#sabers against the waves

[ravenhairedwaywanderer]

Man part 5 fucked me up

[inklore]

does it feel good?

— qimir x f!reader

premise: he is your beginning, the whole reason you have made peace with the darkness inside your head, and you know someday he may become your end. whether by his saber or by him finally consuming completely. you welcome both.

contents: established master x acolyte dynamics, shared force bond, unprotected p in v, foreplay, light choking, biting, scars and burn marks mentioned, death, teasing, over stimulation | wc: 2.7k+

note: i love that we all saw the water scene and went yeah that's for the smut writers. glad we are collectively going insane over this man.

The moons paint the water in a shimmering light that bathes its surface in sapphire that fades to the deepest of blacks the longer you stare into it. The waves that hit against the ragged stones are like a siren call to your aching body. 

Your muscles are still tight and coiled from earlier. Your molars grind together when you lift your arms to pull off your ruined and stained clothes. A burning sensation felt through your body as the fabric covering your torso moved against every burn, cut, and bruise you had acquired tonight. 

You didn’t stop by a reflective surface to check how many battle scars you’d earned. Badges of honor. More wounds worn like metals placed on your neck by a pleased master. Wounds, he’ll help you heal, stitch up, seal with the press of his palm to the tattered skin—stolen supplies from planets you can’t remember the name of with faces you can only remember the dead eyes of, used on the ones that don’t close up right.

The moonlight makes them look less serious. The illumination colored the dried blood and tissue into something misty. Almost tantalizing to the eye. Unlike the light of day, where you’re sure it will look less glamorizing. The ugly truth of the way your skin is going to bubble up and mold over to protect itself once the healing process begins is less glaring in this hue. 

Your toe dips into the water. It’s always warmer than you think it to be. Always welcoming you in like it’s been waiting for you to return. Waiting to wash away the grim and blood that seemed more permanent on your skin than your own flesh. 

You wade at the edge for a bit, pushing around the water with your feet. The water wading at your ankles. 

The ringing hasn’t stopped. 

It rarely does until you’ve closed your eyes and settled it. Until your body is less taut, muscles released from the on switch of fight. The power inside your veins thrumming like a wasp trying to free itself from the tissue of your bones. 

As if it had gotten stuck in there and couldn’t find its way out. Refusing to settle down or leave until you’ve maimed, avenged, and proved yourself—leaving your body and muscles in their current state. 

You’re not worried about something being in the water. If there were, you would have been able to feel it. Sense it’s beating heart and the danger of allowing it to keep beating. You’re alone as you walk further into the water, sinking into it’s depths until your body is completely engulfed. Your neck and head the only things going untouched. 

The freshly made badges on your skin burn when you scrub your thumb along the edges of them. Specks of dried blood float along the surface of the water before they’re lost to the darkness below. 

Amongst the ringing in your head, you can hear the screams of anger that tore from your lungs when the Jedi had gotten the upper hand. The green of his saber leaving red against your skin. Making your moves turn from confident to something rage fueled. 

Somewhere among the ringing, you know his scream is in there. Amongst the many cries for help and cracking bones. 

They always linger. Always hold on like a power pack to your dark side. 

You know your body won’t fully relax until you’ve stopped the ringing, though. You didn’t believe in blessings or curses. Bad fortune or good. Everyone’s life ended the same way. If you did believe in the farce, you would think the ringing that goes from the base of your skull to the drums of your ears was a curse. 

A quiet mind is a blessing. 

The buzz of the force within you too heady when you're in the throes of battle. War. Darkness. It’s always been like that. Even before him. 

It’s only gotten worse with him beside you. Like the bond the two of you had opened too much too deep and you feel everything more clearly. More unfortunately. 

He taught you how to silence it. To reign it in after the adrenaline and pace of your heart slowed. 

There were still things you had to learn. Things you were kept from knowing by your old master, the one who only saw one way to wield your power. A cowardly excuse for a master whose burial you wish you could have witnessed. 

It’s aggravating, almost. Anger inducing for sure. 

Someone not believing you are capable of knowing the truth about the power you wield. It’s criminal to not allow someone to be their true self all because of a set of rules that only benefited one group of people. One way of living, when there were so many. 

Your aggravation has faded by now. The anger is still there and buzzes through you. But you no longer feel like a part of you has been held back. Stunted and aching like your chest had for years—as if a rock had found itself in the base of your heart and took up rent there—until Qimir showed you the way. 

Your true self. 

Your full potential and all you were capable of. 

All that had been inside of you, held back for so long. 

Filling your lungs with air, you sink yourself under the water and hold yourself there. Eyes closing as you center yourself. Slow the wasp in your marrow to something dull. Stop the ringing in your ears until all you can hear is the hum of the water hitting the rock above the surface. 

Just you and the force. 

Just you and the water. 

Until you feel him. 

Until he’s there inside your mind.

Until you feel a hand at the base of your skull, fingertips brushing at the nape of your neck to let you know he’s not just in your head. He’s beside you.

Your eyes meet once you’ve filled your lungs with air again, and you wipe the water droplets from your lids. 

You watch him splash water against his neck, running the palm of his hand along the dirt and grime that clings to his skin. Cleaning himself of any traces of the deaths the two of you have left in your wake tonight. 

His calm demeanor always pulls you back from the edge. Always brings a calmness to your blood. To the beating of your heart. Even when shit has gone haywire, his demeanor never switches up. Never slips into something that could be labeled as sloppy or driven by anything other than who he truly is. What he’s made of. 

His calm seeping through your shared bond until you have no choice but to relax.

The handful of times you’ve seen that calmness turn into something animalistic, it’s made you envious, on the same hand, it’s made the space between your thighs burn. 

“You did well tonight.” 

“The smell of my burning flesh still clinging to my senses says differently.” 

The corner of his mouth lifts in amusement, “you did well.” He repeats. Ducks his head forward to wet his hair. His fingers running through the strands, droplets falling down his face. Your eyes follow them all the way down the column of his neck to his chiseled collar bones. 

It doesn’t take one wielding the force to know what your mind is projecting. Doesn’t matter that the two of you share a part of your brain. The thoughts of past nights spent together, Qimir teaching you the ways desire can be wielded and used to your advantage—or disadvantage, depending on how you look at it. 

Your face turns from him. Eyes moving up to the moon. 

Trying to hold back your thoughts the way he taught you. Even if it is futile against him.

“How do you feel?” 

Has the ringing stopped, Is what he’s really asking. Do you need another lesson? Are you still weakened by that ailment? That curse? 

Except he wouldn’t be as dramatic as that. Not with this. Not ever. Especially when it came to your power. Your capabilities. The perfect little acolyte he’s trained you to be. 

“Fine.” Your answer clipped, honest. Because you are fine, and your stubbornness will not allow you to let this turn into another lesson about you not being able to be as calm and collected as he is. No shadows of doubt lingering over who he truly is. His purpose. His wants. His desires. His darkness. 

He’s always been able to read right through you, though. Even without taking up space in your being. The force has little to do with that fact. 

You were never afraid of the darkness that lived inside of you. Never afraid of the power you could wield and the lives you could take. 

The only time you’ve felt true fear is being seen. 

Accepted. 

The potential to let someone of importance down and not withhold your end of a deal you’ve inked your name in blood just to be beside. To prove yourself to someone who’s your equal. Another half of your very being.

His face shows nothing but that calm amusement when he wades behind you. His fingers moving against your skin in an act to rid you of the spots of dirt you’ve missed on your neck and shoulders. 

Swallowing hard when his fingers scrape against past scars, he lingers there for a beat. Running the pad of them against the raised skin. A whisper in your head. 

You heal beautifully.

It’s a softness you’d never thought him to be capable of when you found out who he truly was. The man behind the mask. Even if the unmasking had been done unintentionally. 

It’s not softness you feel from his touch, though. No, his touch eases the strain in your muscles, only to gather itself in your belly. Your body burning with anticipation, knowing how this goes. 

How you’re rewarded when you impress him. 

When you do as you are told, your master is ever the generous one. 

“You’ve proven yourself tonight.” His lips brush against the tip of your spine, “killing without a weapon, not stopping until you were the last one standing. Freeing yourself from the ones who held you back for so long.” Your breath hitches in the back of your throat when his mouth presses down on that same spot at the beginning of your spine. 

A hand snaking around your throat, his palm wet and warm against your collarbones as he pulls your neck at just the right angle to have you looking at him. 

“Did it feel good?” 

“Yes.” You swallow, wrap your fingers around his wrist. “It always does.” You whisper, your eyes flashing down to the upturn of his lips. 

His nose runs along your cheek to your temple, his eyes closed, inhaling you. “I can always smell it. When you let yourself become one with the darkness. Right before you take a life.” His thumb runs a circle against the vein, which tells him the pace of your heart has picked up. As if he’d need it to know, as if the two of you don’t share something that links you completely to the other. “It still lingers. It’s distracting.” 

It’s not a question, but you nod. Your eyes flutter when he pushes his hips forward, and the hardness of his cock moves against your ass. 

He doesn’t ask permission, the two of you knowing you’re past such kindnesses, when his hand cups your mound. He knows what your body needs right now. What it wants, what it’s expecting. He can feel it too. His index and middle fingers spread your pussy, giving him access to that pleasure point on your body that only he knows how to stroke just right to have you pliant and singing for him. 

As if you were not already devoted to him. As if he were not your reason for being.

He’s your beginning, and you have no doubt he will be your end if it comes to it. 

The pad of his finger circles your clit in that slow way that lets you know he’s going to take his time with you. Going to drain every last bit of strain and tightness from your muscles, pushing that buzz between your legs and making him the only sound in your head—until he thinks you have had enough. 

Until your reward is good enough for him to be satisfied with how you took it. Until he knows your mind is back where it needs to be—here, with him. 

His mouth meets the hand at your throat, his teeth sinking into the parts his fingers aren’t pressing into. “You’re everything I could have hoped for.” His tongue laps against your pulse.

Perfect.

You may never know if he actually means the words; you can only feel what he allows you to feel through your shared connection. He’s better at blocking than you. But he knows you need to hear these praises. Knows how good and pliable it will make you. His words stoke the fire inside your soul that burns through your darkness. That allows you to become completely consumed by him and the desire to be on this side. 

Of being free. 

What he does allow you to feel lets you know there is some truth somewhere in there. You can feel it in how hard his cock thrusts against your ass when your body pushes back into him. You can feel it in the way his thoughts stream through your mind. 

So obedient.

Your cunt’s so greedy for me.

You’re mine.

The skin on your fingers stings from gripping the rocks in front of you. The pain you should feel from the heel of your palm digging into the jagged stones, lost in the haze of pleasure consuming your body. 

Qimir consuming every last part of your being. 

Taking over every dark corner of your mind and not letting you feel or hear anything but him.

Your moans become more shaky, your chest heaving as you pant and curse. The weight of the finger on your clit grows heavier, faster, deliriously good the more you near your orgasm. 

Your lips are moving in inaudible words. Words he understands, making him grin against your jaw. 

“You want my cock tonight?” You know he’s read your mind, or rather, your body. Know he can feel what you desire and crave. What your minds begging him for. “Hmm, do you think you’re deserving of that big of a prize? You spill a little blood, and suddenly you’re greedy.” He hums, “you did well. Do you think you deserve it, though? No?” 

Heat burns your cheeks; his chuckle makes you sob into the night air. The stubbornness to please and be as perfect as your counterpart wants you to be is not in favor of the mounting pressure that’s building in your pussy right now. 

“I already think you’re perfect; don’t push it.” His foot pushes easily at your ankles. Your thighs spread enough for the head of his cock to press against your entrance and thrust inside. 

“Mmm,” you whine at the stretch. Your eyes fluttering closed at your swollen walls being filled. Walls that tighten around him as he sets a fast pace. Matching the rhythm and stroke of his fingers. Sending your body on an overwhelming precipice of a carnal need to come. 

The heaviness of his breath as he says your name against your skin—the quick flashes of the pleasure he feels from being inside of you—is what finally sends you over the edge. 

Your orgasm rocking through you like a storm. Your body shaking against him, walls fluttering and squeezing around his cock, making him groan. Your throat raw and scratchy from the noise that’s pulled up from your lungs when everything in your body is set completely aflame. 

Your hand falling from the rocks, and pressing your nails into his wrist, trying to pull his hand from between your thighs. The over-stimulation of his finger moving against your clit even after your orgasm has passed makes you cry out and ripple the water around the two of you as you squirm. 

The tip of his cock hits that spot inside you that makes your vision go white. That falters your fight against his torment. 

“You can do better than one. You deserve it, don’t you?”

[ravenna-reid]

The Jade Ghost

Blue Spirit Zuko x Bloodbender Reader

This story is completely different to what I usually do, but I've been watching Avatar: The Last Airbender lately and really hope ya'll love Zuko as much as I do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was insufferable. Zuko, the crowned prince of the fire nation, was now a fugitive and stuck in some sort of village begging for spare change on the ground with Uncle Iroh. If that wasn't embarrassing enough, those who decided to mock him and his uncle made it all the more worse, the deep, unsettling anger within him turning into an unhinged rage. So he waited.

And when the sun would set and the darkness came to help hide Zuko's doings, he adorned his blue mask. The oxtail sabers in each hand felt good, like he'd gained some sort of control over his situation. Then he'd prowl through the night as though he was a ghost. The Blue Spirit. Taking change and food from those that looked like they had enough, or taking revenge on those that had mocked him or his uncle. He'd swiftly managed to throw one of the men that spat at Iroh into a wooden barrel. Splinters decorated the floor as well as the change the man had taken from them earlier in the day. Zuko grabbed the gold pieces and slipped them into his pocket. As he turned down the street, an opulent looking home being his next target, a blurred figure metres before him quickly caught his attention.

Zuko ducked his head to the side, just missing a dagger as it found its home in the wooden beam beside his head. Zuko turned on his heel to see three hooded men coming his way, armed and ferocious. He was able to swiftly disarm the first thug, throwing him into the wall of a nearby home. The other two put up a better fight. Zuko was focused on pinning the second ones arms, given he happened to be an Earthbender, but focusing his attention on the man almost made him forget the third thug. As Zuko turned and expected the blow to his head, something glinted in the air. Flashed as quick as a light. A swoosh sound came after it and the third man hit the ground hard.

Zuko dealt a devastating strike to the Earthbender before training his attention onto another person. Someone new. Adorned in an emerald green robe, her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, a single gold chop stick running through it. Her face, however, was concealed. An immaculate mask that looked as though it was carved from jade sat on her face, a mask almost similar to Zuko's. Steady eyes watched the third man through the jade mask as she spun a long, gold staff between her fingers. Her eyes flickered up to Zuko though, and he barely caught what she said. "Behind you."

The Earthbender was on his feet and tore two large boulders from the pavement either side of him. Zuko slipped past each boulder as they were thrown at him. After that, Zuko's next movements were a blur as he, the two thugs, and the Jade Ghost all fought relentlessly. She seemed to be helping, so he let her help...for now.

The Earthbender managed to get his first hit of the night and knocked both Zuko and the Jade Ghost to the ground. Zuko was on his feet, ready to attack yet again, but then something happened. Something odd. Something Zuko couldn't explain.

The Earthbender's arms twitched before they tangled together. Then, with an agonising cry he dropped to the ground. Zuko's eyes cut over to the girl that laid beside him. Focus was evident in her eyes as she manoeuvred her hands in a fascinating way. Hand flat, resting in the centre of her face before she lowered her arm and moved it in a wave like formation. Zuko clutched onto his sabers. Felt his hot, laboured breath against his mask. The Earthbender suddenly fell unconscious...and then Zuko realised.

Bloodbending.

The Jade Ghost panted as she got to her feet and picked up her staff. Turning to run, she was met with the ocean blue dragon mask. He was tall, dressed in black, ready for a confrontation as he gripped onto his sabers. The Jade Ghost just stopped herself before bumping into him.

"Who are you?" He asked, tone severe.

"Hey, I'm not asking you questions. Am I?"

"I suggest you answer." He threatened.

"Listening, I've been watching you. You're not bad...you've helped a lot of my people whilst wearing your little mask. Like me. So how about this..."

She slipped down an alleyway and with the shake of his head, Zuko quickly followed. She didn't want a confrontation, not when the sun was soon to rise and she didn't see the man in the mask as a threat.

As she sprinted and took the chance to look over her shoulder, relief spread through her chest. The Blue Spirit wasn't there. But suddenly, he was jumping down from a nearby roof. He grabbed onto her as he dropped down, and the pair tumbled over the ground before coming to a stop. The Jade Ghost tried her staff before it was knocked from her hands. Then, she resorted to using hand-to-hand combat. The strikes were fast and precise, but Zuko was just as fast and precise as her. She slipped his arm behind his back and put him in a hold before he broke out and pinned her against the wall.

Masks centimetres from each other, he leant in to ask another question.

"That was bloodbending, wasn't it?"

"Wanna find out?" She hissed.

His determination faltered. They stood and watched each other, and Zuko felt something he couldn't ignore. What was it? Was he impressed? Was he admiring her? He almost wanted to hit his head against the wall.

Suddenly, a light, green dust was thrown into his face. An irritable itch began in his eyes as he quickly let go of her. And just like that, she slipped away into the night. Just like a ghost. As he tried to search for her, Zuko quickly became annoyed. Dumbfounded. Curious.

Zuko made it back to the sorry place him and his uncle were calling 'home' for a while, hiding his mask and sabers inside of a deep crevice in the house they were staying in.

"Where did you go?" Iroh asked, sipping his fourth cup of tea as he watched his nephew angrily enter the room. The sun was filtering into the room, it's beams warm and welcoming.

"I had to clear my head. Tell me uncle, do you know anything about the Jade Ghost?"

"The Jade Ghost? Hmm," His uncle stroked his beard as he sifted through his memories. "Nope, never heard of him."

"Her." Zuko corrected as he stared out the window and wondered where she went. Who she was. How she learnt to bloodbend.

"Until next time Jade Ghost."

[yandere-wishes]

⋆.˚ 𝔻𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝕍𝕒𝕔𝕒𝕪 ⋆.˚

𐙚Yandere! Qimir X Reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ He steals you in summer. Castaway on a planet with no name. But the way his eyes shine under the hot sun has your heart beating out of your chest.

⁀➷ Does this count as "That's that me, espresso"?

🪐 Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies, Stockholm syndrome, blood, and gore.

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ Espresso by Sabrina Carpender

Dark Vacay by CAS

The heat licks at your neck dangerously. The scathing red glow cleaves through flesh, through bone.

Warm, warm, warm.

The sort of swelter befitting rampant volcanos and rebirthing suns.  

The man, no, the Sith has you pinned to his chest. His force,a dark pulsating thing, coiling through your body, keeping you rooted.

Sol's voice echoes through the canopy. Sending ripples through the blood-matted forest floor. "Release her." His saber is drawn, pointed.

Blue vs red.

Hot vs cold.

"Give me the relic." The voice lacks emotion, empathy. It demands, it takes. There is no room for formalities here, no chivalry you've long believed in. This monster deals only in dark. Taking and taking. "And I won't hurt her".

You try to push him away, to fight. Your force against his, clawing at the dark ether around you, hunting for an aperture, a splinter anything to infiltrate. But he is resilient, strong the way most volcanos are.

Impenetrable.

You moan against the tightening noose. He demands and you must obey. Such a dark thing can even make your master bow, make him give up the ancient blood-red relic. "You have your relic, now release my pupil." Behind you the monster chuckles, an airy noise overflowing with malice, "I said I wouldn't hurt her, not that I'd give her back."

The lights dull. Neon fading into a fuzzy mess of colors too tangled to decipher. Voices weave bending to the blaring buzz echoing from within. The world grows darker, you try to clutch onto something, anything. The cool colors of saber light, the soothing tone of your master's voice. The monster's dark cadence. But it's no use, the darkness prevails, pulling you under its crushing waves, burying you in a sea of nihil.

The world is dim upon resurgence. The air tastes of salt, fresh and dry upon the throat. The earth you lay in is warm, not like the smoldering heat of a bloodborne saber, but the warmth you imagine a mother's embrace to hold. Soft in every way that counts.

The place is alien and abandoned. No family, no monsters. Just rock upon rock and makeshift furniture to further the illusion of a makeshift home. The pounding upon your temples has yet to cease, you wonder if the outlines of a bruise have yet to bloom.

Slowly, you emerge from the cocoon of worn blankets. Bare feet scraping across the jagged floor. You feel the monster's presence linger, his essence strong within this place. You remember the dragon dens you used to read about in fairy tales. The gold-adorned caves where little princesses were forced to dwell.

It's funny you should feel like one now.

There are clothes sprawled across the floor. Vanilla ice cream in shade and shape, they feel too pure to have been chosen by a man like him. Too pure to have been tainted by the darkness of his fingertips. It's only now that the dress glares back that you notice your bareness, Jedi robes stripped and discarded.

That fiend...

You feel skinned, alone. No saber to grasp, no golden drapes. Nothing to paint you as Jedi. It's with reluctance that you lace yourself into the sweet dress, with utter reluctance that you step out onto the beach of rocks awaiting outside.

You spot the man,

the sith.

Qimir

His name reverberates within your head. You lick each letter, rolling them across your tongue and drinking in their condensation. "Qi-mi-rr" the name shouldn't taste of exotic fruits blended and bled. It shouldn't taste like fruit cocktails and coconut cubes but it does.

It does and it's disgustingly delicious.

He walks with the steady strout of a man who knows he is the most dangerous thing on this beach, on this island, on this entire planet. A volcano among mountains.

You follow behind bare feet on smooth rocks. Fumbling across the beach.

Chasing shadows. Chasing monsters.

He sheds his robes like skin, peeling away sabbath vestments to reveal cutis. Tanned and scarred, marred flesh risen like volcano veins cascading across his spine.

You shouldn't admit how desperately your fingers ache to trace the tragic thing. You glid your nails across the notched igneous rocks. Dreaming its soft flesh, his soft flesh beneath your touch. He would shutter under your fingertips as you pull apart his secrets. Nibbling on them like picnic cookies.

He's stripped bare, soft skin caught in the dim sun. His open wounds glisten under soft gold rays. You skate away from the sight, that forbidden sun-drenched sight. Eyes averted and hidden behind the rocks, twice locked, to avoid a rogue glance.

He is nothing if not haunting, forbidden in every way.

