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gatorbites-imagines · 7 months

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Kinktober day 5

Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader + uniform kink

I’ve been a Darth Vader fanboy (dickrider) for so long, I’m amazed I haven’t written smut about him before. This is loosely based on a plot idea I’ve had for a long time but never sat down and wrote.

This is the longest thing ive written for this kinktober, the spirit of star wars itself must have posessed me.

Kinktober 2023 masterlist

You were an imperial officer, you hadn’t always been one of course. Before the empire rose you had been your average war general under the republic working closely with the jedi and their clonetroopers, most of all you worked with the 501st lead under Anakin Skywalker, a name not even allowed to be murmured anymore. You had always carried some sort of candle for general Skywalker, the hero with no fear, but everyone knew jedi weren’t allowed to be in relationships, and even if they were, you could never imagine Skywalker being interested in you.

For some reason, after the empire rose you had joined their ranks. What else could you do? You had lost everything in the war, and even though you didn’t believe in their propaganda, you knew the republic had been just as corrupt, they just hid it better. Your old coworkers had never liked how easily you switched sides for credits, but since you had no one to tie yourself too it was easy to put on a new uniform and kill under some randos orders. It was what had made you so useful during the clone wars and for the empire afterwards, you were quick and smart and had little mercy in your soul.

Of course, your heart gave a squeeze when you would see the formerly lively clones be reduced to mindless flesh droids, or when you saw the few remaining jedi being dragged away for re-education or to be gotten rid of. But under the emperor you were paid handsomely, more than most other officers you learned, why though you could never tell. Maybe it was the fact that you were the longest lasting officer under Lord Vader, as the sith had a tendency to snuff out the life of anyone who got on his nerves. Anyone but you.

For some reason, Vader seemed to like you, at least to the degree a sith could like somebody. He kept you around, at least. And at times you were sure he was staring at you longer than was appropriate, but you weren’t gonna say anything, especially to the guy known for snapping necks of anyone who got in his way.

Your status as Vader’s personal officer came one day in the form of a special uniform. It looked like your average imperial officer uniform, except for the fact that instead of black or white, the top part of your uniform was now a dark deep crimson. The color reminded you of dried blood. The pants were pitch black, the same shade as Vader’s cloak. If you looked deeper into your outfit, you would see the stitches were done with a red thread, almost like Vader’s saber. It was clear you were Vader’s, whether you wanted it or not.

Being Vader’s personal officer was isolating, more than usual. You had always been known as cold and tough, because you had to be to have lasted as long as yourself standing so close to Vader and the emperor. But after being so visibly marked as someone under Vader’s terrifying eye, all new officers and troopers seemed to avoid you or walk on eggshells around you, as if fearing your wrath would be Vader’s wrath itself. You had gotten used to the loneliness a long time ago, but as more and more officers and crew from your time were replaced you ended up having just yourself and your thoughts.

And your thoughts somehow always ended up back on Anakin Skywalker, that jedi general you had fought beside many years ago now. You wondered how he would have felt if he knew who you had become, how much blood was on your hands, how many innocents you had doomed. You knew deep down it was stupid, he had never truly known you, you had been nothing but coworkers, fellow generals. But for some reason, his handsome face, beautiful eyes, and strong body would appear in your dreams and in the recess of your mind.

Even as you stood behind Vader in the cockpit of the large ships he would parade around in, you would find some of your attention sliding to memories of Skywalker. For some reason his clothes had always fascinated you, the dark robes had been so unusual for jedi, but they had been perfect on him. Maybe it was because of this that small twinges in your mind had started feeling a pull to Lord Vader of all people.

Maybe it was his height, his presence, or just the black clothing he wore that seemed to light something in your mind. Maybe it was fear mixing itself with lust, as you had noticed how he seemed even more tense than usual. Others would be unable to see, but you had stood behind him since the moment the emperor brought him forth. You could see it in the way his fists tightened, and his gloves creaked, or how his breathing just became a lad louder from what you could under imagine was frustration.

You were sure you were going mad from your isolation when your dreams were starting to become filled with not only Anakin Skywalker but Darth Vader, their gloved hands pulling at your body, Vader holding you up as Anakin had his way with you, or Anakin’s mechanical hand twisting and torturing your length as Vader made you choke on his fingers or cock, depending on if your dream thought the cyborg sith even possessed privates.

Normally you would be able to release the tension these dreams brought you, but Vader had seemed to call you to his personal quarters late at night. This night your dream had been stranger than usual, there had not been just Anakin or Vader, or even both at once, instead Anakin and Vader had been on. You had been in your imperial officer garb as well, something that rarely happened in your dreams featuring Skywalker, and the Vader Anakin amalgamation has pulled you apart. His heavy breathing still rang in your ears as you hurried towards your lords’ quarters.

The halls were empty, or as empty as they could be as you passed a couple of troopers patrolling, whom all saluted you as they were supposed to. You were sure you looked a mess, the call from Lord Vader had been urgent, and you hadn’t had time to pick up your newly pressed uniforms yet and had to put on the one you had worn all day. Outside the door of Vader’s quarters, you took a deep breath as you collected yourself, before knocking.

When you were welcomed in you almost choked at the sight before you, for a moment you were sure your lord was suffocating you with the force. There had never been a bed in Lord Vader’s room, as he had no need for one, but now there was. It was large, big enough to fit maybe three or four beings Vader’s own size, and the sheets were blood red and looked so expensive even your high salary felt a hit.

“Sir” you stated, straightening your back as you tried to not let your thoughts run haywire as Vader sat upon the bed like a king on his throne. Maybe it was leftovers from your dreams, but the spread of his powerful thighs and slow deep breathing leaving his respirator had your palms going clammy under his gloves. You cursed the fit of your uniform, as you were sure your halfchub caused by your dream was still visible as you stood straight.

This was it, Vader was gonna get rid of you for daring to show up looking so disheveled and uneven. “Officer” he rumbled in his deep voice, and you clenched your teeth and shut your eyes, ready for what you were sure was gonna be your death. Instead you felt your body being lurched forwards with what you knew was the force, falling to your knees as the force seemed to pull your feet out from under you.

As you opened your eyes you found yourself on your knees between Vader’s strong thighs, his gloved palm coming to hold your chin as he seemed to look you over with a critical eye, even under his helmet. You gulped, your halfchub filling up faster than you could dream of suppressing, and the scoffed exhale that left Vader made it sure you knew that he knew just how affected you were.

His other hand came up and adjusted the collar of your uniform, his strong mechanical fingers lingering around the vulnerable flesh of your neck. “Your dreams, officer. Are so very loud” he spoke in that deep voice of his, you were sure you heard it wrong as it felt like he had purred out those words. You face became hot, and so did your entire body, at the mention of your dreams. You knew force users could read or sense thoughts, but some innocent hopeful part of yourself had hoped your dreams would stay secret.

“Your uniform is out of order” he rumbled, the blank lenses of his helmet forcing you to stare at your own reflection. You tried to force yours mouth open to speak, to apologize for your appearance and your dreams, maybe to beg for mercy. But your lord seemed to have different plans, as his booted foot pressed against your crotch where you were hardest, a surprised moan leaving you.

“Remove your coat, officer” he rumbled, the fingers gripping your chin tightening until you followed his orders almost desperately. This had to be a dream, you were sure of it, why else would lord Vader be letting you rut against his boot like some kind of dog. “Your room is just below me own, did you know? You broadcast your dreams loudly” he kept going, grinding his boot harder between your thighs, making you gasp and grasp as his leg.

“You must make it up to me” Vader rumbled, and all speculation if he even possessed privates left your mind. In your dreams he had always been large, as he was so tall, but seeing it did it no justice. His strong grip knocked your hat off your head, another part of your uniform, as he pulled you forwards. You barely had time to prepare before your mouth as filled, and the tight fabric of your uniform pants became unbearable as you found yourself arching at the act.

Vader didn’t moan as he fucked your face, or rather pulled your head back and forth at his whim, but his breathing shook and that was enough for you. Your mind was a jumbled mess of Darth Vader and Anakin Skywalker, for some reason you had grown hooked on the combination. If you weren’t so out of it, you might have noticed that Vader would thrust down your throat extra hard whenever images of the jedi appeared in your mind, but you could barely keep focus.

There was no warning as he came, just an extra deep exhale and him bottoming out, forcing your nose against his hairless pubic area. His shiny boot rolled against your crotch, and you were almost sure he must have done something with the force as you found yourself finish, even as he made you swallow all he gave you, you stained the inside of your boxers and uniform pants.

It took a moment to clear your thoughts as Lord Vader finally let you pull back, your throat sore in the best way and your eyes teary. You must have looked a mess, as Vader wiped under your drooling mouth with his large thumb. “Go fix up your uniform, officer” he rumbled, the force pushing you to your feet even as you almost buckled at the knees. Maybe you were still high on your orgasm, but you swore his tone was softer than normal, and that his touch was more careful as he put your hat back on your head and you tucked your jacket back on.

“I will call for you in the morning” Vader spoke, his tone meaningful in a way that had excitement brewing in you once more. “Sir” you replied in affirmation, trying not to shiver at how raw your voice was. As you hurried back to your quarters, Vader exhaled loudly as he ran his hand over his helmeted face, for once wishing he still possessed his old face so that maybe he could have indulged you in that so powerful dream of yours.

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netherfeildren · 6 months

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The Cassandra Complex : Chapter VIII : Melpomene

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Heavy angst; Descriptions of depression; Jealousy; Possessive behavior; Rough sex

A/N: I’ve been waiting for this one for a really, really long time.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 7.3K

Read on AO3

CHAPTER VIII : MELOPMENE

When is it polite to let go of someone’s arm after you grab it?

Anne Carson, Autobiography of Red

You’re in the dark cavernous lair of your master, and he is there too, chained, beaten. Helmetless.

Horror.

A flash of brown hair, you blink away – no, no, don’t look.

That terrible voice, terrible for its harrowing familiarity, telling you that you’ll never escape, that you can run from your past, but you cannot run from yourself, from the thing that you are. Your desires, your attempts at reform are futile when you were born poisoned.

But no, no, I wasn’t – I wasn't born poisoned. I was benevolent and good, darkness made me a fiend.

I had a mother and a father.

A flash of his eyes – No, no – don’t go in there. That isn’t for you.

Are you afraid?

Terrified.

And then the brilliant spark of a lightsaber spearing you through the belly – burning so bright hot it’s almost like ice, a burning gone to numbness, a burning gone to madness.

You look up, and the saber is through Din’s chest then. The bright red of the plasma mixes and mingles with the dark crimson of his blood, and the helmet is gone, destroyed beneath the fist of a darker power, his face is right there, right there, right there, your last chance to look–

You wake with a start to the sight of his slow shifting back beneath a thin undershirt. The fabric, soft and worn, and you can almost taste the scent of his skin you know it holds. The shining curve of the back of his helmet.

The ouroboros of your own demise… but never his. No matter what, no matter anything.

“Din.”

He turns immediately, blaster and an old oil rag in hand. “Cyar’ika–” voice full of concern, just at your tone. He’s already setting the blaster down.

“I had a bad dream.”

He stands without comment, going into the fresher, you listen to the water run, the lights go out, and then he’s there, sliding beneath the blankets into the cocoon of your bed, skin bare and warm. He pulls you into his arms, the safest place in the entire galaxy, and there are tears in your eyes and a fracture spanning like a spider’s web through your heart. You feel the soft press of his mouth at your hairline, slow moving, the deep inhale as he takes in your scent. “What was it, cyare? Tell me.” His rough hand finds its way up the back of your shirt, another beneath the edge of your underwear to grasp at the soft swell of your bottom and pull you further into him.

