#Cal x reader

[mara-and-its-the-same]

hello there! I would love to read any of your thoughts/fics about Cal and/or Danny!

OR?! I could never pick between them, but for the sake of introductions let's start with thoughts because the fics are coming don't you worry. They just need a little fine tuning

Teeny thoughts/HCs for both below the cut (it's yap central up in here)🥰

Cal

I'm so obsessed with the way he talks, like absolutely entranced by his cadence and I love every scene of him telling some story. and I know that he'd know that, maybe not right away but eventually he'd recognize the look you give him around the bonfire while he's talking to the group is the same one you give him late in the evening close to the final page of your date nights. OH MY GOD!

when you find out he speaks french! i'm woozy just thinking about it, (i don't even care that i can't understand quebecois for the life of me) you'd ask him to say something to you just so you could hear the sound of it. even if he's gotten a little rusty since he hasn't has anyone to speak it with, and even if all he can recite are the few stories he remembers from his childhood, or motorcycle parts he's learned from the translations on the back of manuals. like a late night and you cant sleep and you just want the sound of his voice to relax to...he might not totally understand the attraction, but he's not one to look a gift horse in the mouth and if you're into it who is he to deny you such a simple wish?

and I don't think he'd be the type to be one of those "my old ball and chain" guys, like he's undoubtedly in love with you and in love with being around you as often as possible. so if you're home while he's working in the garage he's setting up a lawn chair for you to relax in, just to keep him company, if the weather's nice he's putting it out in the sun for you and if it's a little too hot he sets you up in the shade with a little cooler with whatever the two of you are into that week. and he's certainly not letting you lift a finger. not because he thinks you'll break something (which like you might, but who am i to judge) but because he doesn't want you getting grease all over your outfit or roughing up those soft, pretty hands of yours. he just wants your company

Danny

for right now in this moment, i'm all over the idea of being his "girl back home" like he's out in chicago with all these bikers getting into god knows what kind of trouble, while you're safe at home just thinking about him every hour of every day. of course he calls whenever he gets the chance, but it's never a sure thing with the amount of time he spends out on the longer runs. and long distance calls are expensive, but every time he does it's so precious. the few times you hear some new midwestern phrase or pronunciation slip in and get a few extra seconds on the call just to poke a little more fun at him.

the guys get ahold of his wallet one day and can't believe he's kept you a secret this long. 3 different pictures of you sit in the accordion folded holder between the fold of his wallet and he thanks god for the feeling he got that morning he should change the ones he had in before (much more,,,invigorating if you will), for these three that he brought with him too, just to be sure he can see all your different expressions every time he reaches into his back pocket.

AND WHEN YOU COME TO VISIT!! at first he's not so sure it's the best idea, worrying you won't like the guys or something might happen once you're there, but all that is secondary the moment he thinks about how long it's been since he's last seen you, and before he knows it he's calling you back and taking you up on that offer to get a week off of work and coming to see him. Once you're there he's not leaving your side for a minute, firstly because he feels the need to let everyone else know you're his (and that you are real, as much as Zipco and Wahoo tried to get him to admit to the pictures in his wallet being magazine clippings because what's a girl like you doing with a pinko "college-boy" like him) and second because he's missed you so much for so long and he doesn't know the next time you'll be back so he's getting every second he can with you

and oh goodness are you impressed with this new look he's adopted. so different from what he used to wear to class or out walking around the city together, but still it fits him so well. your knees almost give out the 3rd day of your visit when he comes out from his bedroom in a black tank top and his denim vest...and maybe you do feign heat exhaustion just so he'll take you home early on the back of the bike he's spent so many phone calls telling you about...just because the heat was a more internal kind doesn't mean it's any less real. or maybe the exhaustion was just that you were getting tired of seeing him look that hot without doing anything about it. either way he hasn't seen you pull him up his apartment stairs that fast since you first started dating

and not maybe, but certainly, your trip goes from one week to two to a month until the tragic reality of responsibility sinks in and you realize you really are running out of clothes...

[reverieblondie]

I already sent this thought to someone, but I think you might like it, too!

Tiefling bachelors accidentally scratching up the surfaces they were bracing their hands on while engaged in a moment of carnal passion with his partner, like not small superficial scratches, I mean his claws left gouge marks. Imagine he is all nervous/embarrassed about it only for his partner to inform him that is actually incredibly hot.

I look forward to seeing your thoughts (if you desire to share them).

A/N: This took me forever! But I loved every second it was so fun! these scenario ones are always my favorites! I love love the Tiefling bachelors but I wanted to add some of my moots OCs that I love. We have Kieran from @dark-and-kawaii wonderful mind (thank you for the screenshot and thank you for making this man I am obsessed!) We also have Syvaris who I instantly fell for when I saw him on the discord server made by @tealfling (He is so dreamy and I am so happy for @faerunsbest oc Dwylla for snatching up that tall man, also thank you for the photo to use!) Hope you enjoy its all 18+! MDNI!

Rolan

"Your... A- Ah~ Annoying,  you know that?" Rolan growls in your ear as his claws dig into the sides of your thighs. All you can manage is a breathy giggle that turns into a whine as he pushes into your wet core deeper. The ridges stretch you as he sinks deeper, Rolan's brows are furrowed, and his eyes shut tight as he feels you clench on his cock like a vise. "So…so… tight… per-perfect," his voice mumbles as he gets lost in the feeling. This is a far cry from how he was acting earlier, you had been bothering him all day with countless pointless questions, touching his arms and hands, then acting oh so innocent about it. The last straw had been when you barged into his office and sat on his desk, hiking up your dress to show just a teasing hint of your thighs, of course, in an effort to interrupt his oh-so-important studies. Rolan was definitely taking out some built up frustrations when he finally broke. Grabbing you by your waist, Rolan pushes you down on the desk and finally kisses you; it is desperate, hungry, and completely perfect. You didn't think Rolan was ever going to stop kissing you, not until he started talking about how you drive him crazy. Now, here you lay back on the desk as Rolan's long nails scratch his oak desk, and he ruts in, bouncing you to take an inch deeper with every thrust. The pleasure of the stretch is overwhelming, and then there's the sight of him over you, his golden eyes shining, and the way his hair hangs down; he is completely enthralling. You should have bothered him to this point months ago... "Rolan... you're perfect." Your sweet praise rings in Rolan's ears, making him scratch his nails deeper down his desk. You feel his tail thrashing around till it's gripping your leg like a vice; all you can keep doing is gripping his tough skin, singing his praises, making his cock throb, and you too keen further. Rolan, fueled by your praise, loses himself in you as he lifts his foot on top of the desk angling his cock to hit against your G-spot in mind-numbing bliss. Rolan's own praise continues to switch from common to infernal as he desperately chases both of your orgasms. He's been pinning for months, and now that he has you, he's desperate to please you. When he finally pushes you to that edge, it's intense. Once you have both come down from your orgasms, Rolan's face is flushed from more than just the 'workout.' He's avoiding eye contact even as you try to ask him what the matter is. "Was it me?" you finally muster as you feel your chest sinking. Rolan turns to you quickly, holding your naked body close to his, "It's me… I was… unhinged… you probably-" you cover his mouth with your fingers, causing him to become quiet, "You were perfect… Rolan, truly perfect." Rolan looks at his sharp nails and ruined desk, "It didn't scare you?" You lean in closer to his lips, "Only excites me…"  

Hours later, Lia brought up Rolan a late dinner (considering he had missed it earlier doing whatever). When she knocked on the door, she could have sworn she had heard hissing whispers and something being shoved. Rolan answers the door out of breath but uncharacteristically cheerful; it was suspicious... Lia looks around and sees large gashes on his desk and on his study walls. "What happened here?" She says, placing the tray down on the ruined desk; Rolan stumbles about clearing his throat till picking up a tome (one of many on the floor), "I was working on a difficult spell." Lia looks around, "I guess it's one hell of a spell…" Before she can further look around, Rolan is thanking her for the food and pushing her out. Must be very eager to get back to his work… 

Zevlor

The first thing he asked you when you came into the storage room was if anyone saw you sneak in after him. The Second question he asked you as he walked towards you from the darkness, his fiery eyes locked on yours, was if you could keep quiet." Of course "was what you promised Zevlor, and of course, at that time, you had meant it… but now that your legs are wrapped around his textured waist and his thick cock is ramming in and out of you, bouncing you against the supply shelf, you're finding it difficult not to scream his name. Zevlor is also finding it equally as difficult not to moan your name as yours as you take him in so well, your tight warmth practically sucking him in deeper as your slick walls flutter around him. Your nails bite into his shoulders with every roll of his hips. Zevlors breath is hot and heavy against your neck, his teeth threatening to bite your delicate skin as he presses sloppy kisses against you. It all just riles you up more, rolling your hips to meet his thrust pushing his hot cock to sink in deeper, nudging that sensitive spot in your cunt, forcing you to see stars. A deep groan rips from Zevlors throat as your cunt quivers on his cock with a rush of your arousal squirting onto his abdomen. In an attempt to keep himself quiet, he bites into your skin while his hands claw up and tear at the supply shelves, even forcing some things to fall and crash to the ground as his hips move erratically to chase his high. Later, he will embarrassingly apologize for acting like an animal, but you just kiss his lips and say you want to see that passion again. 

You're trying not to blush as the rest of the caravan's refugees look at the ruined shelves and materials marked by claws. When Zevlor finally shows up from being called, he gives a simple answer: "Animals must have gotten in and messed around," he says, trying to hide his smile. You promised that your rondeau tonight would happen outside the grove so you could be as loud as you like.

Cal

You could have had anyone you wanted at the party; as the hero of the hour, everyone was trying to catch your attention, but you picked him out, and Cal couldn't be happier. Cal almost feels like he can't breathe as you kiss his neck before running your tongue over his ears. You giggle as his tail twists and sways erratically, his clawed hands holding tightly onto your bedroll, carefully trying not to rip it. Cals is trying so hard not to lose control, but little does he know that's exactly what you're after. Cal has always been so sweet and strong… All you want him to do is to let go and finally release all that built-up tension. So after much soft teasing with sweet whispered desires, you reward when Cal finally snaps, taking you in his arms and kissing you like he's never going to see you again. You, of course, were soft to start… but your want can make you ravenous as Cal's hands ran over your body; of course, it led to you stripping him in a fever, eager to feel his hot hands all over your skin, caressing your sides, teasing your inner thighs, and twisting your breast… You just couldn't help it anymore when you finally pushed him down to sink onto his girth. Cal's clawed hands rip fistfuls of your bedroll apart as you bounce on his cock; he eagerly matches your pace with his hips ramming up into your wet cunt, making your eyes roll in ecstasy. Your sweet Cal looks up at you with half-lidded eyes concentrating on your pleasure, he wants to please you, and when you bring his hand to circle your clit he's in bliss. Your cunt clenches down harder on his thick cock, making a growl rip from his throat as he tries not to cum too quickly.  But then you start begging… begging for him to cum inside and claim you as his. With a moan and a loud tear, you feel him cum in hot spurts that make you desperate for more of him. Later, Cal will be so embarrassed and nervous about ripping up your bedroll; of course, he offers to give you his, but you just smirk, "I don't mind it all ripped up; it's a good reminder of you for the road."  

The next day, as you're packing up your things, still feeling quite melancholy about the tiefling departure, you're about to pack up your ruined bedroll when a clearing of a throat causes you to turn. It's Halsin, and in his hands, he has a bedroll. You look at him confused, and he just smiles. "Heard from a blushing young man that you needed a new one." Of course, Cal wouldn't leave you with a ruined one. During your small reverie of thinking about Cal, Astarion walks past with a smirk, "Hope it's claw proof, that or get that teif some claw covers for next time." 

Dammon

His forked tongue licks at your dripping sweat as it rolls down your throat. Dammon pins you against the back wall as one hand holds your hips as the other keeps him steady leaning you both steady. His weight presses against your body as his thick cock stretches you open. Your hands and legs wrap tightly around him as he fucks you in the back of the forge. You had been so needy and couldn't wait for him to take you upstairs, you needed him now. So thus leading to you two tangled together in the back of the shop. You're both nude and sweating as the forge fire roars. As you chant his name Dammons pace gets rougher, his cock slamming in so deep you begin to see stars. Feeling your tight warmth starting to clench on his cock has his mind going blank. First, you feel his sharp nails on your hip pierce your skin, then you hear the scratching down the stone wall as his hips get faster, the pace getting sloppier but never relenting. Dammon always knows how to give you exactly where you need it every time. His breathing is rough and shallow in your ear before he lets out a dark growl, "Cum on my cock. So I can fucking fill you..." Dammon is rarely so demanding, but you just can't help yourself when he is. Dammon comes to bed later rather quietly… when you ask him about it, he says he's embarrassed for getting so rough, when will he learn that's your favorite…

The customer looks at the back of the forge's wall, tilting his head at the scratches all over the stones. "What happened to your back wall?" Dammon flushes, stammering before you come and place a hand on the small at his back, calming him. "Just your typical late night at the forge. Nothing to worry about."

