#jedi survivor fanfiction

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

the way i need enemies to lovers smut with cal where reader is a sith lord and gets hurt but cal being the good man that he is, takes her back to his place and things happen yk 😰

i love this so much and I hope it's alright that I changed the prompt a teensy bit. instead of being sith, reader is just a darkside-user more generally. also gender neutral. thank you so much for the request!

Balance (Cal Kestis x reader)

Summary: You encounter Cal Kestis a few too many times, and you can't explain the way that the Force seems to be conspiring to put you two together in a room.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ minors DNI; gn!reader; inappropriate use of the Force; reader is a darkside user and honestly doesn't know how fucked they are; semi-graphic injuries; porn with plot; toxic relationship lowkey; blowjob; mutual masturbation (sort of); penetrative sex; unprotected sex (pls be safe irl y'all); if I missed anything please let me know!

Word Count: 12,765 my hand slipped

The first time you encounter Cal Kestis, you nearly kill him.

You’d heard the rumors, of course, whispered with bright eyes and furtive expressions in shithole Outer Rim cantinas of a flame-headed being cutting down Inquisitors and Imperials. When you first overheard a snippet of the tall tale, you’d nearly choked on your cheap spotchka. Right, you remember thinking, a fiery figure opposing the Empire. Did they run out of good gossip today? 

Most rumors have at least a kernel of truth at their centers, and you figured it was the same with this one. And besides, you are indifferent to the Empire, at best; you’ve been avoiding their attention as much as you can, but you suspect that the thick cloak of the darkside you wear like a mantle has kept most of the Inquisitorius oblivious. They’re looking for Jedi, who cannot resist continuing to do good in a galaxy rotted to its core, and you stopped being a Jedi long before the Empire rose to power. They probably pay no mind to one lone figure who straddles the line of light and dark, temptation and virtue. 

But that doesn’t mean Jedi pay no mind to you. Most of them, you can avoid; you fight when necessary. Currently, you’re thinking a fight might just be necessary. You’re on some planet you’ve already forgotten the name of, densely populated and urban. You stand with one foot propped on the edge of a rooftop, neon lights glimmering on wet permacrete. Rain drizzles in a fine mist. You gaze placidly across the gap to the next building—to the flame-headed being. Without even needing to try, you feel his Force signature: he burns in the Force, even as he tries to hide it. His coppery hair ruffles in the slight breeze, stubble darkening his face. 

With a steadying breath, you tilt your head to one side. “Got a name, friend?”

“Not one you need to know,” he calls back. His posture is loose, casual, but you sense the whipcord tension in his Force aura; he’s on the alert. 

As he probably should be. 

“If I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?” You offer him a disarming smile. “Seems only fair, right? Equitable partnership.” 

He snorts. “There’s no partnership.” 

“Fine,” you huff. You tell him your name anyways, and he mouths it silently, but none of that tension dissipates. You take the moment to appraise him a little more closely: lean body, self-assured slant of his shoulders, faded burn scar cut across his face. Heat licks up your spine.

“Cal,” he eventually says. “Cal Kestis.”

You smile wide at his honeyed voice. “Nice to meet you, Cal Kestis. Mind moving out of the way so I can continue on my merry way?” 

“Afraid I can’t do that,” he says, but there’s no trace of regret in that gorgeous voice, only immense exhaustion. 

Your saber hilt twitches against your back as your hand flexes nearly out of habit. Taking another deep, cleansing breath, you shrug as if his answer means nothing. The dark tide of the Force surges through your body, tingling in your fingertips, sharpening the smoggy night air into fine detail. “Well, can’t say I didn’t ask nicely.” 

And then you leap, going from a dead standstill to a flurry of action in the space of a heartbeat. As your unstable crimson blade screeches to life, bathing the rooftops in flickering light, an answering snap-hiss echoes around you. Blue beam clashes with red, showering sparks over both of you. 

Oh, he’s strong, and for some reason that makes your skin flush. You bare your teeth in a mockery of a smile and shove. He staggers back, feet slipping for a moment in the gravel surface of the rooftop, before he recovers. 

“I’ll give you this one chance to stand down,” he says, voice thick and low and oh how it makes you shiver. His eyes glint in the blue light of his saber. 

“Funny,” you snap, “I was just going to say the same to you.” 

A frown tugs at his mouth. Lowering into a defensive stance, his eyes never leave yours as you languidly swing your saber in a half circle around you, content to draw this out. You’ve killed your number of Jedi in the name of self-preservation—necessary sacrifices to ensure the continued balance of Light and Dark—but there’s something about the way his green eyes harden into sharp gems the longer you twirl your blade, the casual power in his veined forearms, the absolutely pure gold energy he radiates in the Force. 

With an aggravated shake of your head, you press the attack. Overhead, backhand, thrust, thrust, parry—you and Cal settle into a dangerous dance. Bright light bursts where your sabers connect, sparks skittering across the gravel. For anyone watching nearby, the pair of you probably look like blurs of red and blue light—another light fixture among this technicolor urban landscape. 

But for anyone skilled in the Force, the radiance of your sabers dims in comparison to the pillars of energy you both become. One golden and bright as a thousand suns, shot through with faint tendrils of inky blackness; one glowing in shadow, a black hole ringed by its event horizon, smears of golden light. 

Both the light and the dark are present in this fight, and you smile grimly. In all things, balance, as your master used to say. 

The memory is a distraction, and Cal manages to break through your guard and punch your nose. Searing pressure spikes through your head, warmth dribbling down your face. 

You merely grin at him with blood-covered lips. “You’ll have to do better than that, Kestis.” 

And again the two of you become a flurry of attacks, parries, counterattacks, feints. In the distance, the low drone of a police siren reverberates off the tall glass buildings of the downtown area. You’ve been spotted. Time to end this now. 

You make a show of appearing to be tiring, breathing coming in heavy gasps, your saber still meeting Cal’s in time to stop him from separating your limbs from your body, but just a fraction slower than what you’d begun with. And you give ground. Just a half step at first, and then several steps. Cal seizes the opportunity to push you back, force you into submission, gain the upperhand—

Not knowing he’d lost this fight the moment he’d placed himself in your path. 

The Force is with you. In the Force, your arms seem to glow with terrible, purple-black ultraviolet power as you surrender yourself to its currents. There is no longer you and your saber; your saber is you. There is no longer you and Cal Kestis; there is you and the last piece of yourself that you’re willing to atrophy. Veins of golden Light criss-cross under your darkly shining skin—and as you stand firm once again with your back to the low roof edge, you will those golden veins to flush, to swell. You’re going to triumph here, and it’ll be with the approval of the full Force.

Cal’s face gleams with sweat, his brow furrowed, delicious mouth curved down in a frown. You lick your lips. 

“Yield, Kestis,” you say. One last chance. 

He just grunts, and in a blur of motion, separates the hilt of his saber. Another beam of blue snaps to life. Fear flares in you for a moment—but the Force remains with you, and you let the emotion siphon into your cracked, bleeding kyber. Plasma spits off the sides of your blade as you block attack after attack after attack; you’re an infinite well of patience—but that siren is getting closer, and you know that time, unlike your patience, is of the essence. 

In a flash of inspiration, you reverse your grip on your hilt mid-parry, then swipe the angry blade out and up. A cry of pain, and one of the blue sabers retracts as the hilt clatters to the gravel. Cal stumbles back, cradling his left arm to his chest, his remaining saber held in front of him. 

You can’t help the surge of pleasure at besting your opponent, even temporarily. As you twirl your saber again, a spotlight suddenly beams down on the two of you. With a grimace, you swing the saber down towards the soft juncture of Cal’s neck where it meets his shoulder—

And freeze when you catch a glimpse of the calm, resigned look in his eyes. Your blade hovers mere centimeters off his skin. 

Amid the roar of hovercraft, the police siren, and the rushing of blood in your ears, he murmurs your name.

“Kark it all,” you spit. Gathering the Force within you, you shove him back. A shout of surprise, a flash of blue, and then he’s tumbling over the edge of the building. You retract your blade and dash in the opposite direction without a second thought. 

Your master had always been honest with you about how little he, or anyone, truly knew about the mysteries of the Force. During your years as a padawan, you spent countless hours in meditation chambers deep below the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, feeling the constant ebb and flow of the Force around you. The first time he brought you there, your master explained in hushed tones how the temple had been built millennia ago over an old Sith temple. The Force resided in a nexus point there; streams of energy flowed from all over the galaxy and converged—and then diverged—from the temple. 

Sitting in meditation now, you breathe deeply and steadily as the memory crests over you. 

“But, Master,” you asked, “if the temple used to be a Sith stronghold, doesn’t that mean the dark side of the Force is strong here, too?” 

His kind, patient eyes crinkled as he smiled. “That is right, my Padawan. In all things, there must be balance. Light and dark only exist because of each other.”

A frown tugged at your lips at that, and you cocked your head to the side. “But aren’t we supposed to resist the darkness?” 

“Yes,” he said. “The darkness is an overbalance—an overabundance—of emotions, passions, fears. The Sith, and all who use the dark side, manipulate the Force to their will, instead of letting their emotions, like the Force, flow through them.” 

Something about that didn’t feel right. “But—” 

Your master held up one hand, forestalling the line of questioning you were about to launch into. He stepped through a large, arched doorway into a dim, echoing room. “Come, Padawan. Perhaps meditating will provide the answers you seek.” 

You inhale slowly and open your eyes, squinting against the bright blue glare of the hyperspace lane. No matter how long or how hard you meditated under the temple, you grew no closer to an answer than by asking your master. Despite your frustration, you kept returning to the chambers below the Great Hall. The Force there was...comforting. Balanced. And yet, so infuriating in its mystery. You could feel both the light and the dark, and neither were good or bad. The Force just...was. Perhaps it was the long hours you spent in the tunnels and vast echoic chambers there that you developed your keen sense for the composition of the Force.

Standing, you groan softly at the ache in your knees. As you settle back into the thinly padded pilot’s seat, you massage at the joints, wondering just when you’d gotten old. 

Probably when that droid shot through your master’s heart on Geonosis, and you’d physically felt the Force tip off-balance half a galaxy away, deep in meditation on Coruscant. The memory is painful, and digs its festering claws into your heart yet again. 

The Council hadn’t even needed to tell you your master had perished in the opening salvo of the Clone Wars. The morning after his funeral, with both his and your sabers in your pack, you’d fled the temple.

The old fool, you think, slashing the memory of him from your awareness.

By now, you’re used to the pit of emotions yawning in your very essence. You hold onto your fears, your angers, your anxieties—but also your loves, your passions, your desires. Without even really thinking about it, you reach for the loose compartment that holds your master’s saber. Its duranium-plated hilt is slowly corroding, matching the slow degradation of yourself. The blade jumps to life with a snap-hiss. The green glow it casts is almost sickly, the blade bright, but thin and tremulous. It’s been weak since he died.

As you stare, eyes burning, into the flickering core of your master’s blade, you reach into the Force for the kyber at its heart. No matter how many times you brush against the crystal with your mind, you’re never prepared. A screech, unending and agonized and fearful, rends through your consciousness. For a moment, the green sputters, crimson taking its place. 

You drop the saber, gasping. The hilt clatters to the floor and blade retracts, and you’re left again in the pressing silence of hyperspace.

In all things, balance, drift the words through you once again. Green against crimson. Crimson for blue. You think about Cal Kestis, his blinding presence; you think of your vacuous silhouette; and you take all the rage you can muster and twist it into your own heart like a dagger. The joists of your ship groan in response.

The second time you meet Cal Kestis, you almost wish you’d killed him all those years ago.

Just a few months after that first encounter on rain-slicked rooftops, you caught wind of a rumor that the flame-headed being attacked the Fortress Inquisitorius itself. This time, you didn’t discount the story, having witnessed first hand—for however short a time—the Force-empowered determination of that single human being. None of the rumors about Cal Kestis surprise you anymore. 

But you routinely have to curse his name as the Inquisitors have now turned their attention beyond just Jedi. The cloak of the darkness is no longer enough on its own to hide you from the long gaze of the Empire. You’ve taken to hiding out on barely populated Outer Rim worlds, hanging around long enough to establish some kind of routine, before the gentle ripples of the Force lapping against your subconscious grow into towering, dangerous waves. And then you hop back in your ship, barely more than scrap welded to a hyperdrive, and scuttle off to the next system. 

Which is where you find yourself now. Koboh could be promising. As you crouch at the edge of an exposed cliff, you study the cosmic anomaly that orbits the planet. The Abyss. You’re not sure what it is, but whatever it is, it creates a strong enough disturbance in the Force that you’re hopeful it will mask your own signature. And, you admit to yourself as your gaze lowers to the breathtaking landscape spread out below you, you’ve hidden in worse places the last few years. Koboh seems promising, indeed.

You spend a few days studying the locals, trying to get a feel for how life works here. For the most part, everyone here seems like they’re from off-world—which is good, because it means you won’t stand out for very long as a newcomer. Everyone here is a newcomer. And everyone here is more concerned, it seems, with the things that lie in the dirt than in the world aboveground. All the better for you. 

Concealing your saber hilt against your back like always, you make sure your ship, bucket of bolts that it is, is well-hidden enough to dissuade any potential scrappers. Tucked high on an outcropping, you hope most folks won’t care too much to check out the shiny metal bits not covered by plant matter. Not when it’s several dozen feet above solid ground. 

And you make sure you look as uninteresting as possible. With your saber out of view, you could pass for a refugee without issue. Force knows you’ve been weeks without a proper shower; you can feel the dirt and grime on every inch of your skin. Your clothing, usually neat and tucked in, is dusty, torn, and stained with dried blood. 

Yes, you’ll fit in nicely here. 

As you pass beneath a metallic archway decorated with a massive horned skull, you reach out in the Force, making sure that none of the town’s inhabitants can get the drop on you. You bypass squat, square buildings that are probably homes of some of the folks here. None seem of interest. Instead, your gaze is trained on the larger, multi-story building near the center of town. As you draw nearer, you realize the sign above the door reads, “Saloon.” Perfect. 

The door opens to admit you into a hallway; at the end, you wait in front of another door for a moment while a mechanical eye studies you. Chattering in a deep, unintelligible voice, the eye withdraws, and the second door whooshes open to reveal the barroom. 

No one turns as you descend the few steps to the floor. Crates and clutter stock most of the booths along the side wall, a few folks talking quietly at smaller tables or sitting alone and nursing a drink. Quiet, staticky radio music plays over the speakers. 

Behind the bar is a tall, four-armed droid who skids to a halt where you lean against the counter.

“You’re a new face,” the droid says. “Name’s Monk. What can I get you?” 

You quirk an eyebrow and give the droid, Monk, an alias, your sixth one in as many months. Then you say, “Got any spotchka?” 

“Indeed I do,” Monk says. “Shall I start a tab?” 

“I’ll pay up front,” you say with a shake of your head. 

Monk gives you the cost as he pours the glowing blue liquid into a clean glass, and you slide the credits across the counter. The alcohol’s familiar burn slides down your throat as you lean your back against the bar. Over the rim of your glass, you study the other patrons here at the saloon. Dusty, tired figures, the lot of them. In the Force, they are marginal, giving off only nominal signatures, no different than most other living beings. Most of them aren’t important enough to even warrant a clear affiliation with light or dark; they just are. Your upper lip quirks in a grimace.

Extending your awareness out farther, you’re not sure what you’re searching for, but you suppose you’ll know it when you find it. The hilt of your saber digs uncomfortably into your skin, but you ignore it, using the pain to sharpen your focus. You sense more townsfolk going to and fro outside the saloon, but none of them of any more note than those inside.

Something in you itches. Frowning, you lower the glass of spotchka and try to focus in on that feeling. It’s under your skin, out of reach, just behind your spine, but if you just push a little farther—

You gasp, cringing away from the sudden supernova that blinds your awareness in the Force. Cal Kestis. It has to be Cal. No one else burns quite like him. 

You yank your Force signature back into your body, hoping he didn’t feel you like you felt him. Figuring you only have moments to get out, you make a split-second decision between the several other doors leading away from this main room. Spotchka glass still in hand, you dart for the nearest door, and it slides open to reveal a staircase that winds upward. You take the steps two at a time. At the landing, you hiss at the sight of a second-floor loft. Stairs seem to continue along the other side, continuing to wind upward, but before you can run for them, a familiar voice drifts up from below. 

“Hey, Monk, good to see you,” says Cal Kestis. 

Your body flushes with warmth. Kriff. 

Monk says something you can’t quite make out. 

“Another newcomer?” Cal says. “I’ll make sure to say hi when I see them.” 

Grimacing, you creep across the floor toward the second staircase. Your foot just touches the bottom step when a voice behind you calls your name—your real name, not the alias you gave the droid. 

You sigh, chin falling toward your chest. “Cal Kestis.” 

“How did you find me?” 

His green gaze burns into you almost as hot as his Force signature. You roll your eyes; typical Jedi, thinking the world revolves around him.

“I didn’t know you were here,” you say. “I’m...laying low.” 

He crosses his arms across his chest, and you’re distracted for a moment by the way his muscles bulge against the fabric of his shirt. “I’m supposed to believe that.”

“Believe whatever you want to, Jedi,” you bite out. “I’ll go find my own desolate planet.” 

“Can’t let you do that,” he says, following behind you as you climb the stairs. 

“I’d love to see you stop me.” 

You feel the disturbance in the Force and brace for it. His attempt to yank you back down the stairs fails as you push against it—but you can’t push past it. Equally matched. Balanced. 

With a growl, you spin on your heel and point an accusing finger at Cal. “Are you really sure you want to do this right now?” 

His eyes narrow at you as you stand there, chest heaving with emotion, both of you crackling with energy in the Force. You down the rest of your spotchka and shatter the glass on the ground. Cal doesn’t flinch. The longer you stand there, the hotter your face flushes. Ignoring the impulse to shudder, you don’t miss the way his green eyes study your face, your posture, your signature. 