You shake your head, “I don’t know,” lie, “Something terrible,” truth. You think of the first lie you’d ever told him, I’ve never met a Mandalorian before, and you wonder if there will ever be a day that he’ll look back on all this, this time of yours together, and regret it, resent it, hate you.

He presses your head into the space beneath his chin and lets out a deep breath you feel fan and flutter around you, the wide expanding of his strong chest. “I’m here. It’s alright now.” He’s here. It’s alright now.

“Promise me–” you say suddenly.

And his answer is immediate and without hesitation when he says: “Anything.” But what promise you need you can’t say exactly – stay, don’t leave me, love me.

He’s beneath you, inside of you, sleeping beside you so that you can always feel the press of his belly into your naked back, the dig of his fingers into your softness, his hot breath against the back of your neck. Your whole lives seeming to have intertwined in an inextricable way, and still, it’s not enough. Still, there’s something panicked humming beneath your skin, sending your blood to boiling, your heart running away from you. You run your palm up his chest and over the thick mass of his shoulder, hugging yourself to him tighter. He’s here, he’s here, he’s real and alive, and you are your own sick ouroboros again and again and again. Eternally destroying and recreating yourself, the things around you.

But you could never destroy him, of that you’re certain. You’d do the worst, end yourself before you could ever hurt Din, and you realize, with something like finality or fate or the end of myth, that time is no longer on your side.

He decides to take you back to Nevarro after Maldo Kreis. Angry, furious, with himself that his grand idea to take you to the hot baths had seemed to do more harm than good in the end, for some reason he could not, for the life of him, come to understand. You were suffused with a melancholy he could not fight, no matter what he seemed to do, blue and somber, in a way he’d not seen you before. In a way that terrified him. Worst of all, the fact that he could so easily see through your attempts to fight it off for him, trying to distract him with your voice and your mouth and your cunt from the wan truth of you. The sound of your silence hurt him, the dark marks stained beneath your eyes gone dull and lifeless which worried him like nothing else. Distracted and tired and clinging to him in nervous fright constantly, childlike in your fragile vulnerability. And Din, he watched you with a focused obsession, tracked you and took stock of all your movements and moods and habits and expressions, with an intensity that would have probably perturbed you had you the wherewithal to pay more attention, but your mind was gone so far away, eyes vacant, energy low, nights full of terrors and panic.

He thought he understood, the reminder of your past the attack had brought on had to be something more than difficult. It was difficult for him to only imagine it, and he’d not been the one to live it. But there was more… there was him, he could see it in the way you clung to him, desperately, with panic, but your eyes… there was a distance in them too, a wariness when you looked at him, something like an apology and a newfound darkness he could tell was well known to yourself but new to him. He feared that you were discovering something about yourself in relation to him that you couldn’t fathom, as if he were a reminder that you’d been subject to the will of another for so long, your whole life, and you couldn’t again allow yourself to fall under the subjugation of another thing, feeling, something you were unprepared for, had not expected.

And another, irrational, not entirely easily controlled part, the part that sometimes forewent strategy and patience and charged into a fight, guns blazing, wanted to grip you by the shoulders, take your face in hand and shake you, demand you tell him what was wrong so he could just fix it. He was sure he could fix anything that came your way, fix anything you needed, do anything you needed, be anything you needed. He could, he could, he knew he could if only you gave him the chance.

“Will you be alright here for a while? I’ll be just over there – with Karga.” He points over to the dim corner of Nevarro’s cantina where the Guild master Greef Karga sits jovially hooting and drinking and guffawing Mandalorian, Mandalorian at the top of his lungs, trying to get Din’s attention. He’d heard something of a shouted girlfriend and I was sure he was a droid which Din was choosing to ignore, too consumed with the vacant look on your face as he cups the soft skin of your cheeks, the heat of your skin suffusing the leather of his gloves. There is a gauntness to you that hadn’t been there a few days ago, no matter how much food he tried to ply you with, and Din’s stomach churns and flips with nerves like he’s never experienced before. You nod your head slowly up at him, eyes huge and dry and lashes so long they make his heart pinch and throb. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he begs once more, low and urgent through the modulator, but you remain silent, only nuzzling your cheek into his palm, tilting your head further into his touch. He sighs, so full of aggravation and impotence, “I’ll be quick,” he tells you before turning on his heel towards Karga.

He’d decided he was going to tell him he’d be taking a short break from the Guild. He’d look for local work here and stick a cork in taking bounties. You were tired, anxious, you needed rest. He’d find a nice, calm place for the two of you to take up in for a few days, a few weeks, however long you need. And he knows you need it. Din knows of the things you need. Din knows you. As you’d weaved through the busy streets of Nevarro, the gaggle of various Outer Rim tongues sounding around you, you’d clung to him, nervous and jumpy, a vein of paranoia stiffening your muscles, flooding you with apprehension, your tiny fingers entwined between his thick leather clad ones so tightly he was sure it must’ve hurt you. He’d tried to huddle you beneath his arm, nestled into his side with a calming hand on your waist, but he knew your peace was put on. He knew there was something making you scared, something you weren’t saying out loud. And it was his responsibility to know what you needed, to give you what you needed, and any sort of failure in that regard was entirely unacceptable. He was failing you right now, and he needed to rectify it as soon as he could. Staying put for a while seemed like the right first step.

The man slips into the seat next to you as soon as Din turns his back. You turn in your seat, flagging down the barkeep and ignoring the peering gaze you can feel flicking against your face as the man, not very inconspicuously, inspects you. Your eyes flash towards him quickly, immediately clocking him as a non threat and deciding to ignore him, but you catch the surprised widening of his eyes as he takes stock of your own, the bi-colored shock of them.

“Whoa–those’re really somethin’.” Human, but has a strange accent, nothing you’ve heard before, and you give him a non-committal hum. “Sad though…” He adds as an afterthought, resting his elbow on the edge of the bar to cup his chin in his palm. He strokes two fingers along the scruff of his jaw contemplatively.

Your eyes jump back to his face, “Excuse me?” He has a shock of white blonde hair nestled at the front of his hairline.

“Got the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen, pretty.”

“Sad?” You spit, offended.

“Sad,” he nods his head solemnly, mouth twisting in a wry half smile. The twang of his accent cuts off the ends of his words. “What’s got you so blue?” And although you comprehend what the words he’s saying are… you don’t understand. You feel yourself shaking your head, frown marring your brow. “Aren’t you sad?” He presses. His voice sounds too full of air, breathy or unnaturally round or something too strange for you to name. You decide you don’t like it. There’s something knowing in the way he spits them out. Something like wisdom.

You blink furiously, give a fractional shake of your head, “No…” like a question. “I don’t think so. Not sad. More– more,” You don’t know why you’re speaking to him. You should turn the other way, find another seat, go get Din, but the words keep coming. Something about that fucking accent, the way his face is designed to stretch over his bones. Din isn’t going to like it if he sees you talking to a stranger. But you give another fast shake of your head, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. No, sad isn’t what you are. You turn back to look at him, eyes wide and understanding now, “I’m angry.” Terror had made you cruel for so long, but you still held the capacity for softness, he had shown you that. Sadness at times too, perhaps. But now, no… sad wasn’t what you were at the dawn of your realization. At the reality of what would happen here soon. You are angry, you think: I am just a girl, but I am also angry. Maker, I am also angry. Your unfocused eyes look back at him, wide and maybe terrified. Shocked at the true sight of what it is you’ve been carrying around in your heart these past few days, after the Thalassians, after the reality of loving Din. Because you do, you love him, you love him, you love him, and you’re so fucking angry. You’re in love with him, and you’d do anything for him, give anything for him. And you don’t think that you know how to love someone without swallowing them, without destroying them, and you also know that you could never do that to Din. Not to him. And you’re angry that this is your truth. That this is what you are, what you’d been made. He doesn’t deserve an angry sort of love, and yet, it’s the only sort you have to give him.

The stranger hums like he understands, taking a long sip of his Spotchka, nodding appreciatively at you or the liquor, you can’t tell. But he understands, you can tell for some reason. “The Mandalorian is yours?” He tips his head then turns to peer over his shoulder where you know Din is doing business, a smarmy little smirk blooming over white teeth. His incisor is chipped, there’s something charming about the imperfection, and you think you need to change your earlier appraisal, there is something dangerous about him. You can’t tell what, maybe something conniving or deceitful, like a snake, and perhaps, not a danger towards you, but still… there’s something there.

You turn now too, to look towards where he’s speaking with Karga. He stands so tall, a gleaming spire of beskar and strength. Wholly untouchable as if there were some invisible boundary separating him from lesser men. You can’t answer his question. The reply lodged in your throat like a thorn. Desire is about vanishing, and you want him more than anything. But is he yours? He would give himself to you surely. Without thought or question. Perhaps, in his mind, he already had. But there’s something about that which you know is wrong. Like the saber. Like the Thalassian planted seed. And so what is it about a person deserving a thing? What is it about absolution? You can so desire it – again like vanishing – but that desire is… what? So unattainable sometimes, non-existent. Just because you want a thing doesn't mean it’s possible, real, yours. The strange man asks again, “Is he yours?”

And so you tell the only truth that you think is real in terms of Din, “He would be.” But can he be? He frowns, but with a smile, folding his face in such a way that you can’t one hundred percent tell what it is he’s trying to express, his eyes roving your face as if he’s never seen such a creature. He probably hasn’t.

“I think you’re lyin’.”

“I’m not.”

“You are sad–” he interrupts, “You just don’t realize that’s what it is yet. Anger’s good at masking sadness, doesn't mean it’s not there no more. ” You’re about to tell him to fuck off before you tear through his mind because who in the Maker does this little man think he is, when a huge, leather wrapped fist slams down onto the bar’s surface between the two of you, sending the glassware and fellow cantina patrons to jostling and yelping.

“Fuck off,” he says for you instead, growled through what you can tell are gritted, gnashing teeth. Reading your mind like always. The stranger jerks back with a laugh and a howl. Din’s other hand comes up to wrap gently around your throat, stroking softly at your thrumming pulse, a sign of possessive ownership.

“Well, hello to you too, Mandalorian,” the stranger says, tipping his chin, giving a flourished little salute, suave and calm and entirely provoking.

“You’ve got three seconds to move before I make you move.”

“Oh, he’s a real hoot, isn’t he?” The man says to you, ignoring the tower of aggressively looming beskar, all riled testosterone and possessive protectiveness.

“Do you not enjoy having your head attached to your shoulders?”

You roll your eyes up at Din, the stranger was annoyingly perceptive and brazen, but entirely harmless as well, no need for all these theatrics. “Ignore him – he’s only half civilized,” you say, placing a soothing palm against the armor over his belly.

“You know, one doesn’t much often see Mandalorian’s anymore,” he says conversationally. Not very good at reading social cues, this one. You take a small sip of the tea you’d ordered, leaning back into Din’s abdomen, settling in to watch how he handles this.

“My people are scattered across the galaxy now. It isn’t safe for us to converge out in the open,” monotone and serious, in that way of his. The complete opposite of this man’s casual, melodic voice like a teasing song.

“We kill that which we cannot tame. It’s the way of men.”

“Lesser men, perhaps.”