Odd how the memory of his bare ankles is what lingers. Carved too steep and too deep in a way that looks too marble. They merge into long robust legs. You can't help but imagine the sculpture of his thighs after, the thing at the end of those perplexing ankles. They too must be strong, carved to define each muscle. You imagine being trapped between them, their forceful push against your meaker body as his ankles intertwine with yours.

"You can open your eyes now."

You taste his darkness in your mouth again. Potent tropical fruits laced with sea salt. He couldn't have known you were trailing after him, you'd been quiet, silent like a whisper.

"It's improper to strip out in the open. What would you have done if someone should have come upon you?"

He treads in the water like a pearl unearthed. Shimmering alongside the blue-green of the lagoon. "You came upon me and nothing happened."

"That's because I had the good graces to avert my gaze from such a sight."

"I'd prefer if you'd look."

He pours water over his face, sparkly droplets cascading down sharp cheekbones. Eyes wide with an odd groggy wonder. The sky and the sea and him ethereally in between. He shouldn't look so magical. Some water nymph playing spike ball with the sun. Drinking in the clouds and blue. Before diving back down into his aquatic galaxy.

"Join me"

"I'd rather impale myself"  

he's treading closer, water shielding his body like liquid lapis lazuli. "I wonder what your lips will taste like blue?" and it's the first time you've ever thought of your order's regalia as something so macabre.

His eyes are half-lidded, licking over your body like a melting Sunday. Or maybe he actually is, you can feel something wet and sinister sliding across your body. Slipping over and under the dress, sucking at pulse points. Anticipating soft vanilla.

You want to rip out his tongue and harbor in your mouth. You want to devour him as if he were ice cream on a summer day. Butterscotch cone with drizzled caramel and star sprinkles. Your teeth ache desperately for just one small bite.

He's standing, growing into a full man, no longer just a boy nymph memorized by soft whites and bright blues. The water droplet clutch greedy to taut muscles, refusing to leave such a Promethean thing.

The wet thing freezes. Running water to ice cube. His force evaporates from you, you bask in the mist of him. Before the shadow roots behind you impenetrable all over again. Qimir steps closer and you close your eyes on instinct. Stepping back, following the flow of sand in breeze.

Such sights are not for us to love.

It tips you off balance, You can't see Qimir but you can feel him. He's closer and closer. That's why you're stalking back. But the plasmic thing behind you nicks your ankle. Lurching you back. In the blink of an eye and the start of a scream, you're suspended in mid-air. Floating above the sands, save in the gossamer of his black mist.

"Careful" Qimir jests

And you crack your eye open just enough to see his outstretched hand.

"I want to take a shower"

"The lagoone is over there" he throws over his shoulder all so causally. like spelling out sea cemetary.

the warmth of the cave is suffocating. Lacing through your body making it breakout into little pearls of hidrosis. You roll over, watching Qimir, solder the cracks of his helmet. The rampant sparks cast him in a galactic white halo. Some intangible creature from the far reaches of the universe.

You wonder back to the incident by the lagoon.

You wonder if his tongue, his real tongue, would feel cool against your flaring skin. Muscle-bound ice cube rolling across your arms, your chest, drinking in your essence in half kisses and open-lipped moans. Sucking tenderly on the veins of your neck.

But shouldn't the tongues of monsters be spiked? cutting deep in search of blood?

Qimir swats the sweat from his temples. Pulling up the back of his shirt in an effort to fight the humidity. His scars transcend so low. Rivers weaving through him, overflowing with treasured secrets. You suck in the force through your lips drinking in its cold confidence. Marching up to stand behind him, only half admiring the rugged skin below the sandy shirt.

"Ahem" Spine straight, head held high. Your stance is practiced, sculpted in the confidence that the order demands. Lightside in every way.

Jedi, Jedi, Jedi

"I know it is futile to ask a treasonous sith like you to abide by the laws of common decency. But I'd ask that you do not come to spy on me while I bathe" Your hands ball into firsts. Glaring death and shark teeth at his blemished back.

He leaves the workbench with all the grace of a crushing tide. Elegance carved from salt rocks and years of walking through stars and shadows. But this time you refuse to step back. There is no dishabille to fear, no sand lines that may be passed.

But he doesn't confront you. He doesn't bask in his rage and stands proudly in front of you. No, instead he paces, or rather almost floats. He's in front of you one minute and behind you the next. The eerieness of it all only comes from the feeling of entombment. He is your cage, your coffin. Burying you under the sand with his precious secrets and red relics. Your nerve beats out of you in little droplets.

Qimir's fingers lace with your own, his hot breath fans the shell of your ear, "How can I make such promises when you act so cute" his voice is coconut shavings upon white sand. You aren't even sure he spoke. " I thought Sith only dealt in absolutes?" his laughter cuts like fractured seashells. Cutting through heartstrings. You want to hear it again and again until you've memorized its melody. "That's what we want the Jedi to believe."

His teeth graze the nape of your neck. That's the last straw, gravity crushes your nerve, and you take off running.

The pearls that shine within his sockets are entirely too dark. You shouldn't be thinking such this as you disrode. But the glimmer of pure drown isn't a worldly sight, it's something unplaceable.

Sith can not be trusted, even if, until mere days ago they had been things of fairytales like dragons and sea monsters. Mystical monsters used to frighten little padwans into finishing their plates. But the stories are true now, they've ripped open the holobooks and sprouted from the screen. Your fingers flex, feeling the weight of his hand in yours.

The monsters are real...

You keep your undergarments on as you descend with the sparkling tides. Qimir may appear at any moment. And you wish to confront a Sith in a Jedi's skin, or what little is left of it.

You're sinking into the watermelon greens and crystal blues, sinking into him... because even so far from the grotto his presence haunts your thoughts still.

"You wouldn't mind if I invite myself in?" The water laps at his feet, he's standing over the liquid threshold.

"What are you doing here?! I told you not to come."

he shrugs and you can't help but notice the definition of his muscles. "It's hot in the cave. Plus you don't own the beach."

He pulls the shirt over his head.

You scream for him to stop.

But this time as he pulls the waistband down you notice something underneath.

Swim trunks.

Bell-bottomed and shaped like a nebula, but only midnight in hue. The cuffs glimmer with red intricacies, patterns from a different time, a different solar system. Each stitch tells some tale of horror or history. Sith things that you'd rather not know. But why engrave them into a swimsuit? Why paint a tapestry on something so jejune?

He treads through the water, deadset on you. And again in every step, you notice a mettle valor that can only come from having killed and kissed your greatest fears.

The rocks are slippery beneath your feet, running, swimming, gliding whatever gets you further from him. But the rocks form barricades of their own. Igneous confines housing prey and beast.

"I meant it when I said you were cute." He has you pinned to the mineral mountains, eyes prying you open, studying your inner workings like a gutted bot. "So fragile so malleable..." You feel his power rolled over your neck.

You didn't expect the kiss. The taste of coconut shavings and caramel. Your heart hammers as he tugs on your hips, pulling you closer. Your lungs burn, filled with salt water and dark force energy.

But suffocating is a small price to pay when he parts your lips and pushes iced star fruits in your mouth.

That night Qimir had tried to feed you soup. Boiled fish and herbs in a cauldron that looks, entirely witch. But the refusal comes not from the perturbation of poison or the primal mistrust shared between star-crossed enemies.

No the refusal comes because you simply do not like fish.

"Just try a spoonful, it's from a rare breed. Considered a luxury on most planets". His entreaties fall on deaf ears, outvoiced by the stubbornness of a crashing tide. You retire hungry, and maybe it's hunger that stirs you in the dead of night.

Or maybe it's the heartbeat echoing from his mask.

He called it cortosis. But it looks more terror than diamond.

You sink to your knees in front of the haunted heirloom, cradling it gently within your palms. The iron flavor upon lips makes you part them, tongue fleshed tracing every welded scar. Sucking in the solder and crystal and every other poison.

You want to be a part of it, to pry open your ribcage and shove the empyrean taj within.

Let its darkness mingle with your blood. You want to feel it's royalty in the marrow of your bones.

In the morning you do not speak about the pulsating thing within. But the mask stares at you as you eat mint and bread from Qimir's hand.

It knows...

It knows things you can never admit.

You'd been planning on narrowly avoiding him. Tiptoeing across the cave to evade stirring him. But the plans die when first light breeches the aperture.

Qimir's gone.

And in his place, he's left yet another raiment.

The dress is summer and doll. Bowed in the back and studded.

Bar'biee in every way.

The hysterically placed designs parody the crisscross of twilight roses and all their thrones. Checkered in shades of obsidian and ink.

But the black of your dress doesn't quite match the ebony of his robes.

It simply plays testament to your ripeness. You're starting to feel like his little doll.

He lies on a beach towel overlooking the sea. So ordinary it makes you choke. Beach ball in the corner by his feet, waiting to be played with.

Fearless.

You wonder just who he had to kill to reach this hubris?

You float down the little exclaves toes barely touching the ground.

He's adorned the rocky beach with a comically large parasol too dark to even have a name. Another towel, a picnic basket, and little coconut cups with straws. Despite his black tainted sunglasses, he knows you're watching him. Caught in the bosom of this haunted shore. Awaiting your capturer's orders.

"You can sit if you want." again he's saying words without realizing how crushing they truly are. Their full weight pulling your bones until they slip from skin.

Might as well have said shark attack and death at sea.

But you obey because despite everything, the towel looks nice and so does the drink.

"The sun doesn't come out very often. But I figured we could at least enjoy it today."

"Thanks," you mutter chewing on the pink straw. You shift your limbs rigidly. Plastic doll coming to life. Pushing tense bones straight as you rest your uneasy head. The waves hum in your ear and you swear you hear the rocks buzze like star songs.

"Why did you bring me here? Why not kill me."

"Well, you're not really any use to me dead" He offers you a melon slice.

"So I'm bait." Qimir sighs, your query exhausting. He simply sips from his own drink. You notice the jounce of his throat with each gulp. How you'd love to ring to those bones, feel them crack between your fingers.

He turns to you, lips a breath away. He hasn't kissed you since that day in the lagoon. But you wish him too so very much.

This isn't the Jedi way...

What?

Qimir's fingers trace over your thighs and hips. Finally, they land heavily on your shoulders, pushing you into the rocks with zeal. He blocks the sun and you can't help but think he's lovelier than any red goliath in the macrocosm.

Qimir's teeth gnaw at your throat, kissing the blood and smearing it with his tongue. Traling open-mouth kisses to the plinth of your neck.

Your nails, rasp curiously at his back, tracing scars, tracing cortosis veins.

His fingers dig into your ribs, painting it in seastars. Kissing starlights and pearls in your bones. His body is hot, scolding. And you wonder if the minerals he surrounds himself with were all nursed in the womb of a violent volcano.

The result of destructive habits is knife bites called kisses and a heart that's finally exploded.

When he pulls off, he poises himself on his knees before falling back to his side, searching for something in the basket. You stare, dress distorted, and breath hitched. You taste the exotic fruit blend again. Burning, caramel, and coconut that linger across your body.

"Hey, can you put this on me?" reality blurs back in, he's dangling a yellow bottle in front of you. "What" he shouldn't have this ease with you. He shouldn't be playing make-believe lovers on the beach with the girl he kidnapped.

But he does.

And you play along too.

"it's sunscreen, believe it or not, I burn easily."

"No"

"please"

"N-"

You don't control your hand as it pours the cream onto his chest. He touches you with such familiarity, the force on this planet is just an extension of him. But you shy away at the thought of running your fingers across his muscle bound chest. What is the force if not a child's toy? If not another doll.

He notices the shyness. Or rather reads it from the air. His force pokes at your arms, laughing at the discomfort. Before you know it he's harbored between your thighs. Large hands holding your wrist.

Firm yet delicate.

He moves your hand over his chest, charting every bump and muscle. Coating the blocker over his skin. It feels like piecing together armor. Preparing him for a battle you've never been invited to.

You don't want this.

Well not quite.

You want to feel his body jolt under your touch and hear the sweet little quips he offers to lighten the mood. You want to capture the fleeting moment where he bites his lip and preserve it for eternity.

But more than anything you want to peel away his armor, his flesh, and bury yourself beneath. Become another one of his secrets and staying inside him. Safe and warm forever.

"Qimir"

He makes pomegranate soup that night. As he nestles your body over his lap. Kissing the half-healed bruise on your forehead. He brings the spoon to your lips and gently nudges your mind to let him in. You part your lips, welcoming him in with the shyness you've been raised on. Blushing little bride-doll.

Legacy. You realize when the seeds erupt inside your mouth.

He's feeding you his secrets, his bequest. Boiling you like the fish and the fruit. And birthing you anew.

You sleep with your head buried in the crux of his neck. Listening to the lullaby of his tattered heart, singing psalms of conquest.

That night you dream of a river red. You blame it on Qimir, the pomegranate seeds were too maroon in color and flavor.

From the crimson water the helmet surfaces. Bobbing in the waves, beckoning you. You cup your hands inside the river, guzzling down the water and licking your fingers after. You let the red kiss your lips and fill your lungs choking you by essence alone. You want to die drinking from the bloodlust. Die in front of his helmet.

So maybe he can call it love.

Or Devotion.

Or anything else equally sweet.

The river doesn't taste like pomegranates, or fruit cocktails, or iced coconut.

It tastes of salty iron, volcanic diamonds and Qimir's lips.

You plunge into the red...

He's thinking about you again. You know it from the moment you awake. His voice is loud inside your head. Reverberating from wall to wall until it is the only thing you hear.

This time the garments are waterproof. Swimwear. Two pieces in black, just black. And adorned with red trees on the seams.

Right, because you beat me in the forest.

Clever.

He has left bangles too, jagged and bruised purple with veins of white. cortosis. Accompanied by a golden necklace that looks like a beating heart, ripped freshly from someone's chest.

"You look beautiful," he remarks after you've dressed in his colors. When did he come in? You need to get better at hearing the man born from shadows. The man who's walking between worlds unseen, unheard his entire life.

He pulls you close, nails picking at the soft flesh of your tummy. Scratching skin and leaving red crescents. He kneels and licks and bites, claiming this new chart of unmarked skin.

This has always been about possession, domination, damnation. "Qimir" you moan and it feels so wrong and so right. Like saber to the heart.

Oh force, how far you've fallen.

Qimir laces his fingers with yours pulling you outside the cave. The sun shimmers off his lopsided smile and he really does glow brighter than every star in the known cosmos.

The lagoon is red.

It shouldn't be red.

"You killed them" Since when have such dire words spilled so easily from your lips? Sol, Jacki, Yord. Are they in this pool? shimmering translucent awaiting a vengeance you do not think you can deliver?

"Yes...But not your Jedi, not yet. These were just some self-pious knights who got in my way."

He brings his arm up showing you a fresh saber cut, before pulling you into the water. It's so warm boiling, lava meets water. You think your skin will peel off.

But you stand your ground. Force directing your every breath. Spine straight head high. Darkside in every way

Sith, sith, sith

You grasp at his forearm, pulling it to your lips. Your tongue finds the slit in the skin and dives it. Mapping out the muscles and drinking in the red.

Exotic fruits bled and blended.

"I think I'm finally getting through to you," Qimir says, brown pearls glazed over with pride. "My sweet little acolyte."

You giggle at the term. It tastes so bitter, like a raw espresso before dawn.

"Oh, master" you moan. As you pull him under the red waters. Lips and legs entwined.

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[lady-lauren]

❥ DRACULE MIHAWK X FEM!READER

❥ WORD COUNT: 2.5k

❥ WARNINGS/TAGS: knife play (and sword play), sword slicing clothes, sword against pussy, sword/knife against throat, sword to your mouth, (listen his massive sword is everywhere), some fear-play, semi-public sex, former student/master relationship, degradation, praise, some aftercare, creampie

→ Kinktober Masterlist ←

Time slows as your eyes catch the glint of a black blade. You see yourself in the mirror-finish; frightened, pressed with no escape. 

“I’m growing…tired of this little chase.” 

Cool metal kisses your chest, the heaviness of his sword lingering just above the panicked swell of your breasts. Mihawk gazes down, head tilting as he analyzes the predicament—you, back down in the filthy alley, heartbeat a sonorous tune up the spine of his blade.

“Sounds like someone is losing his edge.”

“I don’t have time for your brattiness. You’ve got quite the bounty on your head.”

He moves the massive saber lower, the trailing point curved, sharp. 

Threads begin to pop before the blade fully begins to slice through your shirt. Carbon steel stings cold against the heat of your tits. 

“I thought your precious world government would give me a pass, given that I’m,” you can’t help but suck in a quick breath as he presses down with his sword, slow, methodical, enough to hurt and not break skin, “y-your student.”

“Former student. Who is very clearly out of practice.”

“Took you two weeks to catch me.”

“Because I’m patient, sweetheart.” 

Though his patience seems to be running thin. You’ve never been on the receiving end of Yoru, the great sword only ever used when your master deemed it necessary. The weapon can cleave apart a war galleon, swing a shockwave to crumble glaciers. 

Yet now the midnight blade is gentle, precise, peeling away cloth until your breasts spill into the night air.

“Wh–what are you—?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he presses the tip of his sword to your throat, tilting your chin with the point, “you can benefit from a quick lesson.”

Your swallow rolls against the blade.

You’d be a liar if you said you’d never dreamt of this, of being at his mercy. Mihawk never crossed boundaries, not while you were his to teach. Only times change, tides shift, and now he’s taking what he wants.

He doesn’t have to tell you to be still. 

“Pretty.” He twists the wide sword flat, barely catching the hard peak of your nipple with the edge before smoothing over your skin with the blade. Your teeth grit as you shiver, trying to keep your breathing even. Mihawk repeats the motion, teasing your nipple until it hurts from the icy steel. “Sensitive, too.”

Nails scraping in the dirt, your eyes flash to the mouth of the alley, shadows passing in the street lights. 

Mihawk traces the deadly metal along the curve of your breast, so torturously pressing into the fat like he’s testing the elasticity. The blade pinches against your skin, not enough to draw blood, just enough to remind you of his meticulous control. 

Adrenaline lights up every nerve in your body as the weapon drags down, a stinging line drawn to your stomach. One wrong move and he could slice you open. Just a single squirm and the heavy sword would pierce skin, impale your insides on the most powerful sword on the four seas.

“Mi-Mihawk, please.” The tremble in your voice is a white flag waving.

“What are you begging for?” There’s a twitch at the corner of his sharp mustache, a smile, self-satisfied and impish. He presses the blade into the softness of your belly, prodding you, teasing. 

“Don’t hurt me, please, I-I’ll—”

“Do anything?” he cuts in, the smile shimmering up to his eyes, concentric rings focusing on how your thighs press together. Hot, needy, all the fight in you draining to one vulnerable point. 

“I won’t hurt you,” the promise comes with a shift of his sword, roaming lower, “just want to play with my catch.”

You try to concentrate on anything other than the weight of danger. A low breeze kicks against the crimson of his cape, mud and dust caking the hem. Yellow haze of distant street lamps reflects off his chest, sweat beading in the grooves of muscle—from the chase or his focus, you can’t tell. He looks a bit older than you remember, all the more wiser on how to play.

“Why?”

“Because I can,” he knocks his boot against your ankle, kicking your legs apart, “because I want to.”

Your tongue feels thick in your mouth. The world has shrunk to just you, the sword toying at the juncture of your thighs, and its wielder—nothing else matters. Not the voices in the distance, the hard dirt against your back, the thoughts you had prior to falling prey. 

It’s a surreal feeling of being caught between moments, between life and the fucked up desire to feel more of the crucifix sword against you. 

“Always guessed you were hiding a pretty cunt. Let’s see if I’m right.” 

The blade sinks between your open legs, knife’s-edge dragging along the seam of your pants. Unhurried, simmering like heat slicing through butter. 

Fear kicks in your chest, rings in your ears. He’s so close to the most sensitive part of you, the sword you always admired cutting through your panties. Cold steel like ice against your weeping flesh—you feel strings of your slick glide against the blade as he exposes you. 

You whimper as your bare cunt is spread delicately, the tip of the steel peeling apart your labia.

“Messy already.”

The precision he wields paralyzes you, the razor edge of the blade brushing against your swollen clit. Pleasure sings down your veins like the pinging of metal, chills erupting over your skin. You squeeze your eyes shut and will your body to stay still, for your hips not to buck. 

Mihawk teases your clit again, and again, swirling the sharp sword over the sensitive bundle of nerves. You choke back a sob, muscles in your thighs twitching as you try to stay calm as he riles you.

“Now what if I…?” he asks himself, the deep baritone of his voice laced with curiosity. 

You gasp as the black blade dips lower, curved point teasing your clenching hole. On instinct your legs try to close, stopped only by his quick reaction. His boot kicks at your knee, hissing like you’re ruining his concentration. 

“Easy, sweetheart. I don’t want to make this pretty pussy bleed.”

Patient as ever, he gives you a few moments to collect yourself, lungs taking in too much air. 

Then the sharpness of his sword pressed back into the squish of your cunt, tip barely easing open your hole like he’s testing, analyzing. A too curious predator prodding his meal. 

“Fuck, please…” you bite from between your teeth, clumping dirt in your palms as you fight not to move, fight the fear bubbling inside your belly. 

“Do you know what you’re begging for yet?” 

“Touch me. Please. I-I need something inside me.”

Mihawk circles your opening, spreading wet muscle, “Tempting words.” 

“You know what I mean.”

The blade skims up from your hole, passing through your folds, flicking over your clit with a metallic ping. 

“Clean your mess first,” the giant blade gleams as he so easily moves it over your panting body, bringing the tip to hover just above your lips, “then I’ll consider fucking you.”

Your eyes meet his, the shape of the sword going fuzzy in your vision as you evaluate him. Golden eyes are glazed over with lustful focus, watching, waiting. 

You don’t break your gaze as your tongue falls from your mouth, licking the underside of the blade. Tangy slick, viscous and gooey, meets your tastebuds. You’d be ashamed of your mess if it weren’t for the way his cock bulges in his pants, thick length throbbing down his thigh. 

In all your years of training, he never once let you touch Yoru. And now he’s flipping the edge over your tongue, washing the jet-black color in your spit.

“Does this please you, Master?” you drop the name like acid against the blade. 