“I know you,” he finally says. “From the temple.” 

You snort in derision. “Good for you, kid.” 

“I was still a youngling when the Clone Wars started,” he says. “I...understand what it’s like to lose your master.” 

Your vision pulses black for a moment, and on instinct you reach out with a clawed hand. Cal’s eyes widen in fear as his hands fly to his throat, grabbing at the invisible hand you squeeze there.

“Don’t. Ever. Presume to know anything about me,” you hiss. “You know nothing, Cal Kestis.” 

“You’re—right—” he chokes out. “I’m—sorry—”

You shove, the Force exploding through your palm as he slams into the opposite wall. Sputtering, he coughs, rubbing at his throat. 

“I don’t need your pity, Jedi.” You spit the title like a curse—like the curse that it is—and turn to take the staircase up and out. The door at the top admits you to the open-air roof, the cosmic explosion of the Abyss looming overhead. 

You step over the edge of the roof, calling on the Force to cushion your descent. At the bottom, you ignore the flabbergasted expressions on a few of the locals as you stalk off. Past the saloon, past the stables, through the shallow river—you’re not sure how far you walk, but it’s dark by the time that you realize you’re lost. 

“Kriff,” you sigh. 

Thankfully, whether by luck or by the sheer force of presence of your Force signature, you’ve not been bothered by any of the (frankly terrifying) wildlife on this planet. Tentatively, you reach out, but you find nothing but a few docile Nekkos and, farther off, a dozing bilemaw. 

In the dim light provided by the Abyss and the Shattered Moon hanging heavy in the sky, you determine that a shallow cliff alcove nearby will be as good a place as any to rest until morning. Settling under the rocky overhang, you exhale a shaky breath. 

It’s been a long time since you let your emotions take control like that. You allow yourself to feel them, even to use them to your advantage—but you rarely lose control. Not recently, anyways. 

You bare your teeth at the thought of Cal Kestis. He’s by far only the latest in a string of former Jedi you’ve encountered, but none of them, even the ones who you remember from your years as a padawan, created this amount of turmoil in you. So why him? 

Should probably just ask him myself, huh, you muse, hearing a twig snap nearby. You don’t need to look into the Force to know who it is. 

“Who’s following who now?” you call. 

With a familiar hum, a blue blade sings as it springs to life, illuminating the alcove you’re hunkered in, as well as Cal’s lean figure. You’re too exhausted to be angry at this point, but a different kind of heat licks up your spine as you push up onto your feet. The warmth settles between your thighs, throbbing uncomfortably as he raises the saber overhead, his arm muscles flexing. 

“Had to make sure you didn’t hurt anyone,” he says, halting just a few feet away. 

“No one out here to hurt,” you say. “What are you really doing here, Kestis?” 

He hesitates, shifting his weight between his feet, eyes not meeting yours. Squinting, you extend a tendril of awareness toward him—past the burnished gold aura, past the shell of Jedi honor he projects like a shield, until you brush against one of those tiny black cracks in his signature. He stiffens, shifts his stance into a defensive half-crouch. There is darkness in him. 

And there is lightness in you, sighs a voice that sounds very much like your master’s. 

You ignore it. 

“Well?” you prompt. 

“I- I don’t know,” he says. 

You snort. “Well, when you figure it out, let me know.” Sinking back into a meditative pose, you let your eyes slide shut and effectively shut out all things Cal Kestis.

At least, that’s what you try to do. The karking idiot seems to have decided that you’re not a threat—a poor miscalculation on his part—as his saber retracts and you hear the sounds of someone settling into a meditative trance next to you. Peeking one eye open, you glance over to find him sat back on his heels, palms resting on his thighs, his face blank and serene. He’s beautiful like this, you think. 

“I could kill you right now, you know,” you say, letting your eye fall shut again. 

“You won’t,” he says, sounding so matter-of-fact that you’re almost convinced that you really wouldn’t. 

Then you shake your head. “Don’t be so certain.” 

“You didn’t kill me five years ago. You won’t kill me now.” 

Gnawing at your cheek, you find you have no response for that. 

The third time you face Cal Kestis, you want to hate him. 

Koboh proves to be big enough for two powerful Force users. You keep to the wilderness, and he sticks to the town. For the most part, anyway. You occasionally catch a glimpse of copper hair as he explores the planet, following all the inane rumors of the locals. Why he even lowers himself to their level, you’ll never understand. 

And besides, Koboh has turned out to be a perfect place to continue your search for answers about the Force. You’ve never wanted to stop knowing, never stopped asking “But why?” The Abyss above is a physical presence most days, nearly oppressive in its crushing weight. It absolutely deafens you in the Force whenever you try to reach for it, painful screeching assaulting your senses. There’s something behind the noise, though, but it’s too far, too deep, for you to reach it. 

You haven’t seen Cal in a while now. And you’re fine with that. You’d watched his ship take off in the early hours of the morning a few weeks ago, and it still hasn’t returned. 

Shrugging, you decide that today is as good a day as any to do some exploring of your own. You’ve watched Cal enough to know that there are hidden vaults on this planet, and from what you’ve been able to tell, they’re old. Maybe they’ll have some answers. 

The sunrise peeks over the craggy cliffside, casting a gentle pink hue over the world, still hushed in its predawn slumber. Dew collects on your pant legs as you pass through a small clearing of scrubby bushes. A couple dozen feet up the hill glints a hint of gold. None of the Koboh prospectors would have left this alone unless it were for a reason, you figure. Maybe this is one of the vaults. 

Resting a palm gently on its surface, the gold is cool to the touch. Glyphs in Basic and other languages spiral around the circular door-like structure. When you examine it through the Force, you feel the mechanism that keeps it locked, but no matter how much you push, pull, yank, shove, the door remains sealed. 

“Dank farrik,” you curse. “How does Cal do it?” 

“Very carefully,” a familiar warm voice says from behind you. 

You barely glance over your shoulder, flushing from the embarrassment of being caught unawares, but somehow unsurprised he’s managed to find you. You should have known that even thinking of his absence would cause it to revert. 

“Very funny,” you say. “What secrets are you hiding, Jedi?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Sith,” he says. 

As he sidles up alongside you, you glare at him. “I’m not a Sith.”

“Coulda fooled me,” he says with a shrug. “Red saber, strong in the dark side, angry all the time.” 

Huffing, you roll your eyes. His hair is longer than it has been since you first met him, and there’s another scar, pink and shiny, on his upper bicep, like he’d been cut with a vibroblade. As you study him, you also realize he looks...older. More tired. More weary. 

“You look like bantha fodder,” you say helpfully. 

He hums noncommittally. “Do you want into the vault or not?” 

“You’re gonna let me in?” you say, eyebrows raising in surprise. 

With a half-shrug, he says, “I’ve already explored this one. Nothing left in it for you to gain, except maybe some manners.” 

He reveals a small, handheld device that, when he raises it toward the golden door, blips. The door expands open, revealing a turbolift in the center of the floor. 

“Why are you helping me?” you ask, not moving from your spot. Suspicion bubbles in the back of your mind. 

Cal pockets the device and gestures for you to go ahead, giving you a sardonic two-finger salute. “It’s in my nature.” 

With that, he takes a step back, then another, and then pivots and trudges back downhill, tucking his fiery hair behind his ears. 

The vault teaches you something, alright, but it isn’t manners like Cal hoped. Even two century-old tech and warbled messages from a Jedi named Santari Khri cannot lift the veil of jade that rests over your eyes. The Order has always been faulty. The Order has always been weak. Your master was always fated to die, and you to wander, adrift. You grind your teeth in anger. Is that all that exists for you? For anyone? To live and die at the whim of some cosmic, unknowable power? 

The vault also reminds you of your mortality. As you work yourself into a silent rage about the unfairness of the galaxy, at the cruel and nonsensical nature of the Force, you miscalculate the distance between two crumbling stone platforms. With a Force-assisted leap, your arms windmill as you keep yourself balanced, but your feet only just manage to catch the edge of the platform. You wobble, anger bursting into fear, as the stone grates against itself before your stomach is in your throat as you plummet straight down. 

The rush of frigid air steals the scream from your lungs. Try as you might, the Force refuses to help you grasp onto the quickly receding lip of this chasm. 

And then pain rockets up your legs in jagged, arcing lines from your heels to your hips, and you collapse. 

It’s only by sheer willpower that you don’t black out. Grit your teeth. Take a deep breath. Curse until the pain abates. 

You take stock of your body. Your legs are on fire, and any attempt to move them sends a fresh wave of lava licking up your nerve endings. Otherwise, you wipe away blood from scrapes on your palms and tenderly poke at the bruises already forming on your ribs. Around you, myriad rocks and small boulders litter the cracked, moist ground. Mist clings to the spaces in between. When you look up, the ledge you fell from is completely obscured. 

“No Jedi wisdom for me, Santari Khri?” you croak as you gently shift into an upright position. Your teeth squeak from clenching your jaw against the pain, but you manage to prop yourself up with your back against a sizable rock. 

The mist deadens your words. Instead of an echo, it’s like the words get clipped short before they can fully materialize in the air. The back of your neck pricks. But, studying your surroundings once more, there is nothing for you to do but meditate. Perhaps, for once, the Force will provide.

You have no way of knowing how much time has passed as you sit in meditation, methodically stretching your awareness to its limits, trying to snag onto any signature in the Force that might help you out of this predicament. Your butt goes completely numb, as do your legs—a fact you feel should incite panic in your already-tight chest, but you can’t find it in you to care. By the time that you’re ready to give up searching, your throat tickles with dryness and your stomach begins to feel empty. 

But just as you heave a sigh, rising out of the meditative trance, the Force tugs on your awareness. Furrowing your brow, you concentrate: up, up up up, and to the left. Something steadily growing closer. Something bright, and familiar, and warm. 

Cal. 

For once, you’re grateful for his annoyingly Jedi-like qualities. You track his presence through the Force, unable to do more than monitor as he seems to approach your location with frustrating slowness. 

“Come on,” you mutter, mouth thick. “I’m here. Come find me like you always do.” 

After what feels like another small eternity, you finally open your eyes and peer up through the opaque mist. Above, you swear you hear boots crunching on loose rock, and the distant bwee-boop of a droid. 

“Down here,” you half call, half croak. The words don’t seem to make it past your throat. 

For a terrible moment, you think Cal is going to search the seemingly empty vault and, not finding you within, leave. You can’t tell, through either his footsteps or his Force signature, what he’s doing up there. At the last moment, a burst of panic seizing your limbs, you lean forward with a groan and retrieve your saber, still miraculously tucked into your waistband. 

The spitting crimson blade is a comfort as it screeches to life in the oppressive space.

A voice calls your name, cautious. 

“Here!” you shout, voice cracking painfully in an effort to be heard. 

Blue flame bursts to life somewhere above—much farther above than you initially thought—and you nearly sob in relief. 

“Watch your eyes,” Cal shouts down, and you have only a moment to register what he means before you duck, retracting your blade. The unmistakable sound of saber scoring through rock reaches you, heated pebbles showering down on your covered head, and then the sound of two soft leather-clad feet touching down beside you. 

Wary, you raise your head. Cal crouches next to you, his face painted with a cautious kind of concern. 

“You came back?” You don’t mean to make it a question, but the softness in his eyes, the gentleness with which he ghosts his hands over your many injuries, makes you reconsider your previous anger toward him. At least, for a moment. 

“Like I said,” he murmurs, “it’s in my nature.” 

“Legs are the worst of it,” you say, gesturing weakly to your two limbs stretched in front of you. Both are angry shades of blotchy red and purple, but no bone peeks out from within your skin at the very least. 

Cal casts a questioning look up at you, his palms hovering over your legs. You give a small nod, and he lowers his hands until they make feather-light contact with your skin. Even as careful as he’s being, pain erupts all over again when he brushes over your shin, and you squirm, cursing. 

“Probably fractured the bones,” he says. “Need to get you back to town.” 

You groan. “Unless you plan on carrying me out of here, Kestis, I’m not in any shape to make it all the way back.” 

He studies your face for a moment, really studies it, and you can’t help the way your lips part at the intensity in his gaze. Despite the aching pain in your legs, you can’t suppress the heat blooming up your neck into your cheeks the longer his eyes roam your face. Surely he can sense the way your Force aura grows more agitated. 

Whatever he’s searching for on your face, he seems to find it. Shrugging his shoulders, the curious little BD unit you’ve noticed with Cal peeks its white-and-red head up. With a boop?, Cal jerks his chin at you.

The droid slides down Cal’s back and trots up to you. Tilting its head, the mismatched eyes whir and toggle as the droid seems to study you with the same scrutiny as Cal just had.

“What—”

In the blink of an eye—faster, even—a flash of green light dazzles you, followed by the sharp pain of an injection. But that doesn’t even matter, as a blissful, cool relief spreads immediately from the injection site through the rest of your body. The ache in your legs subsides to a dull throb, and you find that you can finally move the limbs without wanting to vomit. 

“Stim,” Cal explains. He rises to his feet, and holds a hand out. “Come on. It’ll wear off soon.” 

His hand is warm, achingly so, when he grasps yours and tugs you to your feet. Grimacing at the wave of nausea that sweeps over you, you cling to his hand until it passes. 

He’s studying the sheer rockface to either side. “I may be carrying you out of here either way. Come on. Hop up.” 

He turns to retrieve your saber where you dropped the hilt—he stiffens for just a moment, so quick you think you imagine it, before he hands the hilt back to you. And then he remains facing away from you. You realize, with a deep-seated groan, that he’s removed the jacket he was wearing earlier, when he let you into the vault. His shoulders are bare and so strong and pretty and freckled and— 

His soft question of your name breaks you out of your reverie. 

“Right,” you say, clearing your throat. Tentatively, you hook your arms over top of his broad shoulders, trying to ignore the way his skin feels against yours, and he crouches so you can more easily clamber onto his back like a pack. 

“BD, up,” Cal orders, and you squirm as the droid clambers up your back to rest with one foot on your shoulder and the other on Cal’s. 

Even with the stim working through your system much like coolant in your ship’s engine, and even with Cal doing all he can to keep you steady on his back as he Force-propels himself up the vertical rockfaces of this cavern, you bite into your cheek hard enough for it to bleed to keep yourself from yelping in pain. It’s bad enough that he had to save you from a slow death in this Force-forsaken vault; he doesn’t need to know the fire that licks up your nerve endings with every jostle. 

You shuffle off his back as soon as you’re able. A grimace contorts your features as you stumble a few steps, but you wave away Cal’s steadying hands.

“I’m fine,” you grit out. 

“Yeah, you look fine,” he says. 

You shoot him a glare, but you’re more exhausted than you are angry. “You didn’t have to come back for me.” 

“If it makes you feel better,” he says, gesturing for you to step onto the turbolift first, “I don’t expect anything in return. You don’t owe me anything.” 

“Ha,” you bark out. Your stomach lurches as the turbolift shudders into its ascent. “Of course I owe you, Kestis. It’s all about balance.” 

“Balance,” he says, his voice strangely hollow and contemplative. “You murdered Rexan Binette and Sarela Webb and the others for balance?” 

The names of the Jedi you killed reverberate off the curved walls of the lift chamber. Breathing through your nose, you avoid his gaze—and then shake your head at yourself, angry. Why should you be ashamed? It was them or you. 

The lift comes to a smooth halt at the top, and you’re somehow unsurprised to find that it appears to be dawn again. Your eyes find Cal’s green ones. They look nearly black in the early morning haze. His expression bares all of his emotions: hurt, suspicion, concern, worry. But he doesn’t seem...afraid. Not of you, anyways, and instead of filling you with rage, that realization makes you deflate. 

“The galaxy changed,” you say, voice flat. “You change with it, or you die.” 

He fixes you with his stare for a moment more, and then shakes his head and begins the long walk back downhill without a word. Heaving a sigh, you follow him. You can’t repay the debt you now owe him if you die from an infected wound. You tell yourself that the heat bubbling in your chest is hate, hate that you’re now bound to this life debt, hate that of all people you’re in debt to Cal Kestis. But hate has never felt so soft.

The final time that you and Cal Kestis cross paths, you remember why hatred is easier. 

It’s only a few weeks after when you’ve fully healed thanks to Cal’s quick intervention, the extra stores of bacta that you had the good foresight to stash in your ship years ago, and perhaps a nudge from the Force. You’ve retreated to your ramshackle abode in the wilderness; thankfully, the worst you have to deal with upon returning is a stray Bogling. No matter how hard you try to shoo the pesky creature away from your hut, it comes back again. 

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” you grumble, watching the Bogling scratch at the dirt out front of your hut. It chitters as it works to burrow its den. 

Cal has disappeared again, which works just fine for you. It’s easier to attune to the Force when he’s gone. When you’re not distracted by his burnished radiance, his soothing calmness, his serene meditation posture, his hair that looks as soft as the Bogling’s fur, his...him.

Genuinely, who the kriff does Cal Kestis think he is? Where does he get the right to continue to do good in the galaxy when all the galaxy wants is to kill him? To kill everyone like him? How does he continue fighting? 

For that matter, how do you continue fighting? The sudden self-introspection is jarring. You squint a glare up at the Abyss, the technicolor explosion hanging heavy in the sky, as if it personally arranged your fated entanglement with the Jedi. As if it asked the question of your purpose, not your own conscience.

You have to squint in part because, in the Force, the Abyss is blinding. Stare too long and you’ll be blinking away spots from your vision for hours afterward. As your eyes start to water, you shake your head and bring your gaze back to terra firma. Kark it all, you think, bitter. You continue fighting because you have to. Because you have to know the answer. You have to understand the balance. 

In the Force, you’ve watched for years as the streaks of light in your otherwise void-like existence pulse and contract. Here, underneath the staggering presence of the Abyss, the galactic, even cosmic, struggle between Light and Dark, splashes across your own skin, a microcosm. It makes you angry all over again, as you study the vapors of golden lightness drift around you. The anger is good. The anger makes the darkness pulse and surge and rise; the anger makes you more focused. 

