Ultraviolence (Darth Vader x Reader) Part 2. NSFW.
Word count: Kinda long sorry.
Warnings: Mentions of death, some angst. NSFW 18+ Darth Vader force fingers you in the bathtub while you cry.
Summary: In which your husband, Darth Vader, reveals part of his past to you, only to realize you have already seen it.
Authors note: Soooooo sorry it took so long, some of yall have been asking for part 2. I wanted to take my time with the more emotional side of it because reader and Vader kind of clash here, and it’s so hard to completely ignore the love Anakin had for Padmé and write strictly Darth Vader. All that being said, I hope this doesn’t disappoint.
Masterlist.
After your most recent display of defiance, you were assigned a security detail, a small squadron of death troopers that flanked your every move. At first it was amusing, you felt important, valued. But it quickly became a nuisance. You had no privacy, and what felt even worse, they reported your every move to your husband.
He remained on Mustafar for three days, you saw little of him before he was called elsewhere. You were used to him being away so often, you learned to keep yourself occupied, filling your days with adventures of your own.
Mustafar was a horrid planet, covered in volcanic activity, the only habitable parts were taken over by the Empire. So you remained in the castle, spending a majority of your time in the library, or your wardrobe.
Your husband was many things, but to you, he was generous. Your wardrobe filled with precious gems and expensive gowns, any girls dream. Your handmaiden would entertain your every request, helping you put together outfit after outfit, plates of food brought up throughout the day while you try on every garment.
You would venture into the cellar late at night, sneaking past the guards, a collection of gifts from politicians all over the galaxy hoping to gain your husband's favor by doting on his wife. But your husband of course doesn't drink, allowing the collection to be truly your own.
Bottle in hand, you would perch yourself on your favorite window, staring off into the stars until sleep overcame you. That's how he found you.
He sensed you first, as soon as his shuttle was in orbit he searched for you. Your subconscious took him to a place he never wanted to go, deep within your dreams your yearning for a different life spoke to him. A longing he could never fulfill. But there was something more, something he never sensed before. Raw untapped potential. It almost called to him, past the wall of restrictions that sat between you both, sat an unfamiliar attraction.
It wasn't romantic, it wasn't emotional or even physical in any way. It was almost spiritual, something he could feel but couldn't explain. Underlying, there was something well known to him, tugging at his years of resolve. Something he recognized, a familiar aura from a past life.
He wasn't exactly aware of your visions yet, the dreams you have that you don't understand. But he would soon figure it out.
When he landed, he didn't bother your handmaiden. He knew where to find you, sprawled out on the floor on the observation deck, palm pressed flat against the glass.
A metaphor that didn't go unnoticed by him, a longing to see more, to do more, it possessed your every thought. Every time you chose to defy him, every time you chose to make a skeptical of yourself. He put up with it only because he was unable to give you what you wanted.
But this changes things, this buzzing in your brain that he can almost hear like a whisper, draws him to you like a moth to a flame. A hidden gem, a budding flower blooming right under his nose.
You looked almost peaceful, almost. The twitch under your right eye, the pulsing of your blood rushing to your head. Your dreams aren't just dreams, he realizes, taking a moment to tap into your mind. Except, he isn't allowed to see anything.
You aren't resisting him in any way, the tiny spark of power you held wasn't nearly enough to even attempt it. But there is a blockage, a barrier to that part of your mind, your subconscious protecting whatever it is you're seeing.
He gathered you in his arms quickly, not at all concerned with being gentle. It stirs you awake, that familiar intake of air that has haunted so many souls fills your ears.
"You're back." Before you can even open your eyes, you know it's him.
The sound of his strides seem to echo off the walls. "I was given a task, but my focus has shifted to you, pet." You open your eyes slowly, squinting against the florescent lights that shine directly down on you.
"What have I done this time?" You squirm in his arms, turning to look up at him.
His response vague. "I'm not entirely sure." It worries you.
He seems tense, more so than usual. It wouldn't normally bother you, given his reputation. But he had just returned, and his eyes were set on you. For whatever reason.
He takes you to your quarters, the entourage of troopers that lost track of you hours ago stand at attention, and you can't help but giggle at the thought of them being scared shitless.
"Do you not grow tired of your own games?" Your husband scolds you, ignoring them, pressing on into your room. "One day you will find yourself needing their protection, and they will think it is another one of your tricks."
Maybe that's what this is about, the fact that you had managed to escape them once again. They always report back to him, it had been hours, falling asleep probably wasn't the best idea.