He nods concedingly, “Perhaps,” and swallows his glass down full, looking at you, eyes full of laughter, over the brim. “What a little liar you are, pretty. He is…” yours, and there’s laughter in his voice and his mouth and his movements too, not just his eyes. “Well, it’s been swell. We’ll be seein’ you, I think.” He winks at you as he slip hops off his stool, landing on straight locked knees with a little jolt. “And don’t you let her lie to you too,” he tells Din. Something about the man is nothing but provoking, riling the beskar bound ball of tension at your back into fury. You lean your head back against his chest, not acknowledging the other man’s farewell or that last remark as he slithers off. No need to poke the beast further. Din moves out from behind you, taking the stranger's seat, seething as he forces you to take the first word with his silence.

“Stop your sulking. He approached me.”

“Of course he approached you. And I'm not sulking,” he sulks.

“Oh, no?” You snort. “My mistake.”

“You smile for that di’kut, but not for me?” He demands, probably even stomping his foot a little bit which you’d normally find funny, but instead, wipes the laugh off your face.

“I do smile for you, Din,” you say in a small, hurt voice, and he wants to gnash his teeth and howl and do something entirely uncivilized, barbaric, even. That bantha shit sliding in to chat you up the second he’d turn his back. Din finds, with a lot less shame than he probably should have, that he absolutely hates when other men approach you, doesn’t much care, either, what that makes him. He can’t blame them, of course, eyes of pure magic like the ones looking up at him are hard to ignore, harder to walk away from. That doesn’t mean he can’t throw a fit over it. “And I wasn’t smiling for him.” He huffs, looking out at the rest of the dim cantina. Karga had taken his decision with good natured humor, understanding by the way Din’s head kept subtly turning in your direction that there was something more pressing that needs his attention and care at this moment. But your eyes look so hurt, like he’d said the worst thing possible at the worst time possible, he backtracks immediately, “I’m just kidding, it was a bad joke, cyare. I know you weren’t smiling at him.” But the hurt look doesn’t go away, and he feels, a little bit, like he’s going to throw up. “If I admit I’m an ass, will you give me a smile?” He tries to laugh, gives the gem of your earring a little tickle, and you try to return the gesture so limp he can’t even pretend to believe it.

You shake your head, giving up your false smile with a sigh, “How many pucks did you get?” And his heart beats faster than an X-wing. You aren’t going to like this, but he’ll be firm, stand his ground. This is what’s best.

“I didn’t get any,” he tells you slowly.

You blink a slow, confused blink. “What do you mean you didn’t get any? Why not?”

“I told Greef I’m taking a break.” You pull your hand back from the hold he’d had on it, expression going cool and icy, the bright eyes, the one like a scream going dim as a whisper. This is what’s best, Din knows it, he’s sure of it.

“Why would you do that?” Your voice is very small, very almost hurt again.

“I think it’s what’s best for now. We need a break.” He sees your shoulder jerk. “I– I need a break. I told you, I’m tired. You’re tired–”

“I’m not tired.”

“We both just need to settle for a time, I think. This is what’s best. And this is what we’re doing.” He’s rambling, tongue tied, heart beating too fast, worried and afraid and so in love with you that if he can’t fix this he’s sure he’ll die. He’s sure it’ll be the end of the world because he knows – Din knows that something’s wrong. He looks back at your face, and it’s so grave, so gaunt and small and easily breakable, “I think this is what’s best for us right now, cyar'ika. Don’t you?”

“No,” you shake your head furiously, try and stand up off your seat, but he clamps a big hand over your shoulder, forces you to stay in place and you bare your teeth at him. “Let go–”

“No, we’re going to talk about this.”

“I don’t want to fucking talk. This– this isn’t– I didn't want you to do this. I don’t need you to do this for me. I’m fine. If you aren’t then that’s your problem. But I’m fine, and I don’t need any fucking rest or to get trapped here in this backwater shithole. No– no.” You try and force your way to standing again, and he presses you down, goes to his feet instead to loom over you. Entirely in a panic now. You’re so angry. You’re so angry and looking at him like… in no way you’ve ever looked at him before. And once again, he’s miscalculated. This was the wrong move. A push in the wrong direction.

“Okay, hold on– just… hold on. I didn't– I didn’t mean to insinuate… or–” He can’t get his head on straight, his tongue to work, can’t think of the right thing to say, the right way to make it all be okay between the two of you again, to make that dark shadow leave your eyes. “I just thought if we had some time to ourselves that it’d be–” You wilt like a flower, a long sigh like a whimper leaving your body, seeming to take all your strength with it. A felled weed tramped beneath his overbearing boot. “I’m sorry. I’ll get the pucks. It was a bad idea,” he says even though he knows it isn’t, even though he knows he’s telling the both of you a lie. You simply turn away from him, a thrumming pulse fluttering in the muscle of your jaw. But your eyes are dry, almost flinty, but dry, and so at least, he tells himself, he hasn't made you cry.

You’re up and out of your seat before he can even make it all the way back to you after he’d gone back to Karga with his tail tucked between his legs to retrieve his pucks, and fuck this, you have no reason to be angry with him. He’d been well intentioned, he’d been– what? Trying to mend a sinking ship. He calls your name low as you weave through the busy cantina, men turning to look at your ass as you go which has him snarling, hackles raised as he passes them, stomping after you. He calls your name again, and he watches the jerk of your head, as if you want to turn back to him but won’t let yourself and that makes him fucking angry. You’re running away, you’re running away, and he feels so helpless to stop you, like the two of you’ll be trapped in this constant chase for the rest of your lives.

Din has never been one to give in easily to his anger, but he gives into it now. Watching the line of your steel straight back scampering ahead of him, every so often your head jerks slightly to the side to check that he’s still there, slinking after you, stuck in the chase once again, as if you don’t trust the tether of your power that’s always there between the two of you to tell you that he’s still here following. As if you aren’t sure, don’t know that he’ll always be here. That there’s nowhere else for him to be or go after all this, after you. The Crest comes into sight and his heart beats so hard he’s nauseous, sweating beneath his helm. You quicken your steps, and he lengthens his, gains on you until he’s practically breathing down your neck, looming behind you, your movements jerky and jittery. And as soon as your foot makes first contact with the gangplank his hand is shooting up quick as a viper to clamp down around the back of your nape and pressing you forward so that you’re stumbling, held up only by his guiding grip, and shoving you into the open hatch, following at your heels and slamming his fist against the security mechanism, locking the two of you inside. He’s on you before you can even think to turn around, ripping your cloak from around your shoulders and shoving you up against the durasteel wall, pinning you there like some sort of trapped butterfly. “If you want to fight, cyar'ika, I’ll pretend we’re fighting. You only have to say so,” he bends his head to say, right at your ear, his other hand digging beneath the edge of your trousers and pulling them down along with your underwear over the swell of your ass, baring you to his gaze. You struggle, spitting and hissing, but don’t tell him to stop, don’t tell him no. He slides his palm between your legs, “Wet little cunt,” he grunts, pushing two of his leather clad fingers inside of you, immediately going deep, fucking you hard, jostling them back and forth inside of you to listen to the wet rattle of your cunt for him. “Feral little thing. Are you going to tell me you don’t want it? That you’re angry with me? Did you like that boy? Is that it?” And you arch your hips, a ragged moan and no, no, Din, I do want it. I don’t want to fight, please. He pulls his fingers from you with a wet sucking noise, lands a sharp stinging slap to your ass, listening to the pretty sound of you whine and keen for him, and he’s so fucking angry and hard. There’s something electric and aggravated and upset inside of him. Something that feels wrong and on the verge of something terrible. Another slap, another, pressing you harder into the wall so that you’re forced up onto your tiptoes. He opens his own trousers, pullings his sticky tipped erection out and fists it tightly, punishing in his grip, jacks it once, twice, and he’s bending at the knees, notching at the mouth of your cunt and pressing all the way inside to the end of you. He feels the bump at your cervix and the resulting cry when it hurts just a little too much, swings his hips back and does it again and again and again. Fucks you with a brutal edge he knows’ll make you cry, but that you’ll like nonetheless, want more, harder. “H– how’re you always so soft and so wet and so pretty for me? Huh? Always so ready to get my soft cunt nice and fucked, right? Always ready to let me in and ride you however I need? Right, little one? Say yes. I want to hear you say, yes, Din.”

Yes, Din.

“I just want what’s best for you–” he tells you, a continuation of your earlier conversation he doesn’t need to remind you of, and then more spitting and hissing and struggling from you, riling your anger up again. He pulls his gloves from his hand with the edge of his teeth and gives you his palm to gnaw on like the rabid thing he knows he’s turned you into. Sharp little teeth immediately savaging into the flesh of his palm as soon as he wraps his hand over your mouth, tugs your head back so that he can look down into your eyes from above, all the while his balls slap wetly against your cunt, jolting you forward, making you cry and spasm around his cock.

Once, when you’d thought he’d been asleep, he’d heard you tell him he was like a god in the shape of a man, and that you’d always thought that was supposed to be you. Din never feels more like a god among men than when he’s riding your cunt, balls deep inside of you.

“I need to come,” slips your warbled moan against his palm, spit slicked and tear stained.

“What you need is to be fucking grateful and take it how I say,” he snarls, riding you harder, watching the rebound of your ass against his pelvis on every thrust inside, the way the slick root of his cock splits you open, the drag of your walls against him when he pulls out just to snap back in. He grunts and whimpers and tries to make you understand without words that if you leave him he’ll die, that he needs you to be okay, that he’ll do anything. He has the sinking, clawing feeling that you’re not going to listen. Why does it feel like all you’re doing is saying goodbye to me? And he’s so fucking angry he wants to cry. Angry and afraid and helpless, a small child once again watching his whole world go away from him. Entirely without choices or home.

“Do you want my come?”

“Yes, yes, I want it so badly,” and your tears roll over his fingers, lose themselves in the cracks between.

“Beg me for it.”

“Please, come inside me, Din–” please, please, please. “Fill me up.” He tightens his hold on you, harsher than he should, rips open the front of your tunic and twists your breast tightly in his grip, presses you up and into the wall so that he’s pretty sure your toes leave the ground and grinds the tip of his spitting cock at the mouth of your womb while you go tight as a fist, the best thing he’s ever felt in his entire life, the only thing that matters, vision going white to black to nothing and fills you with his come, feels you suck and milk him with your cunt. He pins you there with his hips, pants as if he’d just fought for his life, for something he knows he can’t keep. That was maybe never meant to be entirely his. He realizes, like a surprise in that very moment, the thought occurring to him out of nothing, that he’s never seen the true, pure color of your eyes unburdened by the helmet. Open and staring at him, only him, and he regrets it bitterly, knows then that he could have done so much more. It’s some sort of curse, some sort of punishment, this realization. “What’s best for me is to please you,” he tells you. Just so that you know. Just so that he’s sure it’s been said out loud. So that it’s there.

“You know that no matter what, I’m always yours,” And because you’ve said it out loud, he supposes it must be true.

“Where does your next adventure take you?”

He cocks his head to the side, pauses the cleaning of his blaster, dallying while the pre-flight checks work. The curve of the helmet gleams so bright for one second it almost blinds you, and you shut your eyes tight, open them again. “Further into the outer rim. Karga’s given us a tricky one this time.”

Us.

You’re quiet for a beat, letting him pretend – face trying to prevent itself from fracturing, wavering, by sheer force of will. “I think, I’m afraid– I think all my adventures will be over very soon.”

“Why’s that?” Slow and measured, your last game here at this moment.