Gritting your teeth, you try to hang onto the anger. 

And then you don’t have to try at all. In your peripheral awareness, the Bogling has scurried in fright into your small hut as the sound of footsteps—many, many footsteps—echoes off the surrounding cliff walls. Your lips curl back in a snarl at being interrupted. Saber hilt smacking into your palm with a familiar weight, the unsteady red blade fills your small clearing with a threatening hum. 

Around the corner comes a full squad of Imperials. For a moment, you have to blink, to make sure that what you’re seeing is correct. But no. The hard white duraplast armor gleams in the midday sun, the mixed group of scout- and Stormtroopers advancing as one giant, grotesque organism. And at its midst, in the nucleus, are two black-clad figures wielding crackling electrostaffs. 

Purge Troopers. 

How dare they. How dare they come to your planet—and you hesitate only a moment over the possessiveness in your anger—and only another moment more when you find that you include Cal’s place on Koboh in that possession. This is your planet, together. The Light, and the Dark. 

In all things, balance. 

“Enemy located,” crackles the voice of one of the troopers. You don’t know, and don’t frankly care, which. 

As the white-clad troopers fan out in a loose semicircle, blasters and batons raised at half-ready, the two Purge troopers continue a few paces forward. They’re nearly identical, all the way down to the way that they settle their weight on their right feet, perfectly unbalanced. 

“You won’t get away,” the one to your left calls, his voice imperious and cold. “Not this time. You’ll be coming with us.” 

“Don’t be so sure,” you call back, feigning disinterest. Through the Force, you mentally draw the battle map, the path of carnage and rage and blood you’ll wreak through the ten troopers in front of you. 

“There are ten of us,” the other Purge Trooper says, voice cocky and self-assured. The battle map in your mind halts, then reasserts itself with a new pattern. One that places Mr. Cocky and Arrogant at the top of your assault. 

You snort. “Glad to know the Empire is teaching its troopers basic math. Let’s get this over with, shall we?” 

You twirl your saber in a half circle around your body, a familiar ritual, a reset button to remind you to keep your head clear. As blasters raise to full height, you take a deep, centering breath, and close your eyes.

A silence takes over your ears, your mind, your very being. You are one with the Force; the Force is with you. Despite all your issues with the cosmic Force, you know it will not fail you now. You don’t hear the order to fire, you don’t hear the clicks of triggers, you don’t hear the scream of blaster bolts. You don’t need to. Guided by the Force, void-like and in command, your arms—your saber—jumps into place. 

Four blaster bolts pelt your way. Four blaster bolts ricochet and catch their originators in the chest. Four troopers fall. 

You open your eyes, lips tugging back over your teeth in a mockery of a smile. Sound returns to you just as one of the scout troopers, shaken, stumbles back with a cry: “St-Stormtrooper KIA!” 

You enact your battle map. 

Gathering the Force to yourself, you push off the ground and shoot forward with a Force assist, your saber swinging up and cleaving back down at the critical juncture between the cocky Purge Trooper’s neck and shoulder. The glowing plasma sinks easily through duraplast, fabric, and flesh alike; the trooper’s groan of pain gurgles as your blade cuts through his lungs. Now there are five. 

You whirl, saber moving nearly of its own accord to intercept each blow that the remaining troopers rain upon you. It’s nearly child’s play to parry their attacks, send them staggering off-balance. In a crucial moment where all your opponents hesitate to move forward again, you bare your teeth. Reaching out with a clawed hand, you grip the throat of one of the troopers, lift him bodily with the Force, then yank down as hard as you can. There’s a satisfying crack when he hits the ground.

You’re doing fine. You’re going to triumph here; the Force has willed it so. The fear of the remaining troopers is palpable and you draw on it, siphoning it into yourself, into your cracked and screaming kyber crystal. With a leaping slash, two trooper heads bounce away.

The remaining two troopers look at each other. You don’t need the Force to smell the fear rolling off of the scout trooper in waves, and you fix him with a feral grin. 

“No more quips?” you ask, voice harsh. 

He drops his baton and runs.

“Just you and me,” the Purge Trooper observes. 

“How very astute of you,” you say. “Your friend was the smart one. You can still run; I’ll let you go. For now.” 

“Not a chance.” The buzzing electrostaff twirls through the air as the Trooper lowers into a defensive crouch. “Surrender.” 

“Not a chance,” you echo, matching his stance. “Now, why don’t—”

A voice, familiar and warm and distracting, shouts your name from above. Like a fool, you hesitate, turning. There’s a glimpse of coppery hair, a blue flame, and golden radiance. You growl at the interruption—

And cry out as the electrostaff comes down across your upper back, singeing into your clothing, biting into your skin. 

You drop to your knees, vision blurry. Stupid. That was stupid. 

The Purge Trooper immediately raises the staff for another strike, but before it can make contact with the back of your neck, a rush of energy steamrolls over you and shoves the trooper fifteen feet back. His heels dig into the soft dirt. 

“Jedi!” If the trooper is surprised to see Cal Kestis coming to the rescue of the likes of you, you can’t hear it in his voice. “Guess this is my lucky day.” 

“Don’t count on it,” you wheeze. Grunting in pain, you shove to your feet and reset, saber singing in the air, the smell of ozone stinging your nose. 

Your name again, gentler this time, and closer. This time, you don’t turn, instead waiting for him to come to you. And he does, just like you knew he would. In the corner of your eye, Cal Kestis and his supernova signature provide something like...comfort. Heat bubbles and sputters in your chest at his closeness. This feeling is hate, you reassure yourself. 

“You’re hurt,” he says, voice pitched low. 

“I’ve had worse,” you say. “You here to help, or to mock?” 

He fully faces you, and you sense more than see his eyes rake over your profile. With a shake of his head, his copper hair flowing nearly to his shoulders, he raises his saber, point-first, toward the Purge Trooper. With a satisfied smile, you swing your saber in lazy circles. Finally. 

The two of you attack at the same time, nudged along by the Force. Together, you flank the trooper, whose training seems to have prepared him for a moment such as this. But for all the training this trooper has, you and Cal have more. You and Cal have more to fight for. More to lose. More to gain. 

Cal’s blur of a blue saber slashes through the air, at every turn blocking the trooper’s pressing attack, forcing the Imp to recalibrate. And when he attempts to do so, tries to even catch his breath, you’re there, the Force driving your swings harder. You know the blows that land on the staffs jar the Imp’s wrists all the way to his shoulders. You know he’s going to falter. You know he’s going to die. 

When the fear once again rises from this trooper, you smile. 

Overconfident, you twirl, blade seeming to bend as it whirls through the air. It will connect with the trooper at his waist.

It does—but his staff connects with you once again at your own waist, and this time it bites into your flesh and holds. 

“No!” Cal’s shout is harsh and angry. With a final flash of blue, the Purge Trooper slumps sideways, body collapsing into the dirt. The momentum yanks the electrostaff out of your side. 

You drop your saber hilt to press against the bleeding wound, hands shaking. Kark, this hurts. Why does it hurt so bad? Cal’s face, with wide, scared green eyes, appears in your field of vision. 

A spark of anger temporarily distracts you from the pain in your side and along your back. “Kestis,” you grind out. “I had it under control.” 

“It’s in my nature,” he says, like that explains everything. You suppose it does. Your anger abandons you, and you stagger forward, into his embrace. 

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against you as he ducks under your arm, taking your weight. “C’mon, we’ll get inside and I’ll patch you up.” 

“Got any more of those stims?” you ask, words slurring a little. You glance down at your side and blink dumbly at the amount of red staining your clothes. 

“A few more,” Cal says. “They’re yours. Just need to get you inside.” 

The several dozen feet to your hut pass in a blur and in a blink—you’re not sure which. Maybe it’s both. But you sigh as you settle down into the familiar comfort of your small cot. In the corner, you’re dimly aware of the Bogling cowering below the small kitchen table. Critter is cute, you suppose. Maybe it can stay. 

You’re delirious. That has to be it. You’d never willingly take in a stray. 

BD hops up on the cot next to you and, at Cal’s nod, ejects a glowing green stim canister. Cal catches it and then plunges the small needle into your side, just above the gash there. Cool relief tingles through you, and you smile at him. 

“That feels good,” you mumble. 

“I’m glad,” he says, an odd note in his voice. “You got medical supplies?” 

You gesture vaguely to the screened-off back corner, your ’fresher. “If I do, s’in there.”

BD stays with you while Cal rummages through your meager supplies, the little droid’s head tilted to the side as though studying you. You blink at him. 

Bwoop-beep? the droid chimes. 

“I don’t speak Binary, sorry,” you say. 

Cal chuckles, returning with a handful of supplies. “He’s wondering if you’re feeling okay.” 

You feel okay enough to feel annoyed at the question, and you shoo the little droid off your bed. When you return your attention to Cal, he’s hesitating, a roll of gauze, bottle of alcohol, and a needle in his hands. 

“What,” you ask, flatly. 

“Need to take your shirt off to clean the wound properly,” he says, and if you knew him better, you might think he sounds nervous. Embarrassed, even. 

But you don’t know him that well, and so you ignore his tone of voice. “Fine.” 

You struggle for a moment to lift your shirt over your head, hissing as the movement pulls at the wound in your side. Once it’s off, you throw it toward the ’fresher. 

Cal still hesitates, his eyes everywhere but on you. Another surge of annoyance flares in you, and you snatch the medical supplies out of his hands. 

“I’d really like to not bleed out here, Kestis,” you admonish. He at least has the sense to look abashed at that, and assists you in cleaning out the wound, stitching it shut, and wrapping you in gauze to keep pressure on it. You don’t let out a single curse, hiss, or groan the entire time, making the inside of your mouth bleed with how hard you bite down. 

“You okay?” he asks once you’re bandaged up. 

“What do you think?” you retort. “M’gonna sleep. You can go.” 

“I’ll stay,” he says. He withdraws, but remains in your small hut, slinging himself into the hand-hewn wooden chair at your dining table. “Rest. I’ll keep watch.” 

“Why?” You can’t help the way the question sounds equal parts frustrated and incredulous.

“Just sleep, Sith,” he says. His voice brooks no argument, and for once, you have none.

When you wake, it’s still light outside. Your mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with gauze and left to dry out, your head not much better. With a soft groan, you roll onto your side and peer into the half-lit room. 

Cal’s already watching you. His gaze meets yours and pierces you, pinning you to the small cot tucked against the wall. Swallowing against the dryness in your throat, you study his features. The dark scar across his face. The lean lines of his torso and muscles. The strand of fiery hair that curls over his forehead and teases his chin. Despite the lingering shards of pain in your side, heat flickers in your core.

“Why did you really come here, Cal?” you ask, voice low, the stillness around you demanding to remain unbroken. “Why did you come back for me at all? You know the things I’ve done. The people I’ve killed. I can’t be worth saving.” 

He is quiet as he contemplates your question, his hands loosely clasped in his lap. Silence stretches between you, slow and languid, and you nearly hold your breath waiting for his response. 

Eventually he gives a half shrug. “There was a time when I believed everyone is worth saving. Since the Empire, things have...been different. I’m not so sure everyone deserves to be saved.” 

“So why come back?” 

His eyes are soft when they find yours again. You want to be angry, want to latch onto the residual pain in your body and sharpen it into a vibroblade, hurl it outward from yourself and hope it hurts him as much as you’ve been hurt. In your gut, the darkness stirs, but in your heart, the light whispers patience. 

“I see too much of myself in you to not come back for you,” he says, so quiet you nearly don’t process the words. 

But when his confession does register, you blink in surprise. You can’t help the chuckle that escapes you. 

“We couldn’t be more opposite, Kestis,” you say. “Do you know what you look like, in the Force?” 

When he remains silent, shifting in the wooden chair uncomfortably, you push yourself up into a sitting position. A sigh sloughs out of your throat. 

“You’re the most...beautiful thing I’ve seen,” you say, hesitating only briefly over the words. “You shine. You’re a beacon of light. Stars, Cal, you’re practically a star yourself.” 

His lips part in surprise, and you can’t ignore the way your core twists at the expression. “But—”

You raise a hand. “There’s darkness there, sure, but you are the light, Kestis. And sure, there may be light in me, but believe me, I’m a void. The void. You’ll never carry the sins that blacken my soul.” 

His toned chest rises and falls with his rapid, shallow breaths. When he swallows, you watch the way his throat bobs, the muscles that strain at his neck, the tightening of his hands into fists. Without even needing to look, you can feel the way his Force signature roils with confusion and surprise. You’ve caught him off-guard, yet again. The knowledge sends a pulse of heat to the apex of your thighs.

“Show me,” he whispers. 

You frown, brows furrowing. “What?” 

“In the Force,” he says. “Show me.”

“I’ve never—” 

“I have a gift.” He grimaces. “Psychometry. It might not work. But I want to see.” 

Ah. You understand how he knew the names of the Jedi you murdered, and glance at your saber hilt resting on the table near him. How much has he seen? 

Apparently, not enough. 

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you shrug. “Fine. C’mere.” 

The cot groans under the added weight, not meant for two people, but it holds. You adjust yourself to sit with your legs crossed, your knees touching Cal’s as he mirrors your posture. A slight twinge tugs at your ribs as you move. Cal’s eyes soften again as you grimace. 

“Don’t,” you grit out. “Save your pity.” 

“It’s not—” He huffs. “Whatever.” 

Glaring up at him through your eyelashes, you nevertheless rest your hands palm-up, fingers outstretched toward him. Cal gently rests his hands over yours. His skin is heated, electric where it touches yours. The thought crosses your mind, fleetingly, what your odds would be if you decided to finally end it here and now; the thought disappears as soon as his calloused fingers wrap around your forearms. 

“Like this?” he murmurs. 

“Feels right,” you reply in the same tone. “Here goes nothing, yeah?” 

You inhale a deep, centering breath, and allow yourself to sink into the currents of the Force. For a moment you have to squint as Cal’s truest form explodes across your perception. This close, you’re surprised he doesn’t radiate any extra heat. You’re also surprised at the imperfections you find in his signature, the small nicks in the otherwise flawless, gleaming golden skin. You have to restrain yourself from leaning forward to examine him even closer. The desire to know him, to pick him apart and put him back together, rushes through you, pulsing in your fingertips. 

When you feel adjusted to his presence, this close, this intoxicating, you squeeze his hands. Focusing on the places where the two of you connect—your palms, your knees, your signatures—you will your unique sight to bleed into his awareness. 

Judging from the way he stiffens and gasps, you figure it worked. Your combined abilities and strength in the Force, overlapping just this once, let him see the world like you do.

“You’re so...” He trails off, voice strained. “Empty.” 

“Thanks for noticing.” You squeeze his hands again. “Do you underst— oh.”

You nearly choke as the Force nudges against your mind. For a moment, you’re no longer in your hut, but instead on an unfamiliar ship, palms pressed against a stranger’s—no, not a stranger—her name drifts to you. Merrin. You’re comparing palm sizes with her, and her hands are nearly as big as yours—as Cal’s. 

You rip away from Cal Kestis and the illusion breaks. 

Heat burns up your neck to your face. “What the kriffing hell was that?” 

“What did you see?” he asks, concern flashing in his eyes. He reaches for you, and you lean away, glaring. 

You don’t even know why you’re angry. Any emotions you’ve felt for Cal have been ones you can explain: anger, frustration, begrudging respect, competitiveness, hatred. You recognize his attractiveness, and you don’t deny the effect his presence has on your baser desires—but the nearly painful flare of possessiveness pulsing in you right now is foreign. Inexplicable. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you eventually mutter. “Did you see?” 

“I saw you,” he says. Tentatively, he skims his fingertips over your leg, up to your knee. When you don’t retreat, he gently snags your hand and threads your fingers together. “I’m sorry.” 

You bare your teeth and tug your hand away—or try to. His fingers tighten around yours, holding you in place. “I told you before, Kestis. I don’t need your pity.” 

“Then don’t see it as pity,” he says. “See it as an understanding. A mutual experience.” 

Sucking on your teeth, your jaw clenches for a moment before you sigh. “Fine. Who’s Merrin?” 

“An old friend,” Cal says, a little too quickly. “She’s... She went her own way a while ago.” 

Something like triumph glows in you. “Good.” 

He fixes you with a confused look, a crease forming between his brows. “Wha—” 

You cut him off, surging forward to press your lips greedily against his. The impulse to be closer to him, impossibly close, is overwhelming in this moment. His palm is warm and steady and grounding against yours. He grunts against you, going absolutely still. 

When you pull away, not moving more than a few inches away, you meet the shock in his gaze with a sense of pride. His eyes flit between yours, searching. You drag your eyes down to his lips, parted and damp and so fucking pink.

His other hand cradles the back of your head and pulls you forward into another kiss. 

You groan into his mouth. His lips are warm and soft and sweet against yours, moving slowly, uncertain. You tilt your head, nudging his nose with your own. With your free hand, you grip at his shirt and claw your way into his lap. You need more. More of him, more of his warmth, more of his touch, more more moremoremore. 

He breathes your name against your lips, and you shush him gently. His body is hard and lean beneath yours, his touch hesitant. Fingers still intertwined, you guide his hand to your waist. Without the barrier of your shirt, his touch burns, scorching you from the outside in. His fingers splay across your skin, trailing molten desire in their wake. Heat pulses in your core.

“Kriff,” you sigh, “please.” 

“Didn’t think you had manners,” he quips, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your jaw, down your neck. 

You reach up and tug on his fiery hair, earning a low groan. “Rude.” 

He chuckles against your skin, his lips brushing against a sensitive spot. A shiver dances up your spine, a quiet sigh passing your lips. When he bites down there, you moan. 

“Kestis,” you pant. 

“Shh,” he soothes. The hand on your waist trails down to your hip and squeezes in time with another bite to your skin. With another groan, you rock your hips down into him. A grin curls your mouth up in pleasure at the feeling of his half-hard cock beneath you. 

“Off,” you order, tugging on his shirt. 