"Are you mad at me?"
"Your games are vexing, but I knew where you were. You can't hide from me."
You say nothing, clinging to him as he sets you down on the bed. For a moment, he just looks around, as if taking in the room for the first time. He's been inside before, many times. But it's been a while. A few things have changed, you notice his eyes lingering on your vanity, your favorite perfumes sitting on the corner.
"There's somewhere I must take you." He says, voice sounding far off. It concerns you a bit, it's unlike him to sound so unsure of himself.
"Where?"
He hesitates, walking across the room. He gathers something in his hand, you can't quite see it from where you sit. "Naboo."
A memory hits you, stealing the air from your lungs when he says the word. It's strong, taking over your every sense. Only, these memories are not your own, you realize as you look across the room at your husband.
He turns, slowly, as if lost in thought.
It was your hairbrush in his hand, porcelain with gold leaves. It reminds him of her, you realize, the woman in your dreams.
His head snaps towards you, fully, as if he hadn’t really been paying attention to you before.
What woman?
His voice is loud in your mind, clearly upset, but not angry. You've triggered something, caught him off guard. But still, he is known to lash out, so you are careful with your next thoughts.
He would never hurt you. You know that. He would never. But he could. He could snap your neck with the flex of his finger, and you would be helpless to stop it.
Panic starts to set in, your vision becoming blurry, struggling to breathe. You have never been afraid of him before. Cautious, uncertain even, but never afraid.
You rise to your feet, slowly. "My Lord," You take a step back, trying to compose yourself, "I didn't mean to-"
"Calm your mind." He says, "Let me see it."
Let me see it.
You feel his presence again, this time less evasive, more like a gentle hand guiding you through your thoughts. You see her again, but this time, there's a man there. He is young, his eyes wild and his hair a mess. She is beautiful, glowing, pregnant.
She looks so pure, so beautiful. These thoughts are not your own, they are his, and for the first time, he finally realizes what it is about you that calls to him.
He inches towards you. "What else have you seen?"
"I dream about her." You admit, cautiously, watching his every move. "I didn't know who she was until you drew her out. She was important to you."
He says nothing for a while, watching you, as if trying to break your resolve. But you were telling the truth, nothing to decipher, nothing to uncover.
You've never seen him like this before, unsure of what to do, unsure of what to believe. In this moment, he in unpredictable, far more dangerous than any reaction you could have expected from him.
You take another step back, drawing his attention once more.
"Get dressed, pack a bag, quickly."
He returns your hair brush on the dresser, it clatters softly, his hand lingering, lost in thought.
He doesn’t leave, but you feel his presence grow cold, as if he has been absent from the room. Every sense in your body is telling you to flee, you don't feel safe, you aren't sure what he will do.
But he simply just remains there, the sounds of his breaths filling the room.
You aren't sure what to make of the situation. This revelation is as shocking to you as it is to him. The strange dreams you have been having turned out to be a connection to his past, a connection that triggered an alarming reaction.
This is something you weren't supposed to already know, but somehow he didn’t seem surprised.
Finally revealing your dreams to him took a weight off of your shoulders, but it was quickly replaced with new doubts. It was as if he knew of it already, not entirely, but enough to suspect something had been off with you.
It would explain his return, his demeaner, his declaration of giving you his full attention.
What was on Naboo?
You’ve been standing still for too long you realize, rushing across the room to your wardrobe. Your mind comes to a blank, staring at the collection of gowns and robes hanging there.
You don’t know what to pack, or what to wear. Naboo is a warmer climate, likely in its spring season. But you don’t know where you’ll be, or what you’ll be doing there. You decide to play it safe, changing into a simple black dress with a hooded cloak, easy to remove layers if needed.
You pack a variety of dresses, not sure what this spontaneous trip had in store for you. By the time you’re done, walking out of your wardrobe, your husband has moved across the room, the door to your quarters wide open.
His hands are on his hips, tone low as he speaks to one of your guards. When they notice your presence, they stand at attention, “Lady Y/n.”
You catch your reflection on the mirror, white as a sheet, eyes dark and tired looking, your face drained of all life. You tug your hood down lower, covering as much of your face as you can, gathering the fabric below your chin.
Without saying a word, your husband is on the move, and you’re quick to catch up to him, despite your guards staying behind to keep your company.
He leads you to the loading dock, and you’re surprised to see it practically empty. Besides the flight mechanics, and a small squadron of death troopers standing guard, the hanger is dead silent.