“I could cut out your tongue.” He proves his point by digging the great sword into your wet flesh, just enough to hurt. He wouldn’t. But oh how he could. “If I didn’t have better uses for it in mind.”

Careful patience snaps. In a blur, the blade is gone, replaced by strong hands maneuvering how he pleases. A jerk and you’re off the ground, a push and your exposed tits are scraping a brick wall. 

Mihawk fingers the hole he sliced between your thighs, pant seams ripping farther apart as he spreads your thighs wide. 

His cockhead pops into your cunt, length sliding in deep as he groans against your back. 

“So wet from my sword.”

Spearing into the most intimate parts of you, Mihawk sets a grueling pace, heady slaps of skin on skin and his thick cock dragging along your walls. He’s working towards a goal, purposeful, kissing the back of your neck as he seeks release.

Your hands slide down the granulated wall, gritty brick digging into soft skin. Your nipples are puffy against the same treatment, tender breasts singing with pain. 

“Should’ve,” he inhales with a deep groan, distracted by the suck of your cunt, “known you were such a slut, should’ve made you beg for me sooner.”

You moan his name repeatedly, begging him not to stop, all hot whispers into night air. One hand dips around your body, deft fingers smearing over your clit. Orgasm quickly begins to bloom over your senses, making your toes curl and your back arch against him.

You stare at the ground as Mihawk continues to pump inside you, helplessly whining as he chases his high. You’re fine tuned to every thrust, the way he angles, enough to notice the little inconsistencies. A more shallow plunge, a longer pull of your walls along his shaft before his balls meet your ass. 

A hand latches to your throat, lifts your head and forces you back against him. He sucks at your neck, teeth nipping harder than his blade ever touched your skin. His cock swells at the new angle, pressing apart your gummy walls. Over and over he thrusts up into you, slick squelching from the intrusion, dripping down his balls. 

Mihawk fucks you through the gap he cut into your pants, seams now tearing down your thighs. 

“This how you want me to turn you in? Fucked open and dripping like a whore?”

Before you can register the movements, Mihawk unsheathes the knife that hangs from his neck, pressing it to the column of your throat. 

The soft scratch of his beard meets your cheek as the cold metal of the knife skates up your sweating skin. 

“Perhaps I can make you even more messy, hm? Since you get off on this shit.”

Your heartbeat pounds in your neck as you try to tilt away from the blade. Yet some part of you wants to press closer, feel the sharp edge dig into your vulnerable throat. Mihawk’s thumb pets the steel, purposefully keeping it steady as he grinds into your cunt.

“Fuck, fuck!” you choke down a whine.

“Worried? I could slice you open now— your bounty is dead or alive.” 

The realization of the true danger makes you weak, hands slipping down the wall. He could. He might. It would make it so much easier. Fuck you, gut you, take the prize. 

“P-please, don’t. Please. I’ll go with you, you can do whatever you want.”

Mihawk hums in a twisted pleasure, the sound snaking down your spine. The knife blade twists against your skin, tugging you closer to him. 

“Let me feel this slutty cunt cum, then I’ll decide.” 

A war breaks open in your mind, a battle between fear and ecstasy, swirling together into a messy battlefield that leaves you in a state of limbo. Neither side can win, not when you want both so badly. The fear makes you sweat, the bliss makes your pussy cream around the fat cock that keeps invading your insides. 

You’re overwhelmed, panting and whimpering as your former master uses his power and strength to control you in ways you never thought possible. 

The curved, sharp edge of the knife slides down your throat, resting at the base as Mihawk drives his hips harder, jostling you closer and closer to danger. 

And the danger is the spark in your belly, igniting the churning coil of shameful bliss that makes you want to sob. The fingers on your clit pick up pace, rubbing fast and mean until you feel too hot. 

“Oh god, please, please, I wanna cum, wanna cum so bad for you,” you grit your teeth as you focus on the blinding pleasure, chasing it up the cliff’s edge. 

“Do it,” Mihawk groans as he licks up your cheek, arching the blade at the base of your throat, “cum for me, sweetheart.” 

He holds the knife tightly to your neck as you come undone, the metal warm from your body. Your moan vibrates against the steel, sharp edge scraping until it hurts. The pain bleeds into pleasure, a wicked mixture that makes your adrenaline filled nerves explode with your orgasm. You feel like you’ve been smashed into by a tidal wave, a rush of emotions and bliss toiling over another in the current. 

You babble against the blade, nonsense and pleas. Mihawk follows your flow, pausing his thrusts as your cunt sucks around him. His fingers against your clit go soft, gentle swirls as you wind down from your high. 

“Shhh, I’ve got you, yeah,” he hums with delight as his cock begins to pulse and spurt, pearly strings dripping from where he’s plugged inside your pussy. The mess sprays into your ruined clothes, drools down your thighs.

Mihawk drags the knife over your throat, languid, smearing against the wetness of sweat. He traces the column of your neck, letting you feel the flat of the blade stinging over your skin. 

“You did good, sweetheart, so good.” 

After the knife is sheathed around his neck, he leans forward to trail kisses over your throat, tongue laving over the sore skin rubbed raw from the edge of his blade. 

Your heart is racing, pussy still tight with fear as he pulls his shaft from your swollen walls. 

Mihawk pulls you from the bricks and into his arms, petting your hair as your face tucks into his chest. 

“You feeling alright?” A kiss to your forehead makes you coo, nails digging into him.

“Yeah. Yeah,” you clear your throat, “I’m okay. Guess I’m going with you now.” 

A rare laugh rumbles in his chest. Smooth and soft, like a cat purring to soothe. 

“Yes, you are. But we’re going home. You clearly need more training, after all.” 

You still feel a little numb, arousal and adrenaline still buzzing down your veins. Mihawk brushes his thumbs over your cheeks, down your back, then steps away to pull his coat from his shoulders to wrap around yours. 

“And now I have much more…creative ideas for teaching you how to wield a sword.”

[flightlessangelwings]

Our Souls Intertwined

sith!Obi Wan Kenobi x fem!jedi!reader

Word count- 4,580

Prompt- a lightsaber tilting up someone's chin

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), enemies to lovers, fighting, mutual pining, flirting, tension, fingering, piv sex, pet names (darling, love), praise, jedi!reader, reader is competent as a fighter and is a badass, no physical descrption of reader other than body parts, lightsaber color also never described, no use of y/n, open ending so you can decide for yourself what happens next

Notes- Written for Sith Obi Wan event @sithobiwanevent and oh boy did I have so much fun with this one!! I hope y'all enjoy reading this one as much as I enjoyed writing it!! Please let me know what you think!!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post new things!

^ gif credit linked above (thank you wonderful person for making that gif!!)

~

It was an epic battle. The whir of lightsabers filled the air. Red clashed with various colors as Lord Obi Wan Kenobi, feared and powerful sith lord, fought his way through the waves of jedi that came at him. A dark smirk graced his face as he sliced through some padawans, easily defeating the young opponents in front of him. Around him, his army fired from their blasters. It was chaos, and he thrived on it. The energy around him whirled, and he harnessed the power of the force to his advantage.

It was then that Kenobi saw you.

He brushed a lock of hair that had fallen on his face to watch you battle the enemy droids that surrounded you. He saw the strain in your jaw as you parried the blaster fire that came your way before you ran and stabbed those that shot at you. Kenobi was actually impressed by the way you handled yourself, and he actually had to take a breath to calm the thoughts that flooded his mind.

Swinging his red saber in a dramatic circle, Kenobi rushed over to you, calling your name as he got within range.

You whipped around, your own lightsaber at the ready as you braced yourself from the impact of Kenobi’s weapon.

“Hello there,” Kenobi smirked.

“Kenobi,” you strained as you countered his attack and parried with one of your own.

“Lovely to see you again, darling,” he quipped.

You just grunted as you volleyed your weapon. Ignoring the way Kenobi’s yellow eyes bore into you as if they were looking into your soul, you focused on the red of his blade. The two of you fought each other one on one, your blades crossing each other as if you were in a dance. The rest of the battle seemed to fade away and all that existed was each other.

“You’ve improved, darling,” Kenobi observed as he lunged at you with more force, electricity cackling as his saber crushed against yours.

“Don’t call me that, Kenobi,” you growled back, fighting both his physical assault and the way your heart secretly fluttered in your chest whenever he called you any term of endearment. The smoothness of his voice always went right to your core, as much as you tried to push it away. 

It only took that one fraction of a second for Kenobi to gain the advantage. Just the slight loosening of your lightsaber was all it took for him to knock it out of your hand and use the force to push you onto the ground. You spat a curse under your breath as you tried to channel the force to pull your saber back into your hand, but Kenobi’s boot caught it before it slid close enough for you to grasp it.

“Shit,” you muttered as you scrambled to your knees.

Before you could rise completely, red filled your vision. The hum of Kenobi’s lightsaber rang in your ears as you suddenly found yourself paralyzed. Sweat lined your brow as he used the tip of his saber to gently force your vision up to meet his gaze. He was careful, though, careful not to actually touch the blade to your skin and hurt you. Instead, Kenobi used the force to angle your head up.

In one hand, Kenobi held his lightsaber and the other he held up with two fingers as he controlled the force around the two of you. His eyes matched the red of his blade as his gaze pierced into you.

Helpless, you swallowed hard, “If you’re going to kill me, Kenobi,” you tried to sound strong, though you were sure your voice was strained, “Just get it over with. Don’t toy with me like this.”

“Why would I kill you, darling?” he purred, clearly enjoying having you helpless on your knees before him.

The question caught you off guard.

“Why not join me?” he asked in a smooth tone, “I could help you hone your skills. You could fight at my side instead of against me.”

You inhaled sharply, “You asked me that before, Kenobi,” you steadied your breath as you focused your feelings and reigned in your emotions, “And my answer is still no.”

He smiled darkly, “Still as stubborn as ever I see,” he actually sounded impressed, “But I see there is no changing your mind yet, love.” Kenobi released you and retracted his lightsaber. 

With a gasp, you fell forward and your face smashed into the ground. Quickly, you scrambled to your hands and knees only to find Kenobi had put some distance between the two of you.

“Until next time, darling,” he gave you a quick wave of his fingers before he disappeared into a dust cloud.

You were left alone and astonished. Why hadn’t he killed you? Why did he leave you alive? Again? Swallowing hard, you ignored the way your heart pounded in your chest as you grabbed your lightsaber and ran back to help the other jedi.

*

It wasn’t long before you met Kenobi again on the battlefield. Lightsabers clashed as you fought him on the desolate planet. You weren’t even sure which planet you were on, only that it was barren and filled mostly with sand and boulders and caves. Lightsabers and blasters clashed in the dunes and rocks of the desolate planet. 

“You get better every time I see you, darling,” Kenobi smirked, “If you were to join me, I could make you even greater.”

“Keep dreaming, Kenobi,” you countered back. 

“Oh I do see you in my dreams, darling,” he grinned, enjoying how his words threw you off for a moment.

The two of you battled each other, moving away from the rest of the battlefield and the others without realizing it. You grunted as you tried to focus your energy into finally beating him, but the way his yellow eyes stared into your soul distracted you. And all it took was a moment, just one flash of an instant, for you to lose your edge.

One misstep and you tumbled down the rocky ridge that hosted your duel with the sith lord. But, before you hit the ground, you found yourself suspended in the air. Looking up, you saw Kenobi rush toward you, shouting your name. In a fit of frustration, you channeled the force and pushed that energy towards him, attempting to knock him off balance.

It did, and Kenobi fell back. However, the rush of force energy also hit a large pile of large rocks and boulders. The ground rumbled beneath your body and you knew this was greater trouble than the sith in front of you. In an instant, your goal changed from beating Kenobi to getting out of the rockslide alive. 

Looking behind him, he noticed the danger too and he bolted toward you and pulled you off the ground, “Run!” Kenobi yelled as he grabbed your hand.

The rockslide felt like it was caving in around you as you ran, your hand in his. Kenobi led you towards a cave, an opening that seemed to be your only way of escaping the cascading boulders around you both. As the dust clouded your vision and the crashing of the rocks around you made it hard to hear, you had no choice but to put your trust in him.

Kenobi got you both into the cave with just a fraction of a second to spare. Both of you crashed to the ground as the boulders piled up at the entrance, blocking you in. You let out a heavy exhale as the dust settled, and the only beams of light that lit up the small cave came from higher up.

The cave was shallow, and you could see the end of it. That meant there was no way out except for how you came in. And how you came in was currently blocked with dozens of large boulders. The beams of light came from small openings between the rocks, but they weren’t big enough to crawl through. Inside the cave, there were only the two of you, along with rocks scattered throughout the floor.

“Are you alright?” Kenobi asked with genuine concern in his voice.

“I’m fine,” you replied immediately as you tried to stand. However, when you tried to move your arm, you hissed in pain, “Shit…” you grabbed your shoulder and felt blood soak your hand.

“No you’re not,” Kenobi rushed to you, inspecting your wound and swallowing the fear that threatened to bubble over in his mind.

“I’ll be ok,” you tried to ignore his worry over you, “It’s not that bad.”

He pursed his lips as he looked at your shoulder then back to where the boulders piled high, trapping you in together, “It’s too high to climb,” he observed, “And it’ll take both of us to move all the boulders,” Kenobi turned back to you, “Which you can’t do with that injury,” he reached for your shoulder again, “Let me.” His heart fluttered in his chest as he saw the blood seep from your shoulder, and he hated the sinking feeling he had when he saw you hurt.

Before you could protest, Kenobi covered your injury with his hand and let out a long slow breath. Mouth opened in shock, you felt warmth on your injury and you felt the energy of the force flow from him into you. You watched him for a moment before you closed your eyes and surrendered yourself, feeling the force flow between your bodies as if it cradled and protected you both. Warmth embraced you as you felt rejuvenated from what Kenobi was doing.

With a gasp, Kenobi broke away from you as his eyes shot open. He backed away as he hunched forward, weak from the energy he expended. You let out a gasp of your own as you watched him crawl to a rock to steady himself before he lifted his body to sit.

“How were you able to do that?” you asked in shock as you cradled your now uninjured shoulder.

Kenobi just looked at you, “Well I wasn’t always a sith, darling,” he gave you a genuine soft smile.

The question came out before you could stop it, “What happened?”

His smile turned mischievous, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

You rolled your eyes.

Changing the subject with a heavy sigh, Kenobi said, “It looks like we’ll be here for a while. I need to recover my strength if we are to move those boulders,” he looked around, “Might as well get comfortable.”

Your body remained stiff as you stayed on high alert. Your saber was at your side, yet you made sure your hand was never far from it. The muscles in your jaw clenched harder as you watched Kenobi visibly relax on a rock, leaning back and resting his leg in front of him.

“I’m not going to attack you,” he said in a calm tone after feeling your heavy gaze on him for several long moments.

“Then what are you going to do?” you asked, guard still up but chipped away just the slightest. 

Kenobi smirked as he stood, “What would you like me to do, darling?” he purred as he took a step towards you.

You took a step back, keeping the distance between you. Yet, you couldn’t deny the way you felt the force move around you whenever he was near, and especially when it was now just the two of you trapped and alone. And you were sure he felt it too.

“I…” 

The two of you kept up this dance, Kenobi stepping forward and you stepping back until you hit a wall. His body was relaxed; he wasn’t hunting you. Instead, it was as if he was approaching you at a bar, friendly almost. Your heart pounded in your chest, yet it wasn’t from fear.

“I have something in mind,” his tone was low yet soft as he stepped into your space.

You swallowed hard as you pressed your back against the wall, feeling him against you. Kenobi placed a hand on one side of your head as his gaze bore into your soul.

“And I think you have the same thought as I do,” he continued as he leaned into you.

“How do you know?” you tried to sound tough, but you didn’t even fool yourself. You dropped your gaze to the ground, avoiding his eyes.

Kenobi let out an amused huff as he took two fingers and gently guided your face to look back up and meet his eyes. It was a similar feeling from last time when you met him on the battlefield and he used his saber to force you to look at him. Both times, you should have felt threatened, in danger. And yet, you didn’t. Not then, and certainly not now. No, it was a different feeling that pulsed through your veins.

“Because,” he said in almost a whisper, “You aren’t pushing me away.”

Your mouth dropped open as you realized that he was not trapping you at all. The only contact he made was his fingers on your chin, which you could have easily brushed off. Kenobi hovered close to you, yet he gave you a clear path out if you chose to take it. Yet, you didn’t. You chose to stay there, in his gaze.

“Why don’t you just take what you want from me?” you asked.

“Darling,” he sounded almost offended, “I would never do that to you. I would never hurt you,” he sighed, “I want you on your own volition.”

“Obi Wan…” you breathed his name… his first name you realized. 

His yellow eyes went wide as his jaw clenched, “No one has called me that in… A long time,” he sighed, “It sounds lovely in your voice.”

You let out a deep breath as you felt his breath on your lips.

“Tell me what you want, darling,” he murmured, “And say my name again.” It wasn’t a command, but a request. It was his way of giving you one last out should you choose.

Your eyes darted from his yellow ones down to his lips and you swallowed hard, “Kiss me… Obi Wan.”

The moment the words left your lips he crashed his into yours. Your moan was muffled from the kiss, but you instantly melted into it, grasping at his black robes as you parted your lips for him. Obi Wan took the invitation eagerly and slipped his tongue past your lips, tasting you, savoring you. He groaned into you as he finally touched you, one hand grabbing your hip while the other cradled your jaw. 

In your studies as a jedi, you trained to feel the force around you and how to harness it. You had an exceptional understanding of it, and learned to control it much faster than your classmates. As a knight, your power only grew. But, it wasn’t until you kissed the sith lord Obi Wan Kenobi that you fully understood the true feeling of the force wrapping itself around you and how it bound two souls together. You had never felt anything like this in your life before. And from the way he groaned into you, you were sure he felt the same way.

“You taste divine, lovely,” he purred against your lips before he kissed you again, his beard ticking your face as he devoured you.

“Obi Wan…” you whispered as you broke the kiss for a breath of air. You tilted your head to the side as he kissed his way along your jaw and down your neck, sending goosebumps across your skin as he hit more sensitive spots, “Touch me. Please,” you pleaded.

“It would be my pleasure, darling,” he groaned as his hands roamed across your chest.

His hands slipped under your jedi robes and cupped your breasts. He let out a satisfied growl when you mewled in pleasure under his touch, and he could help the way he kneaded and caressed your soft mounds. Kenobi felt a jolt within him when he pinched your nipples and made you cry out louder.

He hummed as his hands made their way down your body, his eyes never moving from your face the entire time. Kenobi didn’t want to miss a single expression as he worshiped you with his hands. He paused for a moment when his fingers reached the top of your pants, but when you didn’t protest or push him away, he dipped a hand underneath the fabric.

Both of you gasped as Obi Wan’s hand cupped your pussy. While your eyes fluttered shut and you arched your back against the wall, his stayed open, watching you with great interest. Your mouth dropped open as he carefully pushed two fingers into you.

“Fuck!” you cried out as you grasped at his shoulders for balance.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as he thrust his fingers in and out of you. Obi Wan couldn’t tear his eyes away from you even if he wanted to. Every little expression you made, every little sound of pleasure that escaped your lips, even how your pussy felt around him… you were everything to him.

“Obi Wan…” you whined as your mind swam in the bliss his fingers gave you. 

Oh how he loved it when you said his name. Obi Wan’s eyes burned with passion as he growled and thrust his fingers into you harder. His cock strained with need, but he ignored it in favor of pleasuring you. As he buried his fingers deep inside you, Obi Wan rutted against your body, covering you with himself as heat rose between you.

“Please… I’m close…” you moaned as you felt dizzy. You tightened your grip on him, knowing he would be there to hold you and keep you steady.

“Show me how beautiful you are when you cum, darling,” he groaned as he picked up his pace with his fingers.

It only took a few more deep thrusts for you to come undone. Your body trembled in his grip as you came hard with a loud scream of his name. Tears filled your eyes as you felt overwhelmed between the emotions that pulsed through your body as you rode out your orgasm on his fingers. And just as you felt breathless, he kissed you again, even more deeply this time.

You whimpered as Obi Wan slowly pulled his fingers out of you and your chest rose and fell with your heavy breaths. When he broke away, you finally looked into his eyes and saw the fire that burned behind them. “Fuck me, Obi Wan.”

He smiled at you as he grabbed you and spun you around. In a flash, you found yourself on your back, his cape underneath you as he quickly yanked and tugged at both your clothing. Depreciation took over both of you as you worked to quickly strip each other until you are both completely bare.

“Wow,” you breathed as you stared at him.

“Exquisite,” he moaned as he lunged forward and kissed you once more, his hips rutting against the fold of your pussy as he started to lose control of himself.

Obi Wan lost even more control as he pushed the tip of his cock into you. Both of you gasped and cried out as you felt him slowly enter you. You clawed at his back as more of his cock stretched you out inch by inch. And Obi Wan growled as your warmth engulfed him, driving him wild.

“Obi Wan…” you whined.

“I know, darling,” he muttered as he rocked back and thrust forward. 

A string of curses escaped both your lips as he rocked in and out of you, hitting that sweet spot inside you with precision every single time. You screamed as your vision blurred and you dug your nails more into his back. But it only spurred him on more, thrusting harder and faster into you as he became more and more desperate.

Screams and groans echoed in the cave and skin slapped against skin. Obi Wan would have wanted this to last longer, but you were too beautiful, too enticing, too perfect. Sweat lined his brow as locks of hair stuck to his forehead as he thrust into you with abandon. 

“Cum for me, darling,” he growled as he felt his own climax build, “Cum with me.”

“Fuck!” you cried out as your breasts swung back and forth with every thrust of his hips.

With a scream, your second orgasm hit you like a bantha and your legs trembled on either side of his body as he continued to pound into you. Obi Wan growled your name as your orgasm triggered his and he came deep into you, grunting and moaning as he spilled himself inside your body.

Obi Wan kept going as long as he could, rocking into your wet pussy hard enough to feel the splash of your release soak your bodies. But, as he rode out both your climaxes, neither of you had anything left to give and he pulled out of you after one final thrust. 

You gasped as you felt the sudden emptiness and your eyes shot open to watch him hover over you with an inferno in his gaze. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you stared back at him and suddenly you were keenly aware of how naked you still were. Heavy breaths echoed around you as you both lost yourselves in each other.

