#the shadow of violence fic

[viivdle]

I stand before Cardan, and he looks mortifying in his beauty. He carelessly slumps down on the sofa in his chambers, blissfully unaware of my anxiety. Or, worse, blissfully aware.

“I ought to be mad at you,” he says, and I almost flinch at the sound.

“As I said, I didn’t kill my husband, Your Majesty,” my voice shakes, and I hold onto the hope he will think I am holding back tears.

“Yes, that would be correct. Your husband is sitting in front of you, well and alive. Is he not?”

viivdle productive era??

my ~1900w jurdan fanfic heaven and hell were words to me is out now!!

i tried something different with this one, hopefully it was a good something different

this fic is for @annamatix who i have the pleasure to call my friend. i hope this is just the right amount of "romancy"

happy ramadan<33

[beansprean]

“People Say Friends Don’t Destroy One Another” by LaCroixWitch (@fanfic-fugue)

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Nandor laying on his back on a pile of broken wood and rubble, a bent sword sticking blade-up through his abdomen, slick with blood. He is dressed in a black tee shirt and jeans under one of his usual cloaks, and his hair is down and laying tangled against the floor. He and his clothes are tattered, bloody, dirty, and scraped up after a long battle. Guillermo, dressed in a white button down, chinos, boots, and his slayer gloves, is holding himself up on all fours above Nandor, legs straddling his waist. He is equally mussed and dirty, shirt ripped at the shoulder and dribbling blood down his arm and an open wound on his head bleeding freely all down his face, dripping onto Nandor. One arm is locked straight down to press Nandor’s arm to the floor. Nandor’s free hand is reaching up to dazedly touch Guillermo’s cheek. Despite the violence of his position, Guillermo is crying, tears shedding as freely as the blood as he locks eyes with Nandor. In the foreground, his glasses lay with the lenses cracked into shards, distorting part of the picture behind it.

2. A close up of the same scene, Nandor using the last of his strength to grip the back of Guillermo’s shoulder and neck and pull himself up closer. Eyes closed and face screwed up in desperate passion, he touches his lips to Guillermo’s. Guillermo, tear pooling in his lashes as he closes his eyes, allows himself to be pulled and pushes weakly into the barely-there kiss. In the foreground is a postcard, splattered with blood and creased in two directions from being folded and unfolded countless times. The smudged ink reads: “Guillermo, I do not think you are getting my cards. Perhaps mail takes a very long time to get to wherever you are. I find myself in New Mexico, but there are no piñata farmers here. I am told there is an old Mexico. That must be where your family is from.” The following text is smaller, as if hesitant to be expressed: “I hope you will write me back, I am rather lonely on my journey. I think you would like these places. You could see them during the daytime and tell me all about it. I miss you.” The last line has been crossed out multiple times, but still legible. /end ID

[dailysonadowfanfics]

Reading every single Sonadow Fanfic (Ao3): 159/4.705

Title: My Way

Author: Cubricot

Website: Ao3

Published: 11.03.2018

Word Count: 119.113 words

Language: English

Suited for minors? Teen and up

Warnings: Violence

Smut? No

Finished? Yes

Characters: Sonic the Hedgehog, Shadow the Hedgehog, Amy Rose, Miles Tails Prower, Knuckles the Echidna, Rouge the Bat, Silver the Hedgehog, Gadget the Wolf

Ships: Sonic/Shadow

Author Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Humor, Mental Health Issues, Angst, maybe some background Espio/Silver, "We'll be fine", Slow Burn, No Classic Sonic? Game: Sonic Forces, POV Multiple, Unleashed-style tour of the planet fighting Eggman

Author Summary: Two months after Sonic fell to Infinite, the resistance rescues him from the Death Egg and brings him to their hideout aboard the space colony ARK. But Amy’s overworked, Knuckles thinks he shouldn’t be commander, Tails is losing sleep worrying, Shadow’s lost his immortality - and when Eggman discovers where the resistance is hiding only a desperate battle in space to blow up the Death Egg before the ARK’s shields fall can save them-

Oh yeah, and Sonic has to keep fighting Infinite, of course. No big deal, right? Right. Just facing his fears, just like how he’s not thinking about anything that happened on the Death Egg, and not thinking about his feelings for Shadow.

My summary: This takes place during forces. There is a war, Sonic is still dealing with the torture he went under, Shadow becomes mortal, and he and Sonic are growing closer during all this.

You can read it here

[rd-eternity]

Whumptober Day 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.” | Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?” ||| ALTs: Decoy | After failure

Words: 3.2k

Summary: A new pack comes to Beacon Hills when they hear Scott's out of town, and seem to think there's no way for them to win against a full pack of werewolves without an alpha. Especially when they convince a certain chimera to join their side, or so they think. Unfortunately for them, Theo always has a plan.

“You should’ve remembered the feeling of drowning before double crossing me.”  His knee drives into the chimera’s back, weight pushing into the claw marks.  He mewls.  “Pathetic,” Winters laughs.  “All you had to do was identify werewolves for us and leave.  Was that so hard?”   He drives his knee deeper, hand coming to the back of his neck to force his forehead into the ground.  Theo wriggles underneath the weight, every inch of his skin torn and burning from the alpha’s claw marks.  His own claws drag across the ground, shaking as they tear uselessly at the wood.  Pain wraps his entire body, his focus on holding onto his heartbeat and chemosignals, shoving what Winters wants at him, flooding the alpha’s senses. It works, given the low chuckle from the wolf on top of him.  “I thought you’re supposed to be some terrifying chimera of death, but even you can’t fight an alpha.” “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have walked through the front door,” he groans against the wood, clenching his fists, claws digging into his palm.  “I expected you to be better than this.” Claws drive further into him, the knee on his back forcing the breath from his chest as his wounds drag across the floor.  “I’m going to kill you, and no one will miss you.  You’re a false werewolf without a pack.”   “And you’re a sad excuse for an alpha,” he bites back.  “Because you saw none of this coming.  Because I do have a pack, and you don’t.  Not anymore.”

[dkniade]

Oh Doppelgänger… What Kind of Body Is This?!

Tags: Violence, Body Horror, Stabbing, Event: Shadows Amidst Snowstorms (Genshin Impact), Blood and Violence, Snow, snowstorm

Imagine… if in Shadows Amidst Snowstorms, the Fellflower transformed from “Albedo” to its proper form, BUT IN A BODY HORROR WAY instead of just groaning and getting enveloped by ice as it burrows… And from Fellflower’s POV instead of the Traveler’s POV.

GOD I’M FEELING SO BAD FOR A PLANT/HUMAN.