A chill runs its way up your spine, anticipating what you realize will be a journey alone with your husband. This is what you had been asking for, this is the reason you had been acting out for so long, just trying to capture his attention, trying to make yourself significant in his world.
But the enjoyment has been stolen, and all you can think of is that menacing blank look he always wears. The way he had looked at you in your room, you can only imagine how his victims must feel in battle. There’s no expression, no words are ever spoken, but you can feel it.
Your impending doom.
Lord Vader awaits, you take a deep breath climbing the ramp to his shuttle. Your guards do not follow.
“Sit.”
He leaves you no time to think as the ramp starts to rise behind you. You secure your bag and quickly take a seat beside him.
You’ve been on his shuttle before, it’s not unfamiliar to you, but you’ve never seen him pilot it himself.
You’re careful to make yourself small, hands folded in your lap as you watch him man the controls. He reaches just in front of you, flipping up a row of buttons. You aren’t sure what he’s doing, but his closeness doesn’t feel evasive like it did before.
He’s just here, and you are with him. You sense no malice, no hostility. It’s almost a relief, so you try to speak.
“Where are we going?”
“I told you,” he says, voice even. “Naboo.”
“What’s on Naboo?”
“There’s something I need to show you,” he says, “but it seems you’ve seen it already.”
Finally, he says something about it. “I didn’t mean to upset you, My Lord. I don’t know who she is.”
For a moment, he says nothing, and you think that maybe you were wrong to say anything after all. But a gloved hand falls into your lap, prying your hands apart.
You watch as a single digit toys with your wedding ring, the diamond reflecting with red light from the control board in front of you. It’s a habit he picked up a while ago, you like to think of it as him reminding himself of your vows. It must be hard for him after all, being who he is.
He can not show love. This is the closest thing.
“I sensed it when my shuttle got in orbit, there’s something powerful inside of you.” He says. “Your time here in this castle has changed you, your longing for purpose and connection has been answered. I only wish it had been by me, not the force.”
“The force?”
You aren’t oblivious to his teachings and practices. You know he’s capable of inexplainable things. He can read your mind, hear your thoughts, touch you without touching you. But you have never known it to be anything more than that.
“Yes, pet. The force.”
He says it matter of factly, so you fall back into silence. The shuttle takes off, and you take the hint to stop talking.
It doesn’t take long, the invention of hyperspace makes the journey almost bareable. You try not to think too loud, try not to disrupt the peaceful silence you have fallen into.
It’s rare to have moments like this with him, just simply existing in his presence. He is always busy, or in a bad mood, needing to relax. So why does it feel so wrong to be with him like this? No buffer in between you, no servants or soldiers, no incoming transmissions or orders from his master, drawing his attention away.
It is just you and him, together but feeling so far apart.
You feel him shift beside you, a stutter in his breathing, “Come here.” He says, voice seeming to ring throughout the cockpit. “Your mind is like a faucet.”
He tugs at your hand, forcing you to your feet. You stumble a bit, letting him guide you over to him and down onto his lap. You’re careful of his chest plate, settling your back against his arm drapped across an armrest.
His suit is rough and uncomfortable under your flesh, but you feel your anxiety start to disappear, curled up under him like this. Maybe he truly isn't upset with you after all.
“All is well, pet.” You feel his hand on your head, and your eyelids becoming heavy. “Sleep.”
You feel his presence in your mind as your eyes close, and when sleep overcomes you, it remains.
You don't dream of anything, not this time, not with him there with you in your subconscious. It's almost like he needed an invitation, you showed him earlier, but nothing comes to you now.
Not like this. Not with him so close to you, in body and spirit. You sleep, but you don't rest. You feel his every breath, the cold air prickling your skin under your dress. You feel when the hood of your cloak begins to slip, cold leather gloves tracing your hairline.
It makes you feel warm inside, loved almost. As close to love as you can get.
He’s holding you tight against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder. He’s watching you, carefully. Every expression on your face. Until finally, deep sleep takes you, and he withdraws.
It's only then when you're visited once again by the brown-haired woman. A radiant smile on her face, as if she were greeting you, waiting for you to return. You wish you knew what she was trying to tell you, you wish you could understand what she wants.
But her smile means nothing to you, it holds no weight, no significance. Then she starts to scream, tears running down her cheeks as she cries out in pain. Then nothing.
It sends you jolting awake, only to be steadied by a strong arm.
Your eyes land on him, your husband, who stares down at you. That haunting mask that says so much yet so little.
You feel her pain, but you don't understand it, eyes starting to swell with tears. You know he sees them, you know he can feel how you feel, but he says nothing.