Sensing your shift, Obi Wan took a deep breath and composed himself. He leaned over and gathered your jedi robes and handed them to you, “Here,” he said before he turned his back to you to give you some privacy.

Neither of you were sure why he did that, after he just fucked you. but you welcomed it either way. Both of you were silent as you redressed. Your heart still beat wildly in your chest as you felt the ghost of his touch on your skin and you replayed what just happened in your head.

“Anger. Fear. Loss,” Obi Wan broke the silence after he slipped on his pants and robe, leaving it open to bare his chest to you still.

“What?” Your voice was just a whisper as you spun around to face him.

“How I turned to the dark side,” Obi Wan said in a soft voice, one that you guessed he hadn’t used in some time, “There was someone… very dear to me. Someone that I loved with everything I had. Someone…” he took in a shaky breath as he ran his hands through his hair, “I couldn’t save… No matter how hard I tried.”

You watched with wide eyes as he bared his soul to you with his confession. You guessed the way his story ended without him having to say it out loud. You both knew the path to the dark side, and how his loss led to his fall. You crossed the space to stand face to face with him as you placed a hand on his chest.

“I swore then that I would never care for anyone like that again,” Obi Wan turned away from you, breaking the contact he craved so deeply, “And I hadn’t since…” he turned back to meet your gaze, “Until now.”

A gasp escaped your lips, “Obi Wan…?”

He gave you a sad smile, one that you couldn’t decipher its meaning. Before you could say anything else, though, he turned to the wall of boulders, “I think we can move it now,” he said as he tightened his robe around him.

You followed his gaze with your own and nodded, “Ok.” The disappointment in your tone was clear. 

“Concentrate all your energy,” he told you, “You hold them steady, I will push them out of our way. When you see an opening, you run. Understand?”

You wanted to protest. You wanted to tell him to run with you, to stay at your side. But the seriousness in his expression told you it wasn’t worth the energy to argue. “Got it.”

Both of you raised your arms, channeling the force toward the boulders. You grunted as you kept the large rocks steady while Obi Wan worked on moving them out of the way. He started with the smaller ones at the top, but when he got to the middle, it all started to collapse.

“Steady!” he shouted.

You gritted your teeth as you strained to keep the bigger ones steady. Dust started to fill the air as everything moved. When Obi Wan got to the center, he called your name, “Run! Now! Go!”

Doing as you were told, you bolted forward into the dust. You tried to keep the rocks steady as you ran, but the more you exerted yourself, the harder it got. The ground rumbled as the boulders tumbled out of the way, creating dust clouds so thick that you couldn’t see through.

Once you were out and clear from the rocks, you turned around and screamed, “Obi Wan!” You streamed to look for him through the dust, but for several moments, you couldn't. You reached through the force, pushing the rocks out of the way to search for him.

Just when you were about to lose hope, you saw his silhouette in the dust, “Obi Wan,” you sighed in relief as you ran to him. Without thinking, you wrapped your arms around him, embracing him hard, “You’re ok.”

He smiled at you as he held you close, just as relieved as you were, “I’m alright, darning.”

You looked into his eyes, and for a moment you saw no sign of the sith yellow that usually illuminated them. In front of you now wasn’t a sith lord or empire general, but just a man. As you held each other, you felt the sense that there was much left unspoken, but the sound of an engine in the distance forced those thoughts to remain unsaid.

“It’s a rebel transport,” he said, “They must have seen the dust cloud from our escape. They’ll pick you up, and you’ll be safe.”

“But what about you?” you turned back to face him.

Obi Wan smiled at you as he cupped the side of your face, “I’ll be alright, darling, don’t you worry.” He paused for a moment, as if he wanted to kiss you again, but he decided not to, “Now go,” he nudged you forward as he retreated back.

You turned toward the incoming ship, waving your hands so that they spotted you. As it hovered closer, blowing your robes up into the wind, you spoke to him with your back still turned, “Obi Wan, come with…” you turned around to find him gone, “Me.” Your shoulders dropped in disappointment as the ship landed and the clones called your name.

“You’re alright! We were looking for you,” they said as they ushered you onto the ship.

From the shadows in the distance, Obi Wan Kenobi watched as you got on board and were flown away to safety. He sensed the thought in your mind, and he fled before you could ask it. He knew he would not have the strength to deny your request had he heard you speak it. Blowing a kiss into the air, he whispered, “Until we meet again, my love,” before he turned and went the opposite direction. 

Be safe, he released his thought across the planes to you. 

[queenariesofnarnia]

the rescue

tech x f!jedi reader

wc: 1,552

tech lives au, i was a tech is cx-2 believer

warnings: some spoilers if you haven't finished season 3, mentions of grief, hemlock, and brief violence

You knew this was going to be risky but it was your best shot. You stood with Crosshair doing your best to take out the assassins. Until you got distracted by a pull in the force. A familiar pull you haven’t felt since Eriadu. Collapsing to your knees at the overwhelming feeling, blasters dropped to the floor as a painful scream wracked through your body. Darkness took over your vision as a blaster bolt stuns you. 

The only feeling you can make out is him. You were too overwhelmed by grief following his fall, the day Hunter restrained you from jumping after him. From that day on you’ve beaten yourself up over not saving him. You felt like the force abandoned you that day, the pain was enough to anger you. But you put the effort into finding Omega, working through the grief was hard but you got her and Crosshair back. That’s something Tech would’ve wanted. 

“A glaring weakness in clones is their loyalty to one another. Thank you for proving my point” a voice you’ve only heard once before tonight reaches your ears as you stir awake. You try to free your hands but it doesn’t work. “Their efforts have failed. Predictably so.” Hemlock adds. 

“Sir there’s been an explosion in the central lab. It’s been destroyed” a trooper informs. 

“You failed too. Your data’s gone” Omega says. 

“But I have you” Hemlock retorts. You glance over to see Wrecker has woken up. 

“You’re forgetting one thing” her tone proud, as Wrecker breaks loose. “I have them” she adds. She runs to your side freeing your restraints then Hunters. Before Hemlock cuffs her to him and runs out. 

“Get the kid” Wrecker says before tackling an assassin through the window. Hunter picks up the electric staff one of the assassins was using. Stumbling through the small area. You notice the assassin that has been on your tail ever since Omega has come back to you going for Hunter. That’s when you feel the force pull you again. You see Crosshair aim a blaster at the assassin and it misses. As Hunter gets ready to throw the spear you force it from his hands. 

“Crosshair drop the blaster” you demand through gritted teeth. He looks at you like you’ve gone crazy. “Cross please” you plead with him. The assassin makes a move towards you. You push him back into the wall. “Go to sleep” using a mind trick on him. He collapsed against you, taking you down to the floor. 

“Why?” Hunter begins to question. You wave your hand at him instructing him to go after Omega. You free your hands from under the assassins weight reaching for his helmet. Pulling it off slowly. Auburn curls fell in his face at the removal of his helmet. Auburn curls that you recognize from the late nights of playing with them until he fell asleep. Curls that he always kept slicked back during his soldier days. You lift him up slowly, placing your hands under his arms you begin your drag him out to the shuttle. Using any strength your body had to get him there alive was your objective. Acquiring a blaster to stop anyone who got in your way. The one time you wish you brought your saber along but you knew the risk. Not many of Hemlock’s troopers stayed behind or many have already been dealt with as you trudged through the hall nearing the hangar. Hearing your name being frantically called over the coms of an unconscious trooper leaning down to pick it up. 

“I’m almost to you” you grunt out as you pull Tech’s body along trying to minimize the amount of bruises he’ll have when he wakes up. As you make way through the doors of the hangar, you see the shuttle, relief washing over you. Your body may be exhausted but you weren’t giving up. Echo runs to meet you, a look of disbelief as he sees who is in your arms. “Help me please. He’s heavier than he looks” you joke. Echo chuckles but grabs a hold of Tech’s left arm as you drag him up the boarding ramp. 

“How did you know it was him?” Echo asks as you strap him into a seat. 

“I felt him. It was like feeling his signature for the first time all over again” you explain plopping into the seat next to him. A look of sympathy flashes in Echo’s eyes. 

“Thank you for bringing him home” he says squeezing your shoulder. “Now let’s get out of here” he adds leaving you to go pilot the shuttle back to Pabu. You’re surrounded by other clones that you’ve rescued, some you’ve seen before during the war. They all greeted you with respect. A soft smile on your face as you greeted them back before telling them to try and rest. 

Once in hyperspace the rest of the batch made their way to you. Echo told them the news, and they rushed down to see for themselves. There he was asleep with you at his side. 

“She felt him” Omega quietly says. “She told me she can feel all of us in the force, regardless of the fact we’re clones. We still have a unique force signature” she adds. 

“She sent us out to make sure she was right” Crosshair tells Hunter specifically. If anyone knew you best when it came to your emotions it was him. Wrecker grins before he sits on the floor in front of you leaning back to close his eyes as well. He’s taken many hits today, and the adrenaline has finally worn off. Omega and Crosshair sit in the empty seats next to you. Omega holds your hand as she rests her head against your arm. 

“I’ll go sit with Echo for now. It’s too much to stay down here” Hunter tells them. They nod in response knowing that his senses are still extremely sensitive after Tantiss. He smiles softly before heading back to the cockpit with Echo.  

-On Pabu🌊🏝️-

A few rotations later, you were still unconscious which didn’t surprise the batch. You rarely slept since Eriadu. Tech was still unconscious as well and bound to the bed with binders. Echo got his lenses in his goggles fixed for him. Placing them on the bedside table. They each took turns rotating between your room and Tech’s. You woke up first, while Omega sat with Batcher. 

“Mom!” Omega yells throwing herself on the bed. She’s been calling you mom since the mission on Ryloth, and you cried the first time she said it. Batcher joins her, as her tail wags in excitement. Your arms wrap around her tightly as you press a kiss into her hair. Hunter enters the room his eyes meeting yours. You could feel the relief wash over him. He joins your side placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“Good to see you awake” he says with a smile. You smile back at him before letting Omega go so she can tell the others you’re awake. Your head rest against his shoulder, taking in the silence. You could tell what he was feeling without you having to communicate. 

“You’re worried about when he wakes up” you whisper. He briefly tenses before nodding. “I can help with his memory but that means I’d have to go into his mind” you tell him playing with your hands. 

“We can show him all his recordings. He’s documented everything since we were cadets” he tells you before getting up as Wrecker and Crosshair enter. A small smile is on Crosshair’s face as your eyes meet, you flash him one back. Wrecker comes over kissing the top of your head letting you know how happy he is to see you. You hear Omega and Echo yell from the next room that Tech has woken up. You spring out of bed dashing down the hall. His honey eyes meet yours, he looks confused but you slowly approach him. Despite the others protesting. You reach for his repaired goggles placing them on him. Your hands slide down his face gently cradling it. He relaxed into your touch to your surprise. You wrap him in your force signature, to make sure he stays calm. His eyes closing briefly enjoying your touch. Before that open abruptly. 

“Cyar’ika” his voice was low and hoarse. Tears fill your eyes, hearing his voice from him instead of an old recording. Your arms wrap around his neck as you begin to cry into his shoulder. Omega quickly goes over releasing him from his binders so he can wrap his arms around you. 

“Ner kar’ta” you manage to get out in between your sniffling. As you pull away he grabs you by the back of your neck pulling you in for a kiss. Pulling apart at Hunter clearing his throat. 

“Welcome back Tech” he says smirking, knowing his brother normally kept physical affection private. 

“I am glad to be back. However can anyone tell me what has happened to my ship?” Tech inquires.

“About that..” Wrecker starts, Crosshair covers his mouth before he can continue. You try to hide your laughter as Tech keeps asking about the Marauder.  No one had the heart to tell him he destroyed his own ship, at least not yet. 

🩶

Mando'a Translations: Cyar'ika: Darling

Ner Kar'ta: My heart

Tags: @bad4amficideas

[thesassypadawan]

Beloved Master *Fragmented* (Unburnt Darth Vader x FemPadawan Reader)

Summary: A dream? Was it really all just a dream? Or maybe…it’s a second chance? A second chance to set things right, to bring him back. (A ‘What if’ to Beloved Master, where Anakin’s padawan fights to bring him back from the dark side.)

Warnings: 18+ (minors dni), because of some violence and mention of character death. Padawan reader is of age.

Note: Read Beloved Master First

Happy Hayden's (And Mine) Birthday Event! In honor of the man, the myth, the legend; I will be posting nothing but Anakin, Vader, and Hay stories all April long!

A little something for @jediskywalkerblog ! It was truly a pleasure to write this! As soon as I read your ask, I knew exactly what do! I had a lot of fun with it, cannot not emphasize that enough!  Hope you like it! ❤️

“I love you too, Lord Vader.”

As the words fell from your lips, the world began to shift…distort. Until it was all fragmented…then faded into darkness.

“Little one… Little one…” A voice rang out. One you hadn’t heard in quite some time. One you thought no longer existed. “Little one, don’t listen to him!”

Your eyes snapped open. Dazed and confused, you tried to take in your surroundings. Orange skies. Cries of agony and pain all around you. The temple engulfed in flames. And a distraught looking…

“Master Kenobi!” You exclaimed in disbelief. Shocked and horrified as the events of that dreadful night slowly unfolded in front of you once more. “What are you-”

“Now’s not the time!” Obi-Wan yelled; tugging on your arm, trying to lead you away from the chaos. “You need to come with me! We must-”

A familiar presence, a blaze of blue light. Only this time…you met it with your own burning yellow. “Nooo!”

Catching him off guard, you had sent Anakin stumbling backwards with a force push. A mix of anger and confusion etched on his face. “What are you doing?!”

Straightening yourself up, you swallowed hard. “Bringing you back.” And without a second thought, you ignited the other half of your saber.

You flew at him, easily falling into step with one another. Clash after clash. Spark after spark. Sizzling endlessly as yours repeatedly came down against his.

Back and forth, the two of you continued this dance. Eyes reflecting each other’s pain…remorse…desperation. As you both fought with your all.

Every swing, every blow sent waves of raw emotions down your bond. Threatening to tear your hearts apart.

Twisting quickly, you knock the saber from his hands. Sending it sailing through the air, leaving him defenseless.

“Well done, angel,” Ani muttered. Bowing his head in defeat as he dropped to his knees.

Chest heaving, tears cascading down your cheeks. You nodded in acknowledgement, saying softly. “I learned from the best.”

Deactivating your own saber, you joined him on the ground. Hands reaching out shakily, pulling him into a tight embrace.

You felt him hesitate for a moment, before he wrapped his arms around you. Burying his face into the side of you neck, sobbing. “I’m…I’m s-so sorry! I…I…”

“It’s okay, it’s over now,” you whispered, hands rubbing soothingly up and down his back. “All that matters is you came back to me. That-”

“You came back to us,” Obi-Wan added. A hint of relief in his voice as he came to stand behind you. “And I do believe that this belongs to you.”

You didn’t need to see to know that Obi had returned his saber. “Thank you, master. For always having faith in me, for being so…naïve.”

Because the sound of it igniting and the painful cry that followed after told you so.

“Ani,” you spoke slowly. “What have you done?”

“I did what was necessary,” he replied nonchalantly.

Untangling himself from your hold, he stood. Yellow eyes staring down at you menacingly; his hand outstretched, waiting for yours. “It’s all going to be okay; you’re safe, my empress.”

You knew you should be terrified. That you should be completely, utterly distraught…disgusted with yourself. Instead you took his hand and stepped over the cold, lifeless body of the man you both had fondly called ‘father’. “Light the way, my lord.”

As the words fell from your lips, the world began to shift…distort. Until it was all fragmented…then faded into darkness.

“Hatari… Hatari…” A voice rang out. One you love so dearly. One you dread so thoroughly. “Hatari, are you all right?”

Your eyes snapped open. Dazed and confused, you tried to take in your surroundings. Silken sheets. The sound of a fire crackling in the hearth. Ominous red light trickling between a crack in the lavish bed chamber curtains. And a concerned looking…

“Ani?” You asked groggily. Body feeling heavy as you tried to push yourself up into a seated position. “What’s-”

“Little one okay too?” He muttered softly… “He’s not kicking you too hard, is he?” …placing his hand on your very swollen stomach.

A familiar chill ran down your spine, the realization setting in. That it was only a dream, that this was your one and true fate. Forever at your beloved master's husband’s side…no matter what.

Fighting back the tears, your hands joined his. Fingers lacing with his, tracing the small flutters across your stretched skin. “Everything is fine. I love you, Lord Vader.”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @wifeofasith, @loverforoldermen

[gazs-blue-hat]

King!Johnny MacTavish x Siren!Reader (kinda FemOC, but she’s never given a proper name, descriptions, or anything. No Y/N either)

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Language, brief descriptions of injury and blood, storms (thunder and lightning), lots of ocean stuff (lmk if I missed any!)

AN- Dedicated to the lovely @sprout-fics who helped me out of my writing slump. Thank you forever friend. Another shout out to @deadbranch who indirectly inspired me to make pretty headings for my stuff! Thank you!

(Also, formatting may be weird due to me being on mobile)

Word Count: 2,802

There was a whisper on the breeze, as if the very sea itself was restless. Thunder cracks in the distance and lightning split the sky like some kind of beast tearing it open. Rain fell in sheets that created waves in the air, splashing against the tower of the castle upon the cliff face, mist settled against the glass paned doors of the royall chambers, creating droplets or condensation that clung to the glass before sliding down like tears on a face.

King John MacTavish pushed said doors open, his rough hands leaving prints in their wake. He should feel bad, but he knew the glass would be cleaned in the morning. Everything in his home was constantly being polished or shined or cleaned in some shape or form. He took a few large steps onto the stone balcony, his furs ruffling about his shoulders from the harsh wind. It was a dreadfully cold night out, his breath puffing before his face like the smoke from mythical dragons his ancestors claimed to have slain. He rested his hands on the salty parapet, scraping against stone that was constantly kissed by the sea. He looked out at the tempest, arms folding and shoulders sagging.

Oh the sea…

He sighed, his head hanging in a moment of pity for himself. He missed his old life. He missed the scent of the open ocean. He missed the feeling of the salt in his hair and the wheel in his hands. A ship captain turned king? Who would have thought? Certainly not him.

He looked down at his hands, rough from years of use on ships. Old calluses from harpoons and ropes slowly fading away from lack of use. His hands had never before been soft. They were a man’s hands, the hands of a warrior and of a worker. Not of…not of a cushy noble who sat in a castle all day.

He looked up, hearing the surf crash against the castle walls and feeling the mist settle on his shoulders. He turned his gaze to the churning depths below. The surf was rather high tonight, seeing as the moon was full and the tide was coming in. A particularly bright crack of lightning blinded him temporarily before the equally loud boom of thunder filled his ears.

The mighty captain turned king ducked and covered his ears, hands firmly protecting the one sense he truly was fearful of losing. His mind was filled with the memories of booming canons, the screams of men being torn apart by sabers and shrapnel from the exploding timbers of a ship. He stood, feeling the icy water spill onto his face as the rain hit the castle. He groaned and ran his hand down his face, feeling quite foolish for being spooked by a thing as simple as thunder. He used to take on giants of the deep without a drop of fear. Now he was simply jumping at shadows…

He scoffed and looked down at the swirling sea, watching as the foam and spray swirled in the wind. The tide rose again and a massive wave crashed against the cliff, momentarily blocking his view of the opposite shore. The water subsided and a low groan filled the air around him, seemingly coming from all directions. John spun, drawing his saber that he kept as his side at all times and pointing it at the space behind him. He checked the corners of his vision before slowly sweeping his attention across the empty balcony.

Nobody. There was nobody there. He sighed softly before sheathing the saber once more, turning to look out at the craggy shore. His eyes widened as he saw a woman, her skin scraped and scratched by the stones she now rested on.

“Steaming bloody Jesus…” the curse slipped from his mouth as he stormed back into his chambers, and hurried down the stairs. A few members of his staff yelped as he hurried down the stone steps, concerned for their king that was now trailing water through the castle. “Someone wake the surgeon! I may need her aid!” His voice boomed through the stone hallways and his Knight Captain nodded, the helmeted man clanking his way to the surgeon’s quarters.

John pushed open doors and hurried through the narrow halls until he made it to the docks behind the castle. Behind him, he could hear the rapid footsteps of the court surgeon following behind him. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Her words fell on deaf ears as he hopped over a low wall and scurried down the rocks to where he saw the woman. The surgeon growled in frustration while lighting a lantern, carrying it with her. “Damn it Johnny! Talk to me!” She ran behind him, ignoring the rain as it soaked her uniform and the utensils she had brought. “I can’t help if you don’t-“ she trailed off as Johnny held his arm up as he skidded to a halt, pointing at the woman who was laying on the stony shore.

Now that he was closer, he could see the jagged cuts and scratches along her body. He could see the blood staining the water red. He couldn’t see her lower half, seeing as the water was still lapping at her waist and the occasional wave rushed over her that would shift her entire form. He came closer, assisting the surgeon over the rocks as they got closer to the woman.

When they reached her, it was very clear she was in serious trouble. Her back was a mess of scars and scrapes, some older and some more recent. There was a series of marks on her back that Johnny identified all too well. She had been whipped, and aggressively too.

“I’m going to get a bed ready. Bring her to me and I’ll get her squared away.” She touched his shoulder and squeezed once. Reassuring him that she would be there if he needed her.

“Cmon lass…let’s get you warm..” his words were soft as he gently placed a hand on the injured woman’s shoulder. She didn’t move and she was freezing to the touch, giving Johnny cause to assume she was dead. He sighed heavily as he closed his eyes, resting more of his hand on her shoulder. His eyes snapped open when he felt her move. That same groan from before filling the air. He turned her over without thinking, ready to administer aid, hands hovering over her torso in the position the surgeon had taught him when he froze. She had…scales

Scales the likes of which he had never seen before. They were iridescent little things, trailing up her hips to her navel before becoming freckles against her skin. His eyes locked on her skin, the soft but cold skin of her torso that was covered in scratches and cuts. As his eyes trailed upwards, he could see that her upper torso was also coated in scales, a lighter shade than that of her hips that decorated her clavicle and upper arms. They were tiny things, glittering in what faint light he could see.