Kieran

He smiles down at your blissed-out face, "Feels good, doesn't it, bunny?" All you can manage to do is to open your mouth and whine as his cock keeps punching against your cervix, brushing your smooth, slick walls with the hard ridges of his cock. Kieran smirks down at you, so malleable for him; he hicks your legs up further, forcing your knees up to your face, successfully folding you in half. "You're so full you can't even think right now, huh?" You urge yourself to answer, but with the added heat of his body slamming onto you is leaving you in a lustful daze. You end up just grabbing his shoulders, digging your nails further into his flesh, practically threatening to make him bleed, "Please…" Your pleading is music to his ears as he pounds you harder, his nails not only ripping through the wooden headboard but ripping your skin in the process. The sharp feeling is quickly dulling into toe-curling pleasure as Kieran continues to fuck you at a rough pace. "Please… Please!" you continue to breathe as you quench down on his cock, causing him to groan in your ear, "Oh bunny, you don't even know what you're begging for, do you?" Kieran rolls his hips at an agonizingly slow pace making your eyes cross as his tail finds your clit. "What would your boyfriend think of you now? Begging like a whore for another man's cock in his bed nonetheless…" you hardly hear his taunting words as you cling to him, babbling as his nails continue to carve into you; if you didn't know any better, you would think he's carving his initials… "poor bastard just didn't know how to treat you…" Kieran grabs your hips and starts to bounce you in his cock, smiling at how you come undone for him so easily. Honestly, Kieran is not remorseful in the least for scratching everything up. 

Your boyfriend stumbles into your shared bedroom and pauses when he sees the bed broken and everything else he owns ripped to shreds. He looks around, perplexed until he sees a letter waiting on the broken nightstand. "Sorry about the bed. Try finding something more durable. Also, I took the girl." - K.E. 

Syvaris

Syvaris was just expecting to take a nice refreshing dip… but he hadn't expected to be interrupted during his wash in the river. Syvaris had a feeling he was being watched, it was only confirmed when he stopped his meditation to see you peeking at him from behind a tree. You, the same sweet little thing he had helped save earlier that day spying on him…, and he couldn't find it in himself to mind, especially when it's someone so pretty like you acting so naughty. All Syvaris had to do was wave his hand to beckon you closer, "care to join me?" was all he said to get you to strip bare for him and join him in the crisp waters. It was clear you were wanting this just like he was. The coolness of the water made you feel a shiver throughout your body; it was short-lived. However, as you swam closer, he wrapped his warm arms around you, bringing you to his lap. Syvaris chuckled as he let you roam your hands over his wide chest. A passionate make-out followed where he prepped you with his long fingers in your wet cunt. The next thing you knew in the lust-filled blur was him having switched your positions to have your back pushed against a rock as he stretched your cunt taut, and he sunk into your warmth. Syvaris seemed determined to ruin you for any man after him with the way he rammed into you. Syvaris continued to shower you in praise as his lips caressed your sweat-laced skin, and with every kiss, every whisper, every thrust that threatened to go straight to your womb, your pussy fluttered and gripped him like a vise. Such a sweet little thing… he promises to come back for you when his journey is over, but for now he wants to stay in this moment for as long as he can, holding tight to you as he digs his claws into the rock holding you as he fills you with his cum. You won't be able to forget him… especially not when you're going to be leaking him for days…

You are stuck in your reverie as you look out into the cool waters. You were meant to be down here to wash laundry in the stream, but when you look in the distance, you see that same place where you shared your night with your hero. Syvaris had left with a promise to return, and you knew deep down it was true… but you still worried…. "Are those bear scratches?" one of the girls with her own basket says in shock, part of you has half a mind to confess… but you keep Syvaris and your secret tight to your chest. 

[freaky-deaky-cookies]

Can I request headcanons for Cal, Haarlep, Dammon, Rolan, and Zevlor reacting to shy GN s/o who always asks for permission even just to hold hands or a kiss on the cheek please?

Teifling Bachelors + Cal and Haarlep with a Tav who asks for cuddles or a kiss on the cheek

Cal 

He is all for it!

He tends to be more on the shy side himself, so he does appreciate not being caught off guard

That is not to say he doesn't love a surprise smooch every now and then, however, he wants to give his all every single time

Would never say no

Does he have both of his hands full? Not anymore!

Dammon

Finds it amusing

Here before him is the hero of Baldur’s Gate, asking him in a meek voice to hold his hand. Him of all people!

He is head over heels for Tav.

Tav would hardly ever need to ask because Dammon cannot seem to let go of their hand

Overall, he is so appreciative that Tav chose him out of everyone and will always say yes to a kiss or some cuddles

Zevlor (My Pookie)

Is shocked the first time he heard Tav ask for a kiss on the cheek

To him, anything Tav wants from him they are allowed to take

Loves to hear the sweet way Tav speaks to them, as if he would ever say no

Half the time Zevlor and sense when Tav will ask for something and immediately holds their hand, or leans down for them to kiss him with ease

Haarlep

Laughs anytime Tav begs him for some physical contact (Not in a mean manner)

Finds all mortals either amusing or annoying

However, Haarlep is truly infatuated with Tav

He is an Incubus for the gods’ sake!

He was made to be loved on

If it is a kiss or some cuddles Tav wants, he is open arms

Rolan

Rolan truly does appreciate Tav asking instead of just acting on an impulse

He is a busy man with a lot of things to do 

More often than not Roan has his hands full or his rushing to one person or the next trying to keep up the customers’ requests

So for him it is an act of true consideration from Tav and he appreciates it greatly

However, he would be a fool to say to a quick peck on the cheek

[lostinforestbound]

Could I request headcanons for Cal, Rolan, and Zevlor reacting to his non-tiefling gender neutral s/o asking if he could wrap his tail around their waist or leg when they're with him in private?

Aww what a cute idea!! I loved writing this one! This may be a little shorter though due to the nature of the prompt.

Cal, Rolan, and Zevlor Wrapping Their Tails Around Their Non-Tiefling Partners

Cal

This man is already having some trouble keeping his tail to himself. Sometimes it has a mind of its own and is already trying to wrap around his partner.

He's not sure if having his tail around them is okay yet so he settled for his hands. Hands in theirs, on their hip, on their thigh when he wants to tease...gods, he wishes he can use his tail more.

Sometimes he catches the spade of his tail gently tapping against their leg or ankle, and he immediately retracts it with an awkward apology.

He always tries to laugh it all off, but part of him is honestly ready to beg. Is it strange to want this so badly?

When they finally bring it up, he’s both excited and nervous. What if they don’t like it? Would they want him to stop? Is he already too touchy?

He’s relieved when they say they like it, they just prefer it in private. He can do that no problem! He starts wrapping his tail around their ankle or calf first, starting slow.

He works his way up to their thighs and waist, using it to tug them closer. He loves that he gets to use this now, so he takes full advantage.

Rolan

Rolan is the type to keep to himself, but much like his brother, his tail has a mind of its own. He hates it very much, since sometimes it gives away how he feels.

With his partner, he still tends to keep to himself. But his tail still reacts to anything they do or just their presence alone. It’ll stand on attention any time they walk into a room.

He thinks it’s a little pathetic, his lack of control over his tail, but his partner doesn’t seem to mind it.

When his partner asks him if he could be more touchy with his tail, he’s surprised. He’s only ever saw it as the nuisance, but they like it??

Reluctantly, he does so, and it shocks him how much he enjoys it. Being able to touch them in this way is intimate, and it makes him feel closer to them.

His favorite place to wrap around is either waist. It’s a sure way to keep them close, and he likes the way they stroke along the length of it.

He’s still that stubborn wizard we know, but now he’s starting to open up just a little bit more. All hell will break loose as soon as he starts to tease.

Zevlor

Zevlor is experienced, though he doesn’t really use his tail that often. He’s more of a hand holder than a tail holder.

His tail isn’t as reactive as other Tieflings either. He’s a Hellrider, or at least was. He learned how to control the emotions on his face and tail.

It still idly sways about when he’s calm, but it never reaches or grabs for his partner, not even instinctually. He knows his partner notices, but he never saw it as a big deal.

When they ask why, he’s oddly surprised. He didn’t realize they were thinking about it so much, so he explains he’s just not really reactive with his tail.

When they ask if his tail could hold them one night, he’s even more surprised. Was this something they’ve always wanted? Either way, his tail winds around their thigh.

He ends up loving this simple act of intimacy, especially when he finds he can’t use his hands at that moment, like when cooking with them.

He finds himself using his tail much more often, even if it’s to playfully smack them. More than anything though, he’s glad that something so simple makes them happy.

[storiesfromafan]

Requests are open.

Sneak Peaks

Obsessed

Series

Antisocial Bookworm, Confessions of the Heart

Traitor, Dandelion, The Battle

The Argument, Reflection

Dance Class 101, Beautiful Swan, The Waltz

Guilty As Sin, Part Two

Obsessed, Part Two, Part Three

One-Shots

Moral of the Story

Yule Ball

Temptation

Why Me?

Spin The Bottle

Her

His Nightmare

Don't Do It

Catching Feelings

What's Mine Is Mine

The Prank/Do Revenge

Moments #1/Moments #2/Moments #3

Or Something

He's So Annoying/He's Not So Bad (18+)

Christmas Wish

Just His Best Friend / She's More Than A Best Friend(new 27/4)

Sebastian Sallow

Moments #1/Moments #2 (new 10/2)

One-Shots

Chaos

Sneak Peaks

He's My Husband, I'm His Wife

Look Who's Jealous Now

Benny x Married Plus!Size Reader

Benny x Ex!Reader(new 24/4)

Series

Angel on Wheels - Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (On Hold)

Spitfire - She's A Spitfire, He's My Husband, I'm His Wife, Leavin' On Your Mind, I'm Sorry Baby, Vandal Family Picnic (inprogress)

One-Shots

Spark

Diner Girl

Jealousy Does Look Good On You/Look Who's Jealous Now

Warm Lazy Summer Day's

Birthday Girl

Choices

His Hands

Drinks/Persistent/Insane/Ride

All I Dream Of / Easy On My Eyes / Mr Sandman / My Girl / Wish I Were Her

Fall Time

Late Night Moments

Two Worlds

I Want You (18+)/I Need You (18+)

Halloween Carnival

Insecurities/I Want All Of You (18+)/Mini Dress (18+)/Protector

Car Trouble

Heart Felt Gifts

My Boy Only Breaks His Favourite Toys/When He's Gone/Missing Him/Her Was Dark Grey

Foolish (18+)

His Girl

Sneak Peak

His Girl

Series

Untitled

One-Shots

Rumours/MIA/Return

His Girl (18+)

Gaze (new 1/3)

Shades Of Blue (new 15/4)

Series

Little Bird - Part One / Part Two

Wally Clark

Princess / The Jock (new 22/3)

Request Here

Benny Cross - The Bikeriders

In The Rain, Kiss of Life

In The Rain, Kiss of Confessing Feelings

Series master list post here.

[blxkstar]

I made a Playlist for Pyloon's Saloon on Spotify! Please check it out!

[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.

[drabbles-mc]

Something I Need

Cal x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: two things. one, i went down a rabbithole because i thought i missed Cal's real name when i watched the movie only to learn they never said it. i still found it anyway. shout-out to google. two, i will be back on my regularly scheduled johnny/benny bullshit soon but this idea hit me and i couldn't not write it down 😂

You had known Cal for a long time. You knew him before he was Cal—back when he was just Arthur. You’d met back when he wasn’t “from California”, he was from Canada and living in California. You were both living there at the time. He was a mechanic back then, tinkering with bikes and cars alike even if the tinkering was outside of the actual job at hand.

His hair had been a little longer back then, still tied out of his face by the makeshift bandana he wrapped around his forehead. The dangling earring was a new accessory at that point, not that you would’ve known that the first time you met him.

You’d dropped your car off earlier in the morning because you needed an oil change. Cal wasn’t the person you’d handed your keys to a few hours before. Whoever that had been looked like a kid who wasn’t even old enough to drive, let alone work on your car. It felt silly to tell him that along with the oil change to let you know if there was anything else that needed to be done on the car, but you said it regardless.

When you showed back up again you were expecting to see the same kid from before, but instead you were met with Cal. Arthur. Compared to the kid that you’d met when you showed up in the morning, he seemed like a seasoned professional. Grease on his hands and dirt on his work-shirt, he spoke to you like you’d met a thousand times before.

“Swapped out the oil,” he said casually enough. “All set there. Car’s good to go as-is if you want. But I think if we actually switched, I mean I got a couple parts from this other—”

“Sorry,” you cut him off, hand resting on your hip, “who are you?”