He just reaches across you to press buttons on the control board, powering down the shuttle. Then he rises, forcing you to your feet.
The ramp begins to lower, and you're given no time to adjust before he starts to leave the cockpit.
You follow, squinting against the sun in his shadow, but your discomfort is short lived when you lay eyes on the scenery. Rich green mountains and a clear blue sky, a sharp contrast from your home on Mustafar.
The sound of roaring water fills your ears, the chirping of birds and some kind of cattle off in the distance. This place was like a fairytale, a paradise, beautiful and alive.
But you’re only allowed to bask it in for a moment, a gentle hand on your arm drawing your attention. He leads you off the loading dock and to a transport, helping you inside.
“Where are we going?”
“There’s something I need you to see.” He says.
Nothing more. Just silence. You can tell his focus is elsewhere, but he doesn’t seem distant like before. He doesn’t shut you out this time. Instead, he faces you, hand on his hips as if he’s thinking about what to say to you, trying to figure out how to connect to you.
You allow him this, for whatever reason. You can almost feel the turmoil within him, you just aren’t sure what about. You don’t know how to support him, or how to act as a buffer for him.
All you can do is stand there, pretty lace draped across your face, a large rock that glistens under any form of light, adorning your tiny hand. All you can do is play your roll, for once, and try not to agitate him with your unhinged tendencies.
A faucet.
Your eyes snap up to his, and for a moment you feel frozen. He’s in your mind but it isn’t invasive, you can’t sense him there, his presence is gentle. It feels almost loving, romantic, the way he holds you there.
Like the back of a hand brushing across your cheek, or fingertips trailing your spine. Barely there, but igniting sparks in your nerves in their absence.
As soon as he withdraws, you feel it, a warm tingle in your belly. Proof that he was there at all. An invisible kiss to the skin that he could never physically give you himself.
All is well.
The reassurance is all you need, you know he’ll come through for you later, you know he’ll reward you for this, whatever this is.
The transport stops, and you do your best to make out the scenery before you step off. The best way you can describe it is a castle, made of stone and tall pillars. It looks like a fairly new build, fallen leaves scattered across the stairs.
Your husband takes your hand, leading you off the transport. It feels like late spring, but suddenly the aura of winter creeps up on you. Dark, cold. Something horrible is about to happen.
You hesitate, feet planted firmly just at the edge of the staircase. But he doesn’t wait for you, simply letting your hand slip from his. You watch him ascend, cape brushing across the stone, scattering the leaves in his wake.
The way he holds his head, shoulders square, you can tell he’s been here before.
You watch until his silhouette disappears at the top of the stairs, feeling your chest starting to tighten, a restriction of airflow that makes your knees cave, sending you against the first step. It feels like you're being choked.
The cool stone against your palm is a sharp contrast to the heat you feel in your chest, a heat that turns into pain. You cry out at the sudden intensity, hands clutched to your chest as you feel your insides burn. You gasp, trying to catch your breath.
Then it’s gone. The first sting replaced with a sharp tug deeper within your chest, and you can’t help but tear up at the feeling.
You feel heartbroken, shattered, completely lost and alone. With tears running down your cheeks, you stand, the figure of your husband looming over you.
It is then that the puzzle pieces fall into place, standing at the top of the stairs, just above his head you see it. A stained glass window, the image of a beautiful woman. The woman you’ve seen in your dreams so many times before.
Your dreams were not dreams, they were visions, shattered pieces of a past life that wasn’t your own.
“What is this place?” Your voice carries louder than you had anticipated, sounding foreign to your own ears.
“This is the tomb of my late wife.” He makes no move to approach you, simply looking down and watching as the truth finally reveals itself to you.
He was married before you, the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. The Emperor had promised your hand to him as his first wife, but you realize now that deceptively that only extended to his title as Darth Vader. The man he was before belonged to another, and for some reason she has been haunting you.
You feel almost numb, lifting one foot after the other to finally climb the stairs. The tears stop falling, but you don’t bother to wipe their trails away. It feels disrespectful in a way, knowing that the pain wasn’t your own but someone else’s, clawing its way from death to be heard and felt.
Your cloak snags against the stone, probably ruining the lace, but you can’t imagine yourself ever wearing this again anyways. How fitting, a black veil to meet your husbands deceased wife.
The air feels colder up top, blocked out entirely by the sun. When you reach the top, your eyes are drawn to the stained glass, colorful rays of light shining in to land on a stone casket, carved into the image of a woman to match the image hovering above you.