Her breath came shallowly and he placed his hand on her neck, feeling for a pulse. He had no idea if humans had the same anatomy as her kind, but he figured he’d try for a pulse anyway. A weak beat danced under his fingers and he breathed a sigh of relief. She was alive, for now at least. He was itching to learn more about this creature that had washed up on his shore but his thoughts were interrupted when a rather rough wave crashed over the rocks and soaked the king to the bone, or…more soaked than he already was.

“Oh for fuck’s sa-“ his curses died on his tongue as a bright bolt of lightning illuminated the source of the mermaid’s troubles. Her tail, which had been pushed into the shore by the incoming waves, was now visible for him to see. A massive amalgamation of fishing line, netting, and various hooks and harpoon heads had embedded itself deep into the flesh of the appendage and was cutting into her. “Oh lass…no wonder you couldn’t swim. Especially in this tempest…”

He sighed softly and shifted to grab his saber, removing it from the sheath. He shrugged off his coat and draped it across the mermaid’s tail, not resting his weight on her directly. The fur squished uncomfortably under his fingers and it was quickly stained by the blood flowing from the wound on her tail. With expert hands, he worked to slice the mess of string and metal free from the tail of the mermaid, being careful to not cut the injured flesh more. He removed most of the line with little issue, tossing it to the side and out of the water. The hooks were next and as he knelt closer to remove one, he looked back.

Eyes as stormy as the sea were looking back at him and he felt his blood run cold. They were slitted, like the eyes of the great cats from the stories back East and they were filled to the brim with rage. He raised his hands and held them above his head. “Easy…easy. I was just cutting them free. It won’t be pleasant, but you’ll be swimming in no time. Just…hold still.” He spoke softly, like one would to a wounded animal to get it to come closer. The mermaid didn’t move to attack him, instead she closed her eyes and lay back on the rocks, breathing heavily.

Johnny slowly and carefully removed the hooks from her tail, seeing how the fins were tattered and torn. Whatever scuffle this mermaid had gotten into, she had been lucky to escape it. Once the final hook was removed and he had tossed it to the side, he sat up, proud of his work. The tail was still wounded and blood still stained the rocks and water around them, but she wasn’t trapped by them anymore. He smiled and moved to get up when the large muscles of the tail twitched into life, spinning him into the water flat on his back.

He felt the water of the sea surge over his face as he fell back, a rock scraping across his shoulder painfully. He felt firm hands on his chest and when the waves receded, the face of the mermaid was above him.

Her glare was sharper than the rocks they found themselves on and colder than the rain that fell in sheets over the churning sea. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her mouth opened to form a hiss. Her teeth were razors, sharper than a shark’s and probably just as deadly. Johnny couldn't move, his arms pinned by the waves and the sheer strength of the woman pinning him down. He felt her inhale against him, deep and long until she screeched.

The sound was deafening. Johnny covered his ears as the mermaid, no, siren shouted at him. The rocks rumbled under his scrambling grasp and his eyes watered in pain. The siren surged over him, diving into an incoming wave and leaving him with a slap to the face with her powerful tail. Johnny could only watch the lightning lit waves for any sign of the mythical being, but he was met with nothing but churning water and spraying foam.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood on the shore but eventually the surgeon came back, a lantern held tightly in her grip. “Where did the woman go? Don’t tell me she-“ Johnny held up his hand and showed her the collected scales. They had broken off the siren’s tail as he was working on getting the hooks out. The surgeon took the scales and held them to the light, inspecting them.

“Wasnae a woman. It was something else…” His words were soft and his accent thick. The rain had stopped a while ago but he couldn’t remove his gaze from the sea. Something there was calling to him, and it caused an ache in his heart to be away from it. If John MacTavish had longed for the sea before, he was now enraptured by it.

For the entire walk back to the castle, his eyes were locked on those tumbling waves, searching and seeking for a glimpse of a tail, or of skin. A glimpse of her.

“I’ll see you again Bonnie. I swear it.”

[dgrailwar]

Round 3, Day 2 - ALL TEAMS (Extra Summon - Tempest)

The lone Faker stood in the midst of the storm, awaiting whoever was to challenge her.

A figure, spiraling down from the heavens and striking at the Faker. The Alter-Ego, beautiful and proud, engaged in swift close combat as her bladed legs danced against the sparking metal of the Faker's sword. They seemed to be evenly matched, as the Alter-Ego laughed.

"I don't get what all the fuss is about--! I could handle you by myself, you know?"

"Alter-Ego… I like that warrior's confidence, but it won't be enough!"

The Faker's eyes flashed, the Alter-Ego's movements slowing in a critical moment as she was struck off the chariot, only recovering fast enough to safely land on the ground to regroup. The chariot wheeled downwards, charging at the Alter-Ego before a gust of wind threw it off course, the Faker's attention turning to another Servant. The MoonCancer, hovering in the air with massive flapping elephant ears, venting to nobody in particular.

"Gh… why couldn't I have 'support-type' build? Then I could just hang back and throw out buffs while everyone else got in close with the fighting. Ahh-- whatever! If I'm a tank, then I'm a tank! Let's draw some aggro!"

With the Faker's attention drawn elsewhere, two more Servants rushed into the fray.

"The sound of lightning…!"

"Come, o' Blade of Flames!"

Two attacks, simultaneously struck at the Faker. One, a glittering roseate fencing blade thrust forward. Second, a dark saber of cursed flames slashed downward. Both attacks forced the rider of the skeletal chariot to reel, as she retaliated with her own sword, knocking them both away with a thunderous strike as they both spiraled in the air, struggling to catch themselves.

"Uwaah--! That sword… is fast…!" "Hahaha! She's a bit tougher than a standard Heroic Spirit! Good! Very good!"

On the ground, two Servants watched. One of them, a Pretender in a white cloak, held out his hands as magic sparkled outward, providing energy to the direct combatants as they fought against the Faker. The second, a Ruler wearing a heavy blue cloak against the storm, was waving her banner proudly, light shining from her body.

"You must be the Ruler, looking at how proudly you're waving that flag. I didn't take a Ruler for one to want a reward."

"I don't care for the reward, just for solving this Grail War. This battle... we'll have to work together, but by some metric one of us will be determined as 'the best'."

"An 'MVP', perhaps?" The Pretender chuckled. "So, nobody can afford to sandbag either. Everybody wants to be a winner, right? Even someone like you can't afford to lose."

She slammed down her banner, the harsh rainfall temporarily broken by golden light that pierced through like an arrow, covering all the participating Servants against the Faker-Class.

"You're right, I don't want to lose either...so, let's give it our all! Come, Faker! Let the battle begin!"

"Hahaha! Now this is what I love to see! In this bout, I shall serve as your seventh! So come, show me that warrior spirit! The greatest of you will face glory, and the cowardly will face punishment! Warriors of the Extra-Class, Mages of the modern era, distant as you may ever be-- show me your resolve, and Faker will return it in kind!"

Due to the presence of all participating Servants everyone is put on fair ground! No boosts or demerits apply, the results are what they are!

The Servant who does the most against Faker (as in, gets 1st Place) wins!

SCORING:

1st Place will receive a boost of their choosing from an assortment for their next round!

2nd Place will not receive any rewards, but evade punishment!

3rd through 5th Place will gain a -2% demerit during their next round! These demerits bypass any resistances!

Last place will gain a wound that bypasses any damage evasion passives!

[bearlytolerant]

Fandom: Star Wars: The Acolyte

Pairing: Qimir x fReader

Fic Rating: E

Chapter Rating: E (choking, force choking, vaginal sex, brief blowjob, mild dom elements)

AO3

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE

SIX

A composition crafted by the insatiable craving for Qimir, a dream descends upon you. Layered with softness and simulated sensory aphrodisiacs, you step into your dream with wanton expectations for the stranger who knows exactly how to touch you.

Should be troubling. Would be if not for the comforting reassurance of sleep.

Here in the dark where stars shimmer through the black backlit canopy, there is a bed and the outline of the helmeted stranger who inhabits your dreams sitting on the edge of it. His upper half is disrobed and in the flicker of that campfire in the distance that’s always in your dreams now, your eyes drink in the muscle but drift to the scars. Slightly lifted on his skin, they meld one into the other and you know them for what they are. Naked and vulnerable, you step toward him. Briefly your fingers dust along similar scars lining your right side.

Scars of the past.

Scars of the saber.

Scars of the discarded.

Was he discarded too?

You reach out to him, chest squeezing tight with a longing for him. It’s easier to be brave in dreams. Easier still when you share something in common.

You dare to rest your hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” he says.

“Aw, you missed me.”

“And you missed me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he says. “Even if your mind drifts to—what’s his name?”

Qimir.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter. To you.”

He’s right but you’re still not willing to gift the name. Makes it too real. But it is real isn’t it?

Not here. Not in a dream.

“I had the opportunity to take him,” you say quietly, unprompted, rubbing your thumb gently across the skin of his shoulder. “We were a heap on the floor, chests beating in synchronization. I still remember his breath on my lips, the way his hand fit in mine. Couldn’t treasure the touch. The want—the want was so overpowering—like being dragged underneath tumultuous waves. I couldn’t breathe.”

“So you came up for air.”

“I gasped for air. But that want—” Your eyes flutter closed.

“It persists.”

“Yes.” A whisper. “And I knew you could accept it. Maybe even mutually want it too. And here—in my dreams—it’s safer. Maybe even allowed.” Your eyes open again.

He stands, your hand slipping away from his shoulder, and reaches out, grasping your wrist tight as he whirls you into him. Practically a possession clutched against his chest, your back presses against the warmth of his skin. It’s been some time since you’ve been held in this way. Strongly. Tightly. Safely. A sigh of relief slips from your lips. His hand wraps around your waist, fingers sprawling as they gradually climb up your body. You awake to the current of his touch. Mapping out the curve of your breasts, he squeezes once and then trails his fingers over your shoulder and dusts them down your arm. Crawls them across your fingers and entangles them with his own before he lifts them to your sternum. Gently, he slides them further upward, caressing your throat.

That shame tugs at you. Memories of certain hands around your throat can induce panic but his hands—his hands induce thrill and excitement. You want more of it but you feel like you shouldn’t.

“Is this why you came?” His words break through your thought spiral and pull you back to him.

“No—and yes,” you admit. “I need you—to guide me. Teach me.”

There’s a shaky, modulated breath as his other hand smooths down your side and around your hip, pulling you tighter against his body. The helmet is cool against your temple as he rests his head against yours.

“But you still deny it. Suppress it.”

You swallow, your linked hands still lingering at the skin of your neck. Deny what? Suppress what? It can’t possibly be desire as it pools between your legs. You realize he’s speaking of the force.

“But I want—I want—”

His hand slips down your body, finger beginning to worry at your clit and the words you were going to say are lost in a small moan.

“Not enough. Not yet.”

“How do you—”

“Mmm. Your shame betrays you.” His voice robotically rumbles at a slowed cadence in your ear. “It holds you back. It’s why you still just stand here, not asking and especially not taking what you want.”

“I don’t know—” A small whine escapes as he circles your clit, the steady pressure of his firm cock bumping into your ass as he grinds against you. “—how to let go,” you whisper.

“Don’t know how or won’t?” His hand stills.

“Please—please don’t stop.”

“Release your shame. Loose your desire.”

“I—can’t.”

He untangles himself from you. Grasping you by the shoulders, he twists you to face him. Your heart hammers erratically as your eyes fall to his body as his hands slip from your shoulders. Sculpted arms dangling at his sides, he flexes his fingers as he holds himself tall and patient. His breathing is as ragged as yours, and in the lift of his chest, you spy a faint mole and search out more of them. They reveal themselves on his collarbone and further down his body where you instinctively reach out and skim along his side, thumbing downward along the angular line that defines his abs. You brush your index against the mole there. You want to kiss each of them but you don’t. You withdraw your hand and glance back up to the helmet.

A tilt of his head and those metal teeth mock you, tease you, smile at the pathetic way you waver between who you are and who you long to be. Or you imagine that must be what he thinks of you. But then he gently takes your hand and places it on his chest, assisting you in tracing his skin.

“You can,” he says, voice low and almost soft. “You are free here.” Of your own volition, your other hand traverses his body, fingers tucking in around his waistband. “That’s it. Keep going.” A sharp intake of breath. “Show me what else you can do.”

Enthusiasm builds in your chest and you remember what it’s like to have the force at your fingertips. It wouldn’t be so bad to use it here, right? You’re not really using it. Closing your eyes, you grasp at it with an open palm against his chest. A slight tug in your mind and his pants are on the ground. A push and he’s falling backwards onto the sheets. They wrinkle as he rights himself into a better position while your eyes drink in his whole appearance. His body is gorgeous and you can assume his face must be too and if not, it’s easy to picture Qimir’s easy smile and flirtatious eyes. His cock throbs in anticipation as you crawl onto the bed and briefly cup his balls, eliciting an expelled sigh. You run your tongue along the taut skin, tasting the salt from the bit of precum on his tip before you wrap your lips around and suck. He groans, then jerks impulsively, the head of his shaft hitting the back of your throat before you grin and withdraw. He pulls up on elbows, that helmet tilted as his chest heaves. You know he watches you eagerly but impatient now.

You straddle him. Slumping over his chest, knees against each of his hips, hovering just above his enthusiastic cock, you palm his chest. It’s just as you had imagined doing to Qimir—only better. Slipping up and back down his body, you carve out the lines and curves with your hands. Your fingers inch along his skin, savoring every placement and touch. Shudder and spasm of his muscles. The stillness he maintains as he allows you to explore all of him and act out what once was a fantasy of Qimir, quickly becomes a reality of this helmeted stranger who lives in your dream and he’s all that resides in your mind now.

“That’s it. Good,” he praises, tone dipping deeper and you swallow. “Don’t put that on a leash now.”

Bending over his chest, you press your lips to his skin, teeth dragging down to his nipple. You swirl your tongue across the peak, drawing it into your mouth. His modulated moan sends a thrill through your core and you bite down.

“Fuck,” he murmurs.

Your eyes flick up to where his would be without the helmet. “Too much?”

“Hardly. I was merely expressing my surprise. Didn’t think you had it in—”

You bite his other nipple before he can finish that sentence and his words are replaced by a hiss and swear as you run your fingernails down his skin, relishing in the way the flesh blossoms pink in parallel streaks.

This isn’t what you had planned for Qimir.

Those fantasies were laced with butter and sweetness—sculpted soft. Tender.

But something about this man makes you feel possessively primal. Like he can handle the claw and bite of every one of your demons. Thrive in the shroud of your shadow. Revel in your darkest impulses. Accept every part of you that you can’t even imagine accepting yourself. It’s the certainty that he will teach you in time that makes you need him even more.

You sink down onto him, unhurried, as every girthy inch fills your wet cunt. The thought of chasing pleasure is all that consumes you.

A curse. Yours or his? Doesn’t matter.

A praise. An encouragement. He utters words that coax out every raw desire that resides in you. Rolling your hips, your hand inches up to his neck, fingers clamping tight but not too tight, knuckles accessorizing the jutting line of that cortosis covered jaw.

“Do you like that?” You ask, as he thrusts upward from beneath you.

Your hips slam him back down, thighs squeezing tight to keep him steady. To keep control.

This is your dream. Your desire.

“Yes,” he breathes, stilted and shaking. There’s a bead of sweat gathered at the base of his neck. His own hand rises, cupped in a half moon and the force vibrates through your body, becoming a vise around your own neck. “Do you?”

Eyes darkening, you rise and sink down on him again in answer. “More,” you demand.

He obliges as you squeeze him tighter too. He lets out a groan as breathing becomes more difficult, driving you to ride him harder. A choked, almost pained moan slips from your lips.

“Better?”

You manage a nod, self-control snapping as you continue to ride the warmth of his cock, chasing your own pleasure heightened by his rattled, strained sighs. Faster. Rougher. Barely breathing but driven by greed. Chest nearly bursting. Your hips rise and fall with the rhythm of his harried breaths and the silent repetition of how good his cock feels stretching you.

Or you thought it was silent.

Until he responds, “you take it so well.”

Another curse spills from your lips.

That’s it,” he says in a ragged coo. “Keep with it. A little more. Just a little more.”

Your hands slip from his neck and dig into the soft skin of his chest, knuckles knocking against the tautness of his muscle as he meets your fervor with his own eager, swift thrusts from below. One hand falls to your thigh and he grasps tight as your air is still constrained in your lungs. It’s a new kind of feverish high. An ecstasy as your eyes roll back, whimpers buried deep in your chest as each thrust from him and grinding of your hips guides you to that climatic precipice.

You hover there in that plane of almost—almost—almost—

His hand skims up your thigh and he circles your clit with his thumb.

“Mmm, you are doing so well. Feels good doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” you answer, the syllable drawn out and dissipating into a whimpering sigh.

He stills and that force chokehold he has on you is used to his advantage as he angles himself deeper, hitting that sweet spot that jolts pleasure through every nerve of your body, constricting your airflow more. You’re afraid you might shatter. But still you fuck him, fast and fierce and freely.

“Yes, that’s it. Come for me,” he beckons.

That voice of his, those practiced hands, and the warm fullness of his cock extracts a broken and guttural cry. Hands flying back, digging into the flesh of his thighs as your walls constrict, your back arches with the internal coil of your body.

“Now,” he commands. “Let yourself go.”

Another thrust and you groan, all tension relenting and washing away with a few more staccatoed sighs and sputtered breaths. Eyes shut tight, you steady your breathing, settling into silent streams of satisfaction. Stars dot your eyelids and you drift—drift—drift in a thoughtless sea. The stars fade. The drifting ceases. Slowly, your fingers spread out, rubbing soothing circles into his skin.

“Mmm, such a good girl,” he says and relinquishes the force grip on your throat. “You did so well.”

Gulping in air, your eyes fly open as you crumple over his chest and his fingers thread through your hair.

—

“Stay with me,” he says, grasping your wrist and pulling you closer. His fingers skim across yours and he toys with them, helmet resting on top of your head. “Don’t withdraw into yourself.”

You press your lips against his collarbone and trail them along his neck, where he tilts his chin up just enough to give you better access under his helmet. You push away the questions that beg for an answer with the placement of kisses against his cooled skin. You can save them for another dream. Throwing your leg up over his, you note he’s still surprisingly hard. He commanded your pleasure but held back on his.

“Don’t you think it’s a little hypocritical,” you mumble against his chest.

His fingers scrawl amatory letters across the back of your hands. “What?”

“You tell me to unleash my desire while you hold onto yours.”

“Is it hypocritical if the reasons for denying such desires vastly differ? I feel no shame. Controlled denial for the sake of the exciting and inevitable release over a long course of time is rewarding. I don’t punish myself. You and I are not the same.”

“Why couldn’t you just say you enjoy edging?”

“Semantics.”

A chuckle against his chest and you wonder if you can work him back up into a frenzy with the tug of the force. It hums for you, begging you to access it again in the enclosure of the stranger’s arms. If he wasn’t wearing that helmet, you could give him a fuller, more exhilarating experience. Or at least you tell yourself that’s the reason when really you just want to see his face. Your desires have shifted. You now seek equitable vulnerability in this exchange of intimacy.

Skimming your fingers up his chest and hovering just under his chin, they curl around the edge of the helmet. Slowly, gauging his reaction, you lift. You spy the faintest glimpse of some facial hair. But his hands curl around your wrists; a plea.

“I want to see you. Your face,” you mumble.

“It seems you understand the lesson.”

“Do I? I unleashed desire, as you said, but the want has returned.”

His fingers are gentle on your wrists as he continues to hold them, thumbing up and down. “Desire can never be satiated. Not fully. When you thirst, you drink. When you hunger, you eat. But that want only goes away for a short time. You see, desire is a need. You need to want. Without it, you waste away. With it, you find passion. And passion—is your strength.”

“I was taught there can be no contentment if you chase every want. No gratitude. Taught that I must free myself from my emotions and find peace only in what is destined to come to me by a greater will than my own.”

“Peace is a lie,” he says. “There is only passion.”

Such a simple statement, yet very much against what you were told all your life. You were taught to suppress everything. Abide by a million rules and be over criticized when you break one. That untamed passion, the kind he speaks of, is the path to the dark side. But here, in the stranger’s arms, it doesn’t feel dark to be guided by passion.

No.

It feels unburdensome.

Warm. Safe. Light.

Though you will still abide by what you know best by day, you realize the numbness is all but gone here in his arms by night. And you're drawn to this man and his lessons. Sworn to them.

Your desire to see his face is even greater now.

Bargaining for more than you deserve, maybe even taking advantage of the lesson, you yank up on the helmet. But before you can register his face, the haze shifts and the screaming of your name tears you from sleep.

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Nine: Sacrifice

Chapter WC: 7,533

Chapter Tags/Warnings: canon-typical violence

A/N: We're getting somewhere! Kinda!

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Felucia, 21 BBY

Morning comes, and with it, a new day, and a new wave of attacks. You're woken early by the sounds of the blaster fire, the shouts and screams of the men echoing through the jungle. There's barely enough time to get your armor on before you're running out into the battlefield, lightsabers already ignited. The same thing happens the next day, and the next.

On the third day, you find yourself standing shoulder to shoulder with Rex, the two of you fighting a retreating battle. The droids are advancing, and you're struggling to hold them off. This part of the planet is sparser than the others, with giant blooms acting as cover. You and Rex are crouched behind a particularly large flower, its petals the size of a star cruiser.

"This is a bad position," Rex yells over the sound of the battle.

"I know!" you shout back, and you duck down, the blast narrowly missing your head.

"What are your orders?"

You curse, and you reach out, your mind searching for the other Jedi. You connect with Obi-Wan almost instantaneously, the bond thrumming between the two of you, and you realize he's reaching for you too. The feeling of his presence washes over you, and his thoughts flood your mind, the concern and the urgency bleeding into your own emotions.

"We're falling back to your position," Obi-Wan tells you. "Hold your ground until we get there."

"Understood," you reply, and the connection is severed, the bond dissolving. You open your eyes and turn to Rex, the worry etched on your face. "We're not going anywhere."

"Yes, sir," he says, and he rises and shoots, taking out several of the droids, the bolts slamming into the metal bodies. They collapse in a pile of twisted metal, but the others continue their approach, unphased. Rex curses and ducks back down. "This isn't going to be easy."

"Nothing ever is," you mutter. "Cover me."

"What are you—" He cuts himself off when he realizes you're already gone. You rush forward, throwing your shoto in an arc as you leap over the droids. The blade slices through them like butter, and they fall, the clattering sound filling the air. You land on the other side and turn, the saber returning to your hand. 