I couldn’t think of a poetic title so I went with this instead

[waywardtrek]

when i tell you that that level of observing your surroundings + weaving said surroundings into maladaptive daydreaming/intrusions/delusions + controlling and willing the narrative of your body into doing things based on fundamental abject fear is me to the fucking core, and that i have (actual, diagnosed) OCD and have always suspected glennis dennis presents many classic symptoms of OCD too, what then?

[nny11writes]

Nunny! I'm sending you asks for your game.

I'm tempted to send you the entire post and just see the Nunny Rant. You might not even do She-ra. I'm thinking of She-ra sending these but go off about star wars or something else if you think it applies better to the question :D

the character everyone gets wrong (ahahhahahaaaaaaaaa)

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about (im sure there is a long list)

9 and 10 - Worst part of fanon and worst part of canon (imo there is some overlap)

13. worst blorboficiation

14. that one thing you see in fics all the time

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

lakhglkajfas, I think my rant would mostly just be keyboard smashes and crying emojis so this is the better way to go lol!

the character everyone gets wrong God, like, fucking- ALL of them. :) Buuuuuut the one that's bugging me the most recently is Mermista.

I am SO sick of post canon Mermista in c/a fics specifically. Mermista would not hold a grudge that hard that long and that violently!!! Stop having her hate Catra and actively be out to do harm to her. Mermista's response to losing her kingdom was like a bad breakup where she just cried in a tub eating ice cream. Her response to seeing HORDAK at the end of the series was just a, "So are we good with him now?" implying that she's chill to be chill.

Mermista and Catra 100% would sit at a table calling one another a bitch (begrudgingly fond and pretend to not be) back and forth. Mermista would not be out to skin Catra alive! Mermista wants to talk to Catra about her murder novels because Perfuma reads too slowly and doesn't like spoilers but she NEEDS to talk to someone about the butler who has a brain cell because Sea Hawk seemed to miss the whole first half of the book AND FURTHER MORE-

9. and 10. - Worst part of fanon and worst part of canon

Worst part of fanon is the fucking shippers. This went from one of the more open and accepting fandoms for all ships that I'd ever been in to one of the worst.

Like, straight up, one of the fics that lives rent free in my head is an explicit fic where Catra and Hordak enthusiastically consent to having sex. Like Hordak is trying to be kinda standoffish but can't stop looking at boob window tits, he was Entrapta trained I'm afraid. The number of times I think of his awkward proposing they do it more frequently followed shortly by Catra dressing and winking saying, "Seriously, great cock!" is a lot lol. It's such a porn movie style fic and there is something fantastic to be said about it.

But you even hint that Catra could be headcanonned as anything besides a lesbian and your body will be found in a few months time in several different bags. Suggesting Catra and Hordak having any romantic or sexual relationship probably gets you reported to the fucking government or something. So there's a reason it's never made a rec list from me but fuck it I'm mentioning it now.

They aren't real. If I want to occasionally have a giggle about them and make my little dolls bump uglies everyone else should politely not look while my fellow weirdly sane people who get that this is all make believe but sure we're the freaks here come poke and enjoy!

Fucking shipping wars and discourse man. I'm sick of it.

Worst part of canon for me is the censorship and uncertainty that caused various issues with the plot and prevented the show from being even stronger. You can see it in real time while watching, but man it was wild in December 2018 to see how professional media talked about the show and Catra and Adora being adoptive sisters, to AJ (I think?) getting dumped on for repeating that idea and having to apologize, to the open gayness at the end. I love SPOP, but the rocky terrain the crew-ra had to navigate really did impact the quality and created weird gaps that asshole fans hunkered down into. Like, we cannot pry some of those fuckers out.

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

I need you to understand that my immediate response when I started writing this answer out was a very strained and painful sigh through my nose as my brain returned a static white noise sound.

I am really tired of forcing this jock!Adora and slacker!Catra thing. Like, it started in modern AUs but it's gone and infected people's idea of canon as well. It falls into a bit of the "dumb adora" trope, which people just don't seem to actually understand what that means or is about. It also falls into Shadow Weaver's narrative of who Catra is which is wild. Like. Really wild.

You are telling me Catra, a cat person who grew up in a military, is actively against exercise? Yes, she would 100% sleep in a sunbeam for a nap, and then she wakes up and craves some low key chaos and violence.

You are telling me Adora, forced into a golden child and leadership position, is bad at reading and math and science because all she cares about is training? Adora 100% enjoys physical fitness and using her body, but she's got a sharp mind on her and there's no way in hell she doesn't like to work it too.

I am just exhausted with it in modern AUs, and now it has gone to infect canon interpretations. It flattens their characters out, ignores/denies parts of their abuse, and nukes their abilities from orbit. I hate it so so much.

Also if I have to see one more fic or art piece where Catra is willingly and happily wearing dresses, skirts, and heels I swear to fucking god I will KILL. :)

13. worst blorboficiation

Again, this is all of them. Everyone suffers from being blorbo'd to an insane degree, but it just shifts depending on which character is the favorite of that part of the fandom. You have talked several times about the insanity of Catra fans vs. Hordak fans, the blorboification is insane there. Same with Catra fans vs. Glimmer fans.

Like. God damn. I'm so glad the Adora vs. Catra fan fights died out real quick because this fandom is exhausting enough.

With Catra being my favorite it's extra exhausting because there is CONSTANTLY people attacking her and then total asshats trying to defend her who I do not want to be associated with. I love her. She's a fucking idiot and a bastard and a baby. Somehow, every take on her is both the worst and factually correct and then the fandom fights.

Tipsy, I. Am. Tired.

14. that one thing you see in fics all the time

OKAY

Let's fucking talk about how GLIMMER IS NOT AN EVIL BITCH. Can we talk about that? STOP TRYING TO LEAVE THIS POST AND SIT YOUR ASS DOWN WE'RE TALKING ABOUT THIS AGAIN because someone needs to hear it louder in the back.

Glimmer is the character who is probably be done the dirtiest by the fandom but for wildly different reasons throughout the whole show. Hands down.

After S1 fandom took Glimmer and made her into an entitled dumbass whiner who threw money and her titles at her problems. They made her act like a child without any complexity. And it 100% took me from not really liking her character much to detesting her which is outrageous every time I remember that I kinda hated her at that point.

This did not improve post S2. :)

Post S3 probably was the most sympathetic and understanding the fandom was to Glimmer but it came at the cost of trying to bulldoze Catra for the Portal and people making callout posts like these characters were real people. I feel like the rise of some of the G/A shippers that I really can't stand was around this time. It was catra vs. glimmer fans going bat shit and drawing lines for ships.

