#kybercore

PITY THY SELF;    for no one else will adequately understand.   They will never experience the power infiltrating his veins, alighting his eyes and pressing against his tender and smoking heart.     Black   -   tongued serpent,    ever   -   wanting.     A black hole stealing the stars from the sky with a hunger so mighty he is sure the galaxy will be swallowed whole;    the light of the universe flickering in the blue of his heated gaze.   Will satisfaction ever come?        (    THE DARK SIDE PROMISES SUCH.  Chancellor Palpatine’s lips seal all the secrets he’s begged for in his dreams.   )     Yet such betrayal mares his war scared skin,     the very thought of leaving all that he’s known        ----------       does he dare?    Can he bear the severed bond between his Master for he sake of a promised power?     

we don’t

it just takes a jedi’s control to not kick ur ass to get u going

dreams are hazy, fickle things. she can feel GHOSTLY TOUCHES on her skin, on her face, and she sighs in her sleep, brushes unconsciously at her face, her nose, before rolling over. ( in her mind, she’s back home, on a beach with her family, with her nieces. there is a large dragonfly in front of her, tickling at her skin, and she bats it away with a smile. ) a draft hits her exposed shoulder as she turns, tucking one arm under her pillow as she goes. she hovers under the surface of waking, partially in her bed, partially at home on naboo, in the sunlight, listening to ryoo and pooja laugh as they splash each other. stars, she misses her family. she exhales heavily, lips parting, and a shiver runs down her spine as fingertips trace over bare skin. ( the dream shifts, falls apart underneath her feet, cracking and fraying at the edges. the beach is gone; her nieces’ laughter echoes and fades away, and a faceless lover behind her presses his mouth to her neck. her head tips, lips part. ) her fingers tighten and tangle in her sheets, her breathing picks up. 

her name. her name. it’s being whispered in her ear, telling her to wake up, coaxing her back to reality. she sighs, her breathing disrupted, as the dream falls away again, replacing itself with her bedroom, her walls, her sheets, her bed, a body behin––––––––––––––––

padmé wakes with a start, eyes snapping open immediately, heartbeat jumping straight into hyperdrive. she struggles against a grip on her skin, FEAR settling somewhere in the base of her spine as she tries to surge for the nightstand, where a blaster hides in a compartment accessible with a quick press of a button. 

she doesn’t get that far. 

the hand on her shoulder shoves her back into the mattress, and her mouth opens immediately, a rush of air entering her lungs, ready to release in a SCREAM, because typho is only two rooms over, and dormé is in between, and –––– a hand claps over her mouth, heavy, firm, while another one pins her down, her left arm trapped underneath the intruder. her right hand snaps up, wraps around his wrist, trying to tug his hand away from her mouth, ready to dig her nails into his skin, ready to BITE, when his words register. the room is dark, and it’s been a decade, but she knows that voice. eyes widen, and a noise of shock is smothered by his palm as she, slowly, stops struggling underneath him. 

it can’t be. –––––––––––––––––––––– and yet it is. 

her hand reaches up again, fingertips curling around his palm, tugging his hand ( gently now, gently, so he’ll see she’s no longer ready to lunge for a blaster, no longer ready to scream. ) away from her mouth, leaving them both hovering somewhere just over her throat. 

raise me right, fam. RAISE ME RIGHT. I CHEW WITH MY MOUTH OPEN. I HAVE NO MANNERS. this is why i need space mom and space dad.

there’s a nsfw meme around here somewhere // accepting if you find it

the question’s almost LAUGHABLE, however logical it is. does she want him to stop? never. never, never, never. his hand on her waist, his thumb rubbing circles into the side of her abdomen, their noses close enough to touch, it’s all –––– well, it’s still innocent. it’s not A GOOD POSITION for either of them to be found in, but it’s still innocent. their friendship has always, admittedly, been intimate, full of hand holding and lingering touches and physical contact and lingering gazes, but there has always, always, been A CLEAR AND DISTINCT LINE.

they haven’t crossed it yet, even with their foreheads together, her inhale lost somewhere in his exhale. they’re standing at it, they’re lingering, but it’s still intact. if he stops, they step back. they go back to ––––– something. she’s not a fool: padmé knows that their friendship will be different no matter what she says. they’ve been so careful up until now, but it’s time for the levee to break, one way or another. ( there was no way they could keep this up forever. ) 

she shakes her head, though, with their foreheads together, it’s more of a roll back and forth than anything else. ❝ no, ❞ she whispers. ❝ i don’t want you to stop. ❞