“She’s beautiful.” Is all you can bring yourself to say, walking past him to enter her tomb.
He doesn’t say anything, allowing you this moment. You were not just learning of his past, you were also learning of your abilities at the same time. Feeling her life and death in your own body. It’s a strange feeling, an overwhelming feeling, but you do your best to embrace it, knowing that this was the entire point of bringing you here.
You want to reach out and touch her, place your hand on the stone and see all that she’s been trying to show you.
But you can’t.
“I’ve seen her so many times in my head,” you turn to him finally, only to find him watching you. You wonder how this scene must look to him. “But I still can’t figure out what happened.”
He starts to walk towards you, and you feel the sudden need to explain yourself. “All I’ve seen is her pain. Like she’s calling out to me. But I don’t know why.”
The tears have returned, subconsciously you notice the sky starting to turn dark, rain starting to fall.
He takes your hand gently, guiding you towards the stone tomb that lays in the center of the room. As soon as your hand touches it, you feel her.
You feel her pain, you hear her voice in your head. Or maybe it’s him, you realize. Maybe it’s him finally showing you and connecting all the pieces.
The boy from before, wild hair and rage filled eyes, you’ve seen him only once before in your dreams. But he feels so familiar.
“I killed her.” You hear his voice, but images flash in front of your eyes, flashes of red and blue that you can’t quite decipher, and then that fire, bright flames and screams of agony. “She betrayed me, and I killer her.”
He says it so matter of factly, making you want to pull your hand away, but for some reason, it doesn’t feel true. It’s not coming from her, it’s his side of the story.
You’re unable to stop the tears that fall down your face, the pain you feel is too great, a vessel for a story that wasn’t your own.
“She was pregnant.”
You see it then, the slight bump to her stomach, almost unnoticeable by the ruffling of the dress she wore. All the pain makes sense suddenly, not just her death, but the loss of a child, the loss of a family. The screams of an infant ring through your ears.
“You loved her.”
His hand finally leaves yours, your hand falling to your side.
The reason he was incapable of giving it to you now, is because he gave it to someone once before. Then he killed her.
He walks several paces away, rounding to the other side of the tomb. You are grateful for this space, able to look at him without moving.
The wheels start to turn, standing there looking at him.
The boy you’ve seen, mop of curly hair and sad eyes, was him. The face he wears now is terrifying, a black mask to hide his damaged skin. Neither party remained unscathed.
You watch as he places his hand on top of the tomb, eyes leaving yours to look down at her, his late wife.
“This loss changed me, these betrayals changed me. The person I was before needed to die.” He says. “It’s the reason I brought you here, to help you understand what the force has been trying to show you.”
It’s the saddest thing you’ve ever seen. Under all the armor, behind his reputation is just a man who is broken. His power is fueled by his anger, channeled by something dark and painful.
“Why is the force trying to show me anything?” You can’t help but ask. “Our marriage was a political move, arranged by the Emperor. I have nothing to do with any of this.”
“The time you’ve spent locked away in my fortress seems to have altered your body chemistry.” His attention returns to you, “It was designed to act as a conduit. I believe that your subconscious yearning was answered by this power.”
“What does that mean?”
“I have been trying to reach out to her, you have been trying to reach me. Subconsciously both were answered and connected through the force.”
You remember asking him a long time ago why he decided to build his fortress on Mustafar, the only answer you could digest and remember is something about ancient sith caves, something to do with the teachings he had been practicing.
The castle being built on top of it was meant to act as a conduit, allowing him to channel the power. But as fate would have it, you managed to be tangled up in a strange love triangle between your husband, his dead wife, and the force.
Even after he begins to leave, you can’t help but linger.
This feels wrong after the connection you've come to share. It feels unfinished.
"Y/n." His voice calls out from behind you, but you are unable to look at him. "We're leaving."
"How can you just leave her?" The emotion you feel is not your own, you can tell as soon as the words leave your lips. You only hope that he understands. "How could you just kill her?"
"I have accepted it. It has haunted me the way it now haunts you." He says, "It is my penance, I will never escape it."
His words heal something inside you, while breaking something else.
All this time, he has been thinking of her, seeing her reflection in your shadows. A glimpse of her in all that you do, a reminder, never allowing him to get too close.
With a heavy heart, finally, you turn away. Together you descend the stairs, but your minds have drifted far apart.
You are left speechless, shell shocked, the weight of everything you’ve just learned stealing your voice. This was more than what you had imagined it to be. It felt heavy, two lives completely changed forever, a love so strong it calls to him even in the next life.