If they couldn't assassinate Glimmer's character, by god the fandom would assassinate both Catra and Adora's in wildly different ways instead!

Do I need to talk about post S4? The idea of dark Glimmer and Glimmer going off the rails should have been a fun thing to play with in the sandbox and instead just writing it down made me cringe. Now Glimmer has to be an evil bitch because she had a trauma response and made bad decisions, now she is irredeemable because I made up a situation where she did something she didn't in canon for reasons so OOC someone probably slapped Donut Steel on it somewhere.

There was a little lift post series, but man people are holding onto Glimmer being a spoiled brat to play off of for Catra or a cruel bitch for Catra and, again, as a Catra fan, I want to bite bite kill kill bite kill kill kill!!!

Glimmer is allowed to grow up from being a spoiled kid who had good intentions and was naive. She is allowed to be over eager, bratty, petty, silly, funny, caring, and smart too. She's allowed to make bad choices and struggle with how to recover from it.

STOP MAKING ME THE LEAVE BRITTNEY ALONE MEME FOR GLIMMER

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

Shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs, shut up about redemption arcs-

[twistpixel]

In my mind there does exist a fanfic and it’s a one shot and it has no point beyond like, Bruce is a bad parent to Jason. I think there’s a desire to like force that out and make it clear cut and that leads to things like Bruce being overtly abusive in some fanfics. But I have 0 tolerance for fathers so he’s already overtly abusive enough in canon for me and this between the panels fanfic in my mind is just opening that up and showing it to the reader by making it so obvious it can’t be ignored (but not by Bruce because he can ignore anything).

[acourtofladydeath]

AZRIS WEEK IS FINALLY HERE!

I will be attempting to post a fic a day for @azrisweek! I’m incredibly excited about my piece for Day 1: prologues and prequels titled “The Soft Heart and The Shadow”. This fic includes graphic depictions of torture, please be advised. Eventual HEA.

Eris makes a deal with Beron to accept all the punishments for his brothers and mother in order to protect them. Azriel just so happens to be spying and witnesses this. Anytime Beron wishes to enact punishment, it becomes Eris’ to bear. What Beron doesn’t know is that Azriel is there in the shadows every time supporting Eris.

[spiltcandycoatedpunkblood]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Adventures of Tintin (2011) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Archibald Haddock & Tintin, Milou | Snowy & Tintin Characters: Tintin (Tintin), Archibald Haddock, Milou | Snowy, Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Stabbing, Car Accidents, Blood and Injury, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Panic, Anger, Cold, Cold Weather, Unconsciousness, Darkness, Revenge, Attempted Murder, Rescue, Delirium, Pain, Agony, Fear, Worry, Paralysis, Blood Loss, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Whumptober, Whumptober 2023, no.22, They never saw us coming ‘til they hit the floor., Glass Shard, Vehicular Accident, no.23, It’s gonna get me by the end of the night., Shadows - Freeform, Stalking, Father-Son Relationship Series: Part 12 of Tintin Whumptober 2023 Summary: "He felt it in the pit of his stomach and in the prickle on the back of his neck. A noise behind him got louder, another crunching sound of the road underneath tires, and faster, and he barely had time to leap out of the way as he spun around to see it, eyes wide with panic like a deer in the headlights.

He didn’t feel anything until the front bumper of the car slammed into his stomach, and he realised that the car had swerved to the point of going offroad. He narrowly avoided the fate of getting pinned to a tree, falling to the ground violently and his head hit the road beneath him. He’d only been able to let out a grunt of pain as the world spun back and forth in front of him, vaguely able to see the car lose control after hitting him at high speed, and crash into the aforementioned tree itself."

[mystery-star]

Whumptober 2023  - Day 23 | “Who’s there?”

Pairing: Ben Wade x reader (gender neutral)

Warnings: burglary, violence and injuries

Words: 1129

A/N: Day 23 for Whumptober, today’s prompts: Shadows | “Who’s there?”

-

You weren’t sure if it had been the sound that woke you or if it happened after you were awake. But you instantly knew that you didn’t like it and first considered to just stay in bed and try to hide. Once you saw shadows outside that seemed to be sneaking around your house, however, you simply had to get up, hating the fact that exactly that night Ben and his gang had to leave for a robbery. Or maybe whoever was out there knew they were gone and this was why they were here. You grabbed the gun on the nightstand and put on a dressing gown, rubbing your eyes a little as you cocked the weapon and slowly tiptoed out of the bedroom, trying not to make a sound. There was a creak you knew all too well; it was when someone stepped onto one of the floorboards of the kitchen. And that also made it obvious that someone was in the house. A part of you hoped it was just Ben who had returned and didn’t want to wake you up.

“Who’s there?” you called, hating that you were shaking a little. The fact that you got no reply made it even worse because that meant it wasn’t Ben. It made you freeze because you didn’t know what to do. Perhaps you could deal with the person but what if there were more than just one? Maybe it was better if you just left and got help from the sheriff even though Ben would not really like it. Then again, he could just stay away a couple hours longer until the coast was clear. You didn’t even really need to consider it much, you had made up your mind already and instead tried to get to the door. Just when you reached it and tried to open it, you heard steps right behind you and when you turned around all you saw was how your attacker swung a long item at you – what it was you didn’t see – and it collided with your head. With a groan you stumbled back against the door, trying to find the handle again despite the piercing pain in your head but then he hit you again and you fell down, your hand coming to the spot that hurt most on your head. You could already feel the blood and let out a moan of pain. Panic rose in you because you had dropped your gun too and that took basically everything you had for your defense and were completely at his mercy. But at least he seemed to notice that and instead of hitting you again, he roughly grabbed your arm, yanking you with him to the kitchen where he used the waist tie of your dressing gown to tie your hands to the metal bar next to the stove before continuing his work. Trying to calm yourself and the pain with some deep breaths you leant your head against the stove and hoped he would simply leave after he was done and not harm you further. Once he had emptied the kitchen of its valuables, not much of course, he approached you.

“Where are the valuables?”