“Oh…” you tilt your head side to side, let the sin you’re about to commit, simmer and slide between your ears. “The wrong choices – made over and over again.”

Another beat of silence, perhaps, trying to measure where you’re trying to take this, trying to hold off. He resumes his task. “That’s a shame.”

Do you ever kiss?

No.

That’s a shame.

You smile briefly, a whole other girl ago, “Perhaps, you’d have taken me away on all of yours, forever. I would have liked it, you know? With you, I might have liked it forever.”

He freezes now, his favored silence – the impenetrable facade of his helmet like a dark yawning pit come to swallow you whole. You know his intention is to bend you to his will, force your hand into something easier for him to understand, to face. You close your eyes and lean your head back humming. “Yes, I think I'd have liked it quite a lot, actually.”

“Cyar’ika,” he murmurs, and he already knows, so what’s the point in being brave or honorable? “Spit it out.”

“What do you mean?” Playing difficult and obstinate, playing the fucking coward, you do not open your eyes, do not give him the respect or consideration he deserves looking him in the eye while you break him. You see the rest of your life branching out before you, behind your closed lids, like the branches of a shuura tree. The branch before this moment, heavy with the fruit of your potential, your togetherness, and the branch alone, after, empty of him. There is a part of you that screams that this is a mistake, that you will regret this for the rest of your days. You continue anyway.

“Stop playing fucking games with me.” He knows you too well now, your eyes snap open, too much risk.

“This has been fun, but don’t you think it’s about to have run its course? It was never supposed to be forever. And– you– you have plans. If you want to stay… that isn’t what I want.” The words burn like acid, like the worst thing you’ve ever done. All lies. You watch his left shoulder jerk back as if you’d struck him, shot him.

“Say it.”

Your belly twists with nausea. “Say what?” A cold sweat sprouts across the back of your neck, and your face feels aflame with heat, you think you’re about to be sick. You try for another smile.

“Tell me you’re leaving me.”

“Don’t be–”

“Fucking tell me. Tell me you don’t want to be with me anymore.”

“I think this is enough.” You cannot, you cannot say those words. It would be too great a lie to tell, even for you. And you have already lied to him so much.

“Coward,” he spits. Truth. At least one of you still possesses the capacity for such a thing.

“Perhaps.”

“And what? You’re just going to be alone again? This is what you want?”

You’re choking on your own breath. “That–” you clear your throat, “No.”

“No? Fucking look at me.”

You snap your head back towards him, the terrible darkness of his visor, and for one moment you feel so fucking angry that you can’t look in his eyes right now. “What do you want from me? I can’t give you what you want. I can’t. I don’t have it in me. I am not sorry.” Lie, lie, fucking lie.

“Cyar’ika, please, why don’t we just–” He stands, moving towards you.

You cut him off, take a step back, away. “No, Din. I’m ready to move on. There’s no reason to draw this out. We both knew it had to end eventually. We want different things.” You’d always known how it would end. You always know how everything will end.

“After everything? After all this? That’s pathetic. It’s sad.” You’re pathetic, is what he surely means, but he moves towards you again, the subtle inclination of his body towards yours as if he were trying to absorb the last of your touch just once more.

“Why? Coming from you? You’ve always been alone? Why is it sad for me?”

“Because– because we– I don’t…I don’t want that for you. And we have–”

You can’t hear him say it. The proverbial we, you both wish this could have been.

“There’s so much you don’t know,” And there are tears in your voice, tears in your eyes, tears streaming down your cheeks, and there is anguish in his own voice when he begs, “Then tell me, tell me everything, and I’ll help you bear whatever burden you think you must carry on your own.”An impossibility, for worse than anything else, worse than him hating you for your lies or your evasions or your secrecy, for running, what would be worse than anything else would be for him to hate you for what you really are. The truth would be death-dealing. You’d not survive it.

You give him the full weight of your gaze – one last look. Brilliant and strong and intelligent. So brave. A good man – this is a good man before you, honest and true, and he deserves better than you. You refuse to let him think he could love a thing like you. Someone who has done the things you’ve done. This too shall pass.

And then one last bit of truth: “I didn’t think I believed in anything anymore. But I believe in you. There’s nothing to be sad about. I’ve never really lived,” But then again, another lie, for with him, you had.

“But you deserve the chance to. By the Maker, you still ought to. If you believe in me then stay with me. Fucking stay. Don’t leave me,” the words spit through clenched, furious teeth and he sounds like he’d cry if he could, and you feel as if you’ll die if he does. You can’t acknowledge it. There’s a star of red, in the vast darkness of you, bleeding out, fractures in the ice of your heart. That desperate wretched thing that so desperately wants to live. You gather your satchell which you’d hidden from him by your feet behind a crate. Ready to flee as soon as you possibly could. Nothing but a coward and ghoul.

“This is what I want. You have to give it to me,” and then returning his own words back to him, “You can’t say no to me, you can’t tell me no,” and even as you say the words, there is a part of you shocked, howling that he isn’t keeping you by force. Hurt by it. You want him to wrestle you to the floor of the Crest and chain you to himself. And it’s irrational and ridiculous, for you are the one that’s doing this, the maker of your own demise like always, this is what you’d told yourself you want, what is necessary. And yet you’re still hurt, still shocked.

You turn towards the open hatch. “Don’t get yourself killed,” you hear yourself say with your back to him, words you’d said to him once before, what seems so long ago now after all this. After the two of you. A whole other girl, creature, monster.

“Would you care if I did? Die?” Voice full of venom and hurt and smallness. “It’s amazing to me that one person can have the ability to be so singularly selfish. What about me? What about what I want?” You wish he’d hit you, take up his blaster against you, anything else, but you know he’ll give you what you ask for nonetheless. He can’t say no to you, you’d made a deal of sorts, with those words, after all. He knows what you are and what you are not, and he has always understood the things you need. And you wish that you were anything other than this, anything but what you were made to be. That you could have so wholly changed yourself that you could forsake every terrible thing that you’ve ever held within you to make you into the venomous little thing that you are. You beg him with your mind, your heart, your tears to not let you leave, to not abandon you. To not heed your poisoned words, your vile heart, your uncaring actions. Please, please, Din, see me for what I really am. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I was made like this. I have been broken beyond repair, and I am sorry.

Instead and cowardly: “Or do. I don’t give a shit. I don’t plan on coming back here anyways.” You ignore the rest. What he wants is inconsequential in this instance because he wants the wrong thing. He cannot want you to keep. You are not a thing to be kept – too savage, too broken, too dark. One day he’ll see this and thank you for what you’re doing now.

But despite this moment of self awareness, on the back end of that thought comes the whisper: Don’t leave me. I’m sorry.

But he does not see, and he goes anyway.

The two of you part ways and beyond the pain of anything else you’ve endured, the abyss of the dark, the loneliness, the pain inflicted by hands crueler than you could ever dream of being, this hurts more than all the rest.

You’re still there, pretending you’re not waiting for him, months later.

He does not return. And you are left blind to the fact that for a long time to come, he will be on a mission of his own – with a little boy, special and magical beyond even your own imagination.

Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din

As if you’d lost a limb, a chunk of your heart ripped from you. You miss him so much it makes you want to die.

Time passes anyway.

You are afraid that you will think of him forever, for the rest of your life, and you are afraid that you will never be in the same place again.

Time passes anyway.

It is two years before you see your Mandalorian again.

[END OF PART I]

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crucifiedfaerie · 6 months

Text

Gibson Girl | Pt. 1 ༉₊˚✧

Kylo Ren x Fem!Reader

➴ Summary: After a run in with the Supreme Leader, he can't seem to get you out of his head- or leave you alone.

➴ Song: Gibson Girl - Ethel Cain

➴ Part Two | Part Three

➴ Word Count: 3.4k

➴ Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, dom!kylo, kinda slowburn ??, kylo is kinda really manipulative, stalker!kylo, um he's right behind me isn't he?, the mask STAYS ON, how does he not get hot in there ??, mean!kylo to soft!kylo, alcohol plus unbalanced power dynamic so dubcon, SMUT (unprotected PiV sex, fingering, hitting, slight sadist!kylo, degrading, scratching, a teeny tiny bit of blood- nothing serious), fluff if you squint, angst if you squint harder, typos and me being illiterate probably

➴ Taglist: ( @enviedear )

A/N: i haven't written a fic in a good four years so apologies if my writing is a little rusty. my partner and i have been watching the starwars movies and the kylo ren brainrot is so real. i need him expeditiously !! i've also been reobsessed with ethel cain recently and gibson girl is sooo kylo coded so i was inspired to write. i really hope you like it, if the response to this is good i might consider making a part two possibly ?? i do have a few other fic ideas for kylo/ben that are stirring around in my brain sooo im excited to share those eventually

It seems as though you've seen the Supreme Leader around more times in the past two weeks than you ever had in the two years you've been working as a technician on the Finalizer. Like a shadow clad in metal and black leather, he seemed to follow you.

It started two weeks ago with an honest mistake. You had woken up late that morning. Rushing out of your chambers and down the hall, you turned the corner a little too quickly, fearing youd be late to work.

When you crashed into him, you thought you had run into durasteel, the way he didn't move an inch. You, however, bounced backwards, hitting the ground and sending the toolbox in your hands flying.

It wasn't until the air that was knocked from your lungs had returned that you realized this dark mass was not made of durasteel. Sitting on the floor, your eyes trailed from the boots in front of you up to the dark expressionless mask you knew only belonged to the most feared man in the galaxy. Kylo Ren, the Supreme Leader of the First Order.

At this realization you scrambled to your feet, picking up your tools as you went and fervently apologizing. You did want to keep your head attached to your shoulders, after all.

"Supreme Leader- I- my apologies sir! I didn't see you th-"

Your string of incoherent apologies was cut short by him wordlessly lifting a gloved hand to silence you. With wide eyes you stared at him as he lowered his hand, bending down to pick up the wrench you had dropped on his boot in the commotion.

He placed it in the toolbox that shook as you tightly grasped it. As he pulled away the leather of his glove brushed against your bare hand, sending a chill down your spine.

He stood there, staring down at you. Past the near-blinding glint of the cold hallway lights bouncing off the dark metal of his mask, you could see your own mortified expression in the reflection of his visor. Your gaze flickered down to the hilt of the saber he kept on his hip and you winced at the mental image of that crimson colored plasma beam he could send shooting through your abdomen at any moment.

Oh gods, im done for. Any second now.

You were pulled from the morbid thoughts of your impending demise by his deep, modulated voice.

"Do not be late." He said sternly, not a speck of emotion behind his words.

You nodded quickly, "Yes Supreme Leader, I- thank you sir!"

You ran down the hall and as you turned the corner, for a split second you saw he had turned to face your direction. Despite that cold mask, you could feel his eyes on you, burning holes through it.

In the days that followed, he began to frequently make small appearances in your life and that feeling of a pair of mystery eyes on you became a familiar sensation. Whether you were eating in the cafeteria, working through a tangle of wires behind a control panel, or simply walking down a hallway, you'd feel your stomach drop. When you looked around there he would be, a creature in a mask, staring you down from afar. After averting your gaze, pretending you didn't notice him, he would continue on and disappear into the darkness of the Finalizer.

To say you were scared of him was an understatement. Was this just an elaborate plan to kill you for dropping your wrench on his foot last week? It couldn't be. If he wanted you dead he would have sliced you in half in the hallway, gods know he's done it to people before.