The droids have turned their attention to you, and you can hear Rex shouting. You ignore him, and the incoming shots, and you charge, lightsabers swinging. The frustration and the panic fuel you to keep fighting, to push forward, to win. The rage burns hotter with each passing second, and the darkness at the edge of your consciousness threatens to engulf you. You fight against the urge, pushing it back, but the control is slipping through your fingers.

And then, just as suddenly, the pressure is released, and the energy around you changes. You don't have to look to know who has arrived, but you do anyway, watching as Obi-Wan and Anakin descend upon the droids, their blades flashing in the sunlight. They cut through the metal army, and you take the opportunity to catch your breath, the first respite you've had in what feels like hours.

"You good?" Anakin asks as he stops next to you, and he glances at the carnage, his eyes wide.

"Yeah," you pant. "You?"

He gives you a look that clearly communicates how ridiculous a question it is. "Are you serious?"

"Sorry," you huff. "Forgot who I was talking to."

Anakin smirks and looks at Obi-Wan, who's still slashing through the droids, his blade a blur. "You think he needs any help?"

You shake your head. "He seems fine to me."

Obi-Wan's movements are swift and precise, and there's a ferocity, a desperation, to them that has your eyebrows raising. He's cutting down the droids like they're made of paper, and there's a fire in his eyes, the anger visible. You can't help but wonder what happened, what triggered his sudden surge of aggression, and you make a note to ask him later. But for now, you focus on keeping up, on staying alive.

Anakin and Obi-Wan hold the front of the line, and you let them, keeping your attention on the forces trying to flank. Ahsoka is still off with a small contingent, sent away to patrol the jungle, much to her displeasure. You'd tried to argue on her behalf, but Anakin had insisted, and in the end, she'd left, a sullen expression on her face. You can only pray she's faring better than the rest of you.

You push that thought away, and you turn, lightsaber swinging. A blast hits the ground near your feet, and you curse, the dirt and smoke kicking up. You lunge, and your blade sinks into the droid, the metal melting under the heat. It collapses, and you pull your blade free, the metal glowing red. The others keep firing, and you duck and roll, the bolts whizzing over your head.

The battle rages on, and the minutes bleed together, the blood pounding in your ears and your lungs burning. The exhaustion is creeping in, and you're struggling to hold onto the hope that you'll survive this. 

Every night since you've arrived, you've had the same nightmare, and every night, you wake up, gasping and sweating. You don't remember what it was about, but the feeling of dread lingers, and the sense of foreboding weighs heavily on you. And, even though the sun is shining, and the air is warm, the chill hasn't left you, and you're afraid. Afraid that something terrible is coming, that something is going to happen. You're not sure if it's the Force or the fatigue or the stress, but the feeling has grown, and it's getting harder to ignore.

You try to put the thoughts aside, to focus on the battle, but the unease refuses to fade. You can feel it in the air, and in the energy around you. The battle is turning, and you can sense it, the shift in the tide. 

"We have to move," Rex says over the comm, his voice firm. "We're exposed."

"Rex is right," you tell Anakin. "We can't hold this position."

Anakin curses, and he glances over, his gaze finding yours. His eyes are wild, and his breathing is ragged, his hair matted to his forehead with sweat. You know he doesn't want to retreat any more than you do, but it's the only option, and the both of you know it. You hold his gaze, and you nod, the understanding passing between the two of you.

"Fall back," he orders, and the words echo through the comms. "We're retreating."

The men are reluctant to abandon their positions, and there's a murmur of protest, but they obey, moving back in a steady retreat. You fall back with them, keeping an eye on the enemy, and on Anakin and Obi-Wan. The battle continues to rage, and the droids are relentless, pursuing you even as the clones shoot them down.

"The 104th has broken through the blockade," Cody reports over the comms. "They're en route to the surface."

The news is a welcome relief, and the anxiety in your chest eases, if only slightly. It's taken them far too long to reach you, and you know that it's no longer a matter of reinforcement, but of evacuation. The battle is lost, and you need to get off the planet, and soon. If not, you'll be trapped, and you'll all die. It's a reality you can't afford to ignore.

"It's about damn time," Anakin growls. "I was starting to think the Council had forgotten about us."

"Don't count on their help just yet," Obi-Wan responds grimly. "If things are as bad as we think they are, then the 104th won't be able to hold the line for long."

"So what's the plan?" you ask, your eyes focused on the approaching droids, and the destruction they're leaving in their wake. The jungle is burning, the smell of smoke and ash heavy in the air. You can't see far, but you know that the planet will not recover, not after this. Everything is on fire, and the heat is intense, the flames licking the sky. "We can't wait much longer."

"I'm aware," Obi-Wan snaps. He seems to think the better of it immediately, and his voice softens. "For now, we keep moving, and we get as many men out of here as we can. That's our priority."

"Then, what?"

"We'll figure it out."

"Fine," you huff, and you turn, throwing yourself into the fight. Your lightsabers flash, and you cut down the droids, their metal bodies falling at your feet. You're not sure how long you fight, but you push through the exhaustion, and the pain, and the fear. You focus on surviving, on staying alive, and the minutes pass in a blur.

You can't help but wonder how many times you're going to have to fight these battles, how many lives will be lost before the Republic finally ends the war. And you're beginning to realize that there's no end in sight. You've been fighting for months, and the conflict seems to be escalating. The stakes are higher, the losses more devastating. You can't keep doing this, and yet, there's no choice.

The battle rages, and the minutes drag by. You've fallen back to Rex's side at the feet of an AT-TE, its cannons firing and its legs stomping down droids as the enemy tries to advance. You're barely able to keep your focus, your body aching and your mind exhausted. All you can think about is the men who have died, the lives that have been lost, the pointless nature of it all. The frustration, and the despair, are overwhelming, and you're barely able to keep it together.

"Rex," you call out. "Have you heard from Ahsoka?"

"No," he replies. "The last I heard, she was engaged in combat, and was trying to regroup."

The worry settles in, and you can't shake the feeling that something is wrong. Whatever it is, it can't be good. Your eyes scan the battlefield, and the anxiety grows. The air is thick with smoke and the smell of burning metal, and it's hard to see through the haze. "And the 104th?"

"They're en route," he says. His voice is calm despite the chaos around you, and you try to focus on it, to channel his energy, but it's not working. "ETA is five minutes."

"That's too long," you mutter, shaking your head. Your breath catches in your throat, and the panic rises, the feeling of impending doom growing stronger. "Something's not right. We need to get out of here."

"What?"

"I don't know," you admit, and you glance at Rex, your eyes meeting through the visor of his helmet. "They need to get here now."

"What's wrong?" he asks as he takes a step towards you. The concern radiates off him, and the intensity of his stare, even through the helmet, is overwhelming. "Talk to me."

"I'm not sure," you reply, and you swallow. You've never felt this way before, and it's making it hard to concentrate. You barely manage to dodge a blaster shot, and Rex swears, pulling you behind the tank.

“Sir, you need to focus," Rex tells you, his tone urgent. "I need you here, and not wherever you are right now."

You nod, and you take a deep breath, trying to ground yourself, but the worry is still there. You're not sure what's causing it, and the uncertainty is almost worse, the anxiety clawing at your chest.

"It's alright," he soothes. "We'll figure it out, but you have to stay focused."

"I can't," you whisper, your eyes wide and your hands shaking. You can't get your heart rate under control, and you can feel the sweat running down your neck, the tremors wracking your body. It's as if someone has reached into your chest and squeezed the air from your lungs. It's like someone is standing over you, watching, waiting. "I can't, Rex."

"Hey, it's okay," he reassures, and his voice is calm, the sound a balm to your senses. "We'll get through this, and we'll get everyone out of here. I promise."

You want to believe him, and you're desperately clinging to his words, to the strength of his voice, to the warmth of his hand. You nod, and you try to slow your breathing, to force the panic down. You can't break, not now, not when there are so many lives depending on you. Not when you're needed.

"I'm okay," you say, more to yourself than anyone, and you straighten, your lightsabers igniting. "I'm fine."

The words are hollow, and you're not sure if you believe them, but you have no other choice. Rex lets go of your arm, and you're surprised, your brow furrowing. You hadn't even realized he was still holding you. He doesn't apologize, and he doesn't give any indication that anything happened, but you can sense his concern, his fear. He's worried about you, and the guilt settles in. You have no idea what's going on, but it's obviously affecting you more than you'd thought.

"Rex, I'm..." You trail off, unsure of what to say, and you let out a shaky breath, the anxiety rising. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize," he tells you, his voice soft despite how loud the battle is. "Just...be careful, sir. Please."

"I will."

His helmet is still turned towards you, and you can feel the weight of his gaze. You want to reassure him, to tell him that everything will be fine, that he has nothing to worry about. But the words are stuck in your throat, and the lie won't come.

And then you look up.

There’s barely enough time to react as the burning remains of a Vulture droid hurdle toward you, its engine roaring and the smoke billowing. You're not sure how it made it past the AT-TE's defenses, or why the ship isn't firing, but you have no time to think. 

You push with all your might, using the Force to send Rex flying out of the path of the falling droid. It crashes to the ground and explodes, sending dirt and debris into the air, the shock wave reverberating. The explosion knocks you off your feet, and you're thrown several meters away. The pain shoots through your body as you slam into the ground, and your lightsabers fly out of your hands, the blades blinking out of existence as they skid across the dirt. Your head smashes against the hard surface, and you roll a few times before coming to a stop, dazed.

The world is spinning, and you're struggling to get your bearings, your vision blurry and dark. There's a ringing in your ears, and you can't hear anything else, not even the sound of the battle. All you can see is the burning wreckage, and the thick, black smoke. You cough, the air filled with the acrid scent of burning metal and plastic. Your entire body aches, and you're having a hard time catching your breath.

You feel something warm and sticky trickling down your face, and you lift your hand to wipe it away. When you pull it back, your palm is stained with blood, and you're momentarily confused, your thoughts disjointed and scattered. Then, the realization sets in, and the panic returns. You try to stand, but your legs give out, and you collapse, your body hitting the ground with a thud.

Everything hurts, and the ringing is getting louder, and all you can think about is the blood on your hands, and the burning droid, and Rex. You need to find Rex, to make sure he's okay, to get him to safety. You need to—

There's a shadow in front of you, and it takes a moment for your eyes to focus, the image swimming in your vision. When it finally does, you see Rex kneeling over you, his helmet gone and his face covered in dirt. 

He's shouting something, but you can't hear him, the words garbled and distorted. His expression is panicked, and his eyes are wide, his mouth moving rapidly. You can see the fear in his gaze, and you try to respond, but the words are stuck in your throat. You want to tell him that you're fine, that everything is going to be okay, but you can't.

All you can do is watch as he slips his arms under your body and lifts you. You try to protest, but the words come out as a moan, the sound weak and pained. Rex doesn't seem to notice, and he holds you tightly against his chest as he begins to run. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his armor, and you press your face into his neck, tears stinging your eyes. You don't know where he's taking you, or what he's going to do, but you trust him, and you have no other choice.

The pain is becoming too much to bear, and you close your eyes, letting the darkness take over.

The last thing you hear is Rex shouting your name. And then, nothing.

Hyperspace, 21 BBY

Your eyes fly open, and you gasp for air, your body lurching forward violently. A scream dies on your lips, and you fall, your knees hitting the floor of the ship with a thud. You can feel the cold, hard metal against your palms as you grip the edge of the table in front of you, the blood roaring in your ears. 

You try to steady your breathing, but the fear, and the panic, are threatening to consume you. You can't get the images out of your mind. You can't get the feeling of the pain, or the heat of the flames, out of your body. You can't forget the smell of the burning jungle, or the sounds of the screams, or the look in Rex's eyes as he held you.

The tears sting, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to force them back. When you open them again, you wince as the lights of the medbay assault your senses. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, and when they do, you see the sterile, white walls, and the curtain drawn around you, and the bacta patches on your arms and legs. 

You blink, and the reality sinks in. You're on the floor next to a hospital bed, on a Republic cruiser, somewhere in the vastness of space. And you're alive.

A voice calls your name, and you turn to see Obi-Wan rushing toward you, his robes billowing behind him. You try to stand, but your legs give out, and you collapse. Your body is wracked with tremors that won’t still, and your vision is blurred, the colors bleeding together. Only then do you realize you’re crying, tears rolling down your cheeks, hot and fast.

"Easy," Obi-Wan soothes as he crouches down next to you. He gently lifts you and places you back on the bed. His eyes are wide and filled with worry, his hands gripping your arms tightly, and he takes a moment to examine you. You can feel the panic, and the fear, emanating from him, and you swallow, trying to control your emotions, to reign in the chaos that is consuming your thoughts. 

"Just breathe, my dear," he says. His voice is gentle, and he's still looking at you, his eyes searching yours. "Breathe."

You inhale, and the air fills your lungs, the oxygen soothing the ache in your chest. The tears fall harder, and you let them, too exhausted to fight, and too tired to care. Obi-Wan doesn't seem to mind, and he doesn't push you to stop. He pulls you into his arms, and he holds you, his chin resting on the top of your head. You bury your face into his shoulder, and you clutch his robe, your fingers twisting in the fabric. He whispers soft words of comfort, his hand moving in slow, steady circles on your back. His touch is familiar, and you allow yourself to lean into him, to let him take some of the weight.

You're not sure how long you sit there, lost in the warmth of his embrace. But, eventually, the tears subside, and your breathing evens, and you feel a little less broken. He seems to sense the change, and he pulls back, his eyes finding yours. He brushes the hair out of your face, his fingers tender.

"Better?" he asks. You nod, and he smiles, the relief washing over his features. "Good. I was afraid we were going to have to sedate you."

The joke is unexpected, and you huff a small laugh, the sound coming out as a choked sob.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, your voice hoarse. You're not sure what you're apologizing for, or why, but the words come out anyway. "I don't...I'm sorry."

Obi-Wan frowns, his brow furrowing, and his gaze grows serious, his eyes narrowing. "What are you talking about? There's nothing to be sorry for." He pauses, and the silence stretches, his eyes searching yours.

"Do you know where you are?" he asks after a moment.

You nod again, and his frown deepens, the worry still present.

"And do you know why you're here?"

Another nod. "I got hurt. During the battle."

He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Yes, you did,” he says slowly. He hesitates, and he seems to debate what he wants to say, the silence heavy between the two of you. You know he's concerned, and he has every right to be. You know what he's going to ask, and the question hangs in the air, the answer on the tip of your tongue. But the words won't come, and you're afraid, the fear still lingering. And so, you remain silent, and you wait, the tension mounting.

"Tell me what happened," Obi-Wan finally says, his voice quiet. He doesn't sound angry, or upset, just curious, and a little apprehensive. "Start at the beginning."

"We were retreating," you begin. Your voice is rough, and you have to force the words out, the emotions swirling in your chest. You hesitate, and he waits, giving you time. You take a deep breath, and you continue, telling him about the Vulture droid, and the explosion, and how Rex saved you. When you're finished, you look up, your gaze finding his. "And then I woke up."

Obi-Wan is silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful, his jaw clenched.

"I see," he says softly, his tone unreadable. He pulls away and sits down next to the bed, his posture rigid, his shoulders tense. You can feel the anger, and the frustration, radiating off him, and it's unnerving, the feelings so at odds with the calm demeanor he usually projects. You try to delve further, but he pushes back, blocking you, and then you feel nothing at all. 

It's not malicious, but you know it's deliberate. And it hurts. A lot. The realization of it hits you like a blow, and your eyes sting, the tears threatening to fall. You bite back the pain, and you keep your expression neutral, the mask slipping into place.

You sit there, waiting for him to speak, to say something, anything. But he doesn't. The silence stretches on, and it's suffocating, the tension building. Finally, you can't take it anymore.

"Please," you plead, the desperation creeping into your voice. "Please talk to me."

“I…” Obi-Wan pauses and shakes his head, his brow furrowed, his jaw set. 

"I don't know what to say," he admits. He rubs his face and lets out a sigh, his shoulders sagging. "I'm so tired of losing people."

The words are unexpected, and they hit you hard, the sadness weighing heavily on your heart. You hadn't realized just how much this was affecting him. You reach out, and he flinches, but he doesn't pull away, and you cover his hand with yours. The gesture is simple, but the meaning is not, the contact an anchor. "I'm sorry."

"So am I," he murmurs, and he turns his hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. His eyes are bright with unshed tears, and his grip is tight, the tension visible in his posture. "So am I." 

He takes a breath and looks at you, his expression unreadable, and he seems to steel himself. "You shouldn’t have done that.”

You're taken aback by the sudden change in tone, and the anger in his voice, and your eyes widen, your head jerking back. You hadn't been expecting that.

"I didn't have a choice," you say quietly, and you try to pull your hand away, but his grip tightens, and you can't.

"You did," he counters. He's staring at you, his gaze piercing, his eyes narrowed. "You made a choice."

"Obi-Wan..."

"No," he snaps, his tone sharp, and he pulls his hand away. The sudden loss of contact sends a jolt through you, and you can't help the hurt that crosses your features. "You risked your life, and you didn't think about the consequences."

"I didn't—"

"Yes, you did," he interrupts, his voice rising. "You didn't think, and now, we're both here, and I'm not going to lose anyone else. I can't."

"Obi-Wan, listen to me," you insist, and your voice cracks, the emotion bleeding through. "I couldn't just let him die."

His eyes widen, and he shakes his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You didn’t have to. He would've been able to move. You didn't have to push him."

You don't respond.

"You didn't have to," he repeats, and his voice breaks, the anger giving way to sorrow.

"But, I did," you whisper. You look at him, your gaze unwavering. "I couldn't let him die."

Obi-Wan falls silent. The grief, and the pain, is plain on his face, and you can't bear it.

"I'm sorry," you tell him. "But—“

"I know," he says softly. He runs a hand over his jaw, smoothing his beard, and he lets out a sigh, the weariness returning. "I know."

The silence stretches on, the minutes passing by. You sit there, watching him, the emotions playing out on his face. The frustration, and the anger, fade, and all that's left is exhaustion, a resignation.

"Why did you do it?" he finally asks. He looks at you, his eyes searching yours. "Why did you push him, when you knew that it could cost you your life?"

"I don’t know,” you say quietly.

“I don’t believe you.”

You can't meet his gaze, and you focus on the ground, your fingers fidgeting with the blankets. "It doesn't matter why," you say softly. "I did what I had to do, and it worked."

Obi-Wan shakes his head and rises from his chair, his face contorted in disbelief, the hurt palpable.

"It matters to me," he tells you.

"It doesn't have to."

"It does," he insists. His eyes are hard, and his mouth is set, the determination written on his features. "There was a hundred things you could’ve done. A hundred different ways to get out of that situation. Why did you choose the one that put you at the greatest risk?"

"Because he's important."

The confession is sudden, and it catches you off guard, the words leaving your mouth before you can stop them. 

You don't mean to say it, and you want to take it back, but the damage is done. You're not sure why, but the truth is there, and it's out, the realization dawning on the both of you.

Obi-Wan is looking at you, his expression a mixture of surprise and understanding, and there's a softness, a fondness, in his eyes, and you know. You know he's figured it out. You can see it in his face, and in the way he's looking at you.

"Important," he repeats.

"Yes."

"Important enough to die for?"

"Yes."

He sighs and turns, his hands behind his back, his shoulders squared. He paces the length of the room, eyes fixed on the ground. He's silent for a long moment, and you watch him, waiting, the nerves rising. You know what he's thinking, and you know what he's going to say. But you don't want to hear it, and you can't stand the tension, the silence. It's too much.

"Just say it," you say. “Please."

Obi-Wan stops. He turns, and his gaze meets yours, the sadness written on his face.

"This is a dangerous path," he tells you. "One that I've walked before."

"I'm aware."

"Are you?" he asks, his eyes searching yours. "Because I don't think you are."

You don't respond, and he continues, his voice growing softer, his expression more pained. "It's not fair to him, or to yourself. And, I fear, if you're not careful, then the both of you will be paying the price."

The words sting, and they cut deep, but the truth in them is undeniable. You can't deny it, and the guilt settles in, the reality hitting you like a slap in the face. You've been selfish, and reckless, and the consequences of your actions have weighed heavily on everyone around you. And now you’ve only made things worse.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. The tears are hot on your cheeks, and you look down, trying to hide them, but it's too late, and you know Obi-Wan has already seen them. He lets out a sigh and walks over to you, his hand gently squeezing your shoulder.

"There's nothing to apologize for," he says softly, his voice filled with empathy. "I just want you to be careful. I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did."

"What do I do?"

"You keep moving," he replies. "You carry on."

You nod, and you wipe away the tears, your breathing ragged. Obi-Wan pulls you into his arms, and he holds you, the weight of his words still heavy on your shoulders. He doesn't say anything else, and the silence stretches, the minutes passing. And then, he pulls away, his hand cupping your cheek, his eyes meeting yours.

"Now, get some rest," he tells you, and he smiles, the sadness still present, but the worry fading. "We'll talk later."

You nod, and he turns, heading for the door. He pauses in the doorway, his hand gripping the frame, and he glances back at you.

"I'm proud of you," he says. His gaze lingers for a moment, and then, he's gone, the door closing behind him. You're alone in the room, and the quiet settles in, the air thick with the aftermath of the conversation.

You lean back and close your eyes, scrubbing at your face. The guilt is still there, and it's still heavy, but you feel better, and you're starting to see a little clearer. Obi-Wan is right. You need to carry on, to not allow this attachment, or whatever it is, to affect your judgment, or to control your actions. And you need to be careful. You can't put Rex in any more danger than he already is. He deserves better. They all do.

And you can do that. You can.

You take a breath and exhale, pushing the emotions away, burying them deep. When you open your eyes again, they're dry, and your breathing has steadied, and the weight, while not gone, has lessened. It's a start. You can work with that. You can.

And then you hear it.

"Sir."

You turn, and your eyes land on Rex, standing in the doorway, his helmet tucked under his arm. Your heart stutters in your chest, and you force yourself to take a deep breath, to push the feelings aside. To pretend. You can do that, right?

"Captain," you greet, and you smile, your expression masking the turmoil that's raging within you. "I'm glad you're alright."