He breaks away from you long enough to yank the offending article up and over his head. Your palms smooth over the rippling muscles beneath his pale, freckled skin of his stomach, and he shudders. Brushing your thumb over a blaster scar under his ribs, you press a kiss to his shoulder. 

“Did it hurt?” you ask. 

“I’ve had worse,” he says. 

“Show me.” 

His green eyes are dark, nearly black, when he meets your gaze with a questioning look. In response, you skim a featherlight trail over his torso, lingering at the scars that mar his otherwise perfect skin—mirrors, you realize, of the imperfections of his golden aura. 

When you trace the pink scar that bisects his face, he shivers. His hand catches your wrist, halting your movement. 

“That one,” he whispers, voice pained. “That was the worst.” 

You recognize, this close, the telltale signs of a saber wound. He’s lucky to have survived that, you realize. 

Kriff. You press your mouth to his once again, wrapping your legs around his torso. His body fits against yours, hard planes to soft edges, and you groan in unison. His kiss is still tentative, but he moves against you without hesitation when you deepen the kiss, your tongue licking across his bottom lip. His tongue is hot against yours. Spit slicking your lips, you groan into his open mouth. 

Fuck, you need more. Pulling at his hair, you urge his head to tip back, exposing the pale column of his throat. You lick a stripe down his skin, tasting his natural saltiness, delighting in the way his cock hardens against your clothed core. 

“Want you,” you mumble against his collarbone. 

He hums. “I’m yours.”

That possessive flare from before practically obliterates any coherent thoughts your brain was still capable of producing. Growling, you push him onto his back, shuffling down, kissing and licking and biting at his skin as you fumble with his pants. The buttons come undone; his hips raise to help you shuck the clothing off. His cock bobs as it comes free of the confines. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan. “Been holding out on me, Kestis.” 

“If I’d known—” His voice cracks. “If I’d known all you needed was to be fucked, we coulda done this sooner.” 

Tingles spark through your core hearing him curse—hearing him talk about something as base and dirty as fucking you. Stars, the heat in your core is nearly unbearable. 

You need to taste him. 

Wrapping your fingers around his heavy cock, you smear a droplet of precum over his flushed head. His body jerks in response, his eyes half-lidded as he gazes down at you, a smirk playing at his lips. Without warning, you envelope him in your mouth. Cal cries out, hips jerking up. You moan in satisfaction around him. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink your mouth further down onto his length, before sucking, tongue teasing the underside of his head. One hand cupping his balls, you relax your throat and take him deep. The curls at the base tickle your nose. 

“Oh stars,” he breathes. “You’re so good at that. F-Fuck.” 

You hum, settling into a rhythm. His hand, broad and strong and warm, rests on top of your head—not pushing, just there, feeling you. His chest heaving, you can’t help but admire the flush rising to his cheeks, painting him in sin. Spit dribbles out of your mouth, coating the parts of him you can’t reach. Your eyes never leave his. 

Snaking your free hand down your body, you moan at the pleasure that zings through you at the momentary relief of touching yourself. 

“No.” Cal’s voice is strangled, strained. He flicks two shaky fingers, and your hand is yanked out from beneath your body by the Force. 

An obscene pop echoes in your hut as you pull your mouth away from his weeping cock. “Either touch me, or I’ll do it myself,” you growl. 

“Then c-come here,” he stutters. 

Shimmying out of your pants, you discard the garments to the floor without a second thought and climb your way up his body. His hands skim your sides, his touch barely there, as your mouth reconnects with his. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of his mouth, his touch, his cock. He feels too good. 

You hiss when his hand brushes against your aching sex. He breaks the kiss long enough for his eyes to find yours, a silent question there as his fingers find purchase at your core. 

You can only nod, not trusting your voice. When he moves his hand against you, your vision blurs and you press your forehead to his. 

“Stars, Kestis, just like that,” you hiss. 

He rubs his nose against yours. “Let me take care of you.” 

His touch is electric. Your body jerks against him when his fingers move just right, applying just the right amount of pressure. Heat and tension build in your belly, growing more and more taut by the second. Your legs shake on either side of his hips. 

“Cal,” you whine. “Gonna cum.” 

His touch retreats, and you whimper at the loss of contact. 

“You’re g-gonna cum on my cock,” he promises, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. The sweetness of the action contrasts with the filth of his words, and your stomach lurches. 

“Fuck, yes, okay.” You spit in your hand and reach down to make sure you’re ready for him.

He slicks his own palm with spit and jerks his cock once, twice, getting himself prepped. With his hand at his base, steadying his length, you slowly sink onto him. He splits you open inch by inch, the delicious burn of him in your core drawing a pitiful moan from your chest. When he bottoms out, you twitch in his lap, chest heaving. 

“T-Take me so well,” he murmurs, ghosting his fingertips over your face. “Stars, you feel so- so good.” 

You whine. “Cal.” 

“I know, baby, I know.” 

The pet name seems to surprise him as much as it does you. The heat that’s been simmering in your chest for months now, since the first time you encountered him, dulls into something...softer. More muted. More pliant. 

Eyes locked together, you test the waters and raise your hips a fraction. Moans tumble from both of you at the friction, and that’s all you need. Rolling your hips, you work his cock, drawing the most delicious noises from him. He caresses your face, smooths a hand over your back, kisses you sweetly. You find just the right angle where his cock brushes against that bundle of nerves deep inside, and you shudder. 

“Cal, I—” 

“Yes,” he groans. “Don’t stop.” 

You don’t. You drag your hips frantically against his, chasing the sparks bursting in your core with each thrust. His touch turns harsh as you ride him; your hips will surely bear bruises tomorrow in the shape of his fingertips. You moan at the thought. Mine. Mine mine mine mine. 

Rutting against that raw piece of heaven in your core, you’re blind to everything else. Your injury forgotten, the empty void that yawns in your soul, your frustration with Cal Kestis: all of it is irrelevant right now. All that matters is that you keep fucking Cal. All that matters is the way his cock feels sliding in and out of you, dragging against your walls. All that matters is the way he moans your name like a prayer. 

“Need you t-to cum,” he orders, words faltering as you clench around his cock. 

“I’m close,” you say, voice hoarse. The tension in your belly draws hot and tight, ready to snap. 

Cal finally thrusts up to meet you when you bounce down, and you scream. That taut cord in your belly releases, snapping in two, and you see white. Pleasure explodes through you; every nerve lit on fire, tears dew in your eyes from the intensity. You claw at Cal’s chest, searching for purchase as he absolutely rails into you, chasing his own release. 

Through it all, he babbles. “J-Just like that, baby. Cum all over this cock. Fuck, you’re g-gonna make me— I— fuck, ngh, I’m—” 

He stills as he cums, his cock pulsing against your walls, and you jerk at the sensation, oversensitive. 

Your eyes flutter as you look down at him in the gathering darkness. His skin shines with a thin sheen of sweat. As his cock softens inside of you, letting some of his cum drip out, you groan softly. 

“This was a mistake,” you whisper. 

He swallows visibly, and nods. “I know.” 

You capture his lips in another kiss, one he returns with a fervor. Stars, you almost wish you really did hate him. This would be so much easier. 

“What now?” he asks, thumb brushing over your tender hips. 

You shrug. “Same time next week?” 

He huffs a laugh. “Very funny.” 

“Thanks.” 

He hums. “I’m leaving tomorrow.” 

All of the heat of the last few minutes dissipates immediately, and ice knifes your insides. You push away from him finally, his cum dripping down your inner thigh as you stand, bend to retrieve your clothes, tug them on. 

“Okay.”

“That’s it?” 

“What do you want me to say, Kestis?” 

He sighs as he reaches for his own clothes. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” 

“You should have left when I told you to,” you say, arms crossed over your chest as you stare out the single window of your home at the rapidly falling dark. 

“Yeah, maybe.” His hand is warm and familiar where he rests it on your shoulder. “You could...come with me.” 

You narrow your eyes. “And have to live by your Jedi code? No thanks.” 

“No code,” he says, quiet, contemplative. “Just the fight.” 

“Just the fight,” you echo. When he nods, something you sense more than see, you sigh. “I could...tag along. Just this once.” 

“Of course,” he says. His lips press against your temple. “Just this once.” 

Swallowing against the strange metallic taste rising to your mouth, you blink and summon the Force. You’re grateful for Cal’s grounding presence behind you. Your signature is...muddied. Marbled black and gold. When you glance down at his hand on your skin, you find that his aura is the same as yours. Mixed. Confused. 

Balanced.

Yes, you think. Hating him would have been easier.

#cal kestis x reader #cal x reader #cal kestis x gn!reader #jedi survivor spoilers #jedi survivor fanfiction #rhiplies #rhiwrites

[flightlessangelwings]

Ktober 2023 Day 7- Slow and Soft

Cal Kestis x gn!reader

Word count- 1.5k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), fwb, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, feelings, no use of y/n

Notes- Cal my sweet baby boy I love him so much!!! Prompt list made by me! This definitely will not be the last time I write for him cause I just love him so much!! Set closer to the second game where he's a bit older. Enjoy!

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

~

Working for Saw Gerrera was tough, there was no doubt. But, the sacrifices were worth it to keep the Empire at bay. Things got better though when a cute, red-headed jedi joined up. He was as powerful as the stories said, and you and Cal Kestis became quick friends among the chaos of the world around you.

It started by accident; you and Cal would come to each other for comfort and to offer support after missions, and things blossomed before you each realized it. The two of you would lay together for hours in the evenings, just embracing each other, and sometimes more. Neither of you knew what to call what you had, so you left it unspoken.

One particular night, you were in your quarters when Cal knocked on your door. When you opened it, he looked defeated, and bruises littered his face.

“Cal,” you breathed, “Come in,” you ushered in inside and closed the door, “What happened?”

Cal grunted as he settled himself in a chair and exhaled deeply, “Got ambushed,” he sighed as he closed his eyes, feeling safe for the first time that night, “We lost too many today.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, not knowing what else to say as you grabbed your med pack and dabbed some bacta patches on his face. When Cal winced in pain you furrowed your brows, “Sorry,” you repeated.

“Thanks,” he breathed your name as he gave you a soft look. It was always a relief to Cal to come back to you, even if neither of you expressed your true feelings in words. What started as something physical quickly grew to more for him, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I’m glad you’re here, Cal,” you said, “I don’t know where we would be if it weren’t for you.”

Cal looked at you with a pleading look in his eyes and a hint of a smile on his face, “Always happy to help,” his voice was low as he knew exactly what you meant. Having a jedi on your side sometimes made the difference between life and death, and he was a powerful ally to have. 

But sometimes you worried that Cal did too much for everyone else, neglecting himself in the process. You let out a sigh as you placed the med kit to the side, “Let me take care of you, Cal,” your tone was hushed as you brushed a lock of hair off his brow, “You carry too much with you. Let me help you tonight.”

He groaned your name softly as you straddled his waist and ran your fingers along the tight muscles of his neck. You always had a way about your touch, and it made Cal melt under your hands every time. You made him feel safe, and he hoped you felt the same way about him.

You hummed softly as you watched Cal’s eyes flutter shut. You ran your fingers down the sides of his neck and squeezed the tense muscles in his shoulders. As you did so, you leaned forward and placed soft, light kisses on his forehead and temples. Cal’s hands rested on your hips as you slowly rocked them on his lap.

Cal moaned your name as he felt himself starting to harden underneath you.

“Shh,” you cooed as you continued to place feather-light kisses all over his face. Your hand stopped kneading his muscles as instead gently held onto his shoulders as you kissed your way to his lips. Once there, you took them with your own in a soft yet passionate kiss. He immediately parted his lips for you to deepen it, and in response you rocked your hips just a little bit faster.

As your tongue danced with Cal’s, you grazed your hands down his torso and slipped them underneath his shirt. He shuttered into you and you felt goosebumps erupt on his skin as you tickled him. Cal’s grip on you tightened as he felt your hands run back up his body and land on his chest. You gave his pecs a soft squeeze and savored the low moan that Cal let out.

Breaking away, you tugged his shirt up and off his shoulders, and Cal took the opportunity to do the same to you. But, before he could move, you crashed your lips into his once more. This kiss was still slow and soft, but the desperation was there still. You felt Cal’s hands slide up and down your sides as you rubbed his nipples with your thumbs. Your hips continued to rock and back and forth, teasing him as he hardened more and more underneath you.

“Babe,” he breathed as you broke the kiss and started to nibble your way down his neck, following the same path with your mouth that your fingers did before.

“I’ve got you, Cal,” you murmured against his skin as you gently sucked at a sensitive spot at the base of his neck, “Let me take care of you today,” you repeated your words from earlier, but this time in a lower tone.

“You always take care of me,” Cal whispered as he cradled the back of your head with one hand and wrapped his other arm around your waist.

“And I always will,” you moaned as you kissed your way back up and took his lips with yours once more.

His moan was stifled by your lips, but the way his cock twitched underneath you told you what he wanted to say. Breaking away once more, you lifted yourself up just enough to tug at his pants. Cal immediately got the hint and helped you yank them down before removing your own pants. When you settled back down, it was skin to skin, and it made both of you gasp.

Every time it felt like the first time with him. Every touch always felt electrical, like it jolted your heart awake from its slumber. Cal’s warm skin lit a fire under your own and when you bucked your hips against his length, it sent a wave of pleasure up your spine. Your mouth dropped open, but before you could let out any sound, it was his turn to capture your lips in a heated kiss.

As your lips locked, you lifted your hips just enough to position yourself over his cock. Cal fumbled around blindly as he helped you, teasing your entrance with his fingers for a moment as he did so. He laughed into you as you let out a little yelp of surprise at the feeling of his fingers against you.

“I’ve got you,” Call mirrored your words as he guided you back down on his cock.

Both of you gasped loudly as he slowly pushed into you. Inch by inch, you lowered yourself onto Cal’s lap, taking him in as you did so. There was no rush, you had all the time in the galaxy tonight. And you liked taking it slow with him, savoring every little feeling every inch of him. You grabbed onto his shoulder to steady yourself as your hips met his once more, only this time, Cal was deep inside you.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured as he kissed your eyebrow softly.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you hadn’t even realized you closed them. But the way Cal looked at you made your heart skip a beat. Without another word, you kissed him deeply, tangling your tongue with his as you lifted your hips just an inch or so and lowered back down again. Both of you groaned into each other as you repeated your action. Again and again, you rocked yourself against Cal, feeling the jolt of pleasure that shot up your spine as you took his entire length in.

Cal moaned your name as he wrapped his arms around you, running his hands along your back in a comforting motion. You leaned forward and rested your forehead against his and mirrored his actions. It was slow, yet full of emotions. Cal gently thrust his hips up to meet yours and soon you both found a rhythm together as you rode him.

“Cal…” you moaned as you felt the familiar tingle build up from deep within you.

“I know,” he grunted softly, “Me too.”

You sighed as your moans started to get louder from your approaching climax. And Cal’s matched yours as he sped up just slightly. The two of you clung to each other, only needing a few more thrusts for your peaks to hit one right after the after. You crashed your lips together as you came together, spilling yourselves against each other. 

With one final exhale, you fell forward, but Cal caught you, wrapping you securely in his arms as you nestled yourself in the crook of his neck. His softening cock stayed inside you, but neither of you cared to move. You both were too comfortable, too content to even think about moving. Tomorrow would bring a new challenge- it always did- but for now, you and Cal could stay in comfortable quietness.

#fawktober2023 #kinktober 2023 #cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x you #cal kestis x y/n #cal kestis imagine #cal kestis fanfic #cal kestis fic #cal kestis fanfiction #jedi survivor #jedi survivor fic #jedi survivor fanfiction #jedi survivor fanfic #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #star wars fandom #star wars fic #star wars jedi survivor #jedi: survivor #cal kestis x gn!reader #cal kestis x gender neutral reader

[hereforthefanficsandromance]

Daily Cal Headcanon

Boyfriend!Cal always brings you back something from each mission. He wants you to know he always thinking of you, even when he's saving the galaxy.

You have a drawer full of little trinkets: pieces of broken pottery, dried flowers, shiny rocks. It's like he's a crow, trying to show his loyalty to you with pretty little gifts that have no rhyme or reason other than he finds them beautiful.

He tells you that he picks up anything beautiful because it reminds him of you. While he doesn't want you to be in danger, he likes having something similar to you on his person, it makes him feel like you're there. At this rate, you're going to need a whole dresser to keep his gifts.

#hereforthefanficsandromanceworks #hereforthefanficsandromanceblurb #star wars fanfiction #cal kestis x reader #jedi survivor fanfiction #star wars jedi survivor #sw jedi survivor #sw au #jedi survivor fic #star wars jedi fallen order #jedi fallen order #jedi survivor

[fanfoolishness]

Sprouts

Greez names a plant after Cal, and takes care of it through the years. (Based on a bit of dialogue in Fallen Order where Greez tells Cal he'll name a plant Kid after him.) Fluffy until it's angsty, filled with found family feels, Greez & Cal, 1340 words. Spoilers for Jedi: Fallen Order and Jedi: Survivor.

---

Greez wasn’t joking this time.  

Oh, sure, he joked about a lot of things.  But when he looked at the terrarium, filled to the brim with seeds Cal had scoured from the ends of the known galaxy, he couldn’t help but get a little emotional sometimes.  Everything that had been going on -- trying to find the Holocron, fighting off the Empire, defying death right and left?  Yet somehow Cal had remembered to collect a few seeds, just because Greez said he liked them.  It was enough to make a guy choke up.

One night he told Cal he was going to name a plant after him.  He’d call it “Kid.”  Cal laughed it off, with that little chuckle he used when he was afraid to really hope for something.  Greez got the hint, but he ignored it anyway.

Greez debated over which plant to use.  Featherfern, nah, too delicate.  Cal might be skinny, but the kid was strong as anything in all the ways that mattered.  Mushbloom?  No, the plant was a living joke.  Cal deserved something less goofy.  He wrote the Dathomir plants off right away.  He’d grow ‘em, but they were way too creepy for this.