His brows pinched for a moment and then he cracked a smile. “Arthur.” He held out his hand for you to shake, and you did, not deterred by the grease or callouses. “The one gettin’ your car to the point where she can get up ‘n go.”

“Took a lot to get her there, did it?” you asked, unable to hide your amusement.

He cracked a grin. “Nah, nah not really. Kid said you wanted to know if anything else needed work, though.”

“And you found something?”

He shrugged, hooking his thumbs on the beltloops of his jeans. “Depends.”

You didn’t even bother trying to hide the smile on your face. “On?”

His smile widened right alongside yours. “What d’you mean when you say need?”

That was the start and the end of it all. Almost six years had ticked right on by and there were still days when you would walk outside in the morning and find him sliding underneath your car to mess around with something else. California had been in the rearview for years now, but no matter where one of you went, the other always followed. Chicago had been good to the two of you so far.

Every now and then you’d make a comment about your car. You’d mention scrapping it and getting a new one, saying that it was probably just about past its expiration date by now anyway. Cal, even if he was halfway across the bar or at a different picnic table would hear you. In no time at all he’d be plopping down to sit next to you, or standing behind you with his hands on your shoulders as he leaned down to talk to you. He’d always ask why you would be going around saying something like that about a perfectly good car.

“What don’t you like? Tell me what it is—I’ll fix it. Guarantee, baby, I’ve got something for whatever it is.”

Most of the time there wasn’t actually anything wrong. You just liked to get a rise out of him. If he ever caught onto that, he never told you about it. Within the next twenty-four hours, though, you’d be sure to find him popping the hood of your car, determined to find whatever problem you didn’t disclose to him because it didn’t exist. It was good for him—gave him something else to work on alongside his bike.

This time, though, he was working on your car for a reason. You made an offhand comment about a ticking noise while you drove and when you woke up in the morning to an empty bed you had no doubts about where he was. You pulled a sweater on over the tank top you’d gone to bed in and made your way outside to the garage. He had the radio on, although you could hear more static than you could music. Between that and his laser-focus on your car, he didn’t notice you walking in.

It wasn’t until you turned the volume down on the radio that his head snapped over in your direction. The look on his face only remained tense for a moment until he realized it was you. Then he eased, the same cheesy grin taking over his face as a handful of years ago. He maneuvered so that his arms were up, hands braced against the edge of the popped hood of your car.

“So?” you said as you walked over, arms crossed over your chest as you looked back and forth between him and the open front of your car. “She gonna make it?”

“Psh.” He shook his head. “’Course she is.”

You laughed, leaning back against the car so that you were facing him. “I think you’re only a couple parts away from making this a completely different car.”

He smiled. “I don’t think so.”

“Think of all the parts you could take from this car and put into a new one if I got it?”

That was enough to give him pause for a brief moment. The idea of a new project to mess around with was always enticing. But eventually he remembered the topic at hand and shook his head. “No. No way.”

You laughed, crossing one leg over the other. “Why not?”

“I wouldn’t have you if you didn’t have this,” he said as he gestured to the car. “And, this is the car that got us all the way out here.”

You shook your head. “It got me out here. Someone had to ride—”

“Alright, alright,” he laughed and playfully waved you off. He paused for a moment. “You know I’m right, though.”

“Yeah,” you conceded. “You’re right.” You held one hand out to him. “C’mere.”

He gave a small shake of his head as he stepped back, arms falling down to his sides. He turned his hands over, revealing the dark stains on his palms from the work he’d already put in over the morning. “Nah, baby, I’ll get shit all over your—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence as you grabbed his hand and pulled him towards you. He stumbled right into you, not having expected it even though he probably should have. His other hand that you weren’t holding instinctively found its home on your hip, having slipped beneath your sweater. He was shaking his head at you, already able to see the smudges on the fabric, already knew that there were going to be marks on your hands. But when he saw the smile on your face he also knew that you weren’t going to care about that—you never had.

“Know what I need?” you asked as you rested your other hand on his chest.

He tilted his head, earring swaying as he did. “What’s that?”

You smiled. Moving your hand up from his chest to his cheek, you pulled him in and pressed your lips to his. You felt it, the smile before he kissed you back. His hand on your hip held on a little tighter as he moved himself closer to you. A mildly precarious balance of wanting him pressing and leaning into you but not wanting to lose your balance and topple backwards. Not that it’d be the first time the two of you had gotten carried away and ended up in a pile of laughs rather than anything else.

Pulling his lips off of yours, he stayed close enough for your lips to just barely brush as he spoke. “You said you needed somethin’?”

You felt the curl of his lips into a smile as he said it, a joke that only the two of you were around to be in on. Your nose brushed against his as you shook your head at him. “Yeah. Just need one more thing real quick.”

He hummed in amusement. “Real quick, huh?”

You laughed, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “You don’t sound like you believe me.”

“I know better.”

You kissed him again, soft and lingering. “You gonna let me tell you what it is?”

He shook his head, a knowing grin on his face as he felt the small, playful tugs on his hair you were messing with. “I know what it is—‘s why I know it’s not gonna be quick.”

(divider by @cyberangel-graphics 💞)

The Bikeriders Taglist (if you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!): @garbinge

[bxttxrflybxddie]

There's something so tragically beautiful about the possibility of Rolan, Cal, AND Lia having a crush on you/tav.

Rolan, denying his feelings during the entire journey until you speak to him after Lorrokan's defeat. The way his new title spills from your lips plays on repeat in his mind for days to come and how you listened intently to his confession of being abused makes the butterflies in his stomach flutter. Hells, even the battle itself deepened his affections for you towards the point of no return. Blood and sweat painting you like a deity, heightening his adrenaline.

Cal realizing his feelings once he's finally in the safety of Last Light Inn to process them. You had safely delivered his sister and himself to their brother, reuniting what the 3 of them were so terrified of losing. Quickly accepting Rolan's apology with the gentleness of a running stream and brushing off wordy rewards with modesty and ease. The candlelight highlights you so deliciously- you're not leaving his mind anytime soon.

Lia, cheeks heating up after you've returned from eliminating the goblins. She's had a slight "puppy love" crush after you took her side during her and her eldest brother's argument, but seeing you drenched in the markings of a battle drags her heart to the point of no return. The way you check up on, not only the other refugees, but also her family and herself makes her giddy. She twists her hair around a finger whilst in her daydreams on the road, wondering what would've happened the night of the party if she made a move.

Maybe they each know of their siblings' feelings for you, maybe they don't! No matter what, they'll be supportive of who you choose (even if you want one of those boring companions). (Their words, not mine.)

©️ BXTTXRFLYBXDDIE

[pacifymebby]

Get Your Hands off My Girl, Man

Protective Cal intervenes when two new guys start harassing you one night at the bar.

Warnings: unwanted sexual advances which start when you are asleep. This is 99% an incredibly self indulgent theraputic little piece of writing for me.

If you don't want to read the description of events prior to the comfort bit, I'm going to put the particularly triggering bit between two dividers so you can skip.

You hadn't really meant to fall asleep by yourself that night. In fact you'd promised Cal you'd wait up for him to take you home on the back of his bike, and that if you got really tired you'd come and find him before you fell asleep just anywhere like you used to. You had a reputation for falling asleep before the end of the night and Cal was more than used to your droopy eyed smile as the sun went down, finding you'd fallen asleep across three chairs lined up, tucked underneath his Vandals jacket.

It didn't used to be so much of an issue, back when the bar was packed out with familiar faces and friends, guys who looked intimidating but were good at heart. Well meaning guys who just wanted to unwind and have a bit of fun. Guys like Cal and Johnny who just really fucking loved motor bikes.

Cal was a pretty laidback guy and he didn't mind seeing his girl pick a snug little spot in the corner of the room to curl up and get her beauty sleep. You were never too far from him and he could relax knowing you were safe, that Johnny wouldn't let anyone bother you, that all the guys knew and respected you and Cal too much to interrupt your dreaming.

Lately however things had been a little different around Johnny's place. The picnics and the house parties had become rowdier. Busier. Guys from different towns riding in to join the 'fun'. And these guys were different. Younger, or back from Vietnam and fucked in the head. Guys bringing all sorts of drugs and weapons around. They were more violent, didn't seem to have much respect for anyone else at all. And the way some of them looked at the women. Cal had mentioned it to you a few times before because it always ground his gears seeing the way those new guys looked at the women. Looked at you.

"Like they ain't even people man, it's fucked up, looking at the chicks like they're somethin t'eat man, I don't like it..." You'd heard him tell Johnny on more than one occasion.

And Cal wasn't the only one who was bothered by the new guys and the thinly veiled threat they posed to the old guys and their girls. Benny was wary too, Johnny always seemed to have a look of trouble in his eyes when he saw the younger guys pull up outside the bar and fill in.

Some of the guys wanted to do something about it, there'd been grumblings at meetings, murmurs of laying down some new rules, enforcing some old ones. Teaching these new guys a lesson or two about how things worked in the Vandals. The things that were okay and the things which were, obviously, fucking, not.

But Johnny seemed worried about conflict. Seemed wary of the new guys. Less eager to see any of them challenge him. He wouldn't say it out loud but he was worried about starting a fight he couldn't win. So he was being careful. Trying to keep things friendly. Only stepping in when it became absolutely necessary.

Well, tonight it would be.

You hadn't meant to fall asleep there at the back of the room. You'd been fighting sleep away for hours by the time you'd settled on the sofa by the juke box. You'd slipped your shoes off and pulled your knees up to your chest, rested your head against the back of the sofa and searched the room with your tired eyes for Cal once more. He'd headed outside for a smoke a little while before, him and Benny and Johnny, all outside shooting the breeze. God knows how long they'd be out there for and you certainly didn't fancy braving the cold night air for a drag on a joint that would make you even sleepier than you were already feeling. You'd already been out for a smoke, already drank your beers. You were all worn out now and all you could do was settle down and try to stay away until Cal came back inside.

Once he saw you curled up like that, your eyelids so heavy and dozy looking he'd know you needed to go home and insist upon giving you a ride back to his so that he could tuck you into bed himself.

You only closed your eyes for a moment. Just to relieve the tired sting of them. Only closed your eyes for a moment but that had been a moment too long and you'd succumbed to sleep before the jukebox beside you had finished her song.

When you awoke you found yourself trapped at the center of a nightmare. You could feel hands on you, jostling you as someone tried to manoeuvre you out of your curled up position.

"C'mon pretty baby, parties only just begun..."

You didn't recognise their voice and even in your half asleep state you weren't naive enough to presume this was just one of the guys trying to prank you. This was real, really happening and the moment that fact registered with you you were gripped with panic.

Without opening your eyes you froze, hoping desperately that if you just pretended not to have woken up you'd spoil their fun and they'd leave you alone. After all what could they possibly get out of you whilst you were asleep.

"Looks like someone's been on the junk..." You heard one of the snigger, their friend laughing too, a hint of delight in his voice that made your blood run cold.

"Oh boy," he cried, "she's gonna easyyy..." You heard him clap and rub his hands together before you felt hands slip beneath your knees to pull your legs away from your chest. You tried to resist a little, but only a little. Scared that if you fought back they'd realise you were awake and get ten times worse.

You knew there was nothing you could do as you felt a hand grope your breast and then another push your knees apart. The horror which gripped you was truly paralysing, your body freezing up, every muscle in you stiffening as you became rigid. There was no questioning whether you were awake now, your eyes shoot open as you starred, absolutely petrified at the grimy, practically toothless man leering down at you.

"Well would you look at that boys!" He grinned a brown, rotten smile. Your felt a cold creeping sickness tighten in your stomach, thoughts rushing through your head so fast they blurred into one.

What were they going to do to you? Why weren't you screaming? Why weren't you calling for Cal?

You wanted to desperately, but something was stopping you. That nauseous lump in your throat that had you struggling to breath let alone scream.

"C'mon baby, gimme some sugar..." He winked, his tone so laden with the threat of what he might do next, so spiteful and cruel. You knew he was enjoying scaring you half to death.

His friends jeered and laughed along, cheering him on, snatching at you, pulling your hair, their unwashed grimy faces hovering above you as they tried to get their mouths on you.

Cal

That was the only word you could conjor to mind in that moment. He was all you could think of. Desperate as you were for him to come back inside and save you.

And just like that it was over.

You didn't really see what happened but you heard it. The sound of a bottle smashing over the back of someone's head. You heard the strange gurgle in the back of your attackers throat as his eyes rolled back and his head slumped. His whole body falling to the side as Cal shoved him aside and out the way.

"Get your fuckin hands off my girl man," he wasn't looking at you, he was glaring with all the hatred in the world at the second man. The one who had been pulling your hair and threatening to let his string of drool land between your eyes.

He let you, raising his hands above his head and backing away when he saw the threat in your mans eyes.

You couldn't move, still frozen to the sofa you'd probably never feel safe on again.

