— INTO MY SOUL, HE'S GONNA LINGER ON
pairing ★ sith lord!fyodor dostoevysky x jedi padawan!fem reader
contents ★ star wars au, canon-divergence (star-wars stuff), corruption, extreme dubious consent, emotional manipulation, angst, tension, choking
wordcount ★ 4.8k words
songs ★ dead disco dancer (o. children), haunted (isabel larosa)
notes ★ well, idk what im doing, but i have a concerning brainrot for sith lord fyodor and nikolai, so pls enjoy regardless. ending a little bad but its ok. may the force be with u ;) glitter moon divider is from @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more
You have never understood your destiny.
Born a Force-sensitive child, home planet was raided and destroyed, families and friends were murdered, saved and picked up by the people of the Jedi Order, and finally became a Padawan for one.
For a long time, you wondered if that was the right path for you—to become a Jedi Knight. You have heard of the legends—all the stories and lore of the Jedi Knights. Not to mention, their stories were the very reason you discovered your capabilities in adepting the Force. You have never told anyone about these capabilities—lest you were expected to be somebody you were not.
A fighter.
But then, the Jedi Purge happened.
What a dark time—you remembered witnessing your fellow Padawans being slaughtered by countless red blades and lasers. The only reason you were safe was because of your master.
You were not really fond of him and his way of teaching. Some things just did not make sense to you, and discipline was hard to internalise. You knew you always had that stubbornness in your heart after all. But oh, bless him. After he strapped you to the jet seat, pushing buttons you had yet to learn, you could only watch him fighting by himself against tens of troopers. And as he watched you and the jet lift up to the sky, his death greeted him at the door of his relief.
He was not killed by a red blade, you recalled.
He was killed simply by Force—you saw him, you saw it.
A man in a black cloak, strangling your master merely by a gesture of hand. He watched you leave, and you could never forget the glimpse of those violet eyes staring at you as the jet jumped you out of that sickening place.
It has been years since that incident.
It also has been years since you became a scavenger to support yourself after you pushed random buttons on the jet until it landed (more like crashed) on a foreign planet.
So no, you still do not understand your destiny. From a Padawan to a begging scavenger—from a promising prodigy to a pathetic loser.
“Damn it all.” You plop onto your bedding—just thick fabrics laid on top of each other. You are hungry. You are sweating hot. You are pissed the hell off with your ‘destiny’. And it is all because of the Jedi Purge. It is all because of those violet eyes haunting you every day.
You are too poor right now—on the verge of actually joining to be a Stormtrooper. But you know that it is just a quick death sentence. You can jump into an ocean right now and find countless bodies of Stormtroopers in it. They are just pawns; they are just assets for the Empire to waste.
No use lamenting your life now.
You have heard that wars are happening on the other side of the planet. There have been some noises since morning too. This planet particularly is neutral in politics, which is why you have not left the place despite its horrible inhabitants. However, from the look of it, it seems like the Empire is looking to take over.
With a heavy heart, you prepare for another scavenge. You pack up a bottle of water and your long staff. You had attached a blade on one end so it is easier for you to dig through metals. Also, it works as a self-defence weapon, despite you not having the chance to actually use it.
“Another day, another trash.” You murmur to yourself before you finally open the door to the crashed jet—you have made the jet that escaped you out from the Purge as your home. Outside, it looks like shit due to the crash, but you are lucky that the appearance sort of prevents the jet from being scavenged by others.
Before you step out, you turn your head to give one final look. There is just something different about today. You feel disturbed, and you are not sure if it is the Force or just a stupid hunch.
And your heart feels heavier today. You wonder if it is because you spent hours questioning your life and revisiting old memories.
No use of hesitating now.
You still want to live.
You begin your journey through the desert, climbing the hill of sand with the help of your staff. It takes a while, and the heat from the two suns in the sky is not helping. Once you are at the top of the hill, however, you finally see what had transpired on the horizon.
A newly-crashed Empire’s fighter jet. It looks huge from here too.
And immediately, you make a dash towards it. Excited—that is money. There are no signs of any other scavenger groups as well, which means you are probably the first to discover it. Best to get the best trash before anybody else.
But that disturbance slowly falters your excitement.
This is weird… Nobody is here but me.
The closer you get to the jet, the more unease your heart becomes. You realise too late that you are literally alone in the desert beside an Empire’s jet. Usually those scavengers are as hungry as you are. So why do they not rush here as you did?
You inspect the exterior of the jet. It seems like there is an opening through the window by the pilot's cockpit. You climb it and use your staff to clear out the shattered glass in your way. Carefully, you slip into the jet.