He settled on the bonshyyyr, but he didn’t tell him.  Cal got weird sometimes when Greez or Cere tried to do the heart-to-heart thing.  He’d blush, or make some kind of deflecting joke, or even get sullen and snarky if he was really in a mood.  So Greez figured he wouldn’t embarrass the kid any further by telling him the truth.  

The little tree thrived, with sturdy lush growth that threatened to overtake the terrarium if Greez wasn’t diligent with his trimmers.  Sometimes when Cal was out on a mission, Cere would find Greez grumbling, head half inside the terrarium, arms contorted to trim the leaves back in just the right way.  She’d comment that she was glad he had a project.  He’d mutter and wonder why he’d planted a tree from a planet where everything grew eighty thousand meters tall.

---

The bonshyyyr left the Mantis with him, along with a few of the other old-timer plants; the dreamwort, the kalpi, the gillypod.  He knew Cal would never remember to look after them.  The kid barely remembered how to look after himself, even if he’d grown a bit over the last year or two, losing the last of the pinched look to his cheeks, his face and arms exploding with freckles under dozens of alien suns.  

It was rough, when they decided to split up and go their own ways.  Cere was noble but resigned, talking about new opportunities to grow.  He saw her wipe her eyes, though, when she thought he wasn’t looking.  Merrin insisted that she needed to find herself and a purpose beyond vengeance, but she hugged him even harder than Cere had.  And Cal?  Greez didn’t know if he’d ever get over the way the kid’s face just… crumpled.

Greez cried with the rest of them.  He gave Cal a fierce hug with every arm he had (three out of four wasn’t bad) and cried into the kid’s grimiest poncho.  He didn’t care if the kid realized. His great-grandma always said there was no sense hiding what was clear as day.

He bundled up his plants and stepped down off the gangway, and the dust of a backwater world called Koboh floated up to greet him.

---

The years snuck by, and suddenly Cal was strolling into Pyloon’s Saloon like it was the most natural thing in the world.  

It knocked the wind out of Greez, seeing the kid again.  He’d grown more (surely he was done by now?), he’d grown a beard, and he looked like he needed a damn good dinner and a solid night’s sleep.  

He hit the kid with a hug as hard as he could muster, and when they’d managed to catch up, he insisted on Cal getting some rest.  Cal protested, as usual (kid was infuriating sometimes, how had he forgotten?), but within five minutes of curling up on the extra bunk in Greez’s room, he was out.

Cal wasn’t the only one who’d had a rough few years.  Kid the bonshyyr had had a tough time transplanting to Koboh.  Humidity was much lower here than Kashyyyk.  Took a while to find a heat lamp that mimicked the one he’d had on the Mantis.  Worst of all the plant had lost a whole branch, which had scared the hell out of him, but he’d done some research on the holonet and figured out it was a pest.  It had been dicey for a bit there, but now the tree was doing better than ever.

He thought that maybe he should fill Cal in.  Let him know he’d made good on his threat and named it after him.  But he glanced up from the tree with its gleaming, tight-curled leaves and saw Cal, fast asleep but mumbling under his breath.

His heart sank.  Kid might be doing fine.

Cal still wasn’t.

---

That first night back on Koboh, after they lost Cere, Greez finally told him.

“You… you named a plant after me?” Cal asked.  He looked like a wreck, swollen eyes and blotchy face, covered in bruises from his fall in the desert.  Greez knew he didn’t look much better.

“Yeah,” Greez said.  “I don’t know if you remember, but we talked about it once.  I was grateful, you know?  That you brought me all those seeds for the Mantis, even with everything else going on.”  He nodded over his shoulder at the bonshyyyr in his room.  It stood proud and neat and sturdy, not a leaf out of place.  “That’s Kid there.  Looking better than ever.”

Cal tried to laugh, but the sound was too close to tears still.  Ahh, they were both a mess.  “Greez, you old softy.”

Greez shrugged.  “What can I say?  It’s made me happy, Cal.  Every time I look at it, take care of it, fuss over it like Granny Pyloon used to do over me…  It’s been nice.  Especially when --” His voice cracked.  “Especially when things are hard.”  He wiped at his nose, sniffing.  “Right, Kid?”

The little tree didn’t answer, but Cal managed a smile, his eyes bright.  “I’m honored, Greez.”  He swallowed, gazing off into the distance.  “Hey.  …you ever talk to Pili?”

---

Pili turned around, holding something nestled in her large, gentle hands.  “I have just the thing for you, Greez.”  She bowed her head.  “Cal told me of your friend, and her sacrifice.  I am so sorry.  The Empire has taken so much.”

“I know,” said Greez heavily.  “Cere was a special lady.  She’d really found a home on Jedha.  She might not have been a gardener, but I feel like she made that desert bloom, you know?”

“I understand,” said Pili.  “Take this.”  She pressed a tiny pot of burnt-orange sandy soil into his hands.  “Keep it dry, and keep it cold.  A harsh ultraviolet light or two, and just the rarest drop of water.”

“Thank you for this.  I mean it.  I know sometimes I tease Cal about his strays, but… I’m glad he met you.”

“I am glad, too.”

---

He did as she instructed.  Blasted the little pot with harsh light, kept it chilly, kept it in an aridification chamber.  And one day he got bold, and added just the smallest drop of water.

Greez waited.  Held his breath for days, nervously checking up on the plant any chance he had.  Finally one day he woke up to a tiny sprout, and he smiled for what felt like the first time in forever.

The sprout grew fast.  Once a desert plant decided to grow, once it got that bit of water, it was ready.  A sprout became a leaf, became two, became a stem, a bud.  

Became a Jedha desert poppy.  Its petals unfurled in silver-blue and violet, shimmering in the dry air, worth every bit of the work.  Greez blinked back tears.  It was beautiful.

“Hey there, Cere.”

#greez dritus #cal kestis #jedi: fallen order #jedi: survivor #jedi survivor #jedi survivor spoilers #jedi: survivor spoilers #jedi fallen order fanfiction #pili walde #jedi survivor fanfiction #my jedi fic

[sunderedazem]

9 + 13

Combo of the concept arts for the Jedi: Survivor fic "do you taste my pain in this bloodstained place" written by me, @dream-of-tanalorr, and @spyscrapper !

Now that they've both mostly appeared I figured I should put them in the same frame, hehe!

Alt version below:

With the Gold Eyes!

#bode akuna #jedi survivor #inquisitor bode akuna #jedi survivor fic #jedi fallen order #jedi survivor fanart #jedi survivor fanfiction #thirteenth brother bode #spyscrapper fic #cal kestis #inquisitor cal kestis #dark cal kestis #ninth brother cal #spyscrapper #evil boyfriends <3 #Inquisitor au #*smushes them together* i pronounce you both Bad and Worse you may kiss the villain

[stardustandash]

Falling Like a Memory - Jedi Survivor

Summary: “This was not his first time in an escape pod after the Purge, nor would it be the last, unless he was either very lucky or extremely unlucky. But this was the first time since then he’d been in one that was so similar.” A little scene expansion for the escape pod sequence after completing the Lucrehulk.

Word Count: 1792

Tags: PTSD, angst, Cal being unaware of his own mental state

If you prefer reading on ao3 this is the link. (Note that it is locked to registered users only)

Escape pods. It just had to be escape pods. While Bode was right, it was the fastest way out of the Lucrehulk, it didn’t make it any easier. Cal’s hands deftly inputted the launch sequence. It was something he’d gone over in his head again and again after the Purge when his hands were too small and shaky to get the input right. Never again would he slip up launching an escape pod in a life or death situation. However, he did not think getting off the Lucrehulk after knowing Dagan wasn’t sitting around on it any more was a life-or-death situation. It seemed more of a confident, if not victorious, then alive and not in imminent danger kind of thing.

They could climb back down. It’s not like they hadn’t cleared out most of the Bedlam Raiders on the way up and set up convenient shortcuts through the ship. Or Bode could jetpack them down. Maybe Cal could hold onto Zee, and Bode could hold onto him, and let the jetpack resist gravity just enough to bring them down without breaking any bones or servos.

Yet he was reluctant to voice those thoughts. There was something about Bode that made Cal want to prove himself. Maybe it was that he was so much more capable, so much more at ease with his place and role in the galaxy as both a father and a mercenary. Not for the first time Cal thought that Bode would have made an excellent Jedi. It would be embarrassing to admit to someone like that he didn’t want to get into an escape pod because the thought of it made him want to throw up with nerves.

At least they would take different pods, even if all three of them, four counting BD-1, would have comfortably fit into one. The doors to the pods opened with a quiet hiss and Cal turned to Bode with what he hoped was a confident grin. Zee gave him one of her awkward, jerky waves behind Bode’s back before confidently strutting in her slow way into the escape pod.

“See you at the outpost,” said Bode as he followed Zee.

“Yup,” said Cal, still staring at the entrance to his own. “I’m coming.”

He forced himself to take one step, and then another. This was not his first time in an escape pod after the Purge, nor would it be the last, unless he was either very lucky or extremely unlucky. But this was the first time since then he’d been in one that was so similar. The Lucrehulk’s pods were nearly the exact same as the ones equipped on the Venators, probably much to the luck and wit of some rich arms dealer. The familiarity sent shivers down his spine, but it would look odd to Bode if he backed out of the launch now.

Hesitantly, Cal buckled himself into one of the jump seats and took a deep breath. This was worse than launching himself into the ocean on Nur to get the holocron back. The Mantis’ escape pods were narrow and tight and different enough that Cal could keep his mind where it was supposed to be. Punching the launch button on this escape pod felt like he was being shot straight into an echo. The escape pod rattled around him. Gravity settled in his stomach with a weightless swoop and with it Cal fell into the memory he’d been trying so hard to push away.

He was thirteen again, crying on the floor of the pod as it hurtled towards the cloud covered surface of Bracca. In his grip Master Tapal’s body was cooling, his empty, half-lidded eyes still staring up at the ceiling of the pod. What could Cal do but scream. His confusion, rage, and grief clawed its way out of his chest through his throat, tearing at his vocal cords and bouncing off the metal walls. He curled into himself, bracing for the impact he knew was coming. The pod lurched, bouncing against the wet ground before sliding to a halt with a bang and a jerk. For several moments Cal sat curled in his seat. He could smell the rain, the underlying copper tang of rusting metal that permeated Bracca and everything unfortunate enough to be on it. Cal didn’t want to open his eyes. He knew what he would see. The same image that haunted his nightmares on sleepless nights; Master Tapal’s disappointed expression frozen in death, the blaster holes in his chest still smoking lightly. No, Cal would rather stay in the ignorant darkness forever than see that again.

BD-1 beeped a question. But BD-1 wasn’t on Bracca. Cal blinked open his eyes to the dim light of the swamp filtering through the muck and grime covering the viewport. At the same time he took a deep breath, feeling the cool air scrape down the rawness in his throat. He was strapped into the jump seat, not on the floor, but he was still curled around himself as much as he could be while strapped in.

He was very glad that he hadn’t ridden in the same pod as Bode and Zee. As he came back to himself Cal felt a surge of shame well up inside his chest. It had been ten years. He’d grown up, become a knight, faced down the dark terror of the Empire and lived. And yet he couldn’t handle a simple, in-atmo ride in an escape pod.

There was a little tap on his knee, and Cal lowered his arms to look into BD’s photoreceptors. How a little droid could convey so much concern without a face was astounding, but BD had always been the most expressive droid he’d ever met. As soon as there was enough room for him BD hopped up onto his lap and nudged his boxy head against his chest. Cal reached out with a shaky hand and gently patted him, careful of his antennae.

“I’m okay, buddy,” said Cal quietly, his voice rough from screaming.

BD-1 called bantha shit with a low trill. Still he snuggled against Cal until he shooed him off to undo the seat’s restraints. When Cal got to his feet, he was unsteady in a way that had nothing to do with the escape pod shifting in the thick swampy muck. By his ankles BD beeped worriedly before using the recently vacated seat as a springboard up to Cal’s shoulders. The familiar weight was comfortable, grounding. It was as if BD was providing a counterbalance to the odd, off-kilter feeling that had settled in his limbs, as if Cal’s brain and body had become two separate entities.

Cal made his way out of the pod and out into the bog. Somehow, he had ended up right back where he started. The little island in the pool of muck. At least the pod hadn’t landed right in the middle of the swamp and been swallowed before he could get out of it. Instead it rested just a few feet from the shoreline. He was about to get dirty, but at least he wouldn’t have to comm Greez to try and airlift him out with the Mantis. He hoped that Bode and Zee had landed somewhere safe, hopefully outside of the reach of the bog or any of Koboh’s more ravenous inhabitants.

The climb up from the edge of the bog to the small hut that rested safely above the muddy waterline was not long, or particularly hard, yet Cal was both covered in mud and exhausted as he pulled himself over the dark rock. He struggled to get his feet under himself, feeling BD hop around his back to try and help him balance.

“Thanks BD,” said Cal once he finally got his bearings.

There was a concerned trill in his ear.

“Just a little tired from that last fight. It’s been a while since I was really fighting for my life against another Force user.”

Five years, to be exact. The same day as his last trip in an escape pod. Cal shuddered at the memory, but kept moving. It didn’t take all that long to reach the little hut, and when he peered inside Zygg and her new friend Wini were still there. The two of them were standing rather close together and through the Force Cal could feel the rather warm emotions from the two of them. Embarrassment almost had him turning on his heel and marching back out, but Zygg spotted him over Wini’s shoulder and gave him a wave.

“You’re back,” said Zygg.

“Yeah,” said Cal.

Behind Zygg, Wini had a slightly put-out look on her face, but she recovered remarkably quickly and followed her over to Cal.

“Did you manage to find Zee?” asked Zygg.

“We did. Bode’s taking her back to the outpost.”

Zygg smiled. “That’s good to hear.”

Her smile slowly faded as she took in Cal’s appearance. Her eyebrows drew close together in concern, but it was Wini who spoke up.

“You look terrible, and the state of your clothes… Well, you will be heading back to the Outpost to freshen up?”

Cal blinked at her, somewhat taken aback.

“Yeah, uh, eventually?” said Cal.

He would eventually go back and meet up with Bode at Rambler’s Reach. Maybe jump in the river first to get the worst of the gunk off himself.

Wini shook her head. “Are all men in the outer rim like this?”

Zygg shook her head at Wini. “What I think she’s trying to say is that whatever you did to get Zee back, it looks like it hit you like a gorocco. Want a ride back? I got a speeder that’ll keep us out of the bog and get back to town in no time.”

Cal looked down at his battle-and-bog-stained clothes and felt the exhaustion that had buried itself in his bones settling in like a weight. BD shifted on his shoulders and beeped into his ear to say that it was a good offer.

“Yeah, a ride might be nice.”

“No worries, I’ll have you back to the outpost in no time.”

“It’s true. I saw her driving here, and I have never seen a pilot so daring.”

BD-1 trilled excitement at the thought, and Cal felt like he should probably be worried. Yet as he stood in the little hut with Zygg and Wini he could feel the shakiness start to fade, replaced instead by exhaustion and an odd sort of emptiness. Maybe he was hungry. Greez could help him out with that. With that thought in mind he followed Zygg and Wini out of the hut to a battered old speeder and they set off back to Rambler’s Reach.

#jedi survivor #jedi survivor fic #jedi survivor fanfiction #oneshot #this one fought me the whole way and I'm not 100% on it #but i don't want to keep staring at it anymore #cal kestis #bode akuna #cal kestis has ptsd #thats it thats the fic #also let the rambler's reach outpost friends take care of cal as much as he takes care of them

[fancyfrey]

the boglings of Koboh

Word count: 2,282

Rating: G

Summary: If anyone asked, Greez accidentally introduced the boglings to Koboh.

A pleasant surprise, surely, as the boglings had made themself at home on Koboh and everyone in Rambler's Reach simply adore them.

Especially one ginger-haired Jedi, who can't seem to resist petting every bogling he comes across on his adventures.

Read on ao3

#star wars #fanart #star wars fanfiction #jedi survivor fanfiction #my art #cal kestis #merrical #greez knows his kid well #kata akuna #boglings boglings boglings boglings boglings boglings boglings boglings boglings boglings boglings boglings #my fanfic

[kindasleepywriter]

An Unexpected Visit (Cal Kestis x Mechanic!Reader)

Summary: You find a little metal friend in your lonely workshop on Koboh and you have no idea where he came from. The answer to that question brings you more hope than you thought it would.

Warnings: Small blood mention.

Words: 3.8k

Note: Thought I'd post a little something while I work on the next few chapter of BoP! Pretty sure this is gender neutral, but if im wrong don't hesitate to point it out!!

Koboh was a hot planet to live on even on its coldest days. There was no such thing as frost here, and snow was out of the question. The native population of the planet was used to it, buildings designed to keep out the sweltering air and clothes made of the thinnest materials.

You, however, hated it.

You’d been warned the planet was warm, but no one had quite mentioned how high the temperature really was. You regretted trusting the Ihi Tib that had brought you here more than anything, but you’d used up all your credits on that trip and there was no way in hell to make that money again to leave, not while working here.

You longed for Habo, the little planet you’d decided against in favor of this one. No raiders, no empire soldiers, just nature and its shy inhabitants. No droids either, but there wasn’t any here either, so you didn’t care. Sometimes, you dreamt of reaching its lush forests and mountains and feeling cold drops of rain on your skin.

The metal roofing of your shop did you no good either, heat waves often visible above it. Its only room felt like a furnace even at the best of times, and you weren’t a stranger to the feeling of sweat-soaked clothes sticking to you uncomfortably anymore.

You tinkered with a metal detector that some prospector had brought to you, taking the opportunity of the night’s barely detectable coolness to work on a project. Apparently, it had stopped functioning properly after it’d been dropped into a chasm. By the looks of it, you were surprised it even was in one piece. Well, mostly in one piece. Maybe the revenue you’d make from this might be able to pay for new boot soles, yours having almost completely disintegrated because of the burning sand that covered the entire region.

