgasm, but his hand was nowhere near enough for what she truly wanted, what she needed. Qimir rested against her thigh again. His hair fell into his eyes, forcing her to focus on his lips. He licked them almost compulsively, like he had to ensure that every drop of her taste was safe behind his teeth.

“You—you okay?” he asked, his breath catching in the middle of his sentence.

She was. There was no wooziness, only the warm embrace of post-orgasm bliss. “I’m perfect,” she said, giving in and running her fingers through his hair again. It was thicker than it looked, and much softer than it had any right to be. He pressed into her hand like a cat, eyes still closed. “Are you alright? You seem…”

“Drunk?” he asked, cracking an eye open. A languid, bloodstained smile crept across his lips as he looked at her. “Yeah. Feels like it, a little. Might be the F—fucking incredible taste of you.” He brushed his thumb over the bite on her thigh before rising up with a soft groan.

His stumbling words almost concerned her were it not for the clearly straining bulge in his pants. Slowly, she sat up before him, nearly face-to-face with his erection.

While he just… stood there. He watched her with a slightly confused look on his face. There it was again, like he was puzzling her out or something.

“What?” she asked, unable to summon the sharp, defensive bite of her words this time.

“Nothing,” he sighed, reaching down to cup her face. His face followed, but he stopped himself just before he kissed her. The hesitation was clear; he didn’t know if she wanted to try the taste of herself—her pleasure or her blood.

Osha decided for him, pulling him in again as they both fell back against the bed. She moaned at the tangy, sharp taste on his lips and tongue. She didn’t feel the same way he did, about the warmth and the light in the darkness. Instead, she only tasted something wild and powerful. He caged himself around her, still fully dressed while she remained naked from the waist down. He probably did so for her comfort, knowing the chill of his body wouldn’t feel very nice. The consideration made her feel… safe. What a paradox to feel safe for the first time in years in the arms of a deadly apex predator.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked after some time, nosing beneath her jaw but making no attempt to continue his plans—that third bite he promised her.

“Nothing,” she sighed. Normally, such an admission would be met with skepticism, as that kind of answer to that kind of question was most often a lie. But this time, it was the truth. Nothing was on Osha’s mind. Not her worries about making ends meet, not her surviving grief over her family, not her remaining anger and frustration at the hand the Jedi dealt her. All that bitterness and anxiety had been safely swept aside. “Nothing at all.”

Qimir chuckled, the sound warm and soul-deep. “I believe you,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. This, of all the kisses and touches he’d given, felt the most intimate of all.

“Am I still bleeding from the… from the bites?” she asked, curious to look but unable to do so with a huge vampire lying atop her.

He shook his head, his hair tickling her nose. She scowled at the feeling and only received a teasing smile in return. “I have some measure of influence over that. More than just how you’d feel from the act, I can control the wound itself. If I wanted you to keep bleeding, you would. But, no. I wanted you to heal.” I wanted to take care of you, she imagined him saying next, though not a single word of that passed his lips.

“Can all vampires do that?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “Maybe some.”

“Thank you,” she said, reaching up to trace over the muscles and tendons in his neck. He was truly a masterpiece, and the more she ran her hands over his torso, the more she found she was right. He was absolutely fit beneath those baggy clothes, all rippling muscles and tight skin.

“Don’t mention it,” he said softly. Some emotion flashed through his eyes, and she didn’t know him well enough to even guess at it.

Qimir pressed his forehead against hers, and Osha was startled by how warm he’d gotten. “Do you… how often do you need to feed?” she asked, curious. How long had it been, for him to get to the desperate point he’d been?

He kept his eyes closed as he answered her question. “Ideally? Every two weeks, and just the amount you gave me from your arm.”

Concern lanced through her. Shit, it must have been a long time. She couldn’t imagine starving like that.

“But you don’t need to worry about me, Osha.” He pressed a kiss to her lips again, then gently tilted her head this way and that. “Have a preference for which side?” he asked, playful once more. He reminded her of a big cat, both prowling predator and playful in spades.

“Whichever one seems tastiest,” she said, letting her hand fall from his hair and trace down his spine.

His body stiffened the moment she touched some irregular bump over the deep groove of his spinal column. She withdrew her hand and left it to rest on his shoulder instead, getting the hint easily enough. He relaxed once her hand moved, but he was still all coiled muscle, the predator beneath his skin rising to meet her again.

“They both seem tasty,” he said, pressing his face into the crook of her left shoulder. She shuddered, latent full-body pleasure still coursing through her. It kicked up a notch at the press of his lips to her pulse point.