Your eyes glimmer as you see the materials inside. Everything in this jet can bring you lots of fortune, and food for years to come. How exciting.
“Remember, Padawan, greed is ever-consuming. Reach it once, and it devours.”
A snicker forms on your face as you recall one of the many teachings from your master. Despite not being close with him—as you sometimes disagree with how and what he teaches—you still treasure him. He was the closest person you got as a father figure.
You decide to leave the cockpit for now. You will come back later though, but there might be more valuable things to collect outside of the cockpit. Plus, your bag can only carry so much.
You are about to reach the button to the door of the cockpit, but that uneasiness creeps inside again. Something is definitely not right in this jet. Horrid. Ghastly. A ghost of vomit knocks on the back of your throat as you stand here longer.
Gripping your staff tightly, you bring it to your front, as a guard to your body. Hesitantly—hand shaking—you push the button. The door slides open.
A man in a black cloak is standing in front of you.
Violet eyes.
“Ah, there you are, my little mouse. I have been waiting for you.”
Panic rushes to your head. Illusions of murder and gore fill your eyes. You scramble to the cockpit again, climbing the panels to reach the window of escape. Rationality is gone once fear catches up to you.
I must run, I must leave, I must—
Your body halts all of a sudden. The window—the freedom—is just mere centimetres of your fingertips. And it is even harder to breathe right now. Fight it—your mind screams, and it can only do just that.
“E-Ergh…” You groan, trying to break free from the chokehold of his Force. It hurts. Desperation grows stronger when you hear his footsteps nearing you. You push your body forward, opposing the direction of his Force, and when you could move a little, you are yanked back.
Bam!
You are smashed against the wall of the jet. The impact even makes a creak on the metal, and you could only writhe on the floor. The world is spinning, and your back is aching. You blink your eyes rapidly, in an effort to try to get rid of the dizziness. And you finally see dead bodies of what looks to be scavengers lying on the floor of the jet’s body.
He killed them all?
“Oh, dear.” The man steps towards you, a mocking grin on his face. You quickly get up and hold the staff again. You aim the blade at him, threatening to stab, even when you know it is futile. He looks at you, head tilted, before the grin turns into an endearing smile.
“A makeshift spear? Where is your lightsaber?” He asks. His voice does not sound aggressive like any other bastards of the Empire that you have met. He is sultry and speaks gently despite the massive hints of egotism.
“Speak for yourself. Where’s yours? You fight with nothing but the Force?” You lash back, gritting your teeth. It is only a matter of time until your bravery cracks.
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Right. I almost forgot that you and I have only met once. Besides, you were young when we met. My name is Fyodor.” He says. “And of course, I know you. And your master. It was a shame that he died the way he did.”
“You choked him to death.” You grunt. “Fucking monster.”
“My, is that how a Jedi speak? So vulgar.” He cackles. His face is strangely pleased. “Yes, yes. You see, I think weapons are redundant sometimes. Especially if it is just used against a lone knight. But I do not think so lowly about bringing extra weapons to a fight. Everyone plays dirty, even the righteous Jedi.” He slips the edge of his cloak to the side a little, showing you his lightsaber that is hanging at his hip. “I will not be using this against you, little mouse. It is too unfair for you already.”
“Yeah, whatever. I don't care about Empire dogs. In the end, people like you are just serving the Sith.” You say, as you occasionally thrust your weapon towards him as a threat.
Fyodor stares at you for a few seconds before he sighs. “You have… great courage. But will you put that pathetic staff away, little mouse?”
You shake your head, thrusting the staff a couple more times at him. “If you come near, I will—”
“You’ll do nothing. You are weak.”
His words shut you up almost quickly. Fyodor snickers, flicking his wrist with a small gesture enough to toss your staff away from your hands. Defenceless, panic and fear creep up again, crawling inside. Your mind is in shambles now, screaming at how everything you went through just led you to this point.
Is this how your destiny is written?
This is unfair.
But before you can even question yourself more, you are yanked forward—again—and this time, you are hauled towards Fyodor. You let out a frightened yelp. His Force is incredibly fast and strong, incomparable to what you used to feel at the Jedi Temple. You remember how safe and embracing the Force is when it is from a Jedi. But not Fyodor’s. His is horrifyingly cold—thornful vines seeping into your skin, to corrupt every inch of your organs, even your soul.