"Shit man is she yours? We're sorry Cal we didn't realise!" But his defense was weak and seeing the whites of your attackers eyes only stirred Cal's rage all the more.

His hand gripped the neck of the now broken bottle he held as he raised it above his head.

"We don't want no trouble Cal, it was a misunderstanding! Thought she was free game man! It was a misunderstanding!" The man looked real scared, shaking his head and cowering away from Cal who had frozen with the broken bottle raised and ready to strike. The gleam of sharp glass caught the light, glinting with malice.

You didn't realise the scream which had rang out moments before had been yours. That it had been the sound of your terror which had stopped Cal in his tracks. His eyes now locked on you.

"Fuck I'm sorry! We're sorry!" The third man tripped over his words, his voice real whiny with fear as Benny interrupted, charging into the scene, snatching the lecherous creep by the scruff of his shirt, fist colliding with his grimy face.

But that was all you saw before Cal rushed to you. He'd dropped that broken bottle the second he saw your petrified little face, guilt tugging on his heartstrings because he thought he was the reason you were now so scared, trembling where you sat.

"Sweet angel I am so sorry baby! Didn't mean t'scare you doll c'mere, gonna get you outa here baby don't need to be scared no more honey..." He said his tone so soft for you as he rushed to wrap his arms around you and pick you up. He wanted you out of there faster than was humanly possible but he was determined to give light speed a good go.

You threw your arms around him, burying your face into his neck as you held onto him for dear life. As he rushed you away from the chaos of the fight which Johnny and Wahoo has both joined now too, you felt like your life really did depend on Cal in that moment.

When he got you outside he placed you down gently on the seat of his bike, not ever really letting go of you as he held your waist and cupped your face in his palm.

"Let me look at you angel, did they hurt you?" He asked stroking your cheek with his thumb as he studied you for signs of harm. "I'm so sorry honey shoulda taken you home hours ago..."

Of course they had hurt you, even if there were no marks to prove it, emotionally you felt completely wrecked. Humiliated, terrified, so full of shame and guilt.

"M'okay," you tried to be brave, tried to pretend you weren't half as upset as you were but with your voice shaking the way it was and that godforsaken heartbroke look in your eyes Cal could see straight through your brave face. He shook his head and sighed.

"No you're not, course you're not baby..." He said doing his best to hold himself together too, to be calm enough to be what you needed right now instead of storming back inside and killing the bastards that hurt his baby.

You choked on another sob as you too tried to hold yourself together. Now it was just you and him outside you felt the adrenaline rush tearing through you, wrecking your nerves. You were shaking, but you didn't want to let your man down or ruin his night. You wanted to beg him to take you home but you didn't want to be dramatic.

"I'm so sorry Cal!" You said struggling to hold back your tears. You bit down on your lip so hard as you tried to fight back a sob.

Cal could see the tears in your eyes but he also knew you hated crying in front of people. He knew you'd never forgive yourself if you cried in front of his friends so before any of them could come outside and disturb you both he shook his head.

"S'alright baby," he said, "not here alright, let me take you home yeah..." He said helping you to sit properly on the back of his bike before he too straddled the seat and gripped the handles. "Gonna take you home like I shoulda done hours ago..." He'd never held that bike so tight in all his life as he revved the engine and told you to hold on tight. Of course you never wanted to let go of your man ever again.

As the two of you sped off into the early morning darkness, Cal's tires spitting gravel and dirt out behind you as he broke the speed limit, you held onto him tighter than you ever had before, your hands slipping beneath his shirt so that you could feel his chest beneath your shakey hands. You rested your cheek against his back listening to his racing heart beat almost as fast as yours. His familiar scent and the heavy dusty air soothed you a little as you shut your eyes and tried to focus on the present moment. Tried not to think about what had just happened, what might have happened to you had Cal not turned up when he did.

And when your mind began to race with too many terrible scenarios for you to handle on your own you couldn't help but shout for him to stop.

"Cal! Please stop!" You shouted fighting to be heard over the grumble of the engine. But Cal heard you loud and clear, feeling your voice and your breath skim his ear as you called out to him. Stopping the bike in a panic so that you skidded to a halt at the side of the road.

You were out in the middle of nowhere, tilled farmland to your left and right, worn out fences running along the roadside.

It was dark but for the headlight on Cal's bike lighting up the night and when he killed the engine the night was silent but for your ragged breathing. His too.

"What is it baby?" He asked you turning to look back at you with worry in his eyes. "What's the matter?"

But you could barely speak, everything hitting you, the rush of fear, the desperate urge to scream, all of it hitting you all at once leaving you on the brink of tears. Tears you couldn't hold back any longer.

"S...sorry!" You cried, your voice a choked sob as you clutched your hand to your mouth to try and stop yourself.

But Cal was already helping you down from the bike, wrapping you up in his arms gently, his hand combing through your hair before cradling your head against his chest. He rested his chin in your parting and rocked you gently, closing his eyes as he tried to calm you. He just wanted to make your pain stop. He hoped Benny had killed that good for nothing back at the bar, if he hadn't well then Cal might just head down tomorrow and kill him himself.

"Angel, honey it's alright," he said as gently as he could, "I've got you baby, no one's gonna hurt you now, s'jus me an you my sweet girl..."

"I know..." You sniffled as you clutched him close and let him guide you both to the ground.

He sat you both down on the grassy verge at the edge of the field and shifted you up into his lap, cradling you in his arms. He held a lingering kiss to your hair and shut his eyes listening to your sobs shatter the cool quiet night.

The road was dark for miles, the two of you completely alone, but that was good. That was peaceful. It meant that you were safe to cry your heart out. Meant that no one could disturb you either. Cal shrugged his jacket off and draped it around your shoulders, kissing your head again as he stroked his hand down your arm and held you close.

"You're safe baby, I won't let no one hurt you honey..." He said it again feeling all kinds of guilt because it was too late. You were already hurt. This was the aftermath of that hurt, hurt he should have been around to prevent.

"I'm s...sorry Cal," you sniffled, "shouldn't have fallen asleep like that it was stupid of me..."

"Honey no!" His whispered exclamation so certain, he couldn't believe you were blaming yourself.

"Know y'dont like it when I fall asleep like that, should t have..." You carried on, not really listening to him, so scared he was going to be angry with you. But how could he be.

"Baby, baby... baby stop that," he hushed you dragging the pet name out slow and sweet for you until your trembling lips hushed and you looked up at him, so dependent on him. "You don't apologise for nothin baby," he said firmly, pushing his finger to your lips to make sure you kept listening to him. "Baby that was not your fault... Wasn't your fault at all...It's these new guys, theres somethin wrong with em, they're fucked up... Now they shouldn't have been anywhere near you whether you were sleepin or awake, they had no right and they know it..." He said desperate to reassure you that it wasn't your fault. And as you listened to him you felt yourself beginning to calm down, felt your trembling calm as he stroked your back gently and rocked you in his arms.

"And I shoulda been there," he said a little quieter then, "I shoulda been there to stop em..."

"You did stop em." You reminded him quietly, trying to wipe your tears from your eyes, letting him do it instead, his calloused thumbs brushing your skin so carefully.

"I know honey, but I shoulda stopped em sooner.." he said swallowing the lump that looking at your sad eyes left in his throat.

"You stopped em just in time," you said, a small smile gracing your lips as you remembered what he'd said as that bottle had come smashing down on your attackers head. You let out a small giggle, one which simultaneously confused and delighted your ol' man.

"hey," he chuckled nervously, "what was that for?"

You bit back your smile as you tried to mimic his accent.

"Get your hands of my girl, man..." You said, your eyes lighting up when you looked back at him and saw him grin a little sheepishly.

"ha," he smirked almost shyly, "yeah I guess I did say that didn't I..." He mirrored your grin when you giggled and nodded your head.

"Y'know I never been more glad to see your face..." You admitted shyly, "moment I saw you I knew I was safe, knew you wouldn't let anythin happen to me..." You said smiling, your fingers playing with one another as you grew shy.

Your adrenaline rush was beginning to wear off now and you weren't shaking anymore. You just felt hollowed out and tired and as you shied away from Cal you had to hide your yawn behind your hand.

"That's right sweet girl," he said, his smile growing when he caught the blush on your cheeks, "your ol' Cal's always gonna protect you..."

So he pulled you back in for another hug, cradling you so gentle and firm like you were the most precious thing in the world. And then as he kissed your temple, and then your cheek, he let out a sigh of relief.

"C'mon baby doll," he said softly, "let me take you home, gonna hold you all night yeah?"

"Yeah." You said with a soft smile, your voice so quiet and calm as you looked up at him with such trusting eyes. He held his hands out to help you up and when you stood they found your waist, held you in front of him so carefully.

"I love you honey," he said, his eyes checking you over once more for any injury, anything he might have missed, only letting you stand on your tip toes to skim a kiss over his lips.

"Love you too baby," you whispered, your eyes gazing up into his like he was your whole world, because really he was... Your whole world.

You stood for a moment, leaning against his chest as he held you, chin atop your head, cherishing the feeling of being held by him, so close to him. The two of you listening to the still of the night, standing so still at the side of the road as you closed your eyes and let yourself lean against him completely. Letting him take your weight as you felt all your energy drain from you. Remembering how tired you had been before you'd been so scared.

Well now you were safe and your exhaustion was overpowering, your eyes struggling to stay open.

Cal could feel you growing weary, his chuckle rousing you from the precipice of sleep.

"C'mon doll, y'better wake up, I've gotta get you home..." He said tickling your cheek with his stubble to make you giggle and wake up a little bit.

"Am awake," you promised, your eyes lighting up at the thought of being home, of Cal lying down with you and pulling the blankets over your intertwined bodies.

"Atta girl," he teased you, kissing your nose before helping you onto his bike, making you promise you'd hold on tight, one hand resting on top of your two hands linked around his waist.

As he revved the engine and the two of you went riding again through the dark his hand would return to yours at every opportunity he could spare. Patting your knuckles, stroking his thumb over your fingers, half to keep you awake, half to reassure himself that you were still there. That you were still his, safe and sound holding onto him.

He'd never known relief like it when he parked the bike up outside, and lifted you up bridal style in his arms, holding you to his chest as he carried you to the front door. He kicked it open and then kicked it closed behind you both, carrying you straight up the stairs to the bathroom where he placed you down on the edge of the bath tub, mimicking your pout when you looked up at him.

"M'sleepy..." You whined making him chuckle as he pushed your hair from your eyes and stroked his fingers over your tear stained cheeks.

"I know baby I know," he cooed, "let me wash your face an I'll take you straight to bed, I promise..." He said. He didn't want to let you fall asleep with a tear stained face and the evenings makeup running down your cheeks. It would only irritate your skin and, in the morning when you woke, serve as a reminder of the awful thing that had happened to you. No when you woke up in the morning he didn't want there to be a single trace of the nights events to haunt you.

"M'kay," you agreed, yawning and rubbing your eyes, waiting for him to damp a cloth with warm water and dab it to your cheeks. You shivered as the warm water trickled down your skin, it was so soothing, lulling you into even more of a lethargic haze. Your eyes were fluttering shut as he washed your face gently, every movement careful and tender. When he was finished he held a towel up for you to bury your face in and, when for a moment you didn't move, he worried you'd actually fallen asleep there, your face nuzzled into the fluffy towel, your head only held up by his hands.

"You gonna walk or dya need a carry?" He asked as you wrapped your arms around his waist and leant against his belly. When you nuzzled wordlessly into his t-shirt he knew your answer.

He let out a yawn of his own, scooping you up into his arms once more, kissing your cheek as you clutched at his shirt, never once opening your eyes.

And then finally he was lying you down on the bed, asking you to help him help you out of your dress. Being ever so careful not to startle you as his fingers skimmed your waist. He pulled his t-shirt off and tossed it in a pile at the foot of the bed along with your clothes. Finding you a clean shirt of his that he could pull down over your head. It fell down around you, far too big for you. Made you look so small and sweet as you lay down and reached for him.

"Hurry up baby..." You yawned making grabby hands at him.

All he'd wanted to do all evening was wrap you up in his arms, have you fall asleep with your head on his chest. Cocoon around you so that you felt safe and a snug, so that you could sleep peacefully.

And that was what he did, falling down into the bed beside you, his arms bundling you to his body, pulling the covers up over your shoulders. Kissing your cheek, your temple, each of your eyes, your nose and then, pausing. He held your cheek in the cup of his hand and looked down at you.

"Can I kiss you baby?" He asked you, something he'd never really needed to ask you before. But tonight he wanted to be sure. Needed to know he wasn't going to scare you or remind you of anything you didn't want reminded off.

You bit back a smile, opening your eyes so that you could look up at him.

"Please," you whispered, your eyes fluttering shut as he smiled and leant in.