Fear wasnt the only thing he made you feel. As you knelt on the floor, trying to run a diagnostic test on the navigational software, your mind wandered to who could possibly be underneath that expressionless mask and modulated voice. Was he really the terrifying creature everyone rumored him to be? Or was there a real human under there? A human man with pretty eyes and rough hands from years of training. You let your mind wander to how they would feel in your-

Your thought was cut short by the hairs on the back of your neck standing straight up.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

When you turned around he was so close you jumped and dropped your datapad on the floor. The cracking noise made your heart sink. He was standing right behind you, looming over your small frame that was crouched on the ground. He stared down at you, his masked head tilted as if he were pondering something.

"Supreme Leader. W-what do I owe this pleasure?" You managed to choke out.

Kylo reached out a hand to you, and you obliged, your trembling hand dwarfed by his own. The stiff leather of his glove gripped you tightly, lifting you up to stand in front of him.

The modulator in his mask crackled as he spoke "No need to be so terrified, little star." He chuckled a bit but his usual sternness was still present. "I've only come to ask for you to join me in my quarters tonight..." He paused, "you intrigue me."

Your brain went foggy at the sweet nickname he gave you and it felt as though you might pass out at the thought of being invited to his room. Never had you seen Kylo Ren be so kind to anyone, so why you? Your face flushed with pink as you tried to find the right words to say.

"Intrigue you? Sir I can assure you there's nothing intriguing about me, I'm just a techn-"

"Nonsense." He leaned down to get eye level with you, his helmet inches from your face. "I expect you to be there tonight after lights out. When I want something I do not take no for an answer... and I always take what I want." His voice was dead serious but you could almost hear the smirk that was under his visor.

He released your hand from his tight grip and took a step back from you. With a swift turn, he walked down the hall, not giving you a chance to respond. You stood there stunned for a moment then sank down the durasteel wall, reeling from what just happened.

Kylo Ren, the Supreme Leader of the First Order, wanted you in his quarters. Tonight. After lights out.

Later that night, as you were getting ready, you felt like you weren't even in your own body. When you looked at the clock and saw it was 10 minutes until lights out you thought you might throw up from nervousness.

What do you even wear to see the Supreme Leader in his quarters at midnight? Oh gods I'm gonna pass out.

When you were finally satisfied with how you looked, you took a deep breath and exited your chambers. The cold quiet of the flagship's hallways sent a shiver down your spine.

What am I doing? Why would he invite me here? I should just turn around and go back to my quarters.

Your legs felt like Andorian jelly as they moved you down the dark, secluded hallway towards the front of the Finalizer. You ask yourself so many questions as you attempt to suppress every nerve in your body. He was terrifying, but there was something alluring about him, something so... attractive. Something that made you feel like a small insect being lured into a spiders web. And you liked it?

Once you reached the end of the hallway, you realize it's a dead end. The tall, dark double doors enlaid with silver told you this was probably his door.

Do I knock?

Before you could even finish your thought, they opened, seemingly on their own.

The familiar crackle of his modified voice called out to you sternly, "Come in."

You obliged, taking a deep breath before you stepped into his quarters. The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the warmth of the fireplace. As you looked around, his space was about what you expected it to be, minimalistic and decorated in hues of red and black, but grand enough for a Supreme Leader.

And there he was, sitting in a red lounge chair in front of the fireplace. You saw him pick something up off the coffee table before he stood and approached you.

"I can sense your nervousness, little star. Take this and come with me." Kylo handed you a glass of whiskey before taking your other hand and leading you back towards the fireplace, motioning for you to sit in the chair across from his.

As you sat, holding the glass in one hand and feeling the velvet cushion beneath you with the other you realized you hadn't said a word to him yet.

"Supreme Leader sir, its an honor to have been invited here by you. Your quarters are... magnificent."

He chuckled. "I'm glad you like it, but there's no need to bother with honorifics when you're here. You may call me Kylo."

"K-Kylo..." You tested out his name, unsure if he was being serious.

This has to be a dream. This cant be real. He can't be-

He nodded, speaking as he poured another glass of whiskey for himself. "I invited you here only to get to know each other. It would be rude of me to expect my guest to be so formal with me."

You felt your face get hot and you look at the floor illuminated by the fire. "Apologies if this is too forward... but how can we get to know each other if I dont even know what you look like?"

I shouldn't have said that. Surely he'll kill me for even asking. Stupid. Stupid.

He fell silent for a moment and stared at you. You internally panicked, thinking your forwardness had angered him.

You've really done it this time.

Kylo reached up and you heard a click followed by a quiet hiss emitted from his helmet. Pulling the helmet up slightly, he revealed the bottom half of his face, and oh gods was he beautiful. His dark locks fell down and brushed his jaw which looked as if it had been carved from marble, and you think you caught the beginnings of a scar lining it.

"Compromise." He flashed a dark smile before taking a sip from his glass. Kylo's unmodulated voice was smooth and deep, a sound you could find yourself getting used to hearing. You watched his Adam's apple move as he swallowed the dark liquor down.

After setting his glass back on the table, Kylo lowered his helmet and clicked it back into place.

"I haven't been able to get you out of my head since our run in. You interest me so much." He mused.

You sighed shakily. "I dont mean to disappoint you s- Kylo, but there isn't much that is interesting about me or my life. Especially here on the Finalizer, most of my days tend to be the same."

You had taken only a few sips of your drink but your head was already getting foggy.

He ignored what you said, seemingly more eager to tell you something he's been wanting to say for two weeks now. "Your mind is what intrigues me most. I can hear them, your thoughts, and they are so loud." You could almost hear the smirk on his face.

He what.

"You what?" You choke out, your face going bright red.

No. no no no.

He chuckled darkly. "No need to be embarrassed, little star. I enjoy listening to your thoughts of me. How late at night you think about my hands groping your body. How you fantasize about being immoral in a complete stranger's lap. How right now you're thinking about me hurting you..." He paused, "I cannot lie to you, my thoughts have been plagued with yours for weeks now. Thats why I invited you here, so I could show you everything you wish you had."

You tried to speak, but couldn't find the words. Your face was flushed with pink and the whiskey was starting to take its toll on your thinking skills.

He stood from his chair and stepped towards you, taking the glass from your hand and setting it down on the table next to his. Towering over you, he leant down closer to you. His gloved hand lightly trailed down your face and snaked it's way behind your neck, his fingers weaving through your hair. He tightened his grasp and pulled down, forcing you to look up at him.

"Tell me, sweet thing. Are you scared of me right now?" He already knew the answer but wanted to hear it.

You nodded, looking up at him with wide eyes. "Y-yes Kylo."

"Good." He said coldly. The tone of his voice changed, as if his sweetness earlier was simply a ruse to lure you in. He pulled you up by your hair to stand, and in one swift motion he had you thrown over his shoulder.

He carried you away down a dark hallway, the light from the fireplace growing dimmer and more distant as he took you deeper into his quarters.

Like a little insect caught in a spider's web.

Once he entered his room, Kylo threw you on his bed carelessly, nearly knocking the air from your lungs.

He immediately went to work on your clothes, pulling your shirt and pants off, almost ripping them in the process. You were left only in your underwear, writhing from the heat growing in your core.

Kylo admired your body, running his cold, leather clad hands along your thighs roughly, spreading your legs. He had been waiting for weeks to do this. The seam of his glove brushed across your clothed clit, causing you to let out a whine.

"Such a pretty voice... I want to hear more of it." He said sternly before pulling your underwear to the side and running two gloved fingers down your folds, coating them in your slick. You gasped at the contact.

Without warning Kylo pushed his fingers inside your entrance, curling his fingers upwards causing your back to arch. As he pumped his fingers into your cunt, he went to work on your clit with his thumb. His other hand snaked its way up your body, stopping once it was wrapped tightly around your neck.

Waves of pleasure washed over you as he stretched you out with his fingers. You felt your climax quickly approaching "Please- sir. Please m'gonna-"

He pulled his hand away and you groaned at how empty you now felt. You rubbed your legs together to get a little bit of friction, but were halted by the sharp sting of his hand coming down on your thigh. You let out a loud yelp.

"Needy little slut." He raised one hand and an invisible force spread your legs fully and froze your entire body in place, while his other hand worked to undo his belt. "You don't get to cum until I say you can, understand?"

You only whined in response. He slapped you hard and grabbed your face forcefully, leaning down closer to you, his visor millimeters from your face. "Say it. say it!"

"Mhmm yes sir I understand!" You whined loudly. Your face stung and you could taste copper.

He let go of your face and finished freeing his cock. You nearly pass out from the sight of it.

Oh gods help me, how is that supposed to fit?

He chuckled at your thought as he lined himself up at your entrance "Don't worry little star, we'll make it fit." He said evilly before pushing inside, watching you as your face contorted from the pain and pleasure of his cock splitting you open.

You nearly scream, letting out a choked whine as he bottomed out, pressing forcefully on that bundle of nerves deep inside you. You tried to adjust to his size but without any warning he withdrew himself before slamming back into you again.

His thrusts were erratic, unrelenting on that sensitive spot, hitting it with every snap of his hips.

"F-fuck... Kylo- you're gonna make m-me cum." You whined, feeling tears prick your eyes as you were reaching your breaking point.

He reached up and grabbed your throat, squeezing, which made your head feel lighter. "Shut the fuck up and hold it." He said coldly. It sounded like a whisper coming from the modulator of his mask.

He pounded into you with such power, and it sent shockwaves rippling through your body. You screamed as he thrusted into you, showing not a speck of mercy on your much smaller frame.

Kylo felt your walls twitching around him. "You wanna cum so bad don't you?" He cooed, feigning sympathy for you.

You nodded your head desperately.

"Beg for it then. Beg to cum on my cock and I might just let you." He growled.

"P-Please-" You whimpered, on the verge of tears.

"I said beg!" Kylo struck the side of your face again, harder this time.

"Please! Please let me cum Kylo!" You cried.

He let out a satisfied groan, gripping your hair and tugging to make you look up more. "Go ahead then, little star. Cum for me." You could hear the smirk behind his mask.

An invisible hand went to work on your clit as he continued to ram into you with unrelenting speed. This sent you over the edge, the tight feeling in your abdomen burst as a wave of euphoria washed over your body. You dug your nails into Kylo's back. Despite him being clothed, you know you did it hard enough to draw blood. You heard him wince but the raw pleasure he was inflicting on your body was too much for you to care about that.

He's cold blooded so it takes more time to bleed.

His thrusts became sloppy and harder as he neared his own release. He had come completely undone, his emotionless façade gone as he whispered sweet nothings and strings of curse words through his mask.

"Fuck-" He said your name, lingering on it, drawing it out in a sickly sweet way. "Gods- your body- its so- I'm in love with it. Fuck."

A few thrusts later, Kylo buried himself inside you to the hilt one last time, bottoming out and groaning as he pumped your cunt full of his cum.

You felt his cock twitch inside you as he looked down at you, hands pressed into the bed on either side of your head and breathing heavily through his modulator.

Kylo pulled out as he stood up and you felt his cum leak out of you and down your thigh onto the bed. You watched as he tucked himself back into his trousers and redo his belt. He went into the refresher attached to his bedroom to retrieve a towel and you felt the bed dip when he returned.

He wiped his cum away gently with the towel and you yelped from the sudden overstimulation.

"Shhh" he cooed, still stern. "I'm only trying to help." Kylo threw the towel to the floor and sat on the bed, back leaning against the headboard. He pulled you closer to him so your head rested in his lap. You watched as he pulled his gloves off for the first time and you took a mental note of how strong his hands looked.