She didn’t realize what she was doing until Qimir stopped mouthing at her neck and stilled against her. With his thigh between her legs, it proved the perfect place for her to rock back and forth against him. It was firm, unyielding to her desperate search for pleasure.

“Need more, greedy girl?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in his chest. She pictured dark rainclouds, a flash of lightning, rolling thunder. She shuddered and couldn’t even summon the urge to be embarrassed at how she was acting.

“Ple—” He silenced her with a kiss, moving his thigh away to bring his hand back to her center. “No,” she pouted. “I need more than that.”

He looked delighted to hear that. “More?” he asked again. “You sure you can handle more?”

“Yes, damn it,” she said, squirming again.

Suddenly, his hand jerked away, taking with it the shredded remains of her underwear. “Was getting in the way,” he said with a shrug.

Qimir rose up on his knees between her legs, deftly undoing the clasps at his pants and pushing them down. He was rough with himself compared to how gentle he’d been when he took her boots and pants off earlier.

He was hard and thick, and the head of his cock was a blushed, dark pink. Her mouth watered, arousal spiking once more, even after all he’d done to appease her hunger. One-handed, he stroked himself, watching her watch him. “You sure you can handle more?”

She gave him a scathing glare that silenced him but didn’t stop him from grinning at her. Even now, the sight of his fangs still inspired her heart to flip in her chest. Would she ever tire of it?

After tonight, she’d have to. Their ship was set to leave tomorrow, and she had to be there when it did. He didn’t.

Not letting that thought dissuade her from having a good time, she just nodded. “I want it. I want you to fuck me while you feed from my neck.”

A full-body shiver raced up his body, making his shoulders tense somewhat. What she couldn’t see before was now apparent: deep shadows raced beneath his skin, black veins pulsing with some dark energy as he fought it back for control. “Can’t say things like that,” he bit out, swallowing roughly.

“I wouldn’t have to say it if you’d just do it,” she argued.

Crimson eyes met hers, nearly glowing in the low light. The primal survival instinct in the back of her mind was screaming for her to run as fast as she could, but Osha didn’t give a fuck. She had what she wanted right in front of her.

“I’m fed enough to think straight now, but if I do—that, I might snap.”

Osha wondered briefly at what she’d really be losing if she died fucking a sexy vampire. A few knick-knacks in her bunk. A few friends who don’t understand her. Grief. Anger. Sadness. All in all, not much.

“I might snap if you don’t get inside me right fucking now, Qimir.”

He pounced. His hands were suddenly everywhere, just like she imagined back in the cantina. He grabbed at her, pulling her closer and closer into his body until there was no space left between them. It took just a few inches of adjustment for her to get exactly what she wanted from him.

His mouth hung open some when he sank into her, fangs glinting wetly in the low light. “Fuck, Osha,” he gasped, shuddering. Just like his fingers and mouth, his cock was cooler than she was, sending a shocking contrast of feeling through her veins.

Osha moaned, half her body confused by the sensation and the other half eager for him to sink another part of him inside her. She reached for him as he came down, hips starting to roll against her in smooth, deep strokes that had her practically gasping. He was thick, thought-stealingly thick. The noise she made wasn’t remotely coherent, echoing those twin feelings of confusion and lust as he fucked her.

“If I—if I’m taking too much…” he panted, looking down at her with fevered, scarlet eyes. “You fight me. You punch and bite and pull at me. You use whatever—whatever you need to get me off of you.”

She couldn’t form words but nodded at him.

He struck like a viper, fangs sinking into her neck like they were always meant to be there. Osha screamed, half-ecstasy, half-agony. Even when he pulled his fangs out of her and began to feed from her neck, she couldn’t keep quiet. Her moans were almost panicked from how amazing she felt. He was right; this was nothing like when he fed from her arm or even from her thigh. She couldn’t escape it this time, not when he was fucking her this deep and drawing her blood down his throat like it held the answers to the universe. 

Her second orgasm took her by surprise. The third, hot on its heels, threatened to devastate her. After that, she lost count, lost in a roiling tide of pleasure as he took and took and took—and wasn’t that all she wanted? To be wanted enough to give herself over like this. Tears ran down the sides of her face, the ecstasy and fulfillment coalescing into an incredible crescendo.

Black and white dots burst in her vision, reminding her of meteor showers and lightspeed. Qimir shuddered against her, groaning into her skin, into her veins. With a sob, she felt another orgasm crash over her, overwhelming and ceaseless. She had no control of herself like this, and for half a second, she truly didn’t care if he drained her dry. Having known this pleasure, she could die right now, happier than she’d ever been in her life.