When his lips met yours you felt a warm flutter in your chest, a sanctified feeling spreading through your body, radiating from your heart. You'd never felt so loved as you did in that moment as his lips moved against yours, his nose knocking with yours as you both tried to slip just a little closer to one another. You never wanted him to pull away, despite how sleepy you were. Despite the fact that your head was heavy in his hand. You were sure you wouldn't be able to open your eyes again now that they had closed. But you felt so dreamy and content, so peaceful and cherished. So safe. So it didn't matter. And Cal held you and kissed you, only pulling away to kiss your cheek again, to stroke your hair from your face tenderly, to kiss your forehead and watch as you drifted into a peaceful sleep.

He would have waited up and watched over you all night if his own exhaustion hadn't hit him too. And now that he knew you were safe, that you were happy and peacefully dreaming, he finally felt able to drift off too. But he held you in his arms all night, your heart's syncing to beat a gentle rhythm together.

[al9ayf]

Could I request headcanons for Cal, and Geraldus finding out their f!s/o has suicidal thoughts please?

it was a little hard to do this one but i tried my best. also im so sorry for taking so long to do this request i could not think of anything!!!! but im lowkey so proud of this one.

ᥫ᭡ suicidal thoughts | cal, geraldus

｡˚ explicit content :: thoughts of suicide ofc

ʚ cal:

you and cal have been childhood friends and ended up dating each other. lia and rolan helped set the two of you up on a date after relentlessly teasing the both of you for months

everything was perfect. life was great. you and cal had a healthy relationship. you never once argued unless it was over something small or as a joke. you even thought about the idea of marriage and how amazing it would be to raise children in elturel

then the fall came, and your life drastically changed. you managed to escape with the three siblings, but in the process had to say your final goodbyes to your parents, not knowing if you would ever see them again. you were shaken and torn from the incident, but cal helped you through it. he was the most peaceful tiefling a person could know

still, his wise words and calming presence could not shake you back to reality. it was traumatizing to live through the fall, and at times you found yourself snapping at cal, only to profusely apologize to him at night with kisses. he accepts your apology every time, and it angers you how he could still be so forgiving

at the druid’s grove, rolan asked for days and days to leave for baldur’s gate. you agreed with him, and argued with cal about it. he tried to be peaceful about it while you and roman argued with lia. he tried to be the mediator. he was always the one in this group to keep tensions low but it was not working. finally, when the group of adventurers managed to convince you and rolan to stay did the arguments come to an end. and again, you apologized to cal who admitted to you that it hurt him how you were being so cruel. you were not the only one to lose everything during the fall of elturel

on the road to baldur’s gate, you were ambushed by the cultists. you tried to protect cal but you took a slash to the back of your knee. rolan saved most of the group, but could not fend off the cultists for long. he picked you up and ran, while you screamed for cal

while rolan drank himself away at the bar in last light inn, you rotted away in a bed with bandages on your knee. you were advised not to walk for a little while since the cuts were deep. but you could not care. cal and lia were gone. the love of your life was gone. how could such an amazing person’s life be taken away just like that? what you would do to hear his sweet voice one more time

rolan comes to you at night and sits at the edge of your bed. he is drunk and rambling. he yells and kicks, but you lay on your side and stare at the wall while crying silent tears. he fills it in your head that they are both dead. that you will have no children. that you will never know a smile again in your life. he does that every night and then passes out on the floor beside you to make sure you do not die as well. but rolan does not know how you wish to die

finally, when you are able to walk again, you go outside to relish in the cold air. your eyes are dry and your lips are cracked. you refuse to eat and drink little water. cal is gone. most of your friends are gone. rolan will die by drinking himself away and there is no possible way to leave the shadowlands alive. you wish to see cal one more time

each step you take towards the darkness is a step to cal. his sweet words of comfort is all you wish to hear. you are blinded by false images of him beckoning you outside of the globe of light protecting the inn. yet before you can even exit, you feel somebody stopping you. it is rolan, and he yells at you. you tell him you wish to die. that no life is worth living after what has happened to all of you

“have you no wish to see your sister and brother again?! their bodies gone, but their souls live! if i can give up life to see cal again, i will give it up a thousand times over. don’t you want to see them, rolan? don’t you?”

he does not reply. he gets mad and runs back inside the inn back to the bar. you rush after him, only to stop when you see the adventurers with a group of tieflings and gnomes. you hear familiar voices and see a pair of familiar horns

cal comes rushing to you, embracing you and kissing you. you are too stunned to speak or move. you do not return his kisses. he is alive. and just as you were about to give up yours, he has returned to you in the flesh. you cry into his arms and fall to the floor with him

cal knows that you are happy to see him again, and he expects prayers and praises but all you tell him is how you had almost killed yourself to see him again. you thought him dead, and yet here he was. cal breaks at your words

he starts to cry too, and hugs you tightly. he curses himself for getting kidnapped and for not being able to protect you. but at least he has come back just in time to save you. he cried with you, and promises that with the help of the adventurers, the both of you will live a promising life in baldur’s gate

ʚ geraldus:

you and geraldus met before you two became harper’s. it was love at first sight. for years you have dated now, and geraldus was hoping to propose after the cult of the absolute would be defeated. the both of you were strong, and with jaheira and her companions by your side, the possibilities of a victory against the cult was high

while in baldur’s gate, jaheira ordered to find the rashemaar. it took days before you could even find a lead, but within those days geraldus started to get on your nerves. he was supposed to lead this group to prove his worth as a harper. but he has done no such thing. you see the fear in those eyes. and there is nothing you hate more than fear

you argued with him about it. he needed to get it together or everything would go to shit. if he were to hesitate for even a moment, he would get killed. geraldus stuttered while trying to promise you that such a thing wouldn’t happen, yet it only angered you more. you did not sleep with him that night. instead, your last words to him before you left to sleep at an inn was “you are too weak to be a harper. maybe it is best you return home, geraldus.”

the next morning you returned to the camp to the sight of a bloodbath. the bhaalists had come and taken everybody, and you were the only one left. you hurled at the sight of the bhaal symbol painted with blood of what you immediately assumed to be geraldus’. he was taken and killed. you threw up some more and cried

you are a harper. you must remain strong. but the death of your beloved hung in the air, and the stench of iron overwhelmed you. you felt like shit. you had told him to basically fuck off and left him all alone. you could have protected him. you could have died with him. but you left. this was your fault

you cried and cried, but then left to find jaheira in the city. your heart has been shattered. but you promised yourself one thing. once you help jaheira, you will reunite with geraldus wherever he may be. his laughter rings in your ears, and even the sight of a man with black hair tricks your mind into thinking it is him. though it is not. you will never see him again for as long as you live, and that thought shatters your broken heart into even more pieces

after meeting jaheira at entharl's shop, you alerted her to what has happened, and almost broke down in tears if it wasn’t for her contradicting you. she said that she had received a letter recently from geraldus to meet here and speak about the rashemaar, and you tell her that is not possible. it must be a doppelgänger. she says you shall find out right now

after coming face to face with “geraldus” and the group of harper’s you were with, you quickly were enraged. his eyes were teary and worrisome at the sight of you

“you hide underneath your cloaks and wear the skin of people we love! have you not once felt the touch of the sun or the kiss of a loved one?! do you not remember what it feels like to be loved?! do you despise me so that you wear the skin of my partner?!”

“geraldus” stumbles over his words and tries to clam you down. he does not know what to say to convince you to believe that it is him and that he has lived. but you are already crying and shaking your head. you yell at him and say that you shall meet with the real geraldus soon after you kill them all. that you have thought about a hundred different ways how you will end your life and these bhaalists. they will not take you

yet when he speaks the words “may selûne’s tears shine on this meeting” only then do you know it is the real him

after killing the doppelgänger’s and reuniting with geraldus, he is the first to cry. he admitted that he hesitated when the group came to kill the harper’s, and that he was glad you were not there to witness it. he cannot blame you for thinking that he had died, for he would have done the same thing. a life without you is a life not worth living. he has envisioned a life with children with you. you are the only one that he wants, the only one that he needs. and he would rather die if a bhaalist took that away from him

you kiss and hug him, all while jaheira begs the both of you to rest

[knoepfl]

May the Force be with Us

Characters:

• Cal Kestis: A former Jedi Knight, struggling with guilt and the weight of being hunted by the Empire. He still holds onto the belief in redemption but is deeply conflicted by the emotional scars of his past, especially his connection to the Inquisitor.

• The Inquisitor: Once Cal's close friend, now a ruthless and powerful servant of the Empire. She takes pleasure in her power, using Cal’s emotional bond with her as a tool to manipulate him and reveling in the hunt.

• Cere Junda: A former Jedi Knight and mentor to Cal, offering him wisdom and emotional support. She encourages Cal to hold onto hope, despite the overwhelming darkness he faces.

• Greez Dritus: A loyal Trandoshan mechanic and pilot aboard the Mantis, providing both comic relief and practical support to Cal.

Trigger Warnings:

• Emotional Trauma & Grief: Themes of guilt, regret, and loss, as Cal struggles with the people he couldn’t save, particularly the Inquisitor.

• Violence & Combat: Intense battle scenes, including lightsaber duels and injury.

• Psychological Manipulation: The Inquisitor uses Cal’s emotions and their shared past to destabilize him.

• Betrayal: Cal faces the painful reality of his former friend’s transformation into an enemy.

• Dark Side Temptation: The Inquisitor’s fall to the dark side and the emotional toll it takes.

• Isolation & Loneliness: Both Cal and the Inquisitor experience deep isolation, marked by emotional and physical distance.

• Guilt & Self-Doubt: Cal’s internal struggle with his failure to save the Inquisitor.

• Bittersweet Reunion: The emotional confrontation between Cal and the Inquisitor, filled with loss and longing.

Masterlist

Words: 2814

--- Cal Kestis had been running for a long time. The feeling of being hunted had never left him, even in the moments when he thought he was safe. Even in the quietest moments aboard the Mantis or in the solitude of distant planets, that familiar sense of being watched lingered in his mind. He could never shake the thought that someone was always just a step behind him—someone who could see him even when he thought he was hidden.

It wasn’t paranoia. It was real.

He had felt her presence in the Force for weeks, always a shadow on the periphery of his senses, never quite revealing herself but always there. The dark side rippled with her power, a taunting reminder that no matter where he ran, she would find him. He had grown accustomed to the feeling, though he never admitted it to Cere or Greez. They didn’t need to know. Not yet. If he told them, he would just be a burden. If he told them, they'd insist on trying to protect him.

But Cal knew. No one could protect him from her. She was the one thing he couldn’t outrun. And no matter how far he traveled, no matter how many old Jedi temples or hidden corners of the galaxy he explored, she would always find him. He had been on the run for so long, but he knew that this time, the end was close.

The old temple he had landed on had seemed like a refuge at first—a forgotten place where time had dulled the memory of the Empire’s reach. He had hoped it might offer some peace, even if only for a few days. But he knew better now. Peace wasn’t something he could hold onto. Not anymore.

As he moved through the decaying hallways of the ancient structure, Cal couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. His boots echoed off the stone walls, his lightsaber hilt pressed tightly in his hand. The Force whispered warnings, sharp and insistent, urging him to move faster, to leave. But it was too late for that.

The darkness called to him, and it was only a matter of time before it revealed itself.

It was then, standing in the center of the temple's grand chamber, that she appeared.

A figure in black, her footsteps silent against the crumbling stone. The shadows around her seemed to swirl, feeding off her presence, the very air growing colder with her approach. Her crimson blade flickered to life, casting an eerie red glow that seemed to consume the light. The helmet she wore was polished, reflective, hiding everything but the harsh, glowing red lenses that locked onto him with predatory intent.

Cal's heart raced. He knew who she was. He had seen her before. Felt her before. She had always been a distant echo in the Force, a cold touch of darkness. But now… now she was real, standing before him, her presence overwhelming him in a way that made his knees feel weak.

"You've been avoiding me, Cal," her voice echoed from behind the mask, smooth and cold, every word dripping with an unsettling mix of amusement and malice. "But no more running."

He tightened his grip on his lightsaber, trying to steady his breath. "I won't let you win," he said, his voice strained but resolute. He didn’t have much fight left in him, but he wouldn’t give up—not yet. Not to her.

The Inquisitor tilted her head slightly, a dark smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "We’ll see about that."

Without warning, she surged forward with blinding speed, her crimson blade flashing through the air toward his chest. Cal barely had time to react, bringing his saber up just in time to deflect the blow. The impact sent a shock through his arms, rattling his bones, but he kept his footing.

“You’ve improved,” she mocked, spinning gracefully on her heel and striking again, each move flowing with the precision of a seasoned hunter. She was in control, and she knew it. Every strike, every movement was designed to test him, to wear him down.

Cal swung his lightsaber with all his might, each attack fueled by the desperate hope that he could hold her off long enough to find an opening. But no matter how fast he moved, she was always there, her strikes calculated and ruthless. Her red blade crackled with dark energy, every clash pushing him further to his limits.