He ran his long fingers through your hair and you sighed, closing your eyes. "I could get used to this." You said sleepily.

The last thing you heard before you succumbed to sleep was, "Me too, little star." Even through the crackle of his modulator, it almost sounded like he was deep in thought.

When you awoke in his bed the next morning, Kylo was gone. As you rolled to the side of the bed, you could still smell him on his bedsheets.

On the bed next to you was a black box wrapped in red ribbon, with a note attached. You opened it and inside was a new datapad, with a fresh, uncracked screen. The note read: "Little star, apologies for the broken datapad. I expect you'll be here when I return later. -K.R."

You smiled as you sunk your head back into his pillows.

#kylo ren x reader #ben solo x reader #starwars x reader #kylo ren #ben solo #starwars fanfic #kylo ren fanfic #ben solo fanfic #star wars #crucifiedfaerie #saint writes - !#fanfic #the force awakens #the last jedi #the rise of skywalker #gibson girl

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anki-of-beleriand · 8 months

Text

Under the storm

Summary: You wish hating Wanda for what she made you feel was far easier, perhaps next time you would be finally ready to end her. Or she would be ready to put you out of your misery.

Warnings: Angst, drama, unrequited love, so much drama and angst. misunderstandings, suicidal thoughts.

Pairings: Jedi!Wanda x Sith!Reader

Author's Note: I just watched Ahsoka and I thought it was fantastic but it made me think of this. Hope you guys like it, rmemeber English is not my mother tongue so I apologise for any grammar, spelling and funny mistake.

Thunder fell upon the earth, striking the land with purplish light while igniting the sky above your head. Your lips quirked upwards, your hand grasping the hilt of your lightsaber tightly just as the dark hood of your robe covered your face.

The gusty wind pushed at the slopes of your clothing, and the only sound was that of howling weather that had left you and her alone in the shipyard. You tilted your head, the Force allowing you to sense her fear and hesitation.

Another lightning breaking up the darkness surrounding you, the cold water of rain making your clothing heavier and difficult to handle. Not that you two were moving at all, both of you had been standing like this ever since the rain started falling. Bickering back and forth was easier than actually standing against one another, knowing that this battle would end in one way.

Wanda slid her right foot, her stance changing ever so slightly while her left hand went upwards with her own weapon held in a tight grip. Her green eyes found yours, and your heart almost skipped a beat at the sight you had always loved. She was still your greatest regret, the one person you went down a path many thought was full of darkness.

The way of the Sith was not as simple as that.

You had learnt that the hard way.

Wanda opened her mouth, but as soon as she did, she clamped her lips close shaking her head. Regret. And you clenched your jaw because the sight of such an emotion, of her stepping back made your heart hurt; she was never brave enough to finally take a leap of fate and go with you.

But as soon as the world changed, she found someone to do the very same thing you hoped for.

It wasn’t about the relationship; it was about you.

You were in love with her, but she wasn’t in love with you.

You snarled looking away before striking forward, the red saber clashing against her blue one. Sparks flew around mixing up with the drops of water falling on you, the hood finally falling to your back, and your eyes just as angry as they had been on your last meeting.

You pushed forward, and Wanda stepped back, her hand trembling but holding the hilt firmly. She couldn’t hide her sadness, and this only made you angrier, sweeping around kicking her on her stomach while striking her with the saber once more.

Sparks filled the stormy night, the humming of the swords breaking into the thunder while your eyes locked of those of Wanda trying to understand when your love for her turned into such a hatred.

“Y/N…” She mouthed, and you could almost hear her voice calling out to you just moments before you turned your back to her and run towards the man you ended up calling Master.

The crimson red of your sword igniting your face, your lips showing off a mocking smirk while your hand stretched to Force push the woman in front of you. You had always been great with your fighting style, much better than Wanda but there was no mistaken the young woman had practiced as well. There is another clash of weapons, and just as you trusted your hand forward, Wanda did the same and the Force used by the both of you created a space between you.

You took a deep breath trying to calm down your beating heart, the rumbling of the storm deafening the sounds around you. Wanda softened her features, her hand lowering the saber while her eyes tried to reach out yours. You could feel her presence around you, her willingness to just stop this madness and talk to you. You closed up the link she was trying to open, shaking your head knowing you were out here buying time for your master to get the map.

“Y/N…”

You could hear her voice in your mind, and in a desperate attempted to shut her up you launched another attack never noticing the blast of a gun until it hits your shoulder.

You screamed in pain, your right feet stumbling and almost making you fall. Your left hand stretching around grabbing the lightsaber before blocking the blasting of the invisible gun, Wanda screaming out for the person to stop shooting losing her sight on you while trying to stop the whole madness.

You saw the opening, and without thinking too much went at it again.

The slash itself didn’t hurt you at first, you stood there with your eyes wide open and the world stopping around you.

The only thing you were aware of was your hard breathing, and the sudden lack of light from your right eye. Then, the piercing pain on your face and shoulder, and finally the scream leaving your mouth as you fell to the ground.

Wanda was looking at you wide eyes, her lightsaber still humming furiously pointed directly at you.

“Wanda! Kill her!”

She could hear the voice of Vision inside the com, the urgency in his voice but Wanda was not able to move at all. You put your hand on your now bleeding face, your good eyes glaring at her with anger and disbelief.

“Not today, Princess.” You gritted your teeth, standing weakly before Wanda.

Your free hand clenching in thin air, suing the Force as your ally to tighten Wanda’s throat and pulled her to you. The other woman was breathing as hard as you were, and you let her see the nasty wound on your face, the blood and the lost eye. Your lips broke into a nasty smile.

“Enjoy your fuck toy while you can, Jedi.” You snarled and Wanda saw the tears you had been hiding, she saw the pain and the betrayal and the brokenhearted pain of unrequited love.

And Wanda wished she was not so weak, she wished she could tell you that she loved you. That she was pretty much in love with you, but she couldn’t, she just couldn’t let her beliefs aside to go with you when the whole universe depended on the few standing Jedi to help it out. To once more, became the Galaxy a place of peace and justice.

You tightened your hold on her, your body ready to give in. Your wounds hurting all over, the blood pouring out from your shoulder and eyes, you could sense your Master coming forward as much as you could sense the other Rebels coming for Wanda.

“We…we will see each other once more.” You whispered, putting Wanda’s head down and placing a kiss on her forehead. “Next time, your better pierce my heart or else, I will destroy everything you hold dear, Wanda. I will make you feel the pain I went through the day you broke my heart.”

You put your saber right through her side, making sure you didn’t touch any vital organs before stepping aside on wobbly legs. Your body ready to give up until you saw the ship flying towards you, your smirked watching everyone coming forward. Natasha running as fast as she could her eyes on you, her mouth forming your name with her lips.

You scoffed turning around, wincing as you approached the sentinel class craft, the escorting TIE firing to the enemy giving you enough time to go inside your escape route.

You left your former life behind, falling to your knees, you allowed the droids to drag you to the medical bay while your Master ranted about the mission and how foolish you had been for falling into such a childish game.

You didn’t listen, your mind still on the fight. On Wanda.

“Detka…”

Her voice reaching out to you, you closed your eyes.

“I will make you regret the pain you caused me, Wanda…”

“Detka, please…come back…”

“Next time, Wanda, kill me. Please just kill me, or I will end him and everyone else around you…”

And with those last words, you closed the link, the world around you going dark as you finally lose consciousness.

#personal #fanfic #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wandaxreader #female reader #imagine wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x female reader #Jedi!wanda xSith!Reader

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7-wonders · 2 months

Text

Between Wrath and Mercy

Sith!Ankain Skywalker x Rebel!reader (gender-neutral)

Summary: Finding yourself in a fight with Darth Maul, you quickly realize that you're way out of your depth. Unfortunately, no one's coming to save you. Aha, unless?

Word Count: 2.0k

A note from the author: Remember how I was like, "I'm having a lot of trouble writing the words aren't coming like they used to"? I think this helped to unclog a bit of the writer's block I've had. Maybe I just need to write for a different fandom for a bit. This takes place in my Rebel!reader fic-verse (gender-neutral reader!), but before What You Stand to Lose. As always, likes, comments, and reblogs make my world go round (especially the latter two), and I hope you enjoy!

How do I keep ending up in situations like this? you wonder as you dodge yet another Sith Lord’s lightsaber strike and immediately counter it with your own.

That’s a stupid question, because you know how. You decided to join the Rebel Alliance, to fight for a noble cause, and now your life is pretty consistently put in mortal danger. Still, when a mission to try and convince the head of Crimson Dawn that you were all fighting for the same goal was proposed, you were the first to volunteer. Maybe it’s a desperation to prove yourself as useful that made you do it, or maybe you need to remind yourself that you’re working for something good. Regardless, you had been stupid and self-assured, enough so that General Kessyk had given you a small team to command and sent you on your way to Corellia.

Said small team is now incapacitated, rendered useless almost the moment you had ambushed the Crimson Dawn leader who had turned out to be none other than Darth Maul—a surprise to you all, since Dryden Voss is the public face of the syndicate. This revelation completely turned your game plan on its head, as you’re now left to face his wrath alone.

And he has a lot of wrath.

“Look, if you would just listen for a moment,” you yell at him over the sound of electricity humming, “I think you would see that we all want the same thing!”

“And what thing is that?” Darth Maul snarls, raising his blade above his head and attempting to crash it down on top of you.

You meet it with your own, gritting your teeth under the strain as you attempt to hold him back. “The end of the Galactic Empire!”

He bears down harder in response, and your arms begin to shake. Knowing when to give up some yield is half the success in battle, so you adjust your strategy and drop to your knees, doing a quick roll to get some space in between you. He turns to face you once more, his yellow eyes so filled with hatred that it makes a frightened whimper get stuck in your throat.

“Please, we only came to talk. We can be allies!” you plead.

“What happens after the Empire is defeated? We part on good terms and go our separate ways?” Maul shakes his head, twirling his saber and stalking towards you. “No. At the end of the day, the Sith will always be an enemy. I will always be an enemy.”

“I’m sure that—woah!” He renews his attacks with vigor, clearly done talking. Unfortunately for him, you’re not done. “I’m sure that the Rebel Alliance would be happy to negotiate some sort of treaty.”

“I have had enough of arrogant little Force users thinking that they can change the galaxy with ‘the power of goodness,’” he mocks. “You are not the first to approach me with your misguided ideals.”

Maul kicks the center of your chest and sends you falling to the ground, a position you never want to find yourself in when fighting for your life. Attempting to scramble backward is made extra difficult with the lightsaber in your hand, and it’s only delaying the inevitable as Maul follows you slowly, a predator stalking his prey. With a firm smack, your saber goes flying out of your reach.

He holds his lightsaber to your chest and smirks down at you as it burns a hole through the fabric of your shirt. “But you will be the last.”

You raise both hands up in a last-ditch plea, though you know it’s for naught. This is it. You’ve lost. You’ll become just another name on the long list of lives lost as sacrifices for the fight for a better tomorrow.

Though you’d like to say that a sense of peace comes over you as you stare your impending death in the eyes, that’s not the case. You’re scared out of your mind, actually, and the only thing comforting you is the fact that it’ll be a quick death. With that in mind, you close your eyes and await the inevitable.

But the inevitable never comes. Where you were expecting pain and darkness, there’s simply darkness from screwing your eyes shut. After a couple of long moments, you hesitantly open your eyes. Darth Maul no longer looms over you. Instead, he’s a few feet away, engaged in battle with someone else.