“Bedroom” you muttered. “in the dresser. There should also be money” in a way you didn’t care if he just took it all; you wouldn’t miss the money and you could just replace what he took. At least he left and you glanced after him before you tried to free yourself and get out of here that he could not come back to kill you. Using your teeth to undo the knot hurt a lot due to the wounds on your head but slowly, you managed to undo them and your hands were free. Since the guy had taken your weapon, you grabbed a knife from the counter that you could defend yourself if the guy noticed you were leaving and tried to stop you. But just when you reached the door, you saw the handle moving and your heart skipped a beat. Without thinking you jumped behind it and slowly the door opened before you heard someone sneak inside. Oh great, the robber had brought backup. You held your breath in fear he would discover you but it was of no use because before you could even consider to lunge at him he turned to check behind the door and at this you just leaped forward with the knife raised high. To your surprise you even seemed to catch him somewhere near the shoulder but at the same time you were hurled away and you stumbled over your feet, knocking your head against the still open door so you let out another sound of pain.

“(Y/N), fuck” only when you felt a soft hand on your arm did you realize that the alleged intruder was actually Ben.

“Oh shit” you too groaned and dug your hand into his jacket, feeling glad that he was back “Guy’s in the bedroom” you just muttered. He gave a nod and handed you the knife you had attacked (and probably also hurt) him with.

“Stay here, I’ll take care of it” you only nodded and grabbed the knife tightly. Your husband quickly walked in the direction of the bedroom and it wasn’t before long that you heard a shot and then the sounds of a fight and after about half a minute a second shot. After that it was quiet and you too held your breath, not sure what had happened or who was dead. When you saw Ben coming towards you, a little more bruised than before but still very much alive, you let out a sigh and wanted to shoot up to hug him but felt too weak “It’s over, he’s dead”

“I figured as much” you muttered with a slight smile as he knelt down and carefully picked you up to move you to the kitchen. “Sorry for hurting you”

“Don’t. I’m glad you did and proved capable to do something. I might have just killed you if I didn’t know who you were, lingering behind that door.” A shiver ran down your back and you nodded.

“So you knew someone was inside?”

“Found a guy looking like he was standing guard. Silently got rid of him and then tried to sneak in”

“Well, you did sneak in” he chuckled and sat you down on a chair, starting to examine your head

“Didn’t calculate with being attacked right there”

“You turned around to me”

“Just for precaution to see if someone was there”

“So you did calculate with it”

“Well maybe I did. But better to be safe than sorry”

I do think we’re both sorry now”

“And yet we’re both safe now”

-

Taglist: @woman-with-no-name

[thegreenleavesofspring]

Max Way's route home takes him through a bad part of town.

[goatsandgangsters]

CHAPTER 7

Additional Tags: Amnesia, Memory Loss, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, enemies to found family, grudgingly assimilating the villain into the found family, Moral Dilemmas, Moral Ambiguity, Philosophical Discussions, Narrative foils, Complicated Relationships, complicated feelings, Mistrust, Understanding, gets meta about the power of storytelling to shape perception of events, both within the fic itself and as commentary on the original books, pre-canon the Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, Ensemble Cast, POV Alina Starkov, POV The Darkling | Aleksander Morozova, no bashing of any character, Book 3: Ruin and Rising, show characters with book lore, Canon - Grishaverse (Book & TV Combination)

In a gaggle of limbs akimbo, Nikolai scurried over the fallen tree, and offered his hands to haul Alina over in turn.

She held onto his arms for dear life as her feet scrabbled and scraped against rough bark, frantic kicking and tugging to pull her over. “Not—how I pictured—seeing you again—” she panted, oak pressing into her ribs.

Nikolai grinned as she thumped gracelessly onto the other side. “You pictured seeing me?”

“Oh Saints.”

The Darkling was caught by the neck in the snare of the mercenary’s grip. He struggled and thrashed in the crook of the arm choked across his throat.

[dailysonadowfanfics]

Reading every single Sonadow Fanfic (Ao3): 264/4.773

Title: They Have Feelings, Y'know

Author: orphan_account

Website: Ao3

Published: 17.10.2018

Word Count: 19.616 words

Language: English

Suited for minors? No

Warnings: Violence, minor dub con (touching)

Smut? No (just one inappropriate touching scene)

Finished? Yes

Characters: Sonic the Hedgehog, Shadow the Hedgehog, Amy Rose, Knuckles the Echidna, Miles Tails Prower, Doctor Eggman, Sticks the Badger

Ships: Sonic/Shadow

Author Tags: Slow Burn, incessant and copious use of the fuck word, Enemies to Lovers

Author Summary: “He would make a great addition to Team Sonic.”

Sonic convinces Shadow to give friendship a chance. Things go wrong faster than anyone could have predicted.

My summary: Set in the Boom!Verse. Sonic tries to befriend Shadow, but it isn't that easy.

You can read it here

[justonemorewallflower]

Whumptober fic!!

Here’s the first Whumptober fic I wrote for prompt #23:

“It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.” Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s There?”

I’m posting a few days late but oh well better late than never!

[rae-gar-targaryen]

darling, how could i fear any hurricane? [qimir/the stranger x force sensitive!reader]

Summary: Neither the backwater planet you’d chosen for yourself, nor the sanctity of your own mind, is safe from the nightly visitations of your dream stranger. Is he real, or just another trick of the mind? And what of the power he promises? Desire, he’d spoken of. Desire, desire, desire…

Pairing: Qimir/The Stranger x Force-Sensitive!reader [my reader is written ambiguously, but as with all of my reader inserts are written with a Latina!reader in mind]

Warnings: 18+ please – fingering, dry humping, the brief mention of choking, Qimir being a seductive motherfucker, relatively minor smut, all things considered. The briefest descriptions of violence; reader has female anatomy.

Word Count: 5.7k of sinful soliloquy and definitely no manipulation. No, you want this power, don’t you??

A/N: Breaking my writing drought with this. I don’t know if it’s any good, and no one asked for it. But I’m glad to be sharing my writing again. Please be gentle!! Also, if you’ve ever read my Mandalorian x princess!reader fic, there’s an easter egg in here for you!

--

The verdant planet of Vorduun was known for very little – A small, outer-world, far from the shiny Core planets that boast chrome, progress, and bureaucracy. Lush plantlife, a fertile place with brimming riverbanks, and jungles teeming and thrumming to life with flora and fauna at the turn of the seasons. Off the edge of the map. Off the edge of the world. A perfect place to hide.

To lose yourself. 

And the night is stifling, to say the least. Of all the Vorduunian summers you’d endured in your self-isolation, this one had to be the worst. The months’ long deluge of spring rains had made for a stiflingly humid summer, the green jungle steaming with sticky heat. If a saving grace was to be found in the swelter, it was that the night skies were unlike everything you’d ever beheld – a far cry from the fluorescent pollution endemic of your years on Courscant. 

Tonight's Vorduunian sky is no exception – a clear expanse of rich velvet, stars like diamonds crushed into the smooth folds of the expansive sky. Twinkling and winking richly down at you through the gaping slats of the shack you now called home. 