The only sound in your workshop was the harsh grating of your screwdriver against the detector’s metal, as you tried to pry open its chassis. The thing just wouldn’t budge, and you considered whether the boots were even worth it.

A whistling sound startled you, the old screwdriver slipping and taking a chunk out of your palm. You swore and tugged a rare oil-free cloth from the toolbox beside you, hitting your head on your work lamp in the process and swearing again. You pressed the cloth against the wound to stop the bleeding and looked towards the open room to determine where the whistling had come from. The door to the shop was locked, you’d triple-checked it while closing. Was this one of the raider lackeys trying to draw you outside again? You’d fallen for it exactly once and promptly learned not to investigate strange noises you might hear outside, but this sounded like a mechanical whistle, not a breathing being.

The strange whistling sounded again, this time from behind you. You spun on your heels, tied the cloth around your hand, and reached for the rusty rebar you kept by your workstation. Nothing seemed amiss at first glance. Had you imagined the sound? Maybe the heat was getting to you, you hadn’t refilled your water canister since this morning. Dehydration hallucinations were rare for you, but you’d still had your fair share, especially when you’d just arrived to Koboh. Getting used to this planet had been a challenge.

Suddenly a flash of red and white crossed the room, hiding behind a wooden bin you used to store your own unfinished projects. The whistle came again, followed by a few beeps. A droid, you realized. He’d been speaking binary! You’d hardly recognized it, not having heard it since your arrival. Lots of droids, the Ihi Tib had assured you, the bastard.

“Hey little buddy, can I help you?” you called, slightly lowering the rebar but still holding it tightly with your free hand. A series of beeps followed in response. It was mostly unintelligible, but you could make out the meaning of some of it.

“Yeah, I’m the mechanic here, do you need something fixed?”

A scared whistle. You crouched, putting down the rebar at reaching distance from your hands.

“I’ve let go of the iron, I won’t hurt you as long as you don’t hurt me, deal?”

You received no response, but the droid tentatively stepped out from its hideout. It was a cute one, you thought, a little flat head and cubical body supported by its two lanky legs. You could see his eyes focusing and zooming on you, no doubt examining you for any sign of aggression. You raised your hands as a peace gesture, and he stepped closer. He emitted a green light from his position. You laughed at the sudden scan but didn’t move.

From up close, you could see the damage he carried. The side of his left leg was blackened as if burnt, and its small body had a gaping hole that revealed his inner components. No wonder he’d been scared, one more hit and he’d be fried. He looked mostly intact on the inside, but you’d need him in your hands to determine if that was the case. You went to speak but got cut off by the loud noise of your door slamming shut behind you.

“Beedee, I told you to wait while I left to find a spare-”

You squealed at the man’s voice, grabbing the piece of rebar again, wincing as it rubbed against your clothed palm, and jumped to your feet.

A man stood at the entrance of your shop, only a few feet from you. You shakily held up the rebar between the two of you as a threat, the droid incoherently beeping behind you and hitting you with his little leg. You ignored him, and the intruder raised his hands, showing you that they were empty. You could see a metal baton at his side and a pistol strapped to his thigh, but he wasn’t reaching for them despite the threat of your rebar.

“Whoa, easy,” he exclaimed rapidly, “I’m not here to attack you!”

“What do you want?” you called, “Shop’s closed at this hour.” It was fairly late in the night, and not many people were still up at this time apart from you. No one with good intentions, at least.

He took a less defensive stance, increasingly unimpressed at your choice of weapon, or your unsteady hold of it. “My name’s Cal, I’m just here for beedee.” He gestured to the droid. “Come on buddy, we’ve got to get back to Greez.”

The cantina’s owner?

“How do you know Greez?” you asked with narrowed eyes. You’d never seen this man, and he’d never been around here. News spread fast in a village this small, you would’ve heard about it in less than a day. The cantina sometimes welcomed suspicious or dangerous individuals, and you wondered if this new guy was one of them.

“It’s a… long story. I’m just visiting. Beedee, let’s go.”

You examined the man closer, as he was clearly only interested in the droid. Now that the adrenaline had mostly run its course, your mind pointed out how attractive the man was. Sure, his armor-looking leather garments looked like they had seen better days, but it was hard to ignore his soft-swept hair, scatter of freckles and sharp jawline that his stubble didn’t quite manage to hide, not to mention his lean yet muscled build.

The droid, beedee, didn’t make a move to leave. Instead, he pushed into your leg again and emitted a series of noises you couldn’t understand.

“Is he always this unclear or is my binary just rusty?” you asked the man hesitantly, keeping the rebar in hand and taking a few steps back to put space in between the two of you.

“He got shot in the middle of a fight, his vocabulator got damaged,” he said. Your grip on the metal tightened. A fight? “I was going to fly to a relay point to find him a new one, but this guy,” he shot a reproachful look at the droid, “Won’t stay put long enough for me to go.”

The droid continued his monologue. The only word you could make out was ‘Mechanic’.

“I’m a mechanic, beedee, is that why you came to see me?”

He near-violently nodded his head.

“I’m sorry he disturbed you, like I said, we need the new component to fix it.” Cal said, shrugging.

You crouched and took a closer look. You could view the injured piece now, its main area intact but its outer edge clearly burnt out. You shook your head. “You don’t need a new one, actually.”

Cal looked at you like you’d grown a third head. “Have you seen the chip? That thing is as good as dead.”

“Not if you reroute the circuit towards his internal commlink instead.”

He blinked. “You’ve worked on droids before?” he asked cautiously.

You nodded. “It’s what I trained for as a teen on my home planet, but I had the great luck of finding a dishonest pilot who promised me there were a lot of droids here.” You gestured to your near empty workshop, embarrassed. “As you can see, not quite the reality of the area. The only ones here are those the raiders keep, and I’ve made it quite clear to them on multiple occasions that they could shove it. Being on their bad side isn’t the greatest, but at least I’m not helping them loot and kill people. Used to work on ships too and loved that, but those are also lacking here.”

He looked at you as if evaluating your body language. You weren’t exactly hard to read; you wore your emotions quite visibly. “Why haven’t you left?” he asked.

“A droid mechanic on a droid-less planet doesn’t exactly have the revenue to jump on a hyperspace voyage. Maybe in a couple years, but at this rate the raiders will have found any stash of money I could keep. Anyways! what I’m trying to say is I can fix beedee if you want.” The droid beeped approvingly from where he stood, jumping up and down in triumph.

Cal seemed to weigh the risks. You didn’t blame him, some unknown mechanic on a near empty outer rim planet didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but you knew you could make the repairs easily.

“Alright,” he said defeatedly, “but if a single electrical filament is damaged, I’ll know, and you won’t get a cent.”

You shrugged, his threat not scaring you. The droid already had enough injuries as is, you weren’t planning on adding to them.

Beedee jumped up to the worktable you’d been working at earlier and you pushed aside the metal detector with a wince. The movement pulled on your palm painfully. The droid didn’t miss your reaction and pushed on your injured hand with a foot.

“Just a cut, little guy, nothing to worry about.” You said, perhaps unconvincingly. The screwdriver you’d used was a bit rusty, and you knew you should get a bacta patch to keep an infection from spreading, but you couldn’t afford one. You’d wash it out with water later and hope for the best.

The droid didn’t miss a beat at words and a little vial was suddenly flung up in the air. You didn’t manage to catch it, not having the reaction time you might have with more rest and water in you, but a calloused hand caught it before it could hit the ground. Cal stood next to you, offering the tube in an open hand

“A stim?” you exclaimed, picking it up and examining it, “I haven’t seen one of those in years, they cost a fortune.” You glanced towards Cal.  “I’m not sure the cut warrants using one.” you added.

The man just folded his arms and leaned against the table. “If beedee says you need one, I wouldn’t argue, or else you’ll be arguing with him all night.” he said.

You mumbled a soft thank you as you injected the stim, your hands already feeling much better after only a few seconds. You took off the cloth and despite the dark red that coated your hand, the cut had all but disappeared, leaving only a thin pink line behind. You scrubbed the dry blood off as best you could and turned towards the droid again.

He sat in front of you, presenting his exposed wiring. You picked up your smallest welder and started working, self-conscious of your beat-up tools. You could feel Cal leaning in with each detailed movement you made, unquestionably watching the process to learn how to do it himself. You worked as diligently as you could despite your focus trailing occasionally to the man that held close to your side. The slight reprieve the night air provided seemed gone, his warmth seeping into your skin.

It wasn’t a complicated job, you just needed to reroute the processor to the commlink to translate the droid’s processes into clear binary code to then bypass the burnt translator located on the edge of the vocabulator. It was a trick that was specific to this type of vocabulator though, so it wasn’t a well-known process.

You finished with the rerouting, satisfied by the clear binary beedee could now emit as he properly introduced himself to you. And idea shot through you and you slipped out from Cal’s side to reach for your spare parts bin. You rummaged through it for a moment, the droid sending you a questioning whistle.

“Wait a minute! I know I’ve got it somewhere here…” you grumbled. “Ah-ah! Here it is.”

You held out a grey piece of thin durasteel as you sauntered back to the waiting duo, grabbing your heat gun along the way. “I think I can give you a temporary fix for your casing, let me just… There! It doesn’t match your colors, but it should do the trick.” You slid a newly shaped metal plate over the spot where the casing had melted away, grinning at its sturdiness. “This won’t fix it forever; I’d need a little more time to make an entirely new one and to make it the right color, but this should keep your components safe for a while!”

BD-1, as you now knew him, spun around in circles as he tried to check out his new part. You took out a small mirror from a drawer and held it up to him so he could see. He let out a string of excited beeps and whistles, repeatedly asking Cal to look at his ‘cool looking patch’. You glanced to the man on your side and discovered him watching you intently with a small smile. You felt your cheeks heating under his stare and scuttled back a few steps.

“Uhm, I hope this all works out until you’re able to find new parts, you guys! I could get started on a new custom permanent case too, so beedee doesn’t lose his usual flair.” BD-1 whistled in approval. “Shouldn’t take me more than a few days, maybe 5 at most, if you’re interested.”

Cal nodded, his intense gaze not faltering. “I think that’d be perfect. How much for today’s work?”

“Oh no, consider it as a repayment for that stim and for the opportunity to work on a droid again. Honestly, I had forgotten how much more interesting it is than working on the prospectors’ tools. As for the pickup, if I’m not here when you come back to get it, that means I’ve gone out to trade for parts. I’ll leave the finished casing in this drawer here,” you pointed to the right one, “and you seem to know how to get past the locks. Just close it back up when you leave!”

He laughed at the remark and thanked you for your work on BD-1. The droid gave you a sharp farewell whistle despite its clear disappointment at having to leave already. He climbed onto Cal’s back as the man moved toward your shop’s door.

“Hey,” you called, “if you come around this corner of the galaxy again after picking up beedee’s casing, don’t hesitate to swing by! It’s always nice seeing someone new.”

He turned on his feet, walking backwards for a few steps. “I have a feeling we’ll see each other again, don’t worry.” He winked at you, leaving you at a loss for words, and turned back to walk through the door.

After you calmed your elevated heartbeat, you locked up after him, deciding the two unexpected guests were enough for one night. You leaned back against the door and sighed. Maybe you should’ve accepted the money. Cal seemed like a nice guy, but Koboh was getting harder every day. Habo was still on your mind, but you’d settle for anything other than this damn planet. Kriff, you’d even be willing to join a crew of wandering space pirates if that meant you actually got to do something other than retrieve and fix the same old tools over and over again. Maybe one day luck would favor you, you thought, or maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.

-- 9 days later ---

The walk back from trading was always exhausting. The prospectors that held the best materials were currently residing on a high cliff that hid a cave’s opening. Getting up there was arduous, but if you left early enough it was manageable despite the climbing you had to do. By the time you made the trek back, however, there was no escaping the sun’s rays, and the only thing keeping your hands from the burning rocks as you scaled down the cliff was an almost ruined pair of leather gloves. They wouldn’t last another climb, you thought, and neither would your boots.

You’d have to find something to barter with the one villager who made most of the prospectors’ equipment. You didn’t even have money for food this week, but you’d make do, like you always did. Maybe you’d go back to the cantina tonight to offer maintenance on Greez’s bartender droid. His cantina was apparently bringing in more customers this week, so maybe you could find some other work there too.

You were also looking forward to hearing more of the village gossip. You’d heard rumors of a Jedi taking down raiders all over the region when you’d gone for a drink the night before but given that the source of that information was Turgle, you were far from convinced. A Jedi would be hunted down in a minute by the Empire, especially if they used their famed weapon and left witnesses. The fisherman you sometimes saw hanging around the streams, Skoova, had however confirmed that there was indeed a newcomer hunting down raiders for sport.

He hadn’t been very talkative, only describing him as a short-haired man of average height that fought in a poncho. You didn’t know how you felt about someone wearing a poncho on a desert planet, though you did find humor at the idea of the raiders getting their ass kicked by some new guy in a raincoat. Either way, if there was a chance that this not-a-Jedi-even-though-Turgle-says-he-is guy had arrived here by ship, you wanted to find out more no matter his unusual taste in clothing.

You entered your workshop after the long walk back from the prospectors, bracing for the intolerable heat of your metal cage. You stored what little you’d brought back in its rightful place and dragged your feet to your worktable, ready to start working on another tool a prospector had given you to fix. You remembered distantly that Cal still hadn’t swung by to pick up BD-1’s new case.

You peeked inside the drawer and found it empty of the custom case. There were a few credits in there, thankfully enough to cover the material you’d used for the case, plus a couple more. Despite the much-needed money, you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Of course, the one day you left your workshop had to be the one when he decided to come here. You sighed and pushed the drawer away, rubbing your eyes with your palms, hoping (and doubting) that he would visit again. You didn’t even know what region of Koboh he was from, you didn’t recognize his accent at all.

A glimpse of white caught your eye before the drawer shut completely. You reached towards the unknown object and found a folded note that you were sure hadn’t been in therebefore you left. You opened it and didn’t immediately recognize the handwriting.

-

Thank you for the case, BD-1 is practically begging for a couple more designs (to match my ‘rizz’ - I have no idea what that means. He convinced me to wear an old grey poncho I had just so we matched and I fear giving in to the different colored cases will be the start of a slippery slope, but how could I say no to the little guy?)

I’ve gone off-track – What I mean to tell you is that if you still want to leave Koboh, there will be a ship (it’s mine) at the landing pad until 1500 tomorrow. Bring what you need, but I have all the essentials on board. Food and water I mean, and maybe I have a spare toothbrush somewhere too?

Anyway. We’ll figure it out.

I can drop you off somewhere if you want, but I wouldn’t mind a mechanic on board if you’re interested. Can’t guarantee regular hours or absolute safety but hey, still more interesting than metal detectors, right?

This might be my last visit to Koboh in a while.

P.S.: BD-1 wants you to know you’re the only one allowed to fix his leg, and that he ‘requires you on board’. His words, not mine. He shot an electric dart at the last person who tried to repair it (me).

Cal

-

You couldn’t help but let out a loud celebratory shout as you read. He had a ship, and you were finally getting out of here! No more prospectors whining at the time it took to fix their tools, no bedlam raiders trying to kick through your door in the middle of the night, no need to refill your water supply from the well that stood well over a mile away.

You’d happily make BD-1 a thousand little metal outfits to match Cal’s ponchos if he wanted-

Your mind screeched to a stop. Hadn't that been the outfit Skoova mentioned?

You remembered what Turgle said about the second newcomer, the one he had called a Jedi. You didn’t remember ever reading about that order using guns, but… Cal had been carrying another weapon. The metal handle, you now realized, that was hanging at his side.

Oh kriff.

Had the idea while building the BD-1 Lego set. I meant for this to be just a little 1k meet-cute oneshot, Of course, me being me, i wrote 5k. Edited it a little, and it's as short as I can tolerate lmao

My first time posting for Star Wars! Still not over Survivor despite having played it more than 100 hour in the first two weeks i got it, and having done reruns since. The double-bladed stance has me in a chokehold.

Tell me what you think, and check out my masterlist!

#Cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #cal kestis x you #jedi survivor #jedi fallen order #jedi video games #star wars jedi #star wars #fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic

[thedaughersofferrix]

Birthdays

(work is not nsfw, but this blog is generally intended to be 18+)

synopsis: cal forgets about his birthday. you don't.

pairing: cal kestis x gn! reader

content warnings: pining, fluff, reader is a jedi

word count: 1.5k

a/n: something short and sweet to say happy jedi survivor release everybody. game looks amazing & i'm so happy to see cal again. might be a part 2, but i'm not sure atm

if cal kestis has a million fans, then i'm one of them. if cal kestis has one fan, then i'm them. if cal kestis has no fans, that means i'm dead.

-

Cal decided that fighting the Empire would be a priority in his life five years ago.

After he destroyed the holocron so the force-sensitive children in the galaxy could live in peace, that was his vow.

The Mantis crew got to work; blowing up Haxion Brood bases and wiping out legions of stormtroopers at a time. The fight thrilled him and every battle only left him in anticipation of the next.

It got to the point where he struggled to think of anything but the fight. Every thought was the next move, their wrongs and the perpetrators. The scars, the injuries and the losses continued and Cal never wavered.

He knew it was an obsession, but he just couldn’t help it. It was a need, etched into his soul and a part of his identity. His was Cal Kestis. The rebel Jedi, the most wanted man in the Empire. And the most dangerous.

Then he met you. 

Well, he met you again, because he’d met you years ago, back when the temple on Coruscant was a Jedi temple. When Master Tapal was alive and little Cal’s mind couldn’t even fathom an Empire taking everything from him.

You’d been his crèche-mate and friend, long before either of you had been padawans.

In between lessons, you would spar or lounge in the dining hall, where most of the other younglings liked to loiter. He formed a puppy-love crush on you that made his Master chuckle. It’s only natural, Cal. The feelings will fade with time. He has half-right, Cal supposes.