Rex nods, and his lips twitch, a hint of a smile playing on his features. He doesn't seem surprised, and you realize, with a start, that Obi-Wan must have sent him a message before he'd even left the room. That man always has a plan.

"I should be the one telling you that," he says. He walks over to you and stands at attention, his posture rigid, his shoulders straight. His armor is covered in dirt, and there are a few new dents and scratches, but he's intact. And that's what matters. "How are you feeling, sir?"

"Better, thanks."

"I'm glad to hear it," he replies, and his gaze meets yours, his eyes searching yours. "You gave us quite a scare."

"Yeah, well, I've had worse," you say with a shrug. You lean forward and rest your elbows on your knees, your gaze never leaving his. "I'll be fine. It's going to take more than a little explosion to keep me down."

Rex chuckles and shakes his head, his shoulders relaxing. He places his helmet on the foot of the bed, and he takes a step towards you, the distance between the two of you narrowing. His eyes find yours, and he hesitates, the emotions flashing across his face, his mouth opening and closing. He seems conflicted, and there's something there, a question that he wants to ask, but he can't. You can see it in the way he's looking at you, the worry plain on his features. And so, you decide to give him an out.

"Come on," you say. You jerk your head toward the empty chair next to you. "Have a seat."

He frowns, but he does as you ask, taking a seat next to the bed. The silence stretches on, the tension mounting, and you can tell he's still debating what he wants to say, his brow furrowed. He doesn't seem to be getting anywhere with his internal battle, and you sigh, the impatience rising. "Rex."

"Permission to speak freely, sir," he blurts out. The words come out in a rush, and he winces before squaring his shoulders and looking you straight in the eye.

"Of course," you tell him, and your brow furrows, the worry starting to seep through. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes," he says. He pauses, and his frown deepens. "No. No, it's not. I...I wanted to apologize, sir."

You're taken aback, and you blink, the surprise registering on your face. "For what?"

"For putting you in harm's way," he says, and his expression is serious, his jaw set, his eyes never leaving yours. "For not believing you, when you tried to tell me about the danger. For not trusting you. If I had, we could've avoided the entire situation, and none of us would've been in any danger. And, if you hadn't pushed me out of the way, then—"

"Hey, stop," you interrupt. You reach over and cover his hand with yours, and he stops, his eyes widening. You smile, and you squeeze his fingers, hoping that the touch will reassure him. "It's okay."

"But, I—"

"No," you say firmly. You let go, and you sit up straight, the mask slipping back into place. "This isn't your fault, Rex. It was mine."

"Sir," he protests.

"I'm serious," you insist. "I could've told you what was happening, and I didn't. I kept it to myself, and I made the wrong decision, and it nearly got us both killed. So, if anything, I should be the one apologizing to you."

"You were trying to protect me."

"And look where it got us," you snap. The frustration is creeping back, and you squeeze your eyes shut, forcing the emotions down, the anger and the hurt. "I'm sorry. I just...I should've been more careful."

"Maybe," he concedes. He's silent for a moment, his gaze drifting, and he shifts in his chair. "Or maybe not. We might not be here, if you had."

You're not sure what to say, and you can't help the guilt, the regret. You could've done something different, could've done more. But in that moment, the only thing you'd been able to think about was saving Rex. Saving him, even if it meant risking your own life. And, deep down, you can't bring yourself to regret that. Not entirely.

"I guess we'll never know," you say softly.

"I guess not."

You sit there, staring at each other, the silence stretching. Neither of you seems to know what to say, the awkwardness hanging in the air.

Finally, Rex breaks the tension, clearing his throat. "In any case, thank you. For saving my life."

"Don't mention it," you reply, and you grin, the smile coming easily. "Besides, I told you I owed you one. Two, actually."

"You didn't," he insists, and he gives you a small, crooked smile, his eyes sparkling. "You still don't."

"If you say so."

You glance around the room and take in your surroundings. The space is quiet, and the ship is flying through hyperspace, the blue light flickering over the walls. It's peaceful, and for the first time since the battle, you feel a sense of calm settling in.

You turn back to Rex to find him watching you, his expression soft, and you smile. "So, tell me what I've missed. What happened after I passed out?"

Rex spends the next hour telling you about the battle. The 104th had arrived mere moments after you fell unconscious, and most of the men on the ground were able to retreat. Ahsoka had resisted orders to abandon her push into the center of the battle, and it had nearly cost the lives of her and her men. She was awaiting punishment at the hands of the Council upon your return, and Rex could tell that Anakin was still fuming over the disobedience. The planet had been lost, and the casualties were mounting. It was a disheartening end to what had begun as such a hopeful mission.

You had barely escaped the carnage, the ships limping back through the blockade and into the safety of hyperspace. Now, you were on your way back to Coruscant, and the trip would take several days. You weren't looking forward to facing the Council, but there was nothing else to be done. You would deal with the fallout, and move on. You had to.

"I'm sure the Jedi Council will be lenient with her," Rex says, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts. "She's still young, and she's a good soldier."

"That's not going to matter," you sigh. "Ahsoka disobeyed direct orders. There are consequences for that. I'm not sure what they'll do, but..." Your voice trails off, and you look away, your jaw clenched. "They'll do what they think is necessary. They always do."

Rex's expression grows concerned, and his brow furrows, his gaze searching yours. "Have you spoken to them about what happened?"

"No."

"Then, how do you know what they'll do?" he asks, his frown deepening. "Do you think they'll punish you, too?"

"Probably."

"What?"

"Look," you say. You pause, and you take a breath, the weariness settling in. "I know the Council, and I know how they work. They're not going to let this go. They're not going to be happy about what happened."

"That doesn't mean they'll punish you," Rex counters. "You're one of the best fighters they have. You've helped them countless times."

"That doesn't matter," you say. You shake your head and look down at your hands, your fingers intertwined, your thumbs rubbing together. "It's not about the work. It's about the principle. The fact that I made a choice that they wouldn't have. That I put myself before the mission. They're not going to like that."

"You put me before the mission," he says quietly.

"Yes," you agree. You meet his gaze, and you hold it, the honesty written on your face. "I did."

He stares at you, his eyes wide, his mouth open. He looks as though he's seen a ghost, and you can't help the chuckle, the sound escaping before you can stop it.

"Are you...are you laughing?" he asks. His tone is incredulous, and he seems torn between being offended and joining you, a smile tugging at his lips. "This is not funny."

"It is a little," you say, and the laugh grows, the mirth bubbling up. "Just a bit."

"It's not," he says. But his voice is lighter, and the corners of his mouth are turning upward, and he can't quite hide the smile. "Stop laughing. It's not funny."

"Okay, okay," you concede, and you hold up your hands in surrender, the laughter dying. "It's not funny."

He glares at you, his lips twitching, and the expression sends another round of giggles through you, and you have to bite your lip, the grin spreading across your face. "I'm sorry. Really."

He lets out a sigh and shakes his head, and then, he's smiling, his eyes sparkling, and you can't help but think how handsome he is. How the laughter suits him, and how much happier, and younger, it makes him look. You wish you could see it more often.

"You're something else," he mutters. But his tone is fond, and the look he gives you is warm, his eyes soft. "Really."

"Thanks," you reply, and your smile grows. "So are you."

"Thanks." He chuckles and looks away, and you're not sure, but you think you catch the hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. He takes a breath, and his expression sobers, his eyes meeting yours. "Seriously, though, you didn't have to do that."

"I know."

"You didn't have to put yourself in danger," he continues.

"I know," you say again.

"You shouldn't have," he insists. "You shouldn't have risked your life for mine."

"I would've done the same for any one of the men," you reply. "Or anyone else who was in trouble. I'm a Jedi. It's my job."

"Still," he says softly. "You didn't have to."

"I did," you tell him. You meet his gaze, and you hold it, the truth written on your face. "And I would do it again."

Rex doesn't respond. He doesn't say anything. Instead, he looks at you, and you stare back, neither of you speaking. It's not uncomfortable, and there's no tension. Just the quiet, and the understanding. He knows why you did what you did, and, while he may not like it, or approve of it, he's grateful. And that's enough.

After a moment, he nods. And that's the end of the conversation.

He stands, and he picks up his helmet, turning to leave. But something keeps him from going. He looks at you, his expression hesitant, and then he reaches into one of the pouches of his utility belt.

"I almost forgot," he says. Rex walks back over to you, and his fingers withdraw a gold chain. Your breath catches at the familiar sight of the blue stone pendant dangling in front of you. "The medics found this on you when they were transferring you to bacta. Kix asked me to hold onto it for you.”

You swallow and take the necklace, running your fingers over the smooth surface, the cool metal a comforting weight in your palm. You feel a flash of guilt, and your heart sinks. You hadn't even thought about it.

"A gift from General Kenobi, sir?” he asks quietly.

“Hm?” you hum, nearly missing his words in your distraction. You look up, and Rex is watching you, a strange look on his face. "Oh. No, no this was my Master’s. It’s…the only thing I have left of her. Thank you, Rex."

Rex nods, and the tension in his shoulders relaxes slightly. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity and sympathy in his tone. You wrack your memory of the last ten years, and you realize you can't remember a single time anyone had said those words to you, not even Obi-Wan. They mean more than you ever thought they would, and you’re not prepared for the rush of gratitude and affection that falls over you in a wave.

"Thank you," you say again. "For everything."

"You're welcome," he replies. His gaze is still locked on yours, and there's a flicker of something, a shadow of an emotion that crosses his face. He hesitates, his fingers tapping his helmet, and then he takes a step back. "Just, be careful, sir."

"I will."

He nods and turns to leave. As he steps out into the corridor, he stops, and he glances back at you. "And...thank you again.”

"You would've done the same for me,” you point out.

"That doesn't matter," he replies. There's an edge to his voice, a stubbornness, but then he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Get some rest. We'll talk later."

The door slides closed behind him, and the room falls silent.

You lean back and close your eyes, the necklace still clutched in your fist. You feel something inside of you, a fluttering in your chest, a lightness, that feels almost foreign. You wonder if he felt it too.

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[animatedjen]

What's some stuff you're really hoping to see in Jedi 3 (either narratively or gameplay wise)?

Oh I'm so glad you asked this 🙌 Because I have THOUGHTS.

Gonna put everything under the cut so this doesn't clog up the feed with a wall of text (whoops.) Some of these ideas I hope to create concept art for, after I replace/fix my very cranky thirteen-year-old tablet. Anyway let’s start with gameplay!

Gameplay!

Maintaining Cal's abilities: Survivor handled this beautifully by keeping many of the skills learned in Fallen Order, instead of undoing Cal's growth from the first game. I think it'll be trickier to keep this momentum into Jedi 3 (the skill tree has gotten so large!) but story reasons could push Cal towards new types of abilities instead of bloating the current options.

More synergy between the lightsaber stances: I like all the stances in Survivor and it'd be A) disappointing to lose any of them, but B) overwhelming to add MORE combat styles. Being able to flow between the stances more fluidly would be fun though, with specific combos unlocked depending on which two are active together. Now if Merrin lets Cal borrow her knife-staff and he puts his lightsaber on the end... MAGICK SABER PIKE GO.

New or adapted movement mechanics: Maybe the ascension cable is replaced with a force ability (Force Ascend or Force Leap for an extra vertical boost?) or is "upgraded" to connect between two anchors, letting Cal create his own temporary ziplines.

Replayable missions: This could be explained in-game with a Force Tear or Cal's own interactive echoes. But I'd love the option to experience story missions and boss fights again post-game.

Customization!

This is a bonus section because Merrin should get new outfits. Haven't decided how to make it part of gameplay yet, stay tuned.

Cal's cosmetics in Survivor are mostly cool, some just funny, but overall a huge improvement from Fallen Order (yes, even though we miss all the poncho designs). For Jedi 3 I'd love to see more story-centric cosmetics that tie into the communities and people Cal has met along his journey. A Legacy outfit (incorporating pieces from his three Jedi masters), an Anchorite-inspired outfit (with arm tattoos), a bounty hunter outfit (the prize after defeating the Brood), etc. Maybe a Bogling outfit? No not made from Boglings; it looks like a Bogling. Hang on lemme fix my tablet—

Narrative + Gameplay!

Explore Tanalorr: Right now this sparkly, strong-in-the-Force, temple-carved planet is a huge mystery box for Jedi 3. There's a few directions it could go - more High Republic history, another civilization (the Nihil? someone new?) lurking in the shadows, or Force-related secrets hiding below the surface. Each Jedi game has followed Cal's exploration of an ancient culture, and I think Tanalorr can be a focal point in that journey.

Defeat Sorc Tormo and the Haxion Brood: I mentioned this in an ask earlier this week, but I so want a resolution to this fight against the Brood. Especially since roaming bounty hunters would threaten the Hidden Path. Maybe Cal breaks back into Ordo Eris, or hunts down Sorc Tormo on another planet. Maybe there's a Force-only stealth section?? Maybe a big multi-wave boss fight? Maybe Caij is there??? (no she doesn't get an invite to Tanalorr)

Dark Side Force Slow: The fact that Cal's Force Slow ability kept its red-stained aura, even in the Survivor post-game, is great. I love lasting consequences and ludonarrative harmony, yes yes yes. Really hope this isn't fully resolved by the start of Jedi 3 (potential timeskip makes it tricky but whatever) and the ability receives some sort of healing through Cal finding his way out of the darkness.

Narrative!

Timeskip?: I vote no, but I think Jedi 3 will vote yes, likely to age up Kata and allow Tanalorr to be more developed. But that also means Cal and the Mantis Crew goes through character development without us (boo) or remains emotionally stunted until we get there (also boo?). I'm more comfortable with the five year gap between FO and Survivor than I used to be though, despite "missing out" on big character moments, so maybe it'll be okay. Maybe. 👀

The Hidden Path builds a home on Tanalorr: This works until it doesn't, whether from outside pressure or the threat of a spy within. I don't think Bode's fears should necessarily be validated, but I do think the risk will keep Cal on edge and hurt his ability to trust (both others and himself.) It'll drive decisions that strain his relationships and be a source of conflict for part of the game.

The Mantis gets semi-retired and then reinstated: I just love the mental picture of the Mantis parked somewhere cozy and decorated with cloth and lights and a hideout for Kata. It's become too small and high profile to use for gathering the Path, but when the plot gets going, they're gonna need her back in action.

Three main antagonists: The Empire, an unrelated third-party with their own goals (Nihil or someone else), and Cal's own demons. The first two drive the external conflict, the third drives Cal's inner conflict and the story's themes. More on that at the end.

A memorial garden: It's designed by Pili and filled with native Tanalorrian plants and trees, from which the Anchorites hang cords and windchimes and bits of colored glass. Cere's saber was buried beneath the largest tree. Cal plays her hallikset here when he's too troubled to meditate. If we want to be mean, this place gets damaged during a battle in Act 3. If we want to be less mean, this is the place that doesn't get damaged during a battle.

Kata has some sort of student-teacher relationship with Cal: I'm torn on her being Force sensitive: this is a story about Jedi and "guide her through the darkness" is pretty telling given Cal's own darkness at the end of Survivor. But Cal helping Kata (and Kata helping Cal) can happen regardless of her Force sensitivity - it would just look different. This is a soft answer because I'm still exploring ideas around it BUT admittedly the angst levels would be higher if she is sensitive.

A battle against the shadow self: Look this one is cliche. I don't care. I want a huge cavern in the depths of Tanalorr where Cal gets to fight a dark version of himself that switches between all his former enemies. If we're making a video game here let's physically beat up our darkness. Let's have it not work. Let's bring Cal to rock bottom to remind him that he is more than his darkness and he doesn't have to do this alone. Let's go back to that same fight later and then we finally win.

There's more to explore story-wise and I will eventually, but I'm overall not concerned about Jedi 3's narrative. Respawn has been very intentional with their writing of Cal Kestis and the Jedi series so far (despite some last minute changes to Survivor) and I love this character and this story because of all the great work they've created. I really hope they finish this journey the way they want to. That being said—

How should Jedi 3 end? Should Cal die?

No: I'll argue Cal dying at the end of the trilogy completely undermines the entire lesson of Survivor.

Cal wouldn't stop fighting the Empire: The Cal we meet at the beginning of Survivor definitely wouldn't. That Cal also watched countless friends die to that same fight and saw two different Jedi fall to their passions-turned-obsessions that led them to the dark side. He may wrestle with remnant obligation or a bitter apathy, but he's definitely not as single-minded as he was before.

Cal would sacrifice himself to save the Path: Yeah, he probably would. Cere did exactly that during the Siege of Jedha when all else failed. But maybe the Path could be protected without Cal needing to be a Weapon - a lesson Cere also wanted him to learn.

Another way: I think the Koboh abyss (that separates Tanalorr from the rest of the galaxy) could be destroyed. I don't know if Cal would choose to destroy it, but I think the Empire would: if they can't reach Tanalorr it's the next best thing.

Now Cal has to make a choice: Leave (continuing the fight alone) or Stay (shepherding the Path for an unknown future.) It doesn't mean they never find a way back to the known galaxy, but it'll take time. Enough time for a New Hope to appear.

Whatever your opinion of the Sequel Trilogy, the line: "That’s how we’re gonna win. Not fighting what we hate. Saving what we love." is not only a complete thesis of Star Wars, but fits really well with Cal's journey. He's become very good at fighting. He wants to save everyone in Fallen Order, and he can't. He still wants to save everyone in Survivor, and they refuse him. His Fight has made a difference (again, Cere says as much) but it's clear this can't be Cal's final answer.

Choosing to protect the Path, choosing to trust the Force, choosing a home. That's what he's been fighting for. I love Cal Kestis because he isn't the chosen one and he isn't going to save the galaxy. But for his family and his community, he saved their galaxy. It's cheesy but I don't care, and you know Greez and BD would agree with me.

-

Okay this got so, so much longer than I expected. Bonus points if you made it all the way down here haha. I've had a weird assortment of concepts and ideas over the past year but never wrote them down in one place - until now. I've said it before but part of my hyperfixation with the Jedi series is because it isn't finished yet and Survivor ends on such a gut-wrenching cliffhanger. Whatever happens to this series, I'm slowly finding some sort of catharsis through all the edits and photomode shots and half-baked concepts. Thanks for tagging along ✌️

[skywlker-sluvtt]

Both His Sabers <3

Anakin x Fem!Reader

A/N: Omg Lyss actually posting something? I'm still struggling with motivation but I managed a straight porn piece for you guys. Is this logically possible and safe? Probably not, but it's really hot so idc. I also hope yall enjoy my corny ass title I couldn't think of anything better. This is for the anon that requested it a while ago <3

Ani catches you playing with his saber and uses it for more than a Jedi probably should.

Warnings: double penetration, masturbation (f), perv ani, dirty talk, anal, pussy slapping, one singular face slap, poorly edited, lmk if there's anymore :)

Word Count: 1.4k

Masterlist

✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

Biting into your pillow did nothing to prevent the pretty noises falling from your lips. Anakin could hear them from the bathroom. He only left you to have a shower and thought you’d have enough self-control to wait, he was clearly wrong. An erotic moan escaped your lips as you continued to grind your clit against the hilt of Anakin’s lightsaber. Every ridge and bump on it felt divine against your touch-starved pussy.

The thought of the rough handle of the weapon on your pussy was too sexy to ignore so you stole it while he showered. Now you lay on your stomach humping your needy little clit on it. “Ah-ah” You sighed into the pillow right on the edge of your climax, while Anakin secretly watched from the door. His cock became immediately hard seeing his weapon wedged between those soft thighs.

Anakin watched like a pervert, finding it more entertaining to observe you like this. Comparing it to his personal holo-porn. “Ani” You whispered turning onto your back and dragging the weapon toward your hole. He watched the way you bit your lip with excitement and slipped your fingers inside that tight pussy to open yourself for the hilt. Drawn moans left your mouth as you arched your back with anticipation at what you wanted to do.

Lifting his hand from his crotch Anakin gently sent waves toward you through the force with a simple flick of his wrist. Gentle shivers ran across your thigh and you groaned adding a third finger to your heat. Lewd noises filled the room as you continued to finger your wet cunt licking over the roughness of Anakin’s lightsaber with hunger. Treating the object like his cock you continued to push it down your throat with loud whimpers. Anakin’s eyes almost rolled back watching you act like a slut.

Once feeling loose enough you gradually dragged his weapon toward your pussy and attempted to slip the object inside and you whined in frustration as it slipped from your grip. “Need help?” Anakin asked. “Yeah,” You groaned not missing a beat. It didn’t overly embarrass you due to the fact Anakin had done much worse with you, you assumed your pervert of a husband would enjoy this as much as you had been.

He pulled the object from you with force and admired the wetness of drool and cum you’d left all over it. “My dirty little Schutta” Anakin teased settling between your thighs. “You’re so sick in the head, you liked watching didn’t you?” You whispered. “Kriff yeah I did” Anakin replied spanking your pussy unexpectedly. You jolted and gasped, your pussy clenched around nothing causing Anakin’s mouth to water even more. Watching your pussy gyrate was mesmerising as he slapped your pussy a few more times for his own pleasure.

“Fuck Ani! Stop teasing!” You demanded slapping his cheek causing him to hiss and get even harder. “Demanding slut aren’t you?” He scoffed roughly adding three of his dexterous fingers into your pussy with a grin. “Yeah, Ani right fucking there” You growled as he took the saber back into his grip positioning it against your dripping entrance. He was completely mesmerised, biting down on his tongue in focus as he buried his weapon deep into your cunt.

The stretch was immaculate, a throbbing settled between your legs as the rough edges stretched you with no mercy. A delicious pain ran throughout your body causing you to buck your hips in approval. “Look how stretched out I’ve got you, baby you look like a pathetic whore” He told you kissing your knee as he thrust it in and out of your pussy, admiring the way your little hole gripped it with such force. Spreading your legs further you bucked your hips with a whine.

“Fuck Ani, p-put that big cock in my ass” You gasped out and his gaze became even deeper. “I like how you think just like me, that’s why I fucking love you” He smirked licking a wet stripe up your cheek and leaving a sloppy kiss on your forehead. Opening your mouth as a signal for his he granted you that pleasure, kissing you like a starved man. The wet noises that filled the room were truly pornographic. Anakin sometimes could imagine how many credits you’d make showing your gorgeous pussy online.