It's haunting, the presence of his first wife looming over you. It's all you can think about, even when you board the transport.
Your husband remains silent, but his gaze lingers on you, drilling holes into the side of your head. He might be reading your thoughts, which is fine, at least you won't have to say how you feel out loud.
For once you would like to know what he's thinking, his revisit to his past seems to be having no effect on him at all. It makes you wonder if that version of him is truly gone, transformed into the menace that stands before you now.
That beautiful, tortured boy, now a ruthless enforcer.
There must be more to the story, private details that you aren't sure that you yourself would be able to tell. But you feel those pieces, that lingering love and yearning. His dead wife is haunting you, his past life is haunting you, and you aren't sure what to do with this newfound sense of fate that has been dropped on you.
You don't want to be caught in this timeless lovers quarrel, you don't want this power that somehow seeped its way inside of you, all because you felt lonely being married to a shell of a man.
You only wonder what this will mean for you now. You were only meant to be a pretty face perched on the arm of the Emperor's most trusted servant. You were never meant to be anything more than that.
Only now you have the same powers he does, the very thing that makes him valuable to the Emperor. You would bet your life on the fact that the Emperor's plans for you will change the moment he discovers your abilities.
You longed for a purpose, a life besides just being the pretty little wife to the dark scary man. You wanted adventure, you wanted to travel the galaxy and see every star that shines in the darkness.
You didn't want this.
A welcome party is waiting for you when you arrive to the main estate, umbrellas outstretched to shield you both from the rain. One of the servants guides you inside, plucking your cloak from your shoulders and hanging it to dry.
You admire the architecture for a moment, beautiful sculptures sitting on top of polished tile. The muted neutrals feel warm and inviting compared to the obsidian and steel your home was made of, you feel as if you can breathe a little, relaxing instantly,
This doesn't go unnoticed, your husbands watchful eye picking up on your body language. "Draw a bath, and send up a bottle of wine." He says, "My wife would like to unwind."
In another life, you would imagine that you are politicians, having more wealth than you know what to do with, fussing over what to fill the days with. You would have kids, a house filled with screaming and laughter, love and happiness.
The parallel isn't blind to you, the life you wish you had is the life he had and lost with another. It makes you understand his coldness, his cruelty. The way you long for it, you can only imagine how you would react to losing it.
Two servants lead you upstairs, identifying which room you'll be staying in. The washroom is connected, a bit smaller than the one you have at home, but inviting all the same.
You watch them fuss over the bath, adding soap and oils to the running water. Bubbles form, a bottle of wine placed on a side table along with two glasses. You almost laugh at the gesture, but settle for dismissing the servants instead.
You're surprised to see that your husband doesn't leave with them. He looks very out of place, perched in the corner of the room watching. You strip out of your dress, left foot kicking it to a pile on the floor. You feel a chill spread across your skin, but as soon as you step into the tub, hot water enveloping your body, you feel warm all over.
It's like a hug, legs tangled in the sheets early in the morning kind of hug, bittersweet and overlooked in the moment, but meaning more than you could have imagined.
This hug, this warm water with fragrant bubbles causes you to burst into tears.
You feel whiplashed, too much in one day to process, your head and heart filled with emotion that isn't even yours.
Through blurry vision, you reach for the wine, only to find it being held out to you. Your husband who was once crouched in the corner now looms over you, porcelain wall of the tub being the only thing separating you.
"I understand this may be a lot for you," He says. "You need to take some time to process."
You take the bottle, popping the cork. You don't bother with a glass, bringing the bottle straight to your lips.
The essence of class, the illusion of being poised and proper flies out of the window. You sigh heavily, leaning back to rest against the tub.
"There's nothing for me to process," You say. "This is not my life, not my story. Not my pain. It's yours, it's just been thrust onto me because I married you."
He takes a moment before responding, "This may not be a conventional marriage, but we are bound by vows all the same." He says. "You are my wife, you are under my care. It was my neglect that lead you down this path."
That's the closest thing you will ever get to an apology, so you accept it.
"What am I supposed to do now?" You ask. "I don't want to feel this anymore."
You want your life back, your emotions, your own story to write and erase as you go.
"I will teach you to control it. I think you will be useful to me."
"Useful? Like a lap dog?"
"Useful like a conduit." He says. "Your power has only developed over time from the fortress, a beacon of power that has seeped into your very bones."
"A conduit?"