But he seemed to have found control, licking over the wound in her neck. His hand slid behind her neck to angle her head to him, and he paused just to look at the bite mark, marveling at it and brushing his thumb over it like it’d disappear. While her arm throbbed and her thigh ached like he said it would, her neck seemed to pulse with that lasting heat and pain, juxtaposing the pleasure his bite had brought.

Osha was boneless as he pulled out of her, feeling messy but unable to care at the moment. She closed her eyes as he wiped away her tears, sweat, and any evidence of their pleasure. His motions were so gentle, they were almost sweet. When he lay down beside her, arms curled around her, she had no more tears to cry—but he’d cause no more tears tonight.

His chin rested atop her head as they embraced, and for the longest time, neither moved. Her first words came out as a wretched croak. “You’re warm.”

Qimir chuckled, and she felt it against her cheek. His heart still thudded unnaturally slow behind his ribs, but he was warm and solid and real. That’s what mattered. “Thanks to you.”

He didn’t sound drunk, as he’d been after feeding on her thigh. He instead sounded… level. Satisfied. Full.

He spoke after they rested a while longer. “Don’t do anything too strenuous for a day or two while your body replenishes its blood.”

“Yes, doctor,” she grumbled, laying back down with him.

His laugh was softer now, carrying another feeling that tried to press itself into her mind. The Force had been good at telling her what others felt, but she hadn’t been connected to the Force in some time. It was probably just some post-coital haze.

Qimir murmured something to her, stroking his fingers over her shoulder. But Osha was too comfortable to concentrate, and dozed off.

He was packing up a bag when she woke. He’d put her pants back on, sans underwear, and even laced up her boots for her. He looked over when she stirred, taking inventory of her body. “Feeling okay?” he asked.

She supposed this was where he asked her to leave, yet the embarrassment didn’t rise to her cheeks like it normally would. “Yeah,” she said softly.

Then she cursed, the rest of the galaxy coming crashing back into her awareness at once. “Fuuuuck—” she groaned and checked her chrono. “Oh, thank fuck. I have an hour.”

“Don’t wanna miss movement,” he said, teasing. But he felt a little more closed off than he’d been before. He looked completely different than he’d been when they met. Gone was the deathly pale, starving vampire. Like this, he just looked like… well, a man.

His eyes were brown again. She didn’t know why this was the most disappointing part.

“Yeah,” she said, chewing at her lip.

He was in front of her in a heartbeat, moving so fast she didn’t even have time to flinch before he thumbed her lower lip away from her teeth. “That’s my job,” he said, his voice a quiet, fond murmur. When his hand turned, she pressed her cheek against it.

“Still warm,” she smiled up at him, gladdened by his lack of remorse over this whole… thing.

“Thank you, Osha,” he said, sounding slightly grave. “You’ve done me a great service.”

“Yeah, well. Ditto.” Ah, there was the embarrassment and shyness. Right on schedule. “Uh, if you…”

She trailed off, and he raised an eyebrow at her. She remembered the fervent order he’d given her before.

I don’t want to hear you holding back another fucking breath from me.

Her mouth went dry all at once, desire sparking beneath her skin. “If you wanna catch a bite in a few weeks, just look me up. We’re at this port a lot, I mean.” It felt overly familiar, attached in a way Master Sol would have chastised her for. But Master Sol wasn’t here.

Qimir leaned down and captured her lips in a kiss that stole any remaining thoughts from her mind, leaving nothing but…

Peace.

“I’ll find you,” he said, far too soft for what this was. But Osha allowed it, leaning into his touch until it was gone.

When she opened her eyes, she was alone.

Two weeks later

“I hope you guys can hear me,” Osha said to Pip, waiting for the merchant to hand her the long black shawl.

She had to pretend to be Mae, which was lying, thereabouts. For whatever reason, the racing of her heart felt like an omen. Something else pulsed beneath her skin, a feeling she had avoided acknowledging until then. She’d reached out to the Force back on the prison transport, but that had been fruitless. Even so, the closer she drew to the apothecary, the worse that feeling got, pulsing in three places in particular.

Heart pounding, she stepped in. She didn’t even see the man in the open doorway as she said, “Hello?”

But when he looked up, she felt her mouth go as dry as it’d done the first time he spoke to her.

It looked like she had found him.

Qimir grinned, half-smug and half-dangerous. “Hello.”

masterlist

[r7-b7]

"He slammed into her."

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

[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.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

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!

[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 👀👀👀