“It was foolish of me to believe that Kenobi could actually finish the job and successfully kill somebody for once,” he spits, twirling his saber in his hand as another red saber clashes with his.

“You said it, not me!”

Belatedly, you realize that you know that cocky, annoying voice. Sure enough, Darth Vader is now Darth Maul’s opponent, and he’s faring much better than you had. His helmet is off, allowing you to see the arrogant grin he’s sporting, and his blond curls fly around his face as he swings his lightsaber through the air.

“Vader?” you call, still feeling like your eyes are deceiving you.

He looks over at you, his grin somehow getting bigger. “C’mon, get up and help me out!”

You stumble to your feet and call your lightsaber back to your hand using the Force, but remain back. Vader doesn’t need your help, because he’s very clearly winning. You would only be a hindrance if you were to join, so instead, you watch.

Even if you didn’t know that the two Sith lords had been trained for a very long time, their fighting styles would make it obvious. The way that they move, so fluidly and deadly, is an art form. It almost looks like a dance, if a dance could end in somebody’s death.

“Darth Sidious won’t be pleased when he finds out you’re helping out the Rebel Alliance,” Darth Maul taunts, bending over backward to avoid a swing.

Darth Vader curses at the near-miss. “Oh, but I’m not.”

“Then what do you call this?”

He looks over his shoulder and winks at you. “Helping the one particular Rebel that I have a vested interest in.”

“Pathetic!” Darth Maul spits.

Vader’s lightsaber makes contact with the palm of Maul’s hand, and he yells out in pain. He catches his saber with his other hand before it can fall to the ground, but he’s unable to grip it with both hands now. Though he could fight one-handed, against somebody as talented as Darth Vader, he wouldn’t be very successful. The light from his saber disappears as he extinguishes it, giving one curt nod before he backs off.

“This is not the end,” he promises.

“No, I don’t believe it is.”

Though Vader could very easily finish him, there are rules to a battle. When one willingly concedes, the fight is over, no matter how much the other wishes that it wasn’t. You and Vader both watch as Maul makes it to his ship and escapes, flying high above your heads and away from Corellia.

Vader turns his attention to you, wrapping his large hands around your upper arms and looking you up and down. “Are you alright?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“You were the one about to die.”

“I had it under control,” you claim, even though you very much did not have it under control. “And I didn’t need you to save me.”

“Oh, you didn’t? That’s not what it looked like to me.”

His fingers move to the open hole in your shirt left by Maul’s lightsaber above your heart. The skin there is shiny from a light burn—it’s nothing that will hinder you in the long run, but it does sting a bit, especially when Vader lightly touches this wound. You hiss through your teeth, but he doesn’t move.

“Your heart is beating so fast,” he notes, his voice soft from concentration.

Your cheeks burn at this because you know there are a couple of reasons for your racing heart, and only one of them is from the exertion of battle. Wiggling your hands up, you get enough of a space that you can lightly push yourself away from Vader.

“What are you—how did you know that I would be here?” you demand, having been under the assumption that everybody had done very well in making sure this was a top-secret mission.

“We received some intel that the Rebel Alliance would be making a rather stupid attempt at reaching out to Crimson Dawn. I was going to just let Maul have at it, but then I thought, ‘What are the odds that my Rebel would be involved in this?’”

“I am not your Rebel.” The way that he looks at you, like you mean something to him, makes your heart clench in a way that you don’t want to consider right now. Onto the next subject, then. “Why did you help me in the first place? You could have let him kill me. You should have let him kill me, actually. Would have saved you a lot of trouble.”

“I don’t want you dead.”

You roll your eyes. “Of course, you just want me to join you and go against every one of my morals.”

“I still have morals, Rebel. If you were willing to listen, to be open-minded, I think you’d find that the Dark Side is not evil. Where the Light Side wanted their Jedi to shirk all of their emotions and attachments, the Dark Side encourages those emotions. Anger, sadness, passion…love. Sith believe in a world where we’re all free to feel what we want, to allow that which scares us to be out in the open so that we may overpower it. You can’t tell me that this sounds evil.”

You remain silent, because you don’t know what to think. With how Vader puts it, the Dark Side doesn’t sound all evil. Actions speak louder than words, however, and you’ve seen the terror and devastation that the Empire and the Dark Side have unleashed on the galaxy. You’re not willing to dwell on it right now (or ever, really; just thinking about the possibility of Vader’s words having some validity makes you feel like you’re betraying the Rebel Alliance), so you force it to the back of your mind and refuse to think about it any longer.

“Well, I think my work here is done,” Vader declares with a sigh, clipping his saber back onto his belt.

You look at him in confusion. “Wait, you’re not…going to force me to be your apprentice? I mean, now’s kind of the perfect time.” You don’t want him to do so, but you were sure you knew what his end goal was, since he’s made it clear every other time you’ve encountered him.

“It is,” he agrees. “But I’ve decided that it does no good to have you join me against your will. When the time comes, you’ll give yourself to me—to the Dark Side willingly.”

He sounds so sure of this, like it’s a foregone conclusion. You’re about to argue, to insist once more that you’ll never join him, when you hear groaning behind you.

“Looks like your crew is starting to come to,” Vader notes. “I’ll see you soon.”

You don’t doubt that, but you won’t let him know that. “I sure hope not.”

He laughs, already walking to his own ship. “Make sure to get that burn checked out so that it doesn’t get infected!” he yells to you.

The groaning gets louder before you can tell him to not tell you what to do, and somebody calls your name sluggishly. Your pilot is trying to roll over onto his hands and knees, and the others aren’t far behind him in waking up. You get ready to help, as all good Rebels do—because that’s what you are, someone good and helpful and nothing at all like the Sith Lord that increasingly occupies your thoughts as of late.

You’re not like him, you tell yourself, and you’ll do everything in your power to ensure that you won’t ever be like him.

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #sith!anakin #sith!anakin skywalker #sith!anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker #star wars imagine #star wars #rebel!reader #sith!anakin x rebel!reader #rebel-verse au

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vibrantbirdy · 10 months

Note

Helllloooooo~ your writing is fab! May I please request some Cal Kestis x Reader fiction???? Could the scenario please be that the reader was once a jedi padawan along with Cal and they were best friends and maybe have a little child crush on each other and they got separated due to order 66? Then, you guessed it, they find each other after all these years and it's all fluffy and they realise their true feelings and everything adorable?? Please and thank you! Have a lovely day/night!

Hi Anon, thank you so much for your kind words and thank you for this request! I really love writing for Cal!

Character x Reader requests are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first. Masterlist of my fics can be found here.

Title: Familiarity Fandom: Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order and Survivor games Setting: Prior to the events of Survivor Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Action/adventure; Fluff; Angst; Hurt/Comfort Warnings: Canon typical combat violence; canon typical death/angst/survivor's guilt relating to Order 66; mild sexuality; one claustrophobic scene due to ruined temple adventuring; SPOILERS for Jedi: Fallen Order and minor ones for the set up to Survivor. Pairing: Cal Kestis x Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: c.8k (this one got away from me!) Author's note: I couldn't write about Order 66 without a little angst but hopefully there's still plenty of fluff and romance and adventure to be found here! Summary: Believing each other lost to the brutal purge of the Emperor's Order 66, ten years after you were separated from your childhood best friend during the systematic eradication of the Jedi Order, you and Cal Kestis are finally reunited amid the strange Temple ruins of an ancient civilisation.

10 years ago

"Run!" Jedi Master Rena Daylum commands as the Clone Troopers who were once your trusted comrades turn their blasters towards you.

Master Daylum dispatches them quickly as you ignore her instruction and ignite your own lightsaber. The purple blade hums into life and you ready yourself for the next squad of Troopers.

But before your saber is even fully extended, a burst of energy hits you squarely in the chest and you fly backwards, skidding across the hard durasteel floor on your backside.

As you look up in surprise, you can't help the childish dart of hurt that stings your pride as you see Master Daylum, her palm extended towards you, and realise that she has pushed you away. She's never used the Force on you like that before.

"For once in your life, Padawan, do as you are told!"

Daylum extends her hand again and the control panels on the open blast door between you explode in a shower of sparks. Even as you run back towards her, the heavy metal doors hiss closed and lock shut in front of you.

With little other choice, you carry out the instruction you've been given and run. You are more frightened than you've ever been in your young life. As you sprint down the Venator-class Destroyer's corridors, you reach out for your Master in the Force. You sense only a dark void where her comforting, consistent presence had always been and in that moment, you know that she is gone forever.

The Albedo Brave, despite her rather sterile appearance with her harsh florescent lighting, her heavy, threatening blast doors and cold metal walls, had seemed homely to you only this morning.

Now the ship feels almost alien. The emergency lighting flashes intermittently, illuminating the corridors with an eerie crimson glow, and the mournful wail of the alarm seems to all but scream in your head.

You hide in a maintenance closet as another squad of Clones pass by. The once familiar voices of the Troopers now sparks a deep dread within you. Over the past month you've been aboard the Brave, you had started to recognise the individual Clones from their personal intonations and patterns of speech, even with their helmets on. Now, their tone is uniform, cold and robotic. And deadly. And this ship is teeming with them.

You think you are heading in the right direction towards the escape pods, but you are far from certain. Upon embarking, you'd been so thrilled about your first assignment to a Venator and the fact that your fellow Padawan and best friend, Cal Kestis, was already onboard. But this excitement meant that you hadn't really paid all that much attention to the safety drill with Master Daylum.

You always thought she'd be here to guide you if anything happened...

As you continue to stumble lost and alone through the gargantuan ship you once called home, you halt abruptly as you think you hear someone shout your name over the blaring alarm.

You look up towards the source of the sound and see Cal peering down at you through the grated walkway of the maintenance corridor above. There is a screech of metal as he removes the heavy durasteel access panel.

"Cal? The Clones ... they killed Master Daylum. She's ... dead," you manage to stammer, "What's happening?"

You feel your face crumple as fresh tears begin to fall. You wipe them away and Cal can only look at you with an expression of sympathy and grief on his kind, honest face.

You both jump as you hear blaster fire nearby. You need to move.

Cal lays himself flat on his stomach and reaches his arm down towards you.

"Come on!"

He stretches out a hand. It hangs agonisingly close, just out of your reach. Your fingertips barely brush against his.

"Jump!"

You try to centre yourself in the Force, but in your panic and confusion, you are completely closed off from it. All you can manage is a pitiful little hop.

"I can't Cal, I can't... I can't feel anything!"

The boy shuffles further off the ledge. He obviously has his feet hooked round the durasteel support struts as anchor points. Still, it looks impossible, but you bend your knees and spring up and off the metal floor.

Somehow, Cal grabs your hand.

Cal is the same age as you - thirteen - but due to a recent growth spurt you are a good few inches taller than him now. You've been teasing him mercilessly about it recently and he has been taking it with his characteristic good nature, biting back with quick witted retorts.

Neither of you are laughing about it now.

You are dangling just inches off the ground and, despite his best efforts, Cal simply doesn't have the strength to pull you up from this angle. He has no leverage. Eventually his grip slips and you fall away from him, hitting the ground with a painful thud.

You look up at Cal, his expression of alarm mirroring what you assume your own must looks like.

“Try again," he whispers urgently, his green eyes wide and desperate.

He extends his arm with all his might, splaying his palm as if the extra few millimetres will make any difference to your predicament.

You twist around from your position on the floor as a new sound carries down the Venator's passageways. Voices. There are voices now. Clones just beyond the nearest blast door. You took your lightsaber to the control panel, sealing it shut as best you could, but it won't take them long to get through.