"It will be easier to harness power from you than it is to harness it from the planet we live on." He says, "I have been unsuccessful for some time now. Ironic that you are the one who accidently stumbled upon this power."
Another sip of wine, the water splashes against your chest. "I don't want to be a conduit."
"This unforeseen circumstance will not go unnoticed by the Emperor. I will have to prove your usefulness to me, your loyalty to me, or else your fate will be decided by him."
You don't like the sound of that, "But-"
"Hush. Quiet your mind for now." He takes a couple steps back. "You've been through enough for today."
You weren't finished, you had so many unanswered questions. But he was right after all. The emotional turmoil you faced over the past couple hours left you feeling drained, not to mention being dragged out of your sleep. You close your eyes, feeling a slight buzz in your head from the wine. You don't notice him leave, the familiar sound of his breathing fading out as you fall into a deep relaxation.
You put everything out of your mind, everything you learned today, the build up of emotions in your body, forcing it out and into the open air around you.
Instead you focus on your breathing, slowly in and out, chest rising and falling slowly. The warm water laps at your skin as you do, bubbles popping and ticking against the surface as they brush across the skin left exposed out of the water. You smell flowers, warm steam floating up across your skin.
You feel yourself falling into almost a dreamlike state, peaceful, airy, light. The weight of today has lifted off of you, and all that is left is your physical being.
You’re meditating.
Your husbands voice almost startles you, except that it appears in the back of your mind, almost like a whisper.
Impressive.
You don’t open your eyes, but you can see him. He’s sitting across from you, watching. It’s like you can paint of picture of him in your mind using your other senses, all the while maintaining your peaceful state.
It makes so much sense to you now, the way your husband always allows you to remain in his presence while he meditates, but never breaks his concentration to interact with you. His level of control obviously goes beyond what you’re experiencing, but for the first time you’re starting to understand part of his reality.
The parts of him that were closed off to you before are now open, the opportunity in front of you goes far beyond your current comprehension, but you do know that this will change everything you’ve come to know.
A faucet.
Finally, you open your eyes, finding him exactly how you pictured.
“You are more powerful than you know, pet. In time, I will teach you.”
The water is starting to grow colder by the second, or maybe that’s your subconscious trying to pull you back to reality.
“You will remain here on Naboo until I return.”
“But you said-“
“I didn’t realize the extent of your situation. I have affairs to see to before we can begin your training.”
“Training?”
He stands, a full seven feet tall, as intimidating to you right now as he is to everyone else.
“I don’t intend to let this opportunity go to waste. Before the Emperor learns of your awakening, I will mold you into someone worthy of his mercy.”
“Mercy?”
“I warned you, if I do not prove you are useful to me, he will dispose of you.” He says. “Your purpose to me has been compromised, his position will be threatened with your new found power. You will have to prove your loyalties.”
It’s becoming clear to you what he means, not just about the force or your marriage, but your political title as Lady. The Galactic Empire doesn’t hand out titles lightly, the Emperor chose your husband and his enforcer, and you to be his wife. Your roll was harmless, a fancy display for political support of your home planet more than anything.
But your situation has just changed. You are no longer the tiny, pretty little wife. You now posses the same power your husband does, you can no longer hide in the shadows of his influence.
“My Lord, I don’t want to fight in this war.”
“You do not have a choice.” His voice is stern, colder than it has ever been towards you before. “You will comply, or you will die.”
You want to protest, tell him that his position with the Emperor clouds him, consumes him, and eventually it will bleed out onto you.
But you find that you can not speak, mouth open but words stolen from your throat.
You feel warmth spreading through your chest, your belly, your thighs, the cold water you sit in no longer having an effect on your senses.
It’s him, that fantom presence on your body, you would recognize it anywhere. First starting off as a temperature change, your cheeks flushing as you sink further into the tub, eyes slipping closed.
From there it materializes, sensations of warmth turning into feather light strokes around your navel, circling, then dragging down.
Slowly at first, until you feel more pressure applied. A the ghost of a touch turned into a firm placement, like fingers gliding across your skin.
Lower, lower, until finally, you moan, head thrown back against the rim of the tub as his touch floats between your legs, over your pubic bone and down to your clit, spreading your legs.
Slow circles begin to tease you, legs pinned apart against the porcelain that entraps you from all sides, and your feel your body being overcome with pleasure.
More solid now, but still somehow still to light, against your own will you find yourself arching into his touch, hips jerking in search of friction you can not find, hands gripping for purchase that does nothing to stabilize you.
You cry out in frustration, hanging on by a thread, chasing the small pleasures you are allowed, the sensation of two digits pressed against your clit, rubbing slowly.