Your body abruptly stops in the middle of the jet, but you are now much closer to him. With one hand holding up the Force, his other unoccupied one reaches to your face. Your breath hastens, and you manage to fight his grip on you to turn your face away. Alas, Fyodor does not stop—his pale fingers grasp your jaw, turning you to face him again.
He smiles at you.
Damn it.
Damn it all.
This is it.
That cold sensation sharply fractures your head, and your world goes dark.
— ★ —
You used to love the sight of machinery and metals. For you, those were all signs of money and a chance of life.
Your prison, however, bears the same sight of what used to be your favourite.
When you woke up—several days ago—you found yourself to be stuck in this weird prison. You thought it was weird because a warm, complete meal was provided for you soon after you yelled and cursed the poor Stormtroopers who were guarding your cell.
At first you hesitated to eat—who knows, maybe it was poisoned. But your hunger was getting worse, and the Stormtroopers even made comments about the grumbling of your stomach. At last, you ate the food, out of shame.
Every day you wait for the moment the door opens. You have not been visited by anyone other than some servants bringing you meals. You wonder why Fyodor leaves you alive and imprisoned you here instead. You do not want to call yourself a Jedi—especially after you have abandoned that way of life for years—but that bit of your past still follows you wherever you go.
“I can’t just do nothing…” You murmur, looking around the cell. It is pretty big for a single prisoner. You have tried punching and kicking the walls before, and it only makes the troopers outside yell at you to stop. The ceiling is too high. There is nothing else in the room except the bed that is screwed tight to the wall.
You wonder if you can actually reach the ceiling if you jump with the help of the Force. Even better, if you can levitate yourself high enough.
But it has been a while since you actively use the Force. Usually you just use it to grab things far away in your home-jet. You have not been able to learn much due to the Purge, but it does not mean you are inexperienced.
You know it is hard to tap into the Force while being antsy like this. The light side is all about peace and calm. Right now—and for the past few days—you are restless and distressed. The constant fear of what is about to happen to you is not helping either.
So you quickly sit down on the floor, facing the wall instead of the door. You take a deep breath and close your eyes as you try to even your hasty heart. You fight your hardest to block out the noise of this place—you assume this must be one of the Empire’s bases. And most importantly, you are trying to conjure the image of your master in your mind, seeking a connection beyond his death.
The world quiets, and the tension in your nerves soothes.
Focus. Patience. Feel the Force around you. It exists in everything, and it exists within you. Reach it. Embody it.
“And conquer it all.”
You flinch out of your serenity, immediately turning around only to see the man you have been thinking about all these days. You feel like a tiny animal—a prey—slouched on the floor in front of such a sinister presence.
Fyodor is leering down at you, hands on his back. He is smirking a little too hard, and you wonder if you were caught in a den of a sadistic Sith. He is still staring quietly at you, and you do not dare to move a muscle.
It is useless anyway. His Force is disgustingly powerful.
“My Lord,” a Deathtrooper—his guard, probably (does he even need one?)—calls for him at the door. Two similar troopers are waiting for him outside your cell, each of them holding a blaster rifle.
“You two may leave. Please close the door.” Fyodor says, without sparing them a look. They look at each other, equally confused as you, but obey regardless. And when the door to your prison closes again, you find that same fear you felt back in the fighterjet shoots through your whole system.
You hesitantly look at Fyodor, who is now looking around your cell with an uninterested face. He takes a few steps here and there, inspecting things you are not sure about before he finally turns to you.
“How have you been doing, little mouse?”
“… Please don't torture me.”
“I don’t intend that,” He smiles. “Yet.”
You frown, finally forcing yourself to get up from the floor. Fyodor steps closer to you, but pauses when you raise your arm out to maintain distance from him. You are backed into the corner anyway; there is nowhere to run.
“W-What the hell do you want from me?” You ask, glaring at him. He is always smiling; it pisses you off. He looks like he is enjoying everything about this. “Why didn't you kill me?”
“Like I said, I don't intend that.” He says before he waves his finger lightly, and it causes you to drop your arm. You grimace—he is exploiting his Force to push your buttons at this point.
Fyodor chuckles at you before he walks to the bed and sits on it. He pats the spot beside him. “Please sit here, little mouse. I will talk to you, assuming that you are less hostile towards me now.”
“… You wanna talk to me?” You ask.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’ll explain when you are settled down.” He pats the mattress again. You are getting more and more confused.
“I think I’ll stand here instead,” You reply, hugging yourself as a source of comfort. Now Fyodor is the one frowning.
“I don’t intend to hurt you, right now, if that is what you are concerned about.”