You twist, a serpent in your own threadbare bedsheets, attempting to find comfort in the sticky summer heat of the planet, chasing the elusive promise of coolness as you flip your pillow to the other side with a huff. 

Kind of a sick game, if you thought about it. That if you weren’t running from something, you were chasing something else. 

At present? Chasing a good night’s rest. Preferably dreamless, if you were honest. Your dreams of late are plagued with all sorts of incomprehensible flashes, feelings of being watched, feverish and hazy. Your subconscious’s foreboding certainty that if you’d only just turn around, you’d be met with a face that was not your own -– the disquieting sense of something, or someone, lurking just around a corner. Sprinting down echoing hallways with promises, greatness, a warrior's oath, all just out of reach, certain that if you’d slowed your pace, whatever was pursuing you might just snatch you, an unseen stranger.

Other nights, the dreams were different – the unflinching and unchanging grin set in a mask of metalloid teeth, baring themselves at you . Of ever-watchful eyes judging, as you forced yourself through training drills. The disapproving shake of your Master’s head, his disappointment palpable and always, always directed at only you . The seizing terror of being dropped into combat with no saber – of being skewered through by an unseen shadow with a red plasma blade. Of walls closing in on you. Of the Knights whom you had once considered your friends turning their backs on you while you fought tooth and nail. Of your lungs filled with your unreleased screams – of terror or frustration, you weren’t sure – pulling you down beneath the surface of your failure until you drowned in the disappointment of others’ unfulfilled expectations. Of hands on an unseen body tinkering with phials of something, producing poisonous concoctions of sickly green that the unseen stranger dripped down your throat, pouring them past your lips with sure, warm fingers pressing on your tongue. You swore you could feel the poison upon your waking, the phantom feeling of liquid shredding your veins with horrific heat, your heart thundering. 

Other nights the dreams were different yet, still. Of shadows shedding their inky cloak to reveal hands that caressed. Of hands that held you and wiped your tears. Of thorns falling from vines – leaving what once had pricked and scratched you to now soothe with velvety softness as the vines wound their way around your wrists, tugging you into an unseen embrace with whispers of promises humming in your ears like the tufty wings of insects. And you would go willingly. Of the warm breath of another in your ear, their body warm behind you, distinct in its softness from that of the sunwarmed cliffs the two of you would watch the sunset from, just you and your unseen stranger. Of those same metalloid teeth melting into a radiant smile of brilliant white, beheld in a sharp jaw – the critique of disapproving masters replaced by his balmy, sublime approval. 

Of the tease and taste of his cinnamon lips brushing your own, the fluttering fan of lashes along the peaks of your cheekbones. Of warm, wan whispers of want , desire , soothing your ears. Of warm, fine-boned, assured hands atop your own, guiding yours in a sensuous glide along your own skin. Promises of m ore, more, more as silken lips slipped their way along the column of your throat – your hitching gasps met with his rumbling hums of satisfaction that lasted in your ears for the duration of the following day. Of the gentle lapping of water over smooth-rocked shores, a hand grasping yours with a promise of power. Yet again of more, more, more, if you’d just … Well, you weren’t sure. 

What you were sure of was that it had been weeks of these dreams. Your exhaustion was tugging at the corners of your reality, manifesting itself into silly mistakes – a slipped knife while cutting your meals, or the prickling feeling of someone watching from the dark corner of your room. At times, you weren’t sure what was real and what was dreamscape. A slow descent into madness, torment that felt justified, somehow –-

This purgatory was clearly your penance for your failure. To atone for the fact that you could never be more than what you are now – a former padawan cast out of a renowned Order, thanks in part to her own passions and propensities, roiling rages, and lilting lust. A warrior stripped of all pomp and credential. A blistering reminder of something never to be, of someone you could never be. 

And so here you were. Piteous and exiled in the jungles of Vorduun with no one other than your occasional unseen dream stranger for company. And what of tonight? Had you slept? Were you asleep? The hazy jungle heat made it impossible to tell. When your days consist of the same, tedious routine maintenance to your little corner of jungle, purely isolated, save for irregular treks to the nearest settlement to barter … And when you tossed and turned your nights away in fitful fugue states of half-awake melded with oppressive dreams – well, who was to say what was really real?  

The ghost of a touch along your exposed shoulder didn’t merit a response … Until it happened again. Causing you to sit bolt upright in bed, eyes tracking the room for any disturbance – seen or unseen. 

That prickle, so like static rippling across your skin couldn’t be the Force. No, no. It was the trickle of sweat down the back of your neck, and nothing else. What reason would you have to feel the Force here, now? 

Just another heated night, just another heated dream….

And now, were your eyes deceiving you, or were the shadows in the corner of your room were moving, swirling into shape as a well-toned arm emerges from the darkness, raised in a gesture of … peace? And the rest of him follows, stepping into the muted illumination from your single gaslamp that sputters in the corner of your room, casting his shadow along the opposite wall, sinuous and slinking as he slowly approaches. 

You spring from your bed, eyes darting to the loose slat in your floor where you housed your ill-used saber, quickly considering the relative size of your room and how many steps it would take him to reach you, arms outstretched, to snuff the life from you before you could call the blade to your hand . 

His eyes track yours, clocking the floorboard, before placing both hands up in front of him now, a plea – 

“You don’t need that,” he murmurs, taking a tentative step toward you. And whether it was the room that shrank around you both, or that was just his presence in your space – so unused to anyone but you – you weren’t sure.

“Need what?” Play dumb, and he won't have any reason to harm you, leaving you an opportunity to strike. Your favorite trick, a minor deception for a tactical advantage.

He steps into the dim, flickering light of the gas lamp, a mild smirk blooming along his full lips, the lamplight warming his skin.

“Your Jedi weapon.”

You glance once more between the loose floorboard and the man slowly approaching you, cocking your head as his features became revealed to you, your mind tickling with recognition as you noted the sharp angle of his jaw and the baleful, syrupy darkness of his eyes –

“You,” you breathe. “I know your face.”

“Do you?” His eyes meet yours, searching. 

Yes. You had a good memory for faces, and his you had seen a few times before. Your trips to the nearest settlement every tenday for the open-air market to barter what you had cultivated from the land around your ramshackle home for fruit, thread, and other goods you didn’t often come by on your own. You had seen him at a stall selling tinctures and other apothecary-type goods. You’d never approached, of course. Hadn’t had a need for burn creams or toxins. But there was no denying the swooping lock of hair that would curtain over his eyes, the sharp angle of his features. The way his eyes would track the movement of the market, hawkish, despite the seeming ineffectual haze in them…

A minor deception, you now realize. But for what tactical advantage?