“I-“ your mind feels blank, unable to form the words, “I need-“.
Beg me for it.
His voice rings through your head, eyes squeezing shut at the effect it has on you, the sensation between your legs suddenly feeling stronger, as if his presence in your mind heightens your sense.
A force trick? You couldn’t begin to wrap your head around it, melting under the feeling.
“I-“ it comes out as a gasp, hips jerking forward in search of the source of pleasure.
I said, beg.
A moan scrapes its way free, lungs contracting, a vibration echoing through your chest.
“Please!” You sound broken, desperate. Moaning with your legs spread, begging for what you realize now is just a simple touch.
It makes you feel silly, small, insignificant. That is until you remember your newfound abilities.
A whimper escapes your lips as you try to steady your breathing, regaining control over your body.
“That’s it. Find it.”
His encouragement does you no favors, but you do your best to calm yourself, lowering yourself flush against the back of the tub, running your hands up your thighs to recenter yourself inside your body.
You focus on the pleasure, slow deliberate circles in the same spot over and over. It feels, bored. Deliberate.
It’s a mind game you realize, a battle for control and dominance. Your husband was trying to teach you something, even in an intimate moment.
It feels disrespectful, and you find yourself becoming enraged.
How dare he, after all he had put you through today, how dare he rob you of the only thing he was actually capable of giving.
Good. Focus on that feeling, harness it.
You feel his touch spread, a third finger added, the circles becoming faster.
How dare he use you this way, a toy to experiment on just to be reunited with another woman. How are he mock her death, mock your marriage, diminish you to a tool for his own bidding.
His fingers slip lower, tracing your entrance, spreading your lips to expose your opening fully.
How dare he threaten you, after everything you stood by. The death and bloodshed he rains across the galaxy, the war crimes and innocent lives he has taken all for a man who uses him as a puppet. How dare he drag you into this, how dare he turn you into him.
You feel his fingers enter you, all three, fast and unrelenting as they pull back out, just to be thrust inside once more.
The sensation of being filled, fucked by his fingers over and over, robs you of your concentration, hands gripping the edge of the tub as your eyes fly open.
He stands there watching, still as a statue, no signs of his involvement in the exploration of your mind and body.
His posture is relaxed, shoulders slack. But his head is held high, looking down at you, your mouth thrown open and knocked breathless at the pace he maintains fucking you.
“I hate you.”
It comes out choked, barely understandable to your own ears as the words leave you, strangled by your pleasure as you try your hardest not to be undone by him.
Trying but failing, a moan escaping you, your body betraying your mind as you react to his touch and presence, watching him watch you come apart.
The pleasure builds, a winding knot in your stomach that threatens to tug free at any moment.
That’s it, feel your anger. Let it consume you. Let me consume you.
You can’t help it, his voice ringing through your head, the obscene sound of him thrusting in and out of you, the sight of him just watching you fall apart, it’s too much.
You feel yourselves begin to cave, legs shaking as an orgasm rips its way through your resolve, body locking at the sheer force of it, pleasure overcoming your every limb.
The sound you let out is primal, animalistic in a way that only rage could encourage.
You collapse into your bath water, the feeling of his touch disappearing from your body, leaving you breathless and spent.
Good girl.
He turns on his heel, cape fluttering behind him as he rushes out of the room. He leaves a cold draft in his wake, a chill ghosting across your skin in his absence.
The peace you found moments ago has crumbled, replaced by a dreadful feeling that you can’t place. Your eyes start to prickle with tears, the hollow feeling in your chest returning, similar to what you felt earlier.
She betrayed me and I killed her.
You will comply, or you will die.
Your fate has been sealed, the rock on your hand feels heavier than it ever had before as you lift your hand to take a sip of wine.
Your hand shakes, a single tear falling.
You know what she wanted now, his wife, you know why she had chosen to haunt you and refused to leave you for so long.
She was warning you, showing you her fate so that it wouldn’t become your own. She was a senator, fighting for democracy till the very end, betraying her own husband to do so.
You will comply, or you will die.
Sitting in a tub on her home planet, her emotions filling your head and swarming in your mind, you decide that you will not become her. Her fate will not be your own.
You will train to control this power, and you will not be just another pretty wife to fall at the hands of a powerful man.
He doesn’t know it yet, but on this night, the night he threatened your life, he ruined the version of you that he had known. He awakened something inside you that would end up being far more powerful than either of you could ever imagine.
The Emperor had no idea what was coming.