“No, it’s just…” You bite the inside of your cheek. “No offence, but— Actually? I mean full offence. Screw you and full offence, your presence feels foully cold, and I don’t think I can focus on anything that you’re going to say to me.”
Instead of being offended, however, Fyodor cackles and nods at your words. He leans back, relaxed, arms crossed. “For a Padawan who couldn’t complete her training, you have a keen sense of others’ Force. I applaud you.”
“I don’t need your approval.”
“But what if you actually do?” That smirk returns again—cryptic as ever. “You have the talent to embrace the dark side. Your anger, your desperation—what you need is a teacher who can actually guide you.”
“Are you saying that my master did me wrong or something?” You grunt.
“Precisely.” He says before he gets up and offers his hand to you. “I would like you to be my apprentice.”
You scoff, speechless. The audacity of a Sith, really. After his troops and his guild destroyed everything you had, he still dares to think that you would just succumb to that so easily. “You people are unbelievable…”
“You have yet to see what I see, little mouse.”
“I can see the ridiculousness in your offer, yes!” You yell, and lunge at him, gripping his black coat. “Just what do you think my answer would be? ‘Oh, yes, I would love to work with someone who destroyed my planet’? For fuck’s sake, do you think I will accept hands full of blood of my people?”
Fyodor is unaffected by your rage, and he just laughs lightly. “Correct.”
“You’re a monster.” You say. “I wish I’d kill you.”
“You can,” He smiles. “If this…” He circles his finger in front of your face, tracing your features ever so slightly. “If this anger goes on… if you embody this rage and fear and irrationality, nothing can stop you. Nothing will hurt you anymore. And I promise you, one day, you will rip my heart out of my chest yourself, little mouse.”
Realisation hits you like a blow to the chest once you hear his luring words. You quickly let go of him, stepping back. Chest heaving up and down fast, you try to calm yourself out of your anger. Fyodor’s eyes are still dark as ever, yet there is excitement in their shimmer.
You retreat to the other corner of your prison cell, away from him. He reaches out his hand again, making a gesture of ‘Come here’ to you. You shake your head, refusing him. You remember the stories of how someone can fall into the dark side—to a path of everlasting suffering—and you thought it was absurd back then. How could someone not want to get out of suffering? How could someone drown themselves in such evil?
You think you get it now.
Fyodor sighs, although he does not look less pleased. “Yes, well, what did I expect from a passionate Padawan such as yourself? But that is exactly what I need to be, correct? Patience—just like what your dead Master taught you.”
You want to respond to him—‘Keep him out of your dirty mouth!’ or something like that, but you hold yourself back. You do not want to entertain him, or else he will pry deeper into your mind and ruin you inside out. The last thing you want to happen right now is to lose your connection with the Force—the light side of it.
“Little mouse?” Fyodor calls you, but you say nothing. He scoffs in disbelief. “My, are you going to be mute for the rest of your life?”
You do nothing. His smile withers finally. He turns his attention away from you, and you watch him look around the cell again, like he did at the first moment he stepped inside here. You are curious, but you do not want to talk to him.
You are terrified.
You stare at him quietly, watching him finally take a couple of steps to the door. A little sigh of relief leaves your mouth as you think he is finally leaving you alone. Your shoulders relax bit by bit—
“A-Ah!” You yelp when your body is dragged roughly across the prison cell. Your eyes shut tight, preparing for another hurtful impact.
But instead, your body slams into another, arms wrapped nicely around you. Your breath hitches as you look up to see Fyodor is smiling at you now, a little too fondly. You try to move away, but you are still held by his Force—the same thorned sensation courses through you.
He places his hands on your shoulders, squeezing you slightly before he grips your face to make you look at the door.
“Have you tried using the Force on the door?” He asks, voice strangely gentle right by your ear, sending more chills down your spine. “Hm? Have you?”
“… I-I don’t want to play your game.”
“Play with me for now.” He rubs your arms up and down. “And I’ll let you leave.”
“… Will you really? Or you’re just lying and will snatch me back into this cell and lock the door once I step out?”
Fyodor chuckles—he is so close with you now, body to body, and his mere essence of energy is shadowing yours. You find it hard to concentrate your own Force the longer he holds you. He leans down, lips barely touching your ear—“You will see, little mouse.”
A tiny whimper escapes your lips as you turn your head away. You can only move your head, as he is holding the rest of your body with the Force. Fyodor tightens his grip on you again. “Well, will you answer me? Have you tried it?”
“Y-Yes, but it just doesn’t come out.” You reply, shamefully.
“Are you aware of why?”