“The chemist from the bazaar,” you reply.

His lips quirk at your realization – the bud of the smirk now unfurling into a full smile. 

“You’re more observant than I gave you credit for, warrior,” he stands before you now, hands still lightly held up in a gesture of peace. “That’s good… A nice surprise ,” his voice taking on an almost-purr of satisfaction.   

You pause, lips parting lightly. What could he mean by that? 

“Qimir,” he gestures to himself by way of introduction.

Qimir. Likely not his real name. Still, you ponder, an interesting choice. Qimir. Like Chimaera, something ancient and unknowable. A monstrous creature signifying the parable of illusion – the promise of something only too impossible to achieve. You wonder if he knew what his “name” sounded like when he’d picked it.

And you hope your face hasn’t betrayed your whirring thoughts as you continue your assessment, hoping to keep a sweep of neutrality across your features as you address him again.

“If you say so. Business must be slow if you’re here to rob me, poisoner. I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed,” your eyes flit around the relatively bare bedroom, gesturing with your chin to the equally Spartan main room of your little ramshackle cabin. “Not much here of value.” 

He crosses one foot over the other as he takes a step to orbit you, almost swordsmanlike. As though he were preparing to duel. You mirror his step, your back to your bed now, facing your doorway. His body between yours and your exit. 

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” he brings a finger to his chin as if in ponderment. “You’re here, after all. And why would I give you my name, show you my face, if I intended to rob you?” 

“Why you do anything means nothing to me,” you bite, “and you’ll have to forgive my manners if I don’t feel like giving you my name. Leave, now , while I let you leave, Qimir.” 

His eyes sweep your form, note your weight on the balls of your feet, bracing for a fight. You probably have weapons other than your laser sword stashed away, if he had to guess . He takes a tentative step toward you, a low chuckle escaping him at the fire in your eyes, trying not to smile any wider than he has already, to give away his pleased impression of your fury. 

“I know who you are,” you blink at his statement, trying not to let the surprise show on your face. “You don't have anything to fear from me, little Jedi.”

“I am no Jedi,” you snipped, rolling your eyes at the insolence of the man before you. If he cared at all about your rude display, Qimir said nothing.

“I am more than aware of that, too,” he murmured, his voice like silk in your ears as he takes yet another small step toward you, invading your space, close enough to breathe your air, a hair’s breadth from touch.  

Too close. You flex your fingers, calling your lightsaber from its hiding place under your loose floorboard into the palm of your hand in a flash, the cool metal meeting your palm like an old friend, a sense of relief. You surge forward into Qimir’s space, pressing the hilt of the saber into his abdomen.

“If you know so much, then you also know you shouldn’t have come,” you snarl. “I don’t know if you didn't take the hint, here at the edge of the world, but I don't take kindly to uninvited guests.”  

“You did invite me, little viper,” he insists, his voice never losing its even, dulcet quality.

At your furrowed brow, he gently brings his fingertips to brush the bare skin of your wrist that’s pressing the hilt of your lightsaber into his stomach. A familiar, prickling ripple bursts across your skin, causing goosebumps to stipple your arms. So familiar. So like the feel of lips from your unseen stranger. So like the Force. 

The dark eyes that met yours in the low light of your room were familiar for more than just an observation in passing at the market. 

“Y-you,” you gasp, the realization causing your chest to seize, to clench your teeth in the wave of seething anger. “You’ve been … in my head … for months …” 

He cocks his head at you, watching the emotions process along your face. He had seen your fears and failures, your heart’s greatest desires. He had seen it all …

“The quickest way to your heart,” he reasons. “Through your head. So you’ll have to forgive my intrusion. I wanted to know you.” Sweet words meant to soothe.  

You aren’t sure if that makes it any better. Perhaps the reasoning makes it worse.

“So like a poisoner,” you level his gaze with a steely one of your own. “To try to slip through the cracks unseen. But I know the quickest way to your heart.”

“You do?” He seems surprised at your rejoinder. As if he hadn’t expected you to play. To be so quick of wit as you were of reflex.

“Between your fourth and fifth rib,” you hum, your voice taking on an almost-seductive tone – a contradiction to the reminder of you pressing the hilt of the saber into him, precisely where you mean to. 

“I appreciate a good threat. Clever,” he smiles, placating. “But there’s no need for that, little warrior. After all… I wouldn't leave you to the dark, not like they did,” he assures, brushing his fingertips against the bare skin of your wrist, so lightly you would’ve thought you’d imagined it. Using the contact to connect to you through the Force once more – your shared memories dancing behind one another’s eyes. Of your fellow Padawans succeeding while your Master only saw failure. Of the dazzlingly white smile of your classmate with the bronze skin and twists in his hair, his yellow lightsaber flashing as you drilled together, his smile fading to frown with the rest of his features as you had used the Force to push him away a bit too hard – rage bubbling to the surface – in direct violation of your training ordinances. Of your departure from Coruscant, no one to bid you goodbye, not even your training partner who had once called himself your friend.

You make to turn your head, to break contact with his dark, glimmering, all-seeing eyes. Like tar pits, drawing you ever deeper. His other hand catches your chin between thumb and forefinger, drawing you back to his gaze, an orbit you cannot escape. Would you even want to?

“And do you believe you would have belonged? The Jedi are deceivers. They deal in abandonment … cloaked in empty platitudes,” he trails his index finger along the curve of your  jawline, an almost illusory brush of his skin against yours – the whisper of a touch, as though to illustrate the point. “The wisp of a  promise, like spun sugar. Sweet, but false, their promises of righteousness. Of importance.”

Your lips part, catching the barest bit of his thumb as it does so, your eyes now searching his, seeking motive.

“And what do you offer instead? That's what this is, right? An offer?”

He smiles wider now, nodding in the barest acknowledgment. As though you’ve finally asked the right question.

“I … make the intangible tangible.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning …” his hand leaves the curve of your jaw to touch his fingertips to your temple, pressing, rendering a vision to your mind. And what Force magic was this? To make you see beyond your own eye’s sight. Foresight? An illusion? A vision? A memory? A promise or a deception?

Whatever it is, you see it so clearly – an uninhabited plant roaring with ocean as far as your eyeline can perceive. Waves lapping gently along grey-stoned shores. Moss-covered alcoves where you sit with him, your stranger, the sunset warming your skin as he caresses your face, your hair, whispering praises just beyond your mind’s own comprehension into your ear – the tone sinful, syrupy. His arms securing you in the night as you rest, no more dreams of abandonment. 