He remembers vividly the last time he saw you when he and Master Tapal were minutes away from loading onto a cruiser with their clone troops. Thinking back, he’s embarrassed by how hesitant he was to leave you.

Don’t get all sentimental about this, you told him wisely. We’ll see each other when we get back.

It was so hard to tell himself you were dead. 

Cal Kestis was the last living Jedi, fighting against the Empire that deemed his kind a traitor and punished them for crimes they never committed.

You had died, so had your master and so had everyone else he once knew. That had been difficult for him to accept.

Merrin and Cere understood the pain and that helped, at times. Though sometimes he didn’t want to understand. He wanted to see you, feel your arms embracing him and hear your voice in his ear. He didn’t talk about you to them though. He wanted something for himself, a little what-if to hold on to during the nights he felt particularly melancholic. 

Then came his trip to Segra Milo, to speak with Saw Gerrera about his next move.

By that point, the Partisans recognised him on sight and offered him only a nod of acknowledgement when he passed by. 

There you were, in all your glory. Older, a bit more rough around the edges (like himself) and even more attractive than you’d been about nine years ago.

When the two of you locked eyes and time bowed at your feet, to allow you both this moment of silent disbelief.

“Cal?” you had whispered. He whispered your name back and you smiled widely. 

You embraced him like he had been so desperate for you to do. And he heard your voice, the one that had previously only reached him in dreams.

“I thought you died,” you told him.

“I thought you died,” he said, in a single breath. Emotion threatened to explode from his chest until Saw Gerrera cleared his throat.

“I hate to break up this lover’s reunion,” he said. “But we do have a war to fight.”

“Tonight,” you whispered into his ear and he felt like a padawan with a crush again.

Sure enough, the two of you made a rendezvous under the moonlight. The cavernous, dangerous terrain of Segra Milo felt so inviting that night.

You explained to him that you and your master had been ambushed by your own troopers. You and your master were separated when they received the orders and by luck, you weren’t the one in a room full of clones. Quietly you found an escape pod and left for the nearest planet. You cut your padawan braid and disassembled your lightsaber on the same day. The kyber crystal that powered it hung from your neck, hidden behind layers of clothing.

“One day I watched them string up a man for dropping his drink on a trooper's foot,” you recalled to him. “They claimed he had done it as an act of civil disobedience and that it was anti-Imperial activity. I rebuilt my lightsaber and started looking for the Rebellion the same day.”

You were the same person he remembered, only better. Now you were stronger and smarter, without losing your humanity. 

The next day, you were separated again. You were travelling to Devaron to provide the Partisans there with support. He tried to go with you, but you sagely reminded him of the danger of two Jedi being found together.

You exchanged comm links the night prior and hugged tightly before you boarded your ship and he the Mantis. It reminded him of the one you gave him before what he thought had been your demise. He prayed he wouldn’t have to remember this hug the same way. 

“Until next time, Cal,” you said, hopeful and bright.

“Until then,” he replied, leaving you with a smile.

The next time he saw you, he thinks he might have hugged you tighter than he’d ever hugged anyone.

There had been a next time, he thought. There could be another one.

And there was. In fact, there had been many next times. He couldn’t count on his hands how many times he had gotten to see you. On the good days, you spoke and drank together. On the days, you fought and mourned together. But you were together and it was so much easier than it had been before.

Recently he’d probably gone the longest without seeing you, which made him realise the effect you had on him.

The Empire was still are the forefront of his mind, almost always. It consumed his actions and words. Slowly but surely, however, you had been weaselling your way into an important position in his life.

He didn’t care about the Empire when he was looking at you and he may as well have not met an Inquisitor when he’s hearing your laugh. You were there and he didn’t need to think about any of that.

Then, when the gap you filled was empty again with your departure, he was consumed by the need to fight once more.

He forewent sleep and food, only collapsing when his body refused to preserve and eating when the hunger pangs came. Fight, fight, fight, was all he could think about. It never really occurred to him to celebrate his victories or even do simple things, like check the date. 

But you returned to him again and reminded him of what he was missing.

“A win like this is worth sitting down for,” you insisted, sitting beside him at the fire. “Besides, today is special.” His brow furrowed. 

“What’s today?” he asked you, which made you laugh, loud and beautiful.

“You can’t be serious, Cal.”

“I am! What’s today?”

“Cal,” you sighed. “It’s your birthday.”

His mind went blank as the gears started to turn. “Oh,” was what he came up with. You laughed at him again.

“Did you really forget?” you asked him. 

“I haven’t celebrated it in years,” he admitted and you frowned, making him wish he lied. He hated it when you frowned, though you did make a cute face when you were angry.

“Well we’ll have to make up for that, won’t we?” you announced, standing from your seat and downing your drink. “Stay here for a second.” He nodded and you slipped away.

You returned not long after, with something behind your back.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed. He looked at you curiously. “Just do it.” His eyes fell shut. He heard you shuffling and muttering something to BD-1. “Put out your hands.” He open one palm and pushed it toward you. “Both of them.” He opened the other. He felt a weight in his left hand, then in his right.

“Open.” 

Cal was greeted by a cupcake in his left hand and a multitool in his left.

“I tried to find a cake, but apparently Devaronians aren’t very fond of them,” you explained. “And this,” you pointed to the multitool. “I bought this for you back on Corellia, but you were gone before I could give it to you. It’s got everything you need to keep Beedee in working order.” BD-1 chirped happily at that.

Cal was starstruck. He hadn’t experienced softness like this since before the Clone Wars. Suddenly his chest felt fuzzy and his face was hot. 

“Thank you,” he managed. “No problem,” you answered breezily.

He shared some of the cupcake with you, but you insisted he had to eat at least seventy per cent of it. The multitool found a place on his belt, though with the amount of combat he saw, he’d be using it soon.

You sat beside him at the fire on his birthday and Cal Kestis felt hope again in a way like he’d never felt before. Hope for not just the present, but the future.

#cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x you #cal kestis x y/n #star wars x reader #star wars jedi: survivor #star wars #star wars fanfiction

[machiavellli]

In the HEAT of the moment

Pairing: Cal Kestis x chiss!jedi!reader

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: reader is in heat, unholy use of the force, slightly angst dynamic (we are a bit bratty), 0ral f&m receiving, p in v, dom!cal(?)/switch (accusingly), p0rn w/o plot (not really?), no use of y/n

Summary: Terribly h0rny on a ship with an attractive redhead, what could possibly happen?

MDNI!

Author’s note: it all started that I wanted to write an old classical sex pollen! fic, but then I remembered how a lot of people (myself included) headcanon chiss people to have a mating cycle and I thought it could be an interesting alternative. Also the only thing you really have to know about chiss people is that they are generally speaking slightly cold people, they have blue skin (NOT MENTIONED) and red eyes (which glows when they feel strong emotions). Reader is depicted as a force user, but this honestly only serves the purpose to make it even more filthy.

Sorry for the BAD DESCRIPTION of the Mantis, do you really care though? Also BD is safe and sound from any inappropriate view🤌

English isn’t my first language

I watched the red-haired figure beside me trying to land the ship as fast as he could, fear painted all over his face, anxiousness filling his chest. If only he could know what was actually wrong with me.

I was spread out on the co-pilot seat, breathing heavily, clothes increasingly damp from the sweat that was now clearly crowning my face. I was trying to concentrate exclusively on my force signature, or rather I was desperately trying to keep it closed. I just had to wait for the wave to pass, for this embarrassment to end.

I hated the fact that it happened in front of him, I usually was able to handle it myself. I wanted to shout at him to leave, I wanted to maintain my usual cold character, he had never seen this vulnerability in me before and he was scared.

He was probably thinking a fever had come over me, he couldn't possibly know how my biology worked and he couldn't, shouldn't know, that I was developing a soft spot for him.

It was so hard to be this close yet so far from his touch. If I had spoken I would have lost all control over my signature and he would have been able to sense my heat expanding. How the heat ran more and more in my blood until I felt my eyes burning. If only he could know.

I remained contorted in the chair, trying to tighten all my limbs, trying to make myself smaller and smaller, to repress this uncontrollable situation. My head was back, eyes half closed, I couldn't look at him, even though the image of him, those damn red hair, was now imprinted on my retina. Every time I tried to open my eyes even slightly, he would turn his worried gaze in my direction. My glowing red eyes left me no opportunity to escape his peripheral vision.

I closed my eyes definitively, trying to cling to the little concentration I had left. I could feel Cal landing the ship, this is absolutely useless, I kept thinking. BD scanned me, «I know her temperature and pulse are high, I can see it» he replied with a frustrated tone to the droid, he didn’t like at all this unusual situation.

My eyes were still completely shut, not even for the love of the Maker I was going to open them, especially now that I could hear him rising from his piloting seat.

«You have to tell me something though, what the hell is happening to you, you were fine thirty minutes ago» he was now hovering over my face, and I could feel his warm breath as he spoke.

His hand reached out for my face, but I quickly sent him away, dismissing it with my arm, still, the brief touch made me tremble from the inside. And he noticed it.

You aren’t getting any information out of me, I would explode before letting you know anything, I thought.

He loudly snorted, starting to grow frustrated by his anxious state and my attitude.

«Listen, you got to tell me something. Why can’t I access your signature? You never blocked it. Let me read you» he then gripped with decision at both of the sides of my now completely sweaty head and made me face him.

I had to bite so hard my lips to hide the moan that almost made it out, to the point where I tasted my own boiling blood.

Focus, focus, focus. For the love of the Maker and for my dignity.

I tried to remove myself from his cautious touch, but his callous hands gripped harder, keeping me firm in my place. I then opened my eyes, the light of the cockpit invading my sight, making my eyes water from the discomfort, but I kept my burning gaze on him. Hopefully, even if a tear started to descend, he would recognise my furious gaze, which I had unfairly dedicated him numerous times, on missions, but also in everyday activities. I was just trying to keep my distance for all of those months, but all the crafting I did on my persona was breaking just in front of his eyes. If only he knew.

«I just want to help you. Let me help you. I know that you hate being helped, especially by me, but I need you alive and healthy kriff» he sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment, but I kept my gaze fixed on him, breathing even more heavily. It felt like oxygen wasn’t enough. Because it wasn't, as I resignedly knew; and I knew I was going to need his help if he didn't get out of here in mere seconds.

«Since I don’t know what’s the matter with you, I’m sorry, but I have to try to access your mind. You look like something is giving you a panic attack» how ironic.

If only he knew.

After that sentence, I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold the game, the control I had over my force signature was feeble, so it took me all my strength to do it, but I kicked him as hard as I could in the stomach, desperately trying to send him away. The kick ended up being much more delicate than I had in mind, it didn’t even hurt him, but it still made him step back a little and remove his delicious hands from my skull. I tried to catch the opportunity to leave the cockpit, but as I tried to stand up, my bloody wobbly limbs made me crash on the floor, my head hitting the seat just above and failing forward.

I hissed in pain, desperate, needy and desolate for the scene that Cal had to endure. I was barely lifted from the floor with my elbows, I lifted up my gaze towards his direction. Hairs sticking to my forehead and breath still as heavy as an imperial cruiser.

«Let me help you. You are a mess» he slowly walked next to me, lowering his broad figure to my level. Flashes came back in mind from all the times I had the upper hand over him, in our training sessions or missions. I was so good at hiding everything, until I wasn't.

«Y-you need…t-to stay away from me» I whispered and it made him widen his eyes from the surprise that I could speak. Words as light as air destined to fall into the sea of ​​uselessness as quickly as lead. And with that, the unstable hold I had on my signature fell.

«I can’t leave you here, don’t be rid-» he started saying by lifting me from my arms. And with that, he knew. Now he knew.

Moments that felt eternal passed as I held again my gaze, now completely stripped of any decency. Kriff, if he knew.

I couldn’t reach for his signature, I simply lacked the strength to do so, but I was sure that he was scanning my interior from top to bottom, I could sense him everywhere in me. It was so good, I imagine the real touch, how good that must feel.

«Go away.» I replied, closing my tired eyes once more, letting my head fall forward, hiding hopelessly my bare mind.

«But I thought that I felt so good…» he said meanwhile rising my head once more, lifting my chin with one of his damn hands. And a light moan escaped my lips.

My mind went blank there, eyes fixed on him as I would be staring into the void itself and my mouth opened from the shock, revealing the now dried blood painted on my lips. I felt the agonising tears and the sweat mixing over my face, this was purely mortifying.

One thing was being shamed without addressing it and one thing was whatever was going on here. But as much as I felt shamed, I felt this growing heat rising once again in me: it felt good.

And it certainly didn’t help when he started to gently brush away the dried blood from my lips with his thumb. I was just glad his eyes were fixed on them and not my eyes, you know, for the sake of my decency.

«All of this…all of this for what?» He chuckled lightly, readjusting his gaze on me, making our eyes entangled again «For hiding from me? The only one ashamed is you, wilful as always».

«Leave the matter to me, I-I will handle-»

«You don’t get to handle a thing. Be a good girl and let me help you or your rut won’t pass» he voiced firmly.

This time, my eyes widened in surprise and the little nickname made my body flinch.

«Tell me you want my help and you will be served.»

For a moment, I breathed heavily again, focusing entirely on reaching for his signature: he was being honest. That’s all I needed. I needed him and he knew. He knew it all.

«Help me, n-need you»

Without any other dancing around, he lifted me easily, closing the cockpit door of the Mantis behind him, and locking up BD. My head instinctively went back, just for him to catch it with his large hand. I wanted any clothes off.

Once we reached for the table, he delicately leaned me against its surface, ice against my warm skin. He climbed over me with his broad figure, feeling his own arousal growing. He waited for this for so long. And I did not know.

Our lips, now, mere inches away. I was hot, but kriff, I could feel his heartbeat also running. Our breaths mixed over our faces and for cutting short all the theatrical tragedy, I simply lifted one of my hands to cup his face, making him come instinctively closer. Now as my lips danced on his, I knew it was over.

I was burning, to the point where the heat gave me back my strength and I started holding onto his hair with both of my sweaty desperate hands, making a moan escape from him. He felt like a sweet fresh relief from my pain, but Force, if I need more than that. Our hips then started to stroke against each other, searching for the real relief.

It felt like we were eating off each other’s faces, sloppy kisses filled with burning passion, mixing with the sweat and blood, nothing too different from our condition on a battlefield wryly.

Then, he started travelling down to my neck and moans finally freely left my mouth, as I felt the ginger growing harder on my thighs.

«You are so warm, so good» he muttered half moaning into my neck as his hands started working on my tunic, but he stopped for a moment and looked at me with those pretty green eyes: «Can I?».

«Hurry.» was my response.

And he hurried. Basically ripping my damp tunic away, and without losing a second he was on my breast, skilfully sucking one as he played the nipple of the other with his callous hand.

«So soft, can’t believe I had to wait this long» he whispered as his voice grew hoarse with desire.

«More Cal» I whined softly, now completely blinded by lust.

And my wish was his command.

He navigated down, in the direction of my wetness, leaving a trail of careless kisses behind. His hands, which felt frigid, given my temperature, followed him as he went down, gripping firmly my waist, and making my eyes roll. Hence, he held me still with one large hand flat over my lower stomach, pressing lightly, as the other worked to remove my trousers. At last, I was bare before him, a desire I hid for long.

«It took you a heat wave, almost a heart attack, for letting me touch you. So obstinate to prove yourself, when you were already perfect in front of me» he breathed while he lowered himself, as my thighs were being spread upon his face.

As my legs parted, I felt my indecent drench slide down, feeling exposed and turned on like never before.

«You are going to be my four-course meal» he mumble, taking a look at my condition and smirking, before starting to rub over my sensitive clit, as his breath kept teasing me.

I was in no condition to speak, my mind was already far too gone, and filthy sounds were the only thing coming out of me. And Force, the sight would have killed any Jedi master back at the temple. Too bad.

Once he considered it enough, he closed the gap between my heat and his lips, starting to suckle intensely, holding me open for him, feeling every one of his digits pressing into my flesh. The touch felt electric, combined with his force signature overwhelming me inside. I wanted him, may this be the last thing I ever do.

And he damn knew.

«For someone so bitter, you taste so sweet» A low groan escaped from him as he gripped greatly at my inner thighs, parting my lips even more, whilst I held on the table for my damn life, trying to steady myself as my body trembled beneath him.

His lips, the swirling of his tongue over my swollen bud, the slightly cool sensation from his lower temperature and the air around us, were driving me wild. I was getting close and instinctively I tried to force my legs closed, but I was immediately shut by his powerful hands, keeping me more open and vulnerable than ever.

«Don’t try. Let me have what is mine» he hissed while flipping me over to my stomach.

My face and chest made contact with the cold surface, as I felt my hips being lifted and dragged at the edge of the table. His cool grip, air, surface and exposure made my walls clench. The sight of my bare ass made his cock, still hidden beneath all his clothes, twitch in anticipation. He nudged over my warm soft flesh, admiring my curves, gripping it with force and giving it a loud slap.

«Don’t you think you were bratty enough? It feels so good to have the upper hand, no wonder you like it some much»

He was enjoying this almost as much as me, the only difference being that I was utterly submitted to my own desire, my rut, desperately trying to get me filled with his seed.

He lowered once more his gaze to my warm, opening my lips with his rough thumbs, as my wetness fell on the table’s surface. His mouth captured my clit once more, making me tremble from the newly acquired angle, but his hands were quickly on my sides, supporting my weight.

We kept filling the room with my indecent moans and his low groans as he ate me out like a starved man, till the point where I reached my peak, surrendering to the overwhelming sensation coursing through my body. Oh Force, oh stars. Why did I wait so long for him?

Instinctively, I let my hips fall on the table and Cal followed me, resting his head on my lower back, giving it a soft kiss. We were both breathless, but we were both far from being over with this.

We both knew.

My heat returned after mere seconds, making me whine. I flipped myself over as Cal lifted himself from me, gripping one of my ankles to drag me closer to him.