“Ready for my cock?” He questioned positioning himself between your thighs and harshly spreading them apart leaving the lightsaber motionless inside your wide-stretched hole. “Fuck Anakin need it” You whined waiting for him to finish coating his thick cock in saliva. “Think I trained your ass well enough to take my cock on its own? No fingers?” He asked tracing the innards of your thigh. “Mhm yes sir! I can take it all” You demanded. “That’s what I like to hear from my whore” Anakin praised pressing the head of his cock into your ass. With a loud gasp, you let him enter fisting the sheets as he continued to stuff you with his length.

“Good fuck doll” Anakin cooed as he filled your ass with his cock. He nudged the tool deeper into your pussy as he created a rhythm between brutally fucking your ass and pushing his lightsaber into your pussy. “You’re such a dirty cum dump, I bet you w-wish my lightsaber was another cock don’t you? I bet a dirty cunt like you would love to have a few men fuck you” He whispered, the filthy words turning you into a throbbing mess beneath him. “I would!” You hiccuped trying to concentrate on both Anakin and the pleasure filling your veins.

You gripped his biceps tighter, fingernails digging into the firm flesh of his arms surely leaving crescent moons across them. “Fucking mark me baby” He groaned trying to concentrate on his own thrusts and the lightsabers. A loud whine left his lips as he fucked into you at a desperate pace. Being stuffed full made you cry out in pleasure. You could feel how perfectly they grazed your most sensitive areas creating a balance of pleasure and delectable pain to flow through you.

With a loud gasp, your thighs began to tremble and Anakin smirked knowing how close you were. “Cum, cum on my saber baby. Get that pretty cream all over it” He whimpered resisting the urge to climax too soon. You opened you’re mouth to speak and only moans escape. “I-I know just cum, don’t think” He encouraged. Pushing against his thrusts you made a desperate attempt to bring your orgasm sooner. Reaching down you rubbed your clit in tight circles. “Fuck Ani!” You shouted arching your back into him.

The pulsating orgasm ripped through you. Causing waves of pleasure to clash over you turning you into a pretty mess beneath Anakin. Feeling you clench around his cock and his lightsaber he let go as well. Grunting into your shoulder with a bite, leaving teeth marks for the next morning. He continued to work you through your orgasm and his own, coating your ass with his hot cum. “That’s a good good girl” He whispered pressing a few open mouth kisses along your shoulder.

Both of you were reduced to sweaty panting messes in each other's arms. Anakin pressed a soft kiss against your forehead and took the saber back into his grip. “Gonna take it out sweetheart” He whispered. You hummed contently as he removed both himself and his weapon from your holes and you whimpered feeling the emptiness. He chuckled and ran his fingers down your side admiring the cum leaking from your ass and your beautifully swollen pussy.

“You’re so gorgeous” Anakin hummed. You sighed and he grinned once more at your exhausted yet beautiful state. He always found you looked prettiest after sex, all sweaty and messy because of him. “Let me take care of you” Anakin whispered. “Please” You replied admiring how delicious he looked right now.

[bardic-tales]

Title: Youth

Pairing: Bianca Moore (f!OC) / Sephiroth

Other Character: Professor Hojo

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1591

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII, Ever Crisis

Setting: AU: Redemption

Warnings: Abuse, body horror, combat violence, cold & hypothermia, death, emotional distress, experimentation, fear, isolation, manipulation, paranoia, psychological trauma

Summary: In a stimulated combat scenario, Bianca and Sephiroth confront the powerful summons Bahamut and Shiva to prove their abilities to Professor Hojo.

Squared Filled: Youth

Created for: #SephirothWeek which is hosted by @week-of-silver-winds

Note: This is from my redemption!AU where the timeline becomes very canon divergent. Also, for anyone who is following along with my passion project, Sephiroth and Bia meet very young in this AU.

In it, Hojo is the primary antagonist. This fan fic takes place during Ever Crisis before the First Episode of the First SOLDIER. So, Seph is 15; Bia, 13.

Excerpt:

In a cry of agony, tendrils burst forth from her back, surged towards Shiva, and pierced the summon’s defenses.

Still, the battle raged on. The sound of steel and the crackling of frost echoed across the virtual world. Shiva moved weakly as they continued to carve into her. Sephiroth knew they couldn’t waste anymore time. Drawn-out displays wouldn’t satisfy Professor Hojo.

Thump. Thump. Thump. His heart beat. The young man held onto the military saber and slowly lifted the blade parallel to his head and shoulder as he eased into his combat stance. He looked at his companion: the young girl that had been a constant in his life for five years now, the only one he was allowed to converse with.

Their environment flickered and glitch before them. Solid powder-blue boxes swayed, pivoted on their axis, rose, and descended. From the west, a warm breeze blew across the stimulation, waving his shoulder-length silver hair and her waist-length midnight locks behind them like banners welcoming warriors home from a battle. He looked at the force before them.

The battle was yet to be won. He didn’t scowl or have much emotion, other than looking at their foes before them: Bahamut and Shiva.

“On my mark,” he said.

Bianca nodded, as she curled her right hand into a fist and slammed it against the silver habaki and ebony tsuka, gliding her hand to the left and pulling Noctemaris from the void between dimensions. The black and dark gray blade emerged behind her fist, sparkling and glimmering with star dust. “Which one first?”

They had to preform above expectations or Hojo would take Bianca from him and return her shaken, bruised, and broken. Even if that meant endured their training, he had to protect Bianca.

“Shiva,” he replied. “She’s the most threat to us, as you’re delicate around ice and cold.”

Without another word, Sephiroth surged forward. His eyes fixated on the ice goddess who loomed ahead. The air around Bianca and Sephiroth was already thick with frost. The chill clawed at his skin, but he pressed on. His determination was unyielding.

If I hesitate, he thought, it would mean failure. Failure would mean Hojo’s interference with Bianca once again. This was a thought he would not tolerate: her experimentation.

Nameless flashed as he closed the distance to the scantily clad summon. His movements were precise and deadly. The ground beneath him cracked with each step forward, as the frozen ground protested his advance.

Without breaking stride, he launched himself into a serious of rapid slashes. The rapid successions of strikes aimed at childing away at Shiva’s defenses. Her green hair flowed around her as she tried to defend against Sephiroth’s graceful brutality.

Bianca darted to the side, using his assault as cover. She moved with a grace that belied the dark power coursing through her veins. Her wings unfurled and cast a shadow over the battlefield. With a single, powerful beat of her wings, she lifted herself into the air. The surrounding shadows deepened and obscured her from Shiva’s gaze.

Sephiroth knew they would have to finish this quickly. The cold gnawed at Bianca, lining her flesh with ice crystals. If they didn’t end it quick, there was a real possibility for her to develop hypothermia.

He glanced up for a moment as darkness oscillated around her, concealing herself from both Sephiroth and Shiva’s view. As he continued his relentless assault, Bianca descended from above and plunged downward with Noctemaris.

In a cry of agony, tendrils burst forth from her back, surged towards Shiva, and pierced the summon’s defenses.

Still, the battle raged on. The sound of steel and the crackling of frost echoed across the virtual world. Shiva moved weakly as they continued to carve into her. Sephiroth knew they couldn’t waste anymore time. Drawn-out displays wouldn’t satisfy Professor Hojo.

“Now, Bianca,” he called above the din, signaling her to finish the summon while he intercepted Bahamut. Sephiroth spun on his heel. The dragon’s roar shook the stimulator.

With a surge of shadows, Bianca’s blade plunged into Shiva’s chest. The dark energies expanded from the blade, as the star-drench blade glowed now: a crimson nebula surrounded Noctemaris, the arms spinning wildly around the length of the blade.

Shiva shattered in a explosion of crystalline shards and darkness.

“Move!” he commanded Bianca. With a swift leap, he launched himself toward the dragon, ready to engage their next challenge before Hojo ended the stimulation.

Sephiroth now leapt at Bahamut. His saber poised to strike as the air seemed to crackle with the dragon’s raw, untamed power. The beast’s eyes glowed red as it inhaled the surrounding air. The very air sizzled around Sephiroth as the dragon prepared to unleash a burst of Mega Flare.

There was no time to hesitate. He pushed forward, leaping up into the air again and bringing down Nameless with a downward strike. The ground beneath him split into a pentacle. The impact sent a tremor through Sephiroth’s arms, but he didn’t relent.

Bahamut recoiled while Sephiroth concentrated. A large fireball hovered over his hand, which he immediately threw at the dragon’s large silvery leathery wings.

As Bianca still soared through the air, her tendrils quivered and writhed around her. The darkness emanating from her wings intensified, casting blackness over the entire stimulation. With a fierce cry, she dove before the dragon’s belly and jabbed at it with the tendrils. They lashed at Bahamut’s underside.

The dragon roared in fury. It swatted at Bianca with its colossal claws, but she weaved and bobbed out of reach, siphoning blood from the creature through her appendages. As she danced through the air, Sephiroth struck from the ground. A rapid sequence of eight quick thrusts and slashes severed the joints of Bahamut’s massive limbs. His blade moved like a flash of silver.

With a surge of dark energy, Bianca unleashed her fury. Her movements became a blur as Noctemaris carved through the air and Bahamut. Each stroke left behind a trail of shadow, sapping the dragon’s will and strength.

Bahamut’s once-mighty form wavered. With a last thrust from Nameless, the giant beast collapsed. Its form and energy dissipating into the air.

Silence fell across the stimulation as Sephiroth reached into his coat and retrieved his flip phone. With the press of the downward arrow, he scrolled through the options and hit ‘Mission Successful’. The screen flashed in confirmation. Before the stimulation collapsed around them, he took one look at Bianca and ensured she was unharmed. Tiny cuts and bruises lined her arms, but nothing severe.

After they removed their V.R. headsets, they were met by the calculating gaze of the Head of Research and Development.

“You both need to be faster. Train harder or you’ll never unlock your full potentials.” The mad scientist, a Shinra board member by the name of Professor Hojo, held the clipboard in his hand. He was shorter than the teenage boy, but he still held power over Sephiroth.

In his other hand, Hojo held a pen and scribbled down notes on the sheet of paper clipped to the board. “Especially you, Bianca. You have barely tapped into your potential abilities."

Sephiroth’s brilliant cyan gaze flicked towards Bianca. Her indigo eyes widened, blowing out her feline-like pupils. The string looping around their separate wrists pulsated an angry red, allowing the anxiety and fear running through the strings to settle deep within his own stomach. It amplified the fear, sending it back to the small girl.

“This separation will make both of you stronger,” Hojo said, as he gripped onto Bianca’s right bicep. His spindly fingers bit into her soft knitted turtleneck.

Although he didn’t show it, his heart galloped as he watched Hojo lead Bianca away. He had to shelter her from Hojo, and he would. Thump. Thump. Thump.

tagging some fellow mutuals: @themaradwrites @littleshopofchaos @serenofroses @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@nightingaleflow @seastarblue @prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen

@chickensarentcheap

[rinixo]

here we are, now

Howzer/Jedi!Reader | 2.4k | Rated E | smut, afab reader, inexperienced reader, PIV sex, obsessive thoughts, pining, yearning, Howzer calls Reader 'kid'

Your masters had often warned that your enthusiasm would one day lead you into treacherous situations. They weren't wrong, but the danger you faced now was likely beyond anything they had imagined.

read on ao3

Your masters had often warned that your enthusiasm would one day lead you into treacherous situations. They weren't wrong, but the danger you faced now was likely beyond anything they had imagined.

Rain lashed against the walls of the abandoned house where you and Clone Captain Howzer had taken refuge. The mission had gone disastrously off course.

As a Jedi, you were accustomed to working with clone troopers, but this was your first solo command without a senior knight. It was also the first time you had been sent out with just one other person, instead of a small squad.

The war had created desperate situations, and this mission was no exception. While the situation on Ryloth was not as treacherous as other fronts, it still provided its fair share of battle opportunities. You and Howzer were tasked with extracting assets from a separatist holdout, one of many popping up across the planet’s surface. Nervous but eager to prove yourself, you had been selected to lead the mission, with the seasoned captain deferring to your leadership with grace. Everything had been going smoothly until a few hours ago when a moment of reckless action led you straight into a droid ambush.

Deflecting blaster fire with your saber, you watched as Howzer tried to break through their defenses. All seemed manageable until a clever droid launched a grenade towards your position. Howzer heroically threw himself in front of you, blocking the grenade with his armored body. To your horror, he rolled away, and you braced for the explosion, only to see the grenade release a puff of green-tinged smoke instead.

Chalking the dud grenade up to luck, you nonetheless were forced to flee before more reinforcements arrived. With the storm preventing extraction, you decided to spend the night here and attempt the mission again at first light.

Howzer sat across from you, slowly removing his armor. You noticed how he winced, and his murmur of "I’m okay. Just sore," did little to ease your concern.

Though you had been stationed on Ryloth for several cycles, you had worked with Howzer only a handful of times before this mission. You knew he had been assigned as your second in command on purpose - he was known for his ability to get jobs done without any major fanfare. You felt guilty for mucking up what should have been another routine mission, knowing you could expect chastisement from your elders back at the temple.

A hiss made you look up. You had an uncanny gift for sensing others' emotions more acutely than most Jedi. Clones of higher rank, like Howzer, were harder to read, but you had been feeling waves of discomfort and tension from him since settling down. Had he sustained an injury you hadn’t seen?

“I know some healing arts,” you offered amicably. “Perhaps I can offer some relief—”

“No,” Howzer interrupted, his bluntness making you blink.

Your heart sank, fearing he was irritated with you. Throughout your life, you had been told you could be too much, too present, too helpful. ‘Stop hovering,’ they said. ‘Stop trying to fix problems before they even happen.’ But how could you? You felt everything so deeply - people’s anxiety, their fears and their excitement. Helping was second nature to you, and unfortunately so was the tunnel vision that came along with it.

This mission had been a test of your ability to show restraint and patience, to gauge your aptitude to lead squads on your own without needing someone else to check you. Instead, it had been a textbook example of how spectacularly you could get things to go sideways. All is as the Force wills it, you had been told time and time again. All you could think is why the Force insisted on making things so hard for you in particular.

Hours later, after a small meal, the rain continued to roar heavily. You had been lying in the darkness for what felt like an eternity, unable to fall asleep. The oppressive emotions emanating from the man across the room were overwhelming. Discomfort and tension had morphed into intense heat and strain, mingled with a pain that was impossible for you to ignore.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to meditate on the sound of the rain to distract your senses. The whirlwind of feeling emanating from Howzer was overpowering, however, and you let out a defeated groan. Resting was not an option.

You rose from the bed and approached the clone. Howzer hadn’t lain down; he was hunched over on the edge of his cot, his arms dangling loosely over his thighs.

“You’ve gotten worse,” you said, clearing your throat. He glanced up, concern etched on his face. “I can sense it.”

“My apologies, commander —” he began, but you raised a hand to stop him.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. It’s my fault you’re in this situation. I made a mistake, and you paid the price.”

“It’s my job, ma’am. My duty.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Clones and their damned built-in sense of self-sacrifice. All too willing to give life and limb, hardly thinking about themselves when it came to the safety of others.

“Please, let me try to help you, Howzer,” you asked again. “If not for yourself, then for the mission?”

He swallowed roughly. “With all due respect, ma’am, I don’t think this is something you can help with.”

“Don’t be so sure,” you replied with a half-smile. Howzer sighed, closed his eyes, and nodded reluctantly.

Closing your eyes, you knelt in front of Howzer and gently placed your hand on his shoulder. You reached out with the Force, pressing softly against the barrier of his consciousness. What was usually a strong wall of resistance had worn down over time, and with a gentle nudge, you slipped through.

Instantly, you were bombarded with raw emotions. You felt the anxious flutter of his pulse as if it were your own. You struggled to navigate the turbulent sea of sensations coursing through Howzer—expectation, dread, passion—all barely restrained by a fraying thread.

For a fleeting moment, Howzer’s essence became yours, and you gasped as you uncovered the source of his turmoil. Desire surged through his veins, colored dark green like the smoke from the grenade. It pulsed - no, throbbed, igniting his synapses like wildfire. Stillness was agony, the brush of your hand on his shoulder like a salve.

You opened your eyes, pulling away. Howzer was tense, coiled tightly like a snake ready to strike. A bead of sweat trickled from his brow, his pupils dilated and dark in the dim light.

“The grenade,” you said softly. “It did this?”

“Yes,” Howzer replied shortly. A knot of concern coiled in your stomach.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized again. “I-I’ve never encountered a toxin like this. I don’t know how to help you.”

Howzer breathed out roughly through his nose. “Didn’t think so. It’s an enhanced libidinous agent. They’re meant to be thrown into air vents, gas out whole rooms. And I took a whole one straight to the face.”

“You’ve seen these before?” You queried, and he nodded. A million questions were begging to be asked, but you resisted and kept to the most pertinent ones.

“Do you know how to make it stop?”

“Usually you can just wait it out,” Howzer mumbled. “But, uh - it’s…very hard to ignore.”

You thought for a moment, piecing things together. Your experiences with sex were limited to the lewd holonovels your fellows had snuck in and distributed amongst each other like contraband, and the occasional burst of feeling from people thinking loudly about their own escapades. A poor substitute, you knew, but it would have to do.

“If we have sex, will that help?” You offered.

Howzer choked at your blunt suggestion, eyes widening in shock.

You folded your hands neatly in your lap, patiently waiting for his response. All the while, you could still feel the emotions rolling off his body. He was making a very pointed effort not to stare at your chest, or thighs, or stars forbid your lips. You were suddenly self-conscious in a way you had never felt before.

“We couldn’t - do you even understand what you’re saying?” Howzer asked, incredulity coloring his words.

You nodded. “Yes.” It wasn’t a lie, per se. You just hoped that with his mind as impacted as it was, the fact that you were a virgin and had never so much as kissed anyone before would go unnoticed.

“You’re a Jedi,” he said weakly, running out of ways to give you an out.

“The code forbids attachment, not sex,” you said with nervous amusement.

Howzer swallows roughly, staring up at the ceiling. His hands clench and unclench, and after a moment he looks back down at where you’re sat and nods shortly before leaning back in invitation.

You climb into his lap carefully, feeling the heat of his skin through his blacks. He’s tense, and as you settle down you try to project as much calmness and ease as you can.

“Is this ok?” You ask quietly, and hear him take a sharp inhale. You take his arms tightening around you as a ‘yes’. Leaning forward, you let out a soft hum as he unexpectedly presses his flushed face against your neck. You hear him inhale deeply, the hesitancy in his grip loosening as he drinks in the scent of your arousal. “Sweet” he says quietly, mouthing roughly against the arch of your throat.

The way Howzer touches you feels strange to your inexperienced mind. His hands slide under your top, rough palms massaging your breasts. He kisses just under your ear, making your head droop to the side to give him more access.

You can feel him, hot and hard in his lap. Nervous anticipation floods you to your core, and you shift experimentally. A choked moan from the man currently nipping at your exposed shoulder confirms that it was the right move.

Feeling braver, and trying to pretend you know what you’re doing, you move one hand down from his shoulder, you slip it under his drawers. He chokes again as you stroke him to his full length, tip leaking what feels like endless thin liquid.

With what feels like practiced ease, Howzer slips your leggings down your waist to pool around one ankle. Readjusting you in his lap, he lines himself up with your cunt. Not once does he take his eyes off your face, gaze intense and burning.

The pressure of penetration surprises you. “Oh!” You say softly as Howzer spreads your thighs further apart.

“There we go,” he mutters lowly, more to himself than to you. “Just like that- fuck -“ His head falls back, eyes closed as your soft heat engulfs him fully. His cock pulses strong enough for you to feel it, his abdomen twitching, and you realized that he had just cum from that first instance of penetration.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans again, and with his hands on your hips begins moving you back and forth, up and down. His cock was still hard as iron inside of you, and you grasped his biceps to steady yourself against his desperate pace.

Curious, you reach out with the force again, slipping easily into the wild bramble of his thoughts. It’s impossible to parse out any one singular feeling, his lust-addled brain focused on chasing its relief through your body. It’s starting to feel good for you too, and with one particularly harsh thrust, you mewl. There’s something bright building in you, centered where Howzer is rocking into you.

The sounds you make snap Howzer’s gaze back to your face. He moves one hand to grasp your chin, holding your head still so that he can slot his mouth over yours. With his touch, you are gifted with flashes of thought, and emotion - the way you move effortlessly through battle, the way the light catches the myriad of colors in your irises -

You had never noticed, but he had been noticing you for a while now. Always seeking you out, wondering if you’ve come back from your missions unscathed. The mention of your name makes his chest tighten. He’s spent many a night in his bunk thinking about the plush softness of your lips, your hands, your cunt-

Howzer is infatuated with you, you realize as you begin to cum. His earlier tense refusal wasn’t due to irritation but dread - dread at the thought of finally being able to have you but never truly have you. He despairs at the thought of this being the only time he’ll ever be able to feel you against him, be inside of you.

It’s pure, unadulterated yearning, and it makes you shudder. Your clothes have come completely off at this point, and Howzer moves to lay you down on the cot, not once leaving the tight heat of your cunt.

“Perfect,” he moans into your shoulder, one of your thighs hoisted under a strong forearm. “I knew you’d be, my perfect girl -“

More flashes, memories of him watching you train. Hiding a smile as tales of your latest mishaps are passed around the barracks. He loves your eagerness and your determination. He knows you are capable of great things - if only he was allowed to get you on your own, there’s so much he could show you…

You gulp air, pressed down against the mattress as Howzer ruts into you. You’ve unintentionally made a bridge between your two consciousnesses, the lines between you quickly blurring away until you can’t tell where his mind ends and yours begins. He pours his obsession into you with every rock of his hips.

Pushing on his shoulders, you make him lift up off you. He looks down at you, eyes hooded. You can see yourself in his gaze - bare, slick with sweat and other fluids, lips swollen. Howzer mutters your name before lowering his mouth to kiss the side of your jaw. His pace slows, arms wrapping around you in an embrace. Rolling to the side, he hugs you close to his body, one of your legs thrown over his hip as he continues to chase his release.

“You’re gonna kill me, kid,” he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your chin. Your eyes flutter shut, allowing yourself to be drowned in the sea of his affection.

Would the two of you regret this in the morning? Perhaps, but as you reached up to tangle your hands in his hair, you pushed those thoughts aside to let yourself be present in the moment. All is as the Force wills it.