Warmth, endless warmth… as his lips trail the shell of your ear, down your neck, bestowing belief of besotted brushes of lips. Adroit affection aimed right at the heart of you. 

“Hmmm … meaning …. Your feelings, your power, your talent all working, to manifest toward something real. Something you want.” His hand leaves your temple and rests on your shoulder, taking advantage of your state of ponderment to gently guide you, ever mindful of the still-unlit lightsaber pressed to his stomach, leading away from your bed to the wall just next to the adjacent doorframe, the patient waltz of a waiting predator. He brings his hand to rest on the wall, next to your head.

“Something I want,” you reply dreamily, coming back to yourself just enough to realize what he’d said, exhaling through your nose in an indignant little huff. “In exchange for … ?”

“Tell me something,” he replies, lithely lilting around your question with one of his own, flexing his fingers where they rest on the wall. “Why are you no Jedi?” 

“I … abjured,” you admit, a bit too primly, the lightsaber now feeling like an unbearable weight in your palm at your words, the weight of choices – both your own and those of whom purported to teach you. To guide you to something greater. Was it as he said? Were their promises so meaningless? “Broke my oath,” you suck your lower lip between your teeth, pausing before daring to meet his gaze again. “I couldn’t … suppress how they wanted me to. I didn’t want to fail anymore. I was so tired of failing. So, I … abjured. I was weak.” 

Your eyes meet his once more at your admission, yours shining with unshed tears waiting to fall like stars. Shimmering promises to slip down your cheeks, unkept and unchecked. Your fingers fumbled, seemingly of their own accord, unwilling to hold the weight, the threat, of the saber against him any longer. The hilt clattered to the floor, a clanging finality to punctuate your words. And when was the last time you had been so honest, so vulnerable with another?

How … unlike you. 

“Not weak,” he cups your cheeks with both hands, fine-boned thumbs tracing the peaks of your cheeks, as though to wipe away your unshed tears. “The same as me. Power searching for its other half. An unwaning, unflickering flame.” 

Your unseen stranger, now seen, takes your hands in his, the buzz of the Force still tingling across your skin at his words, at the recognition of his power.

“You asked what I want. You want the same as me, and I the same as you. A companion . A partner. Unlike them, I won't judge you for your feelings. Won’t judge you for your power …  You want – I can feel it rippling across your skin,” he closes his eyes, cocking his head, shivering as though to illustrate the point. “... Mmm, and I want,  too. We can want together. If you'd let us.”

The flickering light of your room seemed to dim in tandem with his syrupy words, cloying and dripping like honey into golden nettle tea. The swirling honeytar of his eyes appraising you as the Force connection prickled with hazy heat between your bodies and the damnable musk of the jungle air.

You press yourself further into the wall he’d leaned you against, tilting your chin to appraise him in kind, searching for veracity in his words. Something more substantial than the “spun sugar” he’d accused the Jedi of weaving. 

As though he could sense your trepidation before it could cross your face, he placed a hand on your hip, the contact searing you through the thin fabric of your tank top.  

“They kicked you out because you feel. I'd never do that. I want you to feel … to feel power. To feel what you’re capable of. Of what it can become. Rage. Fear. Loss. Desire. Train with me, you’ll feel it all. I want you to feel it all … to feel me.”

Desire, he had spoken of. The gentle roll of his low voice over the syllables echoing perfectly in your ears. Desire, desire, desire. That desire, so  like venom snaking its way through your blood, hot and purposeful. An all-consuming burn through your blood, befitting of a poisoner as he. 

“You felt it, didn’t you? When I came in,” he iterates, somewhere south of a plea. “All. That. Power.” The hand not resting on your hip comes to cup your face once more. “I can teach you.” 

You had read somewhere once, in the Archives, about creatures on long-abandoned planets with the ability to draw their prey in through vanity. The flash of feathers. Or shiny scales. Big, baleful eyes, perhaps. Only to sink their teeth in once their intended had come too close. 

You draw in a breath, searching his pleasing face for any sign of a tell. Of the flicker of eyes that would signify deception. Of hidden fangs beneath his beautiful, full lips. Of anything that would bely his true intentions behind your Force connection. You swept your eyes across broad, defined shoulders, down toned, muscled arms exposed through his sleeveless shift. A warriors’ weapon wrapped in a pleasing package, to be sure. But … with no discernable hint of false suggestion. 

You shift your weight once more onto the balls of your feet, away from the wall and into him . Continuing your appraisal as you tilt your head, allowing the scent of his skin – the tang of sweat from the humid jungle air commingling with something sharp and clean – to wash over you. 

You invade his space now, leaning into the hand that grips your hip and the other that cradles your head, boldly brushing your lips along his with the barest hint of touch, feeling his lips smile against yours.

You whisper, your lips silken against his, “Tell me, poisoner … You seduce me with lies, is that it? You wish for me to call you Master? Forsake all else to worship at your altar?” 

You catch the flash in his eyes as the word “seduce” leaves your lips.

“I haven't lied to you,” his voice is a hum. An attempt to provide reassurance as he couples them with what he hopes is a comforting gesture. His fingers travel from your hip to trail your ribs, a partial embrace.

“Do you consider not telling the entire truth to be a lie?” 

“Have I shown you any lies? No. Just dreams. The promise of what could be. What I –,” he pauses, “– we could be. I cannot fabricate the Force, little warrior. Everything you feel tonight is you . It’s me. What more could you want? ” 

Your once-steely resolve is crumbling under the weight of his insinuation … "everything you feel tonight” –  the honey in his words sweet to your ears, you wonder fleetingly if he'd be even sweeter on your tongue. 

And he knew you, didn’t he? By his own admission, he’d seen your faults and flaws for months … your desires. And he had shown you promises, premonitions, predilections… a future of power. And if there is power in two hemispheres – one of sweltering heat, one of blistering ice. Which were you? And which was he? 

Together you would surely melt…

“No more rules, little warrior,” he sighs, “just the power of two.” He slides his lips across yours, purposeful, before capturing your lower lip between his teeth, nipping once before releasing, admiring the way your expression flickered from defiance to desire before surging forward, pressing you back into the wall as his lips capture yours.

He swallows your gasp, bringing his fingers to wrap loosely around your neck while his other hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt. 

You break from his kiss with a gasp between swollen, bitten lips. But he gives you no reprieve, his lips trailing to your neck, where he sets about pressing hot-mouthed kisses. Molten lava flooding the column of your throat, chased with the scrape of nipping teeth. Soothe and scrape. Push and pull. Give, give, give, take.  