"You’re fast," she taunted, her voice dripping with amusement. "But you’re still so predictable."

Cal gritted his teeth, pushing back with all the strength he could muster. He was tired—so tired. His body screamed at him to stop, to rest, but he couldn’t. Not with her so close. Not with the memory of all he had lost hanging over him.

The Inquisitor’s next strike was aimed at his midsection, and this time, Cal couldn’t dodge fast enough. Her blade grazed his side, searing through his jacket and cutting a shallow wound into his flesh. He gasped as the pain shot through him, but he kept his feet, focusing on the Force to keep him standing.

"You’re slowing down," she said, her voice colder now. "I can feel it."

His movements were getting sluggish, his focus slipping. The dark side of the Force swirled around her, feeding her every move. She was growing stronger with every passing second, while Cal felt his strength draining away. His breath was ragged now, each inhale a struggle. His body was betraying him, but he refused to give in.

In one swift motion, the Inquisitor disarmed him, sending his lightsaber flying from his hand and leaving him defenseless. His back slammed against the cold stone of the temple wall, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs.

The Inquisitor stood before him, her saber poised for the final strike, her red eyes gleaming with anticipation. She didn’t need to say anything; her posture alone made it clear that she knew this was it. She had won. He had lost.

But instead of bringing the blade down, she took a step back, her gaze never leaving his. The silence between them stretched, thick with tension and something else—a strange, unsettling familiarity.

She chuckled softly, the sound sending a chill through his already frayed nerves. "Always so serious, Cal," she mused, almost fondly. "I’ve missed this."

For a moment, she simply watched him, as if savoring the moment before her next move. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, she removed her helmet, letting it fall to the ground with a soft thud.

Her hair—dark, wild, and untamed—framed a face Cal knew all too well. He could hardly breathe.

"No," he whispered, his voice breaking. "It can’t be."

Her lips curved into a cruel, knowing smile. "You remember me, then?" she said softly. "Good. I’ve been waiting a long time for this."

Her eyes—those eyes—haunted him. He couldn’t look away, couldn’t pull himself from the depths of the emotions surging through him. She was gone. This woman—this Inquisitor—wasn’t the person he remembered. The girl he once knew, the one who had smiled and laughed beside him, was buried beneath layers of darkness and rage.

The pain in his chest twisted painfully. "Why?" he breathed, unable to find any other words. "Why did you—"

"You know why," she interrupted, her voice softer now, almost tender in its cruelty. "Because I’m stronger now. Because I like playing with you." Her eyes flickered with something unreadable, a flash of something lost—and something darker. "You always were so easy to manipulate, Cal."

She stepped closer to him, her movements slow and deliberate. His heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of dread and something else, something far more confusing. He felt trapped in her gaze, like he was drowning.

And then, before he could say anything more, she reached out, her gloved hand cupping his cheek.

The touch was gentle—too gentle. Her thumb traced the line of his jaw, and Cal’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to pull away, wanted to fight against the tenderness in her touch, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know what to do with this feeling, this connection that made him sick and yet… yearn.

"You’ve always been too soft, Cal," she whispered, her voice dripping with a false tenderness. "That’s why you’ll always fail."

Before he could respond, she leaned in, her lips brushing his cheek in a soft, almost delicate kiss. It was a kiss full of mockery, full of the past they had once shared and the darkness she had embraced. It was a kiss that cut deeper than any blade ever could.

And then, just as quickly as it had started, she pulled away. Her expression hardened once again, the mask of the Inquisitor slipping back into place.

"I’ll be watching, little Jedi," she said, her voice cold and final. "I always am."

With that, she turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving Cal alone in the cold, crumbling ruins. The kiss on his cheek burned, a reminder of the woman she had become. A reminder that, no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t save her.

Not anymore.

He collapsed to his knees, his body trembling with exhaustion, pain, and the weight of everything he had lost.

---

The next few days were a blur for Cal. He moved through them in a haze, his thoughts constantly returning to that final moment in the temple, where her face—her face—was revealed. It wasn’t just the shock of seeing her again, or the terrifying realization of what she had become. It was the memory of the warmth they had once shared, the friendship they had built on their quiet moments together. He had never thought to ask where she went after Order 66, never imagined she would have fallen so far into the dark side.

And that kiss. The way she touched him—so gentle, yet so full of malice, as though she was both mocking and testing him at the same time. The memory burned like a wound that wouldn’t heal. It wasn’t just the pain of seeing her again. It was the loss. The loss of someone he had once cared for deeply, someone who had known him in a way that few others had.

Cere had been watching him for days, quietly observing his withdrawn state. The strength he usually held, the steadiness, had crumbled. He was distant, distracted, and she had caught glimpses of the pain in his eyes. It wasn’t just the physical wound from the fight—it was something deeper, something he wasn’t saying.

Finally, she approached him in the cockpit one evening, the soft hum of the Mantis' engines the only sound in the stillness. She sat down beside him, her presence steady and calm, a beacon in the storm of his mind.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

Cal didn’t answer at first. His hands rested on his lap, fingers curling in and out, the stress of the fight still clinging to him. The memory of her face—her eyes—was too fresh in his mind. He wanted to say something, to explain, but the words caught in his throat.

Cere waited, letting the silence stretch between them. She wasn’t rushing him. She understood. She had seen it all in the Force, too—he was struggling, and part of her wanted to reach out, but she knew better than anyone that he had to speak for himself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Cal spoke, his voice low and raw.

“I—I saw her,” he began, his voice thick with emotion. "I saw her again." He hesitated, eyes drifting downward, as if he could push the memory back down if he didn’t face it head-on. "The Inquisitor. She—she was her. The one I knew. The one I..."

His words trailed off. He could feel the weight of the truth pressing on him. The girl he had once called a friend was now a monster, twisted by the dark side, consumed by it. She had once smiled at him in the quiet of their shared moments, laughed with him, trusted him. She had been his equal, his partner. And now, she was the thing he feared most.

Cere’s gaze softened as she listened, and she placed a hand on his shoulder, offering him a quiet support that spoke volumes.

“Tell me what happened,” she said softly.

Cal let out a shaky breath, then began recounting the confrontation in the temple. He told her everything: how he had felt her presence in the Force for weeks, always lurking at the edges of his senses, never fully showing herself but always there, waiting. He told her of the fight, of her crimson blade and the way she moved with deadly grace, always in control. But most of all, he told her of the revelation—when she had unmasked herself, when he had seen the face of the girl he once knew.

He paused, his throat tightening. “I couldn’t understand it. Why? Why would she become this? I don’t know what happened to her, Cere. I don’t know how she turned. The last time I saw her, she was just a child. We... we were close. We shared things, feelings...” His voice cracked slightly at the admission, the rawness of it catching him off guard. "And now she's an Inquisitor. A hunter. I... I couldn’t save her. I don’t even know why she’s doing this."

Cere listened, her expression pensive but understanding. She had never known the full depth of Cal’s past, of the friends and lives he had lost along the way. She had always known he carried guilt, a burden that weighed heavily on him. But hearing him speak of her—hearing him admit that he had been close to someone, someone who had mattered to him—added a new layer to the pain she could see festering inside him.

“It’s not your fault, Cal,” she said gently. “You didn’t make her choose this path. And you can’t change what’s already been done. But you can’t keep blaming yourself for something you didn’t control.”

He shook his head, frustration rising in his chest. “But I should have known. I should’ve sensed it. I should’ve found her sooner.” His voice faltered. “I should’ve done something.”

“You can’t save everyone, Cal,” Cere replied, her tone firm but kind. “You didn’t know what happened to her. And sometimes, people... they fall. Sometimes the darkness is too strong for them to fight, and they choose to embrace it. But that doesn’t mean it’s your fault. It wasn’t your choice. It was hers.”

Cal looked down, the weight of her words settling on him like a heavy cloak. His hands trembled slightly, his heart still aching with the memories of their shared past. He had never expected things to end this way. He had hoped—no, believed—that the girl he had known could still be saved. That somehow, they could have had a future together, even after everything the galaxy had put them through. But now... now it seemed like a cruel dream, something that could never be.

Cere’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts. “You’re not alone in this, Cal. We’re all fighting our own battles. But the one thing we have to hold onto—what we can never lose—is the hope that we can still make a difference. Even when it feels impossible.” She paused, letting her words settle between them. “If you want to save her, if you believe she can still be saved, then that’s your fight. But you can’t do it alone. Not now, not with what’s at stake.”

Cal took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as the words settled within him. It wasn’t about running from her, or even about defeating her. It was about understanding what had happened to her—and maybe, just maybe, finding a way to reach her again.

“I’ll find a way,” he whispered, more to himself than to Cere. “I won’t give up on her.”

Cere nodded, squeezing his shoulder in reassurance. “We’re with you, Cal. We always will be.”

And for the first time in days, Cal felt something stir within him—faint but undeniable. A flicker of hope, no matter how small. He wasn’t alone. And he wouldn’t give up on her. Not yet.

He had to believe that somewhere, buried beneath the darkness, there was still the girl he had known. Still the person who had once trusted him with everything. He had to believe that if he reached out far enough, if he held onto his own light, he could find a way to bring her back.

And with that, he made a silent vow to himself—no matter the cost, he would save her.

Even if it meant confronting the darkness in his own heart. ---

[reverieblondie]

Finding the Tiefling Bachelors Smut

A/N: I really hope everyone enjoys these hcs. Now these are just my ideas if you have ideas or things you feel like should be added please share! I would love to hear what you think! Huge shout out to @f4iryt3a for letting me use their Cal screenshot! I really appreciate it!

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader

Rolan: Scholarly romantic, who endeavors to seek experience outside his books

Now I love the idea of Rolan accidentally finding smut/erotica. That dork would get embarrassed so quickly, but I know he would be intrigued as the new master of Razamaths tower. Rolan, of course, has made it his mission to quickly understand all the tomes and books found in its grand libraries. Through his cataloging, he discovered that not all the books are necessarily history books or grimoires, but there is a collection of books that are stories. Needing to flip through for a rough summary of the story quickly, it's when he scans the pages and pauses…

Ardent eyes trail over her shivering skin. His lips come over to caress her body, his hands sliding up her belly towards her breast. Rough fingers pinch and twist at her sensitive buds, making her tremble with a breathy moan. All while his lips trail down lower and lower…biting softly, licking down her mound. Her skin is like silk against his fevered tongue, and no doubt the lower he wonders, the sweeter the taste… 

"And to think you thought me intolerable…now look at you, love. Panting like a bitch for my tongue…" 

Rolan slams the book closed, his face burning a bright crimson hue. Now, Rolan isn't dumb; he knows what smut is, but he's never actually read it before…And now, as he keeps looking through the books near this one…it seems Rolan has acquired a bit of a collection. He keeps the collection of his newly acquired smut in a locked drawer on his desk.  

Now, on late nights, while he's been in his office for hours, his back is tense, and his neck and shoulders are filled with knots. He needs to let out all this unreleased tension, so his hand wanders down to that locked drawer to finish reading that last chapter… 

The book has been discarded but not forgotten as it lies on the desk. Rolan's breath is labored as he is hunched over his desk, feverishly fisting his cock, whimpering, and throwing his head back as he lets the images flash in his mind. Doe's eyes stare up at him, his hand with a tight fist of their hair…their tongue rolling and lapping at his ridges, tail rubbing their wet sex as he approaches his high. Fuck How he wished it wasn't his hand but their mouth eagerly sucking him, desperate to take all of him. Rolan's thoughts spur him on more, your nails digging into his tights, your throat so fucking tight, just like he is sure your pussy is. And where would you want in? Your gorgeous face? Your breasts? Or would you swallow?

Rolan's hips buckle faster, his loose hair sticking to the sheen of sweat on his neck as he lets out a groan. He would give you all of it; he would make sure to show you everything he could do, how he would study your body just to get you to cum. How he would remember every moan, every tremble, and the way you feel wrapped around so tightly, your sweet voice trembling all those words he dreams you would say.  That's when he feels that wave rushes over him, his legs tremble, and a whimper "ah, a-h!" leaves his lips. Rolan has to brace his hand on the desk as he cums in fast spurts in his hand. Catching his breath, he looks at his mess… "Zurgan…" 

You and Rolan are friends, but you two still manage to argue most days, and you wouldn't like it any other way. Something about that grumpy attitude just makes your head spin. You want to get under more than just his skin; getting under him would be ideal. It's good that you're patient because you're just waiting for the snap where this teasing finally pays off, and he becomes yours. 

You find yourself waiting for Rolan to ask about some magical artifact you found. Honestly, you could care less; you just want an excuse to talk to him and tease him. Unfortunately, you must wait for him…might as well snoop a little. And what do you find in your snooping? A locked desk drawer, intriguing…with a trick you picked up astarion you get it opened to see books? 