“Because I’m imprisoned, isolated, and scared for my life, smarty.” You say, irritated. “And there are idiotic, wasteful pawns of troopers who always have something to say about me, as if they are any better!” You complain a little louder, wishing the stormtroopers outside hear you.
“There’s nobody else but us in this area, sweetheart.”
You groan, embarrassed. That was awkward, but you do not even care much about your dignity right now. You have been humiliated enough.
Fyodor chuckles before he slides his hand down your arm and slowly lifts it. “Why don’t you try to open the door by your Force? If you could, well, I told you before, I’ll let you leave. For now.”
“And I told you, it doesn’t come out because this place is stressing me out.”
“And I told you to try.” He says before he circles your stunned body—a doll he puppeteers. One of his hands is still lingering on you, tracing and caressing your figure. “What do you feel right now, little mouse? Tell me.”
You purse your lips. “I’m annoyed, mostly.”
“And?”
You hesitate, taking a deep breath. You do not want to be vulnerable in front of an enemy, but what choice do you have now? Your eyes can only follow his circling movement, as you feel his hand running all over your body—from your shoulder, to your waist, and even your stomach. Your breath gets shakier.
“A-And,” You try to focus back on his question. “And I’m pissed off at everything that happened. At you, at the Empire.”
“Good,” Fyodor grins before he stops behind you again, pressing himself against you. He trails his hand on your arm again. “You’ve suffered for a long time by yourself. The death of your family, the massacre of your people, and the slaughter of your master and friends. You are alone.”
You bite your lips hard, trying to deafen yourself to his words. You know he is just trying to rile you up.
“But no more, little mouse,” Fyodor says, seizing your jaw before he tilts your head back, forcing you to look at him. “No more of loneliness, no more of weakness. If you are with me, your power, deep within you, shall grow limitless.”
“Y-Your words d-don’t tempt me…”
“No,” He smiles before you see him reaching for your head. “But your memories do.”
You gasp as you feel his Force creeping up into your brain, vines taking roots to dig deeper through the memories you have subdued for years. Headache fills in, and you try to push him out of your head with your own Force—and it hurts so much.
“Such an unfortunate girl,” Fyodor whispers, with a hint of satisfaction in his voice.
Flashes of destruction of your planet—Empire jets and militias ravaging the land and the sky, fire scorching its flora and fauna, leaving nothing but ashes, cold bodies of your friends, red beams obliterating figures of your families. Faces become none, homes become shreds.
“All alone, all by yourself. No one but you to understand your own heart.”
Flashes of the Purge—the yells and cries of your fellow Padawans, red beams and blades mutilating bones and flesh, the usher of your master, ‘Save yourself,’ he said, ‘Live, go on, live,” he pleaded.
“You felt it, don’t you? That same cold sensation when you saw me strangling your master to death… with nothing but the Force. If only, little mouse, if only you could be stronger, maybe his life could be spared.”
His Force unravels more and more, stripping you bare.
Violet eyes, his knowing smile, his excitement, red blades, blood, screams of your friends, cries of your families, shrills of your own voice as you watch them all die
die, die, die, they are the ones who should die and perish to nothingness—
Every
Single
One.
Bang!
“Ha—!” You jump, eyes wide, when violent flickers of lightning erupt from your fingertips, blasting the metal door open with a loud crash. You retract your hand, no longer held by any foreign force. And you find yourself shaking like crazy—the worst ever. But the relief you feel from the success of breaking open the door to your freedom is immaculate right now.
I did it.
You immediately turn to Fyodor with a light gasp of delight.
Wait. Why did I turn to him?
And your mouth moves faster than you think. “I-I did it.”
What did I seek from him? What do I want from him?
He is only staring at you with a soft yet enigmatic smile before he suddenly leans a little forward. “One.” He says.
“H-Huh?”
“Two…”
He’s counting.
At that very moment, you realise you must run for your life now—the door is open, and he promised he would let you leave. The adrenaline rush spikes up higher in you as you scramble out of your prison, only to see that the place you are trapped in is incredibly big and complex.
No matter.
You just need to run for now. Fyodor is letting you leave, as he promised.
“Three.”
“A-Ack!” You yelp as a tight invisible force harrows your neck, cutting off your source of breath. The rampant fright in you does you worse, and you are beginning to get lightheaded. Eyes rolled back, your legs are staggering before you are dragged back into your confinement—into his embrace. And his Force around your neck is replaced by his own cold hand.
The door shuts again, and his chuckle accompanies you into the unconscious.
“Good little mouse. I’m so proud of you.”
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