You thread your fingers through the silken hair tucked behind his ears, tugging him from his ministrations on your neck and forcing him to meet your eyes – to see if the blaze of want you felt scorching your skin was reflected in the liquid coal, ready to ignite. 

His lips twist into a smirk at your insistent tugging; if he was at all surprised, he didn’t show it. His face the perfect picture of pleasure. 

“What would we do with it?” You inquire, “This power?” 

“Hmmm,” he pretended to ponder, suddenly scooping you, a brief lift as he crossed the short distance to your bed, seating himself with you on his lap. No concession of dominance; merely placing you precisely where he means to. To allow you to feel him beneath you. 

“What would you like to do, little warrior, hm?” His fingers flicked the thin straps of your flimsy sleep shirt, exposing your shoulders, leaning forward to trail his lips along the now-bared expanse of your shoulder, your collar bones, your neck, his eyes glancing up to watch your face as he went. “Make them pay? Take what’s yours?” 

His hands feel their way down your form, down your sides, along your hips, the skin of his palms rasping against the smooth expanse of your thighs has his fine-boned fingers make their way beneath the loose fabric of the cropped pants you sleep in, dangerously close to the precipice of your desire , urging you to move. Guiding your hips in a rhythmic glide in his lap. 

You gasp at his attentions, at the combination of his promises and the heady feel of his skin along yours, bringing your hands to grip his biceps – desperately seeking a way to anchor yourself. 

And if it’s his poison that will bring you to the edge, would you regret it? You were starting to believe you could never regret him , not at the feel of his chest pressed against yours, the toned muscle beneath your fingers. His sharp angles caressing your soft curves, replacing the lonely ache in your bones with the lovely heat of him, both his promises and his attentions.

His mouth was keyed and intentional in its work of you, with pressed kisses like flower petals blooming along the skin of your neck, followed by the scraping thorns of his teeth. Brutish and beautiful, as his fine-boned fingers crept to the inside of your thighs, rubbing along your clothed center, intensifying the ache you felt. He shifts your weight in his lap, causing your legs to spread wider, straddling him lowly as he tugs the offending fabric aside, guiding your hips into a roll over his clothed lap and his growing hardness. Manifesting his delight at the choked gasp you emitted in the form of a teasing little buck of his hips, guiding you down as he guided himself up, delighting in the sharp gasps that met his ears as he continues to sway you to his rhythm. 

“Desire isn't a sin, little warrior,” he breathes the words into your mouth, lips a hairs’ breadth apart, the better to swallow your moans. “What we feel feeds our connection to the Force, gives you strength ... If you know how. Let me show you. Touch me.” 

It was as though electricity was crackling, popping beneath your fingertips as you took his instruction and began to explore the expanse of his body, slipping your hands beneath his tunic to feel the silken heat of his firm torso, the ache within you mounting at the heady combination of the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips – so long since you’d touched another, been touched – and his hardness between the cleft of your thighs. Smoldering, low-heat burned along your skin and beneath your fingertips. Or was it his fingers that were doing the burning? It was hard to tell where he ended and you began, one arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you bodily into him, an infinite loop of power and pleasure.

As you continue to touch him, you could feel it – his connection to the force, strong, volatile, like lightning striking the ocean – crackling and formidable like the man who contained it.

And Qimir – you had long since given up trying to determine if it was, in fact, his real name – rewards you with a gift of his own, the velvet rumble of a groan of pleasure emanating from his throat at your touch. A sound of syrup and satisfaction. 

Pleased that you could garner such a reaction from a being as powerful as he, you smile, boldly meeting his lips with a kiss, opening your mouth with a gasp, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth, to taste the zip of power that he had determined in his moths of observation was just you, a torrent of citrus drizzle, bold and sweet. 

Reluctantly, he parts his lips from yours, ducking his head to tug the straps of your top down with his teeth, exposing your breasts to the heated air of the room. And if your desire at the repeated rolling of his hips beneath yours wasn’t enough to do you in, you figured this might. Bathing in the celestial feel the press his lips to your nipple, tongue swirling over the peaking flesh. Pleased at the goosebumps that erupt now in the wake of his attention. 

While he continues to tease your breasts with tongue and teeth, Qimir guides his other hand along your thighs, slipping his practiced fingers beneath your shorts, delighting in the wetness he was met with, basking  in the jolting shiver the motion elicited from you, at the friction of his fingers rubbing along the seam of you – causing you to wiggle, to roll your hips into his touch. 

And oh, as he slips his fingers inside of you, your eyes roll back, tilting your head to allow Qimir to admire the curving, elegant slope of exposed throat – prey before a predator, gasping at the pleasure he wrought. Breathless. If you thought he was teasing you before, his fingers inside of you were their own type of mocking punishment, well aware of his effect on you and the way your cunt throbs as he strokes inside of you. You could do nothing but wriggle your hips, whimpering piteously and attempting to roll your hips to follow his fingers as they work you, as this crescendo builds.

“Say you’ll be mine, warrior, and you can have it.” he promises. A new oath. One you’d never forsake. For him, you’d never turn, never abjure. Not so long as his touch made stars erupt behind your eyes, not so long as his lips dripped syrup promises down your throat.  

Kissing you once more, golden and slow, molten and revelatory as he works his fingers inside of you, your thighs parting to accommodate him. His thumb rolls repeated brushes over your clit, delighting in the starshine burst as you reached your peak, a broken little moan that sounded suspiciously like the word “master,” passing your lips in a keening sigh. 

You regard him through bleary, closing eyes and the warm, citrus haze of your orgasm as he slips his fingers from you, guiding you down to recline in your bed, stroking your hair as he does so, lulling you as a lover would. 

“Sleep, warrior,” his velvet voice meets your ears, lyrical and lilting. “I’ll be back for you.” 

And like each night before that one, his figure slips from you… as though he was never there. It wasn’t a dream, was it? It was hard to tell after months of this teasing game. After his promises built so much only to guide you to this release. 

And in the silvery light of the jungle’s dawn, you awoke with that very question on your lips, met with the sight of your saber placed gently on your little bedside table as opposed to its usual hiding spot. You wake to the sweet afterache of something between your thighs, to the scraped marks of teeth along the expanse of your neck. 

And to the promise of something – of a future of power and partnership. If only you’d be so bold as to accept it. As you eyed the saber, you recalled the prickle of his Force power along your skin, increasing with his proximity. And by the time he arrived to meet you again, you knew what your answer would be … 

--

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