Oh….smut books…with a clear theme, enemies to lovers; it looks like Rolan likes to argue as much as you do…you can work with this. 

Rolan walks through the door, "Okay, what do you have for me?" His voice catches as soon as he sees you sitting on his desk (something he says he hates), watching you read through his smut. 

You flick your eyes up to him, "Rolan… I never took you as a smut reader; I would think the Great Master would be too busy…" Rolan approaches you quickly and tries to snatch the book from you, but you hold it behind yourself, not making it easy for him. 

"Hasn't anyone ever taught you about privacy!" He stands right in front of you now, his flushed cheeks on full display for you. "Why are you embarrassed?" you taunt; Rolan sighs irritatedly as he struggles for the book. His body leaning in so close, his chest brushing against yours, his hips between your spread legs, his face getting so close to yours. Rolans is so desperate to get the book he doesn't realize how close he is. 

"Someone needs to teach you proper decorum!" his voice grumbles. "Is that an offer…" Rolan pauses as he hears you whisper in his ear; he turns to face you, his face already so close your noises brush together. Rolan swallows as his eyes flick from your lips to your eyes. " You're teasing me," he says lowly, dropping the book behind you; you wrap your arms around his neck. "Not unless you want me to." 

Rolan lets out a shaky breath before he places his hands on your hips, guiding you to wrap your legs around him. "Must you always have a comeback every time?" 

"What? I thought you liked my smart mouth. Perfect for arguing." Rolan gently lays your body down against his desk, his body over you, making your breath quicken, and your arousal ruins your panties with want. "How about I put that mouth to better use?" 

You two don't miss a moment to start stripping on one another. "What use? Oh, great master Rolan?" Rolan smiles and leans his now bare chest down, his lips pressing hungrily against yours. Before you can slip in your tongue, he pulls back, relishing in the whine you give from missing his lips. "Like making you moan my name." -Damn that cockiness… 

The next few moments are a blur of sloppy kisses, sharp bites to your neck, and the feeling of his hot tongue tracing over your nipples, making your thighs clamp tighter around his waist in a whine. Rolan eggs you on to say his name as his textured cock runs slowly up and down your wet sex. His body shudders with a groan from the feeling of your slick all for him. 

Rolan slides into you, whimpering along with you as you finally moan his name, "Rolan~" you can't help but arch yourself as he pumps into you deeper and deeper with every thrust. The more he rocks in you, the rougher he gets, as his nails dig into your ass, lifting your lower body off the bed as you keep clamping down on him from the praise he rewards you.

His cock hitting your G Stop, you feel yourself squeezing down on him as his hazy eyes look down at you with a lazy smirk; he's read enough to know what's happening to you, "Oh? About to cum? Come on… Don't hold back, cum for me."

It hits you like a wave making your whole body tremble as your orgasm on his cock, with a scream of his name. Rolan is quick to silence you with a moan of his own as he leaves a rough kiss on your lips. 

Zevlor: An Experienced Romantic

Okay, but can we all imagine Zevlor's shirtless body littered with scars and a nice set of reading glasses low on his nose as he reads some smut/erotica. (Ugh, the dream!) Zevlor, our oldest of the bachelors, has seen his fair share of smut; back in the day, it wasn't odd for some of the guys to hide erotica under their bunks. Though their books were quite different from Zev's. Sadly, those books have been lost to time and the descent. Maybe it was curiosity or the fact that a certain someone has been making his heart race every time they say his name. Now, here he is in the romance section of the library, trying to find one of those old books he used to own. Unfortunately, he only sees books he's not familiar with, so on a whim, he opens a random book…  

If someone walked by, it would tarnish her reputation. A high blood in the gardens this late with a man will surely cause gossip. Especially with her legs spread so wide and her guard positioning his cock so deep in her. Her soft voice moaning so heavenly, only causes his cock to throb more. He's meant to be guarding her…If anyone finds out… She's too important, too perfect to be with a man like him…

"I love you." Her voice, like sweet honey, draws him to hold her tighter, to rut in deeper. He drags his lips across her slick skin, tongue lightly licking the sweat from her neck. Finally, he reaches her ear, "Darling flower…I love you more than you can possibly know…" She clenches and flutters with a whimper, and his hips start to move faster…

Zevlor ended up checking out that book, along with three others the lady behind the counter recommended for him. It turns out they had similar tastes…He made sure to rush home so nobody saw what he had, and Zevlor made sure to put the books in a safe place…in his dresser drawer. 

It's another one of those sleepless nights. His eyes just won't seem to close, and his body won't relax. Maybe he should read a few chapters in his new book…just until his eyes get heavy…

Zevlor can't help but grunt as he feels his balls twitch, begging himself to stroke his girth faster, but Zevlor is patient… he knows what his body can take, so he continues his slow build. Zevlor spits on his other hand to lube his cock, making it slip faster within his hand. His grunts get louder as his hand moves faster, building up to his release. Zevlor shuts his eyes, focusing on the approaching wave of pleasure, his thoughts immediately going to you. Your body is bouncing beautifully as you ride the old hellrider. Gods, he wants to talk you through it and be your guide to your sweet pleasure before he fills you up. How he would dig his hands into the soft plush of your hips to help roll you deeper, cooing softly to you as you begin to babble, your pleasure starting to build to its peak. Gods, how he wants to hear your voice trembling his name… Zevlors hips start to roll at the thought of your snug cunt and your sweet voice chanting how it's too much and how you're coming to cum. The thought of your cum coating him is enough for his cock to throb as he lets his cum shoot against his abdomen. Zevlor sighs coming back down from his high. As he cleans himself up, he wonders, would you clean him up? Perhaps with your tongue? Zevlor shakes his head and chastises himself for the lewd thought. 

You and Zevlor developed a strong bond after everything; you two were supported by each other through getting past everything. Even though Zevlor decided to retire to a small farm on the city's outskirts, you two kept in touch through letters and visits. Part of you wishes that Zevlor would one day invite you to stay at his farm with him permanently…though you are unsure if that is just a silly dream of a lovesick girl… 

During one of your impromptu visits to Zevlors farm, you were helping him wrangle the goats, it turns out Philp the Ram is not a fan of yours… So that is how you found yourself crashed into the water trough after running from a grumpy goat. Zevlor was a slew of apologies as he helped you from the water and told you that you could borrow some clothes from him while yours dries. So, while you were looking for a shirt in his drawers, you found a book? Maybe a peek wouldn't hurt…

Turns out that Zevlor is quite the romantic…maybe it's time you confess…but you need to have a plan…

Zevlor was done setting up the tea, but you still hadn't emerged from his bedroom. Perhaps nothing fits you, right? Or maybe you are embarrassed? Zevlor sits pondering for a few minutes before he decides to walk to the room and check on you. You hear his heavy footsteps before you hear his Knock. "Tav? Are you alright?” With a deep breath, you tell yourself it's now or never. "Zev? I'm fine, but could you ... come in, please?"

Zevlor, never one to deny a request from you, opens the door; when he sees you, he thinks his heart stops at the sight of your bare thighs sitting on his bed in his favorite mauve shirt. Then he sees the book on his dresser, and his face turns an impossibly deeper shade of red. Great, you think he's an old pervert. Zevlor is about to explain when you cut him off, patting the spot beside you on the bed. He watches your face blush, "sit with me?" Zevlor sits beside you. The tension is thick in the air as both your minds reel, Zevlor panicking that you think he's a gross pervert, while you are working the courage to make your next move ... something romantic to impress him.

"About the book I-" It was so quick .... but you forget Zevlor was a paladin, a well-trained one at that. So when you turned to kiss his full lips, Zevlor caught your face between his hands. His eyes widen in surprise as he looks at your squished cheeks and puckered lips. Your face reddened, "I'm sorry, I was trying to be romantic... I should have asked to kiss you.” You manage to tremble out through your squeezed lips ...His eyebrows furrow and a slight laugh leaves him “you... Want to kiss me?” He lets go of your head, and it's your turn to laugh. “That and more... if you're willing?" 

Zevlar was definitely willing, willing to run his hands over your soft body, while you do the same to his hardened one, tracing his scars with tender kisses as you sang sweet praises into his crimson skin. His Kisses were so soft as your lips pressed together, slowly building up your hunger for more.

It could have been minutes, hours, hells, even days as you two explored each other's bodies. "Slow ... ride it slow ..." his deep voice whispers in your ear as you slowly roll your hips ."Beautiful ... look at you ...” His lips return to kissing a bruise to your neck as you look into the mirror. Your legs spread wide over his thighs, one of his hands on your hip as the other is wrapped around your waist, holding your front as steady as possible as he thrust So slowly into your drooling cunt. You can see your arousal dripping down his ridged cock as he moves it through your snug cunt, stretched so taut for him. Your hands are holding onto Zevlor for dear life as he molds your insides to his shape.

Zevlors pace steadily builds as your insides start to clench on him tighter, and your cooing gets higher pitched. He smiles and meets your eyes in the reflection as he slips his hot fingers to your twitching clit, rolling over it in quick circles So desperate to watch his lovely Tav squirt all over his girth again.

What could be more romantic than watching the one you care for come undone on you?

Dammon: A lover of erotica through and through

It is canon that Dammon likes smut, which inspired this whole thing. Damon isn't one to shout out from the rooftops what he enjoys reading, but he isn't shy about it, either. He enjoys reading smut/erotica, and he isn't going to be embarrassed about that. He finds that his favorite works are Bondage and Corruption Kink-based. Sure, the stories are undeniably hot, but the trust, the communication shared between two people engaging in that level of intimacy he's utterly addicted to…and his library will only grow. Still, he always returns to his rarer favorites…

His hand is cold compared to the burning flesh of her ass. She leans into the touch, losing her grip, but that only earns her a swat that furthers the rosy flesh to a fiery blush…" keep holding your ankles.." his voice is stern, and she wishes he would talk to her for hours like this, She grabs her ankles tighter mumbling a soft apology. He smiles and kisses down her spine in approval, "Good girl. Now, what's your safe word?" She feels his hand sliding across her ass, the tightening in her gut coiling further. "L-lavender…" she can't help but tremble, feeling his hand spread her blushing cheeks. "When do we say that word?" she's fully spread to him now, feeling dizzy in anticipation. "If-if I'm feeling overwhelmed, hurt, or just ready to stop." 

He muses at her, bent over, ready for him; he runs his oiled fingers over the metal plug keeping his eyes on her tight entrance…he feels his cock throb from the rush, she wants to slam himself into her ass, but he calms himself with a breath. "Very good, now I'm going to put the plug in, remember to breathe and that it will be cold…"

Dammon only occasionally has guests in his small house, so he has never felt the need to hide his books. So what does he do? He proudly displays them on his bookshelf, rotating out his favorites for a nice reread on his nightstand. 

No matter how many times he might read this book, it always excites him. After a long day of pounding away at scorching hot metal it can get a person tightly wound up…and what's better than an excellent book to help wind you down after a long day…

Turns out that winding down is not what his body had in mind for him tonight. It started off as it usually does, his hand lazily stroking his cock, while he read from his book, but as he kept reading, he couldn't help but think about when he saw you last, bright smile, tight trousers, and your shirt barely containing your breast. You always looked like a vision, and he wouldn't mind getting his mouth on if you only asked. Dammons thoughts go to you bent over his anvil as he pounds into your warm heat, his hands keeping your wrist behind your back as you moan for more to show you all he knows. Dammons bites his lip at the thought, continuing to ram his cock into the crease of his pillow folded between his legs. His hand is not enough, and neither is the pillow, but if he thrusts fast enough, he can almost trick himself. It's your plush thighs he's ramming against. Dammon lets out deep moans as he gets closer, his cock weeping at the tip as he thinks of how deep he could go… how he could explore all of you for him to devour. Gods, to feel you cum all over him, to demand more from you till your body shakes from overstimulation. The pleasure he knows his rigid cock could give you. The surge of his orgasm washes over him as his cum shoots into his pillow with a low groan at the instant relief. Dammon throws his pillow off the bed as he catches his breath, so much for relaxing…

After the end of everything, it only makes sense that you would keep in touch with Dammon; every good hero needs a good blacksmith, and Dammon is yours. He was always so reliable and fun to talk to. It only makes sense that you were running his way whenever your sword or armor was nicked. You two slowly boned and found yourself spending hours just sitting and talking to him, telling him your adventures while Dammon just smiled and worked. Watching Dammon work was also an enjoyable experience; he was always so passionate about what he did… you wonder if he's as passionate in other ways

Dammon had told you to come by his place to pick up your weapons, which he was repairing. Having to do some last-minute things, he had set tea out for you and had you wait in his quaint little home. You waited and waited, but he was just taking so long, so you decided to walk around. While you were walking around, you saw Dammon's bookshelf and looked to see if you two shared the same taste in books…

As soon as you picked up one of the books and started to read it, you just couldn't stop. You didn't know if it was shocking, curiosity, or interest ... but what you were reading was so intense, and you just couldn't help how your thighs were pressing together to help ease your growing arousal. "Enjoying the book ?" his voice chimed, making you jump. Slamming the book closed and trying to stumble out an apology, Dammon just looks at your increasingly flushing face, and his smile grows.