«Undress. Come over to the table. Quick.» I commanded and so he did as I said.

Rapidly he removed his own clothes and I got to stare at his toned pale body, covered in delicious freckles and reddish hairs travelling all the way down to his throbbing member. What a show.

He climbed for the second time that day over my figure and when he got to the level of my face, I decided that before anything else, I would have to taste him, my thoughts driven by my burning lust. I took him from his shoulders, switching our positions, causing his head to collide with the table and blocking him with my thighs, my wetness now pooling on his lower stomach, just above his crotch.

«My turn, you had your fun Kestis»

Whiteout giving him the time to protest, I descended over his body, leaving a trace of warm bites from his neck till the lowest part of his abandonment, making him squirm at every touch. I felt like my blood was boiling even more, raising my temperature once again.

I softly bit the flushed skin of his cock, before opening my watery mouth and taking as much as I could from his size. My boiling mouth, working in sinuous movements around his member, made him let out a low groan, overwhelmed by the sensation.

«If o-only I could’ve shut you up before like this, mhm. So pretty. So good.» he stated bringing his hands over his face moaning, lifting his hips up a little, causing me to pleasantly choke on him.

Hence, he moved one of his hands on my head, encouraging me to go deep, to move faster, increasing his excitement. From now on, I wouldn’t have ever again protested to remain silent.

Then, he lifted my head from him, a hand taking me from my chin, cleaning once more my lips, but not from blood this time.

«Nobody here wants me to come in your mouth, let’s be honest» he asserted and it was almost as if my rut snapped me out of my state, remembering what I truly want and need.

All I wanted was being filled, till I couldn’t take it anymore, filling me with pleasure and relief from the unbearable heat that has been consuming my body.

«Please» I pleaded softly, biting my lower lip between my teeth, desperation adorning my words.

Cal lifted me from my stance, sitting up and swinging my legs around his lap, my core just in front of his.

«You are beautiful, you have always been amazing, even if I thought you hated me» he spoke softly, caressing with one hand my face, removing some of the hairs sticking over it, whilst, with the other one, he held my waist firmly.

«I am sorry, I was just trying to be professional» I confessed lowering my gaze. The sounds of our heartbeats were the only thing I could hear as our force signatures started to entangle.

«You were more annoying than professional» he chuckled, «And professional for who? Do I look professional? C’mon.»

«Mhm…annoying…just because I kept beating your ass Kestis»

I took his chin with one of my hands, as the other gripped at the nape of his neck, his Adam’s apple rising as I bit again into his neck, making him breathe heavily.

«So annoying…» he moaned, «Tell me what you need to make you feel better, I would do anything for you»

Our signatures overflowing into each other, make me see the stars and the kriffing galaxy, I said in his mind. He thankfully knew.

Without another thought, he laid my back again on the surface, as he towered over me.

Breathe in, breathe out.

His fierce mouth was on mine, filthy kissing me, catching restlessly my swollen lips and whimpering while doing so. His hand adorned my curves, clasping at the softness of my hips, gently moving one leg up, aligning himself at my entrance.

Locking our eyes, sharing one last breath, before his length entered me.

Instinctively, I rolled my eyes back as his thick member filled me completely. He was everywhere inside of me, his pleasure was mine and mine was his. The Force could reserve such unholy uses.

«See? Good girls get stretch real good» he muttered in a groan of pleasure.

The carnal desire was burning more now than ever.

As he moved inside of me, I arched my back and let out soft moans, whilst he was holding me tightly, growling at the nape of my neck. I clenched my walls around him as he hit every sweet spot just right. Every deep trust emanated a lustful indecent sound, skin against skin, clapping together, coiled by sweat and desire.

He was filling me divinely, but I needed it raw. Animalistic. As my rut intended.

But, without words, he knew that.

Cal flipped me over, grabbing onto my waist from behind, as he impaled himself without warning in one trust. His powerful thrusts sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through my entire being, and I felt the intensity of his emotions radiating through every cell in my body as he poured into me relentlessly. One of his hands reached for my neck, bringing him even more inside of me.

As our hearts synchronised, the combination of the raw act and our force signature fuelled his movements. the connection deepening with each powerful stroke.

Every noise, every sound of pleasure, filled the room, intoxicating our actions even more, the sound of our skin colliding acted as a frame, in this almost dazzling lust.

We both become lost in the heat of the moment, Cal blinded by my rut that I shared with him in the force.

His cock throbbed with excitement, eager to release its energy deep within my welcoming embrace. The redhead filled me up completely with his solid, pulsating presence. The sensation was invigorating, propelling both of us closer to the brink of euphoria.

«Close» I mumbled with the little strength left in me.

His muscles tensed, as I tightened around him, feeling my pleasure intensify as Cal’s arousal reached its peak.

With his last powerful strokes and the connection we shared in that moment, I saw the stars and the galaxy, feeling our bodies intensely tremble at the reach of our high, whilst gasping loudly.

He painted my inside white with his warm liquid, turning my body temperature back to normal.

Breathless, he fell onto my back, his nose brushed deliberately over my ear, with his member still inside of me.

Restored our normal heartbeats, he lifted the both of us from the table, guiding us to the sofa, where I sat on his lap, brushing some of his hair away as he did the same with me.

«I had no idea chiss had a mating cycle»

«Nobody knows, it’s embarrassing»

«It was fun in my opinion baby» he confessed before giving me a small caste kiss. The action, made me flush and smile unintentionally, which produced a soft laugh from the redhead.

«Fellow associate» I replied, hiding the smile.

«Don’t start again ple-»

«The cycle lasts a week» I said, cutting him off by placing one finger over his own swollen lips.

His eyes widened and a smile formed upon his face as I pressed my forehead on his, smiling, without control this time.

There was nothing he didn’t know now.

Lovely gifs from @vindicia !!

Beautiful dividers from @cafekitsune !!

Star Wars masterlist

General masterlist

My request are open, just know that I’m slow✨

#dedicated to all my ginger friends<33 #little treat after those the bad batch episodes #huge backstabbing tbh #cal kestis x reader #cal kestis #jedi!reader #chiss!reader #star wars #jedi survivor #jedi fallen order #cal kestis smut #star wars smut #also #shoutout to all the Thrawn fanfiction with his rut going on #chiss #star wars fanfiction #star wars chiss #reader insert #Jedi fallen order x reader #Jedi survivor x reader #cal x reader #cal kestis x you #cal kestis/reader #cal kestis x y/n #chiss ascendancy #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars x y/n #cameron monaghan #cameron monaghan x reader

[hereforthefanficsandromance]

Daily Cal Headcanon

Summary

Inquisitor!Cal hunting Jedi!You, but finding himself unable to resist your body. Rating: 18+ Theme: dub-con

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆

Inquisitor!Cal hunting you for weeks before finally coming across your hidden cave campsite. Hoping to lay low in the dark shadows of the stone until you return to finally end your life.

Inquisitor!Cal searching your belongings for signs of contact with other hidden Jedi, so that he might begin another mission as he ends yours.

Inquisitor!Cal lifting your blanket to search below it and instead seeing an echo. Watching the memory of you sliding your fingers into your cunt and pumping them slowly. Your lips parted as your moans gently bounce off the rock walls. The blanket pushed aside, your skin warmed by the fire, as your other hands moves to shove your shirt up over your breasts and pinch one of your nipples.

Inquisitor!Cal coming out of the memory and having to adjust his pants before returning the blanket to the same position it was in before. Glancing at the burnt out fire, remembering the way it cast beautiful light on your naked form.

Inquisitor!Cal hiding in the shadows until night, awaiting your return. Instead of attempting to kill you immediately, he waits patiently as you start another fire and eat a measly dinner. He watches in silence as you stare at the flames until becoming drowsy and laying down to sleep.

Inquisitor!Cal who waits until your breathing changes before leaving his hiding spot. Freeing a thin rope from his belt and fashioning it into handcuffs.

Inquisitor!Cal who is one motion, pulls the blanket from your body, secures your hands, holding them high above your head, and settles himself between your legs.

Inquisitor!Cal places a hand over your mouth as you wake and begin screaming. Humping the space between your thighs, letting you know his intentions.

Inquisitor!Cal releases your mouth when your noises cease and eyes widen in lust and panic. "I saw what you did last night, let me help you tonight."

Inquisitor!Cal continues rubbing your clothed sexes together, already hard. Moving his hands down to push your pants and panties down before looking into your eyes. "Tell me you want this too. I never did get the opportunity to bed a Jedi."

Inquisitor!Cal who stroke once along your slit when you nod, pupils blown for the handsome Inquisitor you equally fear and want. His finger rubbing at the arousal that gathers between your legs as he touches you.

Inquisitor!Cal who takes his time, using his fingers to expertly rub your clit with one hand while holding your hands in place with the other. Using his teeth to pull your shirt up over your breasts and suckle your nipples.

Inquisitor!Cal who brings you to orgasm with his mouth and fingers but forces you to clench around nothing, telling you that "I will not fill you until I am using your body for my pleasure. You cum around nothing to remind you of your place here, Jedi."

Inquisitor!Cal in the aftershocks of your orgasm frees his length of his clothes and pushes himself deep into your still spasming pussy, causing you to cry out.

Inquisitor!Cal who fucks you slowly while telling you how "you're disgusting, letting and Inquisitor have his way with you and barely trying to fight once you felt my touch."

Inquisitor!Cal degrades and shames you the whole time he uses your cunt at a painfully slow pace, wanting to drag out his power over you. His words bringing you to orgasm again as he fucks you through it.

Inquisitor!Cal who shames you further "you like being used like this Jedi" and "this is why your kind died out, your weak to the power of the Empire."

Inquisitor!Cal who cums deep inside you, buckling his pants, and standing to leave. "I very much look forward to hunting you more often." Then leaving you breathless and confused.

#HereForTheFanficsAndRomanceBlurb #cal kestis smut #cal kestis x reader #star wars fanfiction #star wars smut #inquisitor cal kestis #smut #inquisitor cal kestis x reader #jedi survivor fanfiction #star wars jedi survivor #sw jedi survivor #sw au #jedi survivor fic #star wars jedi fallen order #jedi fallen order #jedi survivor #hereforthefanficsandromanceworks

[fanfoolishness]

Chapter 9 is up!

Cal rounds a bend in the path and stops, going cold.  A grove of silver-birches opens up before him; the springy loam and moss of the path is gone, replaced with blackened soil and burnt stumps, fallen trunks with bare gray branches.  A few trees still stand tall, but scorch marks ring their narrow trunks. “This was done by a lightsaber,” Cal whispers. BD-1 whimpers, hunkering down on Cal’s shoulders. Cal takes a few steps warily into the circle of dead trees, the chill deepening with every step.  I have to know.

Please check out chapter 9 now! We're in the home stretch!

#cal kestis #jedi: survivor #jedi survivor #jedi: survivor spoilers #jedi survivor spoilers #merrical #nightsister merrin #jedi survivor fanfiction #my jedi fic

[sunderedazem]

Cal Kestis, Ninth Brother

Concept art for the Jedi: Survivor fic "do you taste my pain in this bloodstained place" written by me, @dream-of-tanalorr, and @spyscrapper !

Cal's wearing an Inquisitor uniform very similar to Trilla's, because he can have a Hot Inquisitor Summer, as a Treat-

Alt version below:

(Sith Eyes)

#jedi survivor #cal kestis #inquisitor cal kestis #jedi survivor fic #dark cal kestis #jedi fallen order #jedi survivor fanart #jedi survivor fanfiction

[stardustandash]

In the Quiet of the Night - Jedi Survivor

Read on ao3

The kids are finally, finally down for the count. Sure, Cal’s passed out on the sofa in the lounge and BD-1 is getting oil all over the cushions, but at least he’s sleeping. Merrin at least had the sense to drag herself into her room and he hasn’t heard anything coming out of there since, so she’s probably asleep or at least keeping herself out of trouble. The Mantis is safely on autopilot in hyperspace, and unless something crazy happens, like a whale crossing through their hyperspace lane, there’s no danger to worry about up front.

Greez has the finest bottle of booze stashed on the Mantis in hand. He’s had it for years. Never felt like there was the right occasion to open it before, but now Greez has a whole newfound appreciation for how fast life can pass him by. He makes one stop on his journey through the ship. Where he’s going he’s going to need something warm. Great Uncle Alzi’s hand-knit blanket should do just fine. After all, any latero blanket stitched on four needles at once was far superior to anything else the rest of the galaxy deemed comforting. He wraps it around his shoulders as he continues his weary march through the quiet ship. It’s just him and the engines awake now. He supposes he should be grateful Cal is out in the lounge adding even more stains to the already ruined potolli weave. Kid sleeps lighter than a kriffing scrap rat on a gallon of caf and would absolutely wake up if he was on his usual bunk as Greez slips through the engine room and down to the lower decks.

Its rare that the Mantis’ lower decks are in use. There’s a few extra bunks down here, probably meant for the crew of whatever rich asshole owned the ship, but they’ve remained empty of people the entire time Greez has had her. Instead they’re full of odds and ends accumulated over the years. Cal’s put some new stuff in them, but they’re still mostly full of the junk from before the kid even joined the crew. Greez makes his way past the bunks to the big door right in the belly of the ship. He takes a breath, wraps the blanket tight around his shoulders, and enters the code to open the door.

A wave of cold air washes over him. The cargo hold on a luxury yacht comes with climate control separate from the rest of the ship. Greez used to use it as extra cold storage for food. Longer between resupplying meant they could stay moving and keep out of reach of the Empire. It’s been turned to the coldest setting. Freezing, actually. The cargo in the Mantis’ belly now is the most precious of all and the cold is protecting them.

Two shrouded figures lie as ceremoniously as they can atop the empty cargo chests strapped to the floor of the hold. Greez stands before one. Even with the lumpy wrappings he knows its Cere. He could recognize her anywhere.

The first tears that come aren’t a surprise. They run warm down his chin and he scrapes a hand over his face. This is been a bad idea. Most of his ideas are bad ideas, and the person who was always able to tell him that is, unfortunately, the same person lying beneath the dusty cloth in front of him.

“Oh, shove over a little will you?” mutters Greez.

He says that, but Greez doesn’t dare touch Cere as he hops up to sit on the cargo crate by what he thinks is her hip. He gives her shrouded face a glance before popping open the bottle and taking a deep, long drink.

“I don’t think I can do this without you,” says Greez. “The kids, the Hidden Path stuff, any of it.”

He rolls the bottle between his hands. Cere had been the one to buy it. To celebrate when they found a Jedi. Neither of them had bothered to point out that the bottle had been half off in a pawn shop on Corellia and therefore just about in their price range. Then their Jedi turned out to be a jumpy little whisp of a kid who barely qualified as either a Jedi or an adult, but that didn’t deter Cere. Or the Empire. Cal had a target on his back no matter what, and despite all his talk Greez wasn’t exactly heartless enough to toss a teenager to the wolves. The celebratory drinks therefore turned into celebratory meals. Not that Greez complained about the chance to show off his cooking. The kid was too skinny then, he’s still too skinny now, and has always been appreciative of Greez’ cooking. Merrin too.

Greez likes his role on the ship. He is the Captain and the cook, and sometimes he has a hand in teaching Cal and Merrin a little bit about life in the big wide galaxy. But he isn’t the one the two of them rely on. Cal and Merrin need Cere. They need her wisdom and kindness and all that Force crap that the three of them love so much.

 The drink goes down smooth. Too bad. Greez longs for the burn that lets him know he’s being self-destructive.

He could so easily let himself spiral. Greez has been there before. Lost in booze and sabacc and getting in with the worst sort of people the galaxy has to offer. Then he had the two best wins of his life, first the Mantis, then Cere. He might not have won the game against her but he ended up with a friend for life. More than a friend. There isn’t a word for what he and Cere are, were, to each other. They were family without blood, partners without romance, a package deal. Even if they had gone their separate ways to opposite ends of the galaxy they were still them. Greez sighs heavily. It felt like they had more time. That they would have this new adventure then maybe he and Cere would settle down on Tanalorr together with her Hidden Path. Cere would grow her archive and he could cook for the refugees. He is sure the planet was full of new and unique ingredients, and BD-1 can make himself useful by scanning them for potential poison.

Now that future is gone. Cere is still and cold beside him. No more smiles or quiet jokes. No more complaints about the lack of quality teas on board or Greez’s cautious nature. No more late nights with a stiff drink and the quiet notes of her hallisket.

One cautious hand finds its way to Cere’s shoulder and the stiffness there feels so wrong. It hits him for real then, that this isn’t some kind of awful nightmare. The dam breaks, and Greez cries in earnest. The cargo hold is reinforced, so the kids won’t hear his wailing as he loses himself in his grief. He buries his face in two hands to hide the sight of her body, the other two gripping the bottle and Cere like they’ll go flying off without him to tether them. His chest heaves with sobs as he curses anything he can think of from the Empire to Cere herself in a voice that’s wet and garbled. Without really thinking he lifts the bottle, ready to throw it across the hold, when he blinks back to reality and slowly lowers it to his lap.

He's too old for this, Greez thinks. He feels all of his years weighing him down as he rolls the bottle between his hands. He’s too old and the kids are too young and kark it all Cere was too damn good for this galaxy.

“Wish you were here to tell me I’m being stupid,” says Greez. “Spout some of that Force crap about ‘not really dying’ or whatever. You know I’m no good at this emotional kinda stuff.”

The silence of the cargo hold echoes around Greez and he pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders. It’s freezing, but he can’t bring himself to get up and leave yet. The kids are asleep, the Mantis is bound back for Koboh, and he can afford one night to grieve the loss of the most important person in his galaxy. Tomorrow he’ll be strong for Cal and Merrin, and back to figuring out how to deal with that traitorous bastard Bode. But for tonight, here alone, he will sit with his grief and try to piece himself back together.

#jedi survivior #jedi survivor fanfiction #fic #ficlet #greez dritus #cere junda #emotional hurt/comfort #sorry guys it had to be done