Finally, Dammon gently places his hand on your lips, his face completely unfazed as his calm voice asks, "Want me to show you my favorite parts? "- How could you refuse?

What turned into him reading them to you led to you reading it yourself as Dammon ideally played with your hair as he watched you; he Turned to you, finally sharing in a passionate kiss, to where you are now ...

Both of you stripped down to your underwear, straddling Dammons thigh as he leaves slow, sloppy kisses on the column of your neck, "We will start slow...to show you …"

Your hands are holding on tightly to his broad shoulders as his hands slide down your waist to squeeze your hips. His bright eyes take in your blush as he asks if you're okay if you're ready. With a shy yes, you two start as he starts to guide your hips to grind on his thigh; the feeling of your clit rubbing against him makes warm pleasure rush down your spine to spread through you. Dammon just watches your beautiful face contort to the pleasure, listening to your soft moans and trembling Whines, his cock growing stiff as the arousal drips from your panties to leak on his thighs. God, he wants to trace it with his fingertips and have you taste yourself, but he contains himself, telling himself to go slow with you. Dammon moves his hands up to your breast, groping you softly as you continue your soft grind.

You keep rocking back and forth, feeling the tightness in your stomach as you gradually build your pace. From how wet you feel. Dammon knows you are so close to that high, so he decides to help you more. His left hand lowers your bra as his lips kiss your perked nipples before his tongue carefully traces the sensitive skin, making you moan so softly. Then With his right hand, he slips two fingers through your soaked panties to play with your swollen little clit. The feeling of his rough fingertips toying and then pinching softly is enough for that coil to break within you as you squirt on his lap.

"I'm so sorry …" You say in a gasp, but Dammon only shushes you as he holds you to his chest, his expert fingers guiding you through your orgasm. "You have nothing to apologize for ... that's so beautiful, which makes me want you to do it again ... "You whine and bury your face in his neck from his sultry words. Damon can't wait to teach you more things.

Cal: Innocent but wants to learn

There is not enough smut about Cal, which is a shame; he is a cutie and deserves to be included in the Tiefling Bachelor lineup. Cal always thought that there was only one way to get sexual stimulation from a book and those erotic art books people hid in their homes. He had heard of the desire to seek them out. Well, now Cal's grown up, he has needs. It's while Cal is trying to discreetly find one of these books when he comes across smut. Curious why a book like this would be in this section. That is when he figures it out… 

He couldn't help how her strong body roused him. It was an accident coming across her during her bath, but even the warrior jumped to action and could pin him down beneath her foot. He just stared at her bare body, shining in the moonlight as the water dripped down her skin. He swallowed his suddenly dry throat as the need to lick up every drip off her body to quench his thirst, but only if she wished it. How he would be a dog for her… "Why are you spying on me during my bath? Are you an assassin or just a pervert?" His rehearsed lines over why he joined her on her journey evaporate from his mind.

"My lady…lady, I wish to serve your every whim…I wish to be your hand…it would be an honor to travel with a noble hero like yourself…" Her eyes narrow before she swiftly drops down to his prone form…Gods, please don't sit on him and reveal to her his aching erection… "careful with your wording… you could easily end up as a squire… or my chew toy.." he tries to steady his breath… "whatever my knight wishes…" she smiles…this should be an interesting addition to her travels… 

Of course, Cal quickly bought the book and immediately packed it for home as soon as he left the store. As soon as he got to his room after sneaking past his siblings, he needed to find a place to hide it. The last thing he needed was for someone to see that he had this book. So, after a quick scan of his room, he shoved the book underneath his mattress. Nobody will find it there, right?  

Cal was completely immersed in the story; any time he had time off, she was sneaking off to his room to read another chapter or two. Then, late one night, he found that the plot was thickening, and it was starting to stir something within him. Cal springs from his bed and quickly decides to take a cool bath; that should help cool him right…

The bath did little to ease him; all while he was in the bath, his thoughts kept wandering to his book… and you. Now here he is, his fevered skin feeling the sharp bliss of the bathroom's tiled wall against his back, groaning lowly as he fucks his fist. Cal knew it was wrong to think of you this way, your beautiful legs spread open… your hand teasing yourself as your sweet arousal drips more and more. Cal knew he shouldn't be doing this, but that didn't stop him from shutting his eyes tighter, buckling his hips more desperately as he chased his high. All those previous feelings of shame melt away as your sweet voice calls his name, your eyes lidded, telling him to "Watch me, Cal…taste me…" Fuck, his breath picks up as dose his pace mumbling to himself how much he wants you… what he would fo got "Ah, just to taste you… to have you cum on my tongue…" Cal stroked faster, whimpering and moans growing louder at the thought of you pushing him down and sinking your soft cunt onto his cock. The way you would ride him as you screamed for him was the final straw that had his cock spasming, "Fuck, fuck, Fuck!" Cal couldn't help but chant like a prayer as he made a mess over his clean body. Cal looked down at his ruined body, "Dammit… I need to rinse off again…" 

Cal was always a pleasant person to be associated with; your friendship started when he thanked you for helping end a squabble between his siblings. After that, you two kept running into each other. First, he sought you out for combat advice, which made you two have friendly chats. You two both find each other to open up about your troubles with one other. Cal says he admires you and all the incredible heroic acts you have done, but you admire Cal and his cheerful, never-giving-up attitude. The world always seemed just that bit warmer when Cal is near…  

When you saw that Rolan and Lia were out at the tavern without Cal, you were instantly worried about him. They had told you he was not feeling good, apparently, and that immediately made you need to go see him. So, with a key from Rolan, you made your way to the tower to check in on Cal. When you reach outside his door, you hear a sound that makes you worried…   

The air in your lungs ripped from your throat, causing you to let out a gasp as you saw him fisting himself under his blanket. You and Cal locked eyes; he immediately stopped and quickly apologized to explain himself as he was trying to get untangled from his sheets. Poor Cal fell out of his bed, crashing to the floor in a tangled mess of his bedding. Walking over to him, you crouch Where his arm hides his face. "I .. am so sorry ... I ... didn't mean - ""Cal?" Cal Swallows, "Yes ?" You carefully move his arm away so you can look into his eyes. "Do you want me to help you ?" Cal looked up at you with wide eyes before nodding quickly.

Cal's breath was labored as his sweaty hands gripped the sheets as he looked at you in awe. Your hands wrapped around his length as you -Kissed and licked his peddling tip, your eyes watching his adorable face. Then with a final smile and a whisper to relax and enjoy, you start sucking around him, your soft tongue - licking around his sensitive underside making his hip twitch and buckle. Cal thought he must have fallen and cracked open his skull, passing on to the next heavenly realm; how could it be that you, perfect beautiful you, are sitting on your knees eagerly, sucking and slurping on his cock; it just couldn't be real.

Then he felt his cock push to the back of your throat, and he couldn't help from throwing his head back and moaning your name. You relished in the feeling of his trembling as he came in thick spurts down your throat. You had to hold back from laughing as you heard him apologize. Standing up, you smile at his hazy expression and slight smile. You swallowed him down and caressed his cheek, giggling as he pressed frantic kisses on your palm, saying a thousand thank yous. Grabbing his chin, you smile at him as he asks those words you were hoping for. "I .. um. I have never done it, but could I help you ?' Turns out Cal is very good at following directions.

[lostinforestbound]

Could I request NSFW headcanons for Cal, Rolan, and Zevlor reacting to their gender neutral s/o having a praise kink?

Let's give this a go! It's kind of funny doing this one since I also think Rolan would have a praise kink HAHAHA

Cal, Rolan, and Zevlor Having a Partner with a Praise Kink

Cal

Cal is already the sweetest man anyone could ever be with. He's chatty, so it means compliments are pouring out of his mouth all the time, even before they start having intimacy.

I think he's a natural praiser! He would do it all the time. Praising their skills, their cooking, their projects, all of it. It all very casual to him.

Though, when they start having intimacy, he realizes that they're reacting very positively to his praise, it makes his brain short-circuit for a moment. Did they just shudder? Did their blush just get worse?

He wants to bring it up in conversation, but he's worried they will find it embarrassing. He doesn't want them to find it embarrassing or have it be a source of insecurity, he loves it. He wants to make this even better for them, even.

He'll bring it up over dinner. Communication is very important to Cal, as his dynamic with his siblings, who are both hot-heads, have trouble communicating all the time. He doesn't want that for himself or his relationship.

He'll kindly ask his partner to listen to him first, explaining that there's no need to feel closed off with him if they really like something in bed. He's open to anything, and he'll say no if he's not into it.

After that talk, he'll up his antics a lot. Cal is kind, but he is also a little cheeky. He'll praise them normally in day-to-day activities, but sometimes he'll whisper it in their ear while pressing against their back. He'll wrap his tail around their thigh and squeeze while telling them they're doing so good.

In the bedroom, all hell breaks loose (in the best way)! No matter top or bottom, Cal is talking always. He's praising them to the moon and back. Telling them they're handsome, beautiful, etc.

Of course he can't say much smothered between their thighs, but he can still touch. He's careful with his claws, and he'll caress every part of their body he can reach.

He really hopes his moaning is also a good indicator that they're doing very good for him when the sensations make him speechless.

Rolan

Communication is tough for Rolan, especially in the beginning. He doesn't know what he likes, nor what they like, and they have to figure it out together.

Rolan is a practical man, he does compliment others but sometimes it can be a little backhanded. Never with his partner though, he loves them. Sometimes though, he can sound sarcastic.

When they have intimacy for the first time, it's clumsy, but they start to make it work. At some point, he absentmindedly states "That's it, good" and he feels how they react positively to it.

It stops him for a moment. What does this mean? They like being complimented that much? To the point that they're now leaking for him? It's a lot of questions, but best saved for later.

So he continues, talking more and praising when he deems it appropriate. They're reacting so much to it that it almost shocks him. He had no idea they enjoyed it this much, and he feels a little guilty for never asking what they liked before they started.

There's no real conversation about it afterwards, just a silent understanding from him. He compliments them more for their little achievements, praises them casually when they need it. In the bedroom, he gets into a little dirty talking as well.

Though things definitely take a turn when they switch it up and he starts getting praised instead. Especially his extreme reaction towards it. It shocks them both, but mostly him. Now they're in a little predicament.

Finally, they have a talk. Clearly they both like getting praised. A lot. So what can they do? Trying to do it at the same time is difficult, and it's clear they're both embarrassed.

They decide to just takes turns! Who really wants it at the time? Are they in the mood to praise or be praised? Do they want something specific said?

After a while, Rolan really starts to loosen up more. He finally comfortable, and even becomes a huge tease towards them. He gets teased right back, but he enjoys the banter. He'll get back at them in the bedroom later, anyways.

Zevlor

Zevlor is much older in his years and has been around the block when he was younger! He knows his way around kinks and the like, and he's experimented as well.

It's not a big surprise once he finds out his partner has a thing for praise, it doesn't even phase the man. Though it seems his partner is embarrassed about it, so he doesn't bring it up himself.

He lets his partner set the pace of their intimacy. He'll praise them absentmindedly, and pretends to not notice how riled they get when he tells them how good they're doing for him. It's borderline teasing at this point.

He never wants them to feel pressure by anything, so he lets them open up on their own time. While they do that though, out f the bedroom, he still praises them for doing random things that he appreciates.

Working on a project of theirs? They're doing wonderfully, he's sure it'll turn out perfect. Completing a goal they set for themselves? Great job! He's excited to see what they'll do next. Doing a chore he's been putting off out of the kindness of their heart? Amazing, he'll reward them later for sure.

When they finally do open up about their praise kink, he listens intently and lets them take their time explaining. He may have heard this talk before, but this seems very important to them, so he treats it as such.

Afterwards, he starts praising them more than he ever has with them, milking it as much as he can. He knows the right things to say every time, and it's incredible. All of that with his gentle touches is overwhelming.

It's nothing one off either, he talks the entire time until they're sick of his voice. He could go on entire monologues if given the opportunity.

He would say everything he loves about them. Their kindness, their talent, their body, how they set his body ablaze every time he sees them. He loves them with his whole heart, and he'll say it as much as it takes for them to start believing him.

Even after the intimacy is over, he'll praise them during aftercare as well. As soon as he was given the go ahead by them, he will just never stop.

[ofcourseiwillmydarling]

…3 months later you married him.

(You can find the fic that inspired this HERE)

[blxkstar]

I made a playlist for the planet Koboh, from star wars Jedi Survivor!! Please check it out!!

"So that's where you settled down. Out in the middle of nowhere."