You lift your gaze back to Cal - your friend, your best friend - and shake your head.

"I'll meet you there," you say, trying to sound brave and reassuring.

Cal hisses your name as you take off down the corridor away from him. You can't bear to turn around and see the lost, pleading expression on his face so you run around the corner out of his sight and you don't look back.

--------------------------------------------------------

Present day

This is not going well, Cal Kestis thinks wryly to himself as spins his lightsaber in his hand, the blue laser blocking blaster bolts and sending them ricocheting back towards the Stormtroopers firing them his way.

The fire from the Troopers is relentless and more and more units in white clad armour continue to pour in through the great ceremonial entrance of the Temple to the ancient Spori civilization.

It is clear to the Jedi now that he has severely underestimated the scale of the Empire's presence on Spori, and their interest in the ruined Temple.

As he raises his saber above his head to parry a strike from a Scout Trooper with a stun baton, he groans inwardly as he remembers the misplaced confidence with which he'd bid farewell to the rest of the crew of the Mantis as they dropped him off and set out on a supply run.

"In and out," he'd quipped. "Easy."

Idiot.

Cal's constant companion, the small bipedal droid, BD-1, is crouched low atop his usual resting place on the Jedi's shoulder. He peeks out every so often to analyse the increasingly desperate situation beeping and whirring unsolicited combat advice in binary.

"Yeah buddy, I know, I know, I know..." Cal mutters through gritted teeth as he is forced to swing his lightsaber in what has become a series of exclusively defensive manoeuvres.

The pace is unsustainable.

*********************************************

You are perched on the shoulder of a gargantuan stone statue, a grand monument to a respected Spori High Priestess. You gaze down at swathes of Stormtroopers as they pour into the ruined Temple.

You've just retrieved a data archive from the inner sanctum of the Temple. The Spori were an ancient civilization who, above all else valued knowledge and spent hundreds if not thousands of years collating information on other peoples, some now lost to the mists of time or ravages of war, including the Jedi.

When you'd heard about the Imperial invasion of Spori, you knew you needed to retrieve the archive in order to preserve any surviving ancient knowledge of the Jedi Order before the Empire could either destroy it or use it for some nefarious purpose...

When you first arrived, although you'd had to evade the occasional Imperial patrol on your trek from the Spori capital across the planet's rugged landscape, there was not the slightest hint of Imperial presence around the Temple itself. It was practically peaceful.

Now, it looked like the Empire had deployed an entire kriffing garrison to the ancient ruin.

From the safety of your high vantage point you watch the chaos unfold below. Or, more accurately, you stare in disbelief at the shockingly familiar figure wielding a blue lightsaber at the very eye of the storm.

"Cal," you breathe out his name.

He's older of course, but it's unquestionably Cal Kestis. You'd recognise that flaming red hair anywhere. He has a short beard to match now and, annoyingly, you come to the conclusion that he has undergone a considerable growth spurt in the last decade or so and he now looks to be much taller than you.

He has a little red and white droid with him. It clings to the Jedi's back, swaying perfectly in tune with its master's movements, never finding itself unbalanced. It's as if the BD unit is an extension of Cal's anatomy.

Cal moves with determination and confidence, striking and parrying with alarming accuracy and speed. It is the fighting form of a competent and experienced warrior, his physicality at once both elegant and deadly. It's a far cry from the stilted and unsure combat stance of the young boy who used to pull his punches in training.

Still, the Troopers just keep on coming and Cal is obviously tiring. He is now on the back foot and will soon be overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of Imperial soldiers.

You need to do something.

Scanning your surroundings, your eyes clock the huge, monolithic stone lintel slab hanging above the ceremonial entrance to the Temple. There's a weakness in the left side pillar. If you brought it down with the Force, you could seal off the Imp's only ingress point. Then you would only have to dispatch of the Stormtroopers already inside.

You'll have to find another way out of the ruin itself of course, but that's a problem for later. The situation is becoming dire and this is the thing you can think of to do.

Suddenly, a Rocket Trooper dives at great velocity and collides into Cal, slamming his boots into the trunk of the Jedi's body and sending the him sprawling across the floor where he curls into a ball,. His lightsaber rolls across the flagstones with a mournful clinking sound.

You stand up, using the Force to balance and centre yourself, to find strength. You puff out your cheeks and exhale sharply through your lips. Then, you jump.

*************************************************

Cal writhes on the ground clutching his abdomen at the agonising point of impact where the Trooper had barrelled feet into him feet first.

Didn't see that one coming.

He gasps in deep lungfuls of air as he desperately tries to regulate his breathing through the pain.

Another broken rib? No. Thank the Force. But he's severely winded and there'll be bruising for sure. He knows he needs to move but kriff it hurts.

BD-1, who was thrown from his shoulder on impact, is now dancing from foot to little metallic foot next to him, urging him to get up.

Suddenly, he hears the unmistakable song of another lightsaber and he looks up in awe to see a stranger standing in front of him, purple blade cutting through the air and deflecting the continuing onslaught of blaster bolts.

The figure is hooded, and even when they are forced to turn towards him as they wheel around to interrupt the advance of a Scout Trooper attempting to flank them, he can't see the face hidden behind the folds of material.

Something in the Force nags at him. There is a strange familiarity in the presence of this mysterious warrior who has come to his aid.

Spurred on by curiosity, Cal steels himself and tries to rise, extending out a hand to bring his lightsaber into his hand with the Force. Too late, he registers a flash of white in his peripheral vision as a Stormtrooper's boot collides with his temple and everything snaps into blackness.

***********************************************

You've been stood watch beside an unconscious Cal for almost ten minutes. The dust is still settling from the avalanche of rock you brought tumbling down to the ancient Temple floor. The plan worked. Tonnes of rubble now separate you and Cal from the Empire.

You look down at your childhood friend. Blacked out from a kick to the head or not, you can't believe he slept though that noise. You're just starting to get worried when he finally stirs and groans. His little droid, who has since introduced himself as BD-1, boops hopefully.

"Cal?"

His green eyes, still shockingly familiar despite the passage of time, flicker open. When they finally focus and lock on to yours, they widen in alarm.

Cal leaps clumsily to his feet and stumbles backwards away from you. Disoriented and in pain, he staggers, one hand clutching at his side with the movement, the other held out in from of him. His mouth is agape, and he stares at you as if he's seen a ghost.

Cal says your name as if it's a question. It's barely a whisper.

“Yes,”

“You're...here?" His voice is faltering, unsure. "You're not...?”

Dead? You think he's going to say.

"...not a dream?

“It's me Cal," you reply and your voice is hushed with emotion, "it's really me.”

Cal drops heavily to his knees and you dart forwards to catch him, fearing he's about to pass out again. Instead, when you are kneeling face to face, he grasps your hands in his.

“I can't believe it,” he says breathlessly.

You bring your forehead to rest against his for a moment until he pulls you in a hug so tight you can barely breathe. You return it anyway, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing as if to prove to him that you are not an illusion or some cruel trick of the Force.

He winces and it breaks the spell. You let him go and cast your eyes over him, examining for wounds.

"Force, sorry," you apologise, "Anything broken?"

Cal gingerly lifts up his dark grey shirt which is filthy with dust and grime but no visible blood. He reveals one side of his bruised torso and you can't help but notice how, under the welts, the muscles there are sculpted and strong. Even on this small part of his body, his skin is littered with scars. Like you, it seems, Cal is living the life of a warrior.

"Not this time..." he quips, letting the material fall back into place.

BD-1 jumps up onto Cal's shoulder and gives him a little butt with his flat, rectangular head. The droid ejects a small cannister from one of his compartments and Cal catches it, injecting green liquid into his chest. A healing stim.

"Thanks buddy."

Cautiously, Cal pushes himself to his feet where he stands with his hands on his hips, inspecting the huge pile of rubble covering what was once the grand and sacred entrance to the Spori Temple.

"That got anything to do with you?" he asks, gesturing casually at the mess.

You dust off your hands as you rise to stand beside him.

"Someone had to save your ass. Thought I might as well make an impression on the Empire at the same time."

He looks at you and for the first time since you've reunited with him, he smiles properly. Your heart soars. It's the same boyish grin you remember so well.

"Could be a problem."

"Maybe not..." you reply as you pull out the data pad you'd loaded up with an Old Republic era holo map of the Temple. The technological backflips you'd had to do to get that thing to run on your device...

BD-1 boops indignantly.

That's my job.

"Look at these tunnels," you continue, placating the little droid with a gentle pat to the head as you speak, "they connect to various ceremonial chambers, some functional rooms too, and then out the other side. I think they were once service passageways. It's the long way round, it'll take us a couple of days but..."

"Why are you here?" Cal asks suddenly, as if the thought has only just occurred to him.

He's looking at you questioningly. It's not suspicion. It's a sort of sharp curiosity, and you suddenly become aware of the obvious. That you and Cal are here for the same purpose.

Nevertheless, you trust him implicitly. You bend down and reach into your small knapsack which is currently resting by your feet. You rummage around until you find the tiny golden data sphere which holds the Spori culture archive.

"Why are you here?" You counter, although you suspect your theory must be correct.

Sure enough, Cal raises his eyebrows and nods towards the object in your palm.

"Figures," you say.

You are interrupted by the unmistakable din of a laser firing through rock. The Empire have obviously brought in heavy duty cutting equipment. They must want the Spori archive more than you thought.

"Work it out later?" Cal suggests.

You nod in agreement, before stuffing the data sphere back into your bag and grabbing Cal's hand, leading him briskly towards the nearest service tunnel marked on your map.

***************************************************

You and Cal follow the old passageways for miles. The two of you fall back into your old, easy way of conversation as if no time has passed at all. Your laughter echoes through the ruin, filling up forgotten rooms and dormant chambers where the ring of voices has not been heard in centuries.

Finally, the tunnel you are following leads out to a cavernous ceremonial chamber. It is an extravagantly long hall and all the way down there are huge pillars, inset with hundreds of alcoves where candles must once have been placed for illumination. You try to imagine a grand feast being held here, priests and dignitaries and attendants all floating across the chamber in their opulent ceremonial garb.

Cal nudges you, starting you out of your reverie. You look at him and he nods down the long room towards the furthest two pillars in the distance.

"Race ya."

"Oh, you are so on, Kestis," You accept and crouch into a starting position, welcoming a chance to properly stretch your legs. "On three...One..."

"Woah, woah, woah!" Cal suddenly exclaims, holding up his hands. "Not so fast. On three or after three?"

You turn to him and roll eyes as you register the mischievous smirk on his face. You've had this argument so many times.

"Remember that race with Kya and Mez?" He snorts with laughter, "You were so mad!"

"That's because you all cheated!" You argue and you can't believe that over a decade later, that particular defeat still riles you. "Everybody knows when you say on three, that means you go after three."

"No, that's what after three means!" Cal protests, your seriousness surrounding the situation only causing his mirth to increase.

You know he's right, but you were always so competitive back then. You always wanted, needed to win. Master Daylum had tried to temper and hone that determined spirit into something more refined but, even now, you aren't sure that you've even been able to tame that particular fault in your nature.

You remember once in sparring training, you'd thrown down your training saber in annoyance.

"Why are you doing that?!" You yelled at Cal, who was partnering you, storming across to him and shoving him hard in the chest.

You were convinced that he was holding back with his strikes and it was making you irate. You wanted a proper fight otherwise your victory would be hollow.

"Just because you are scared of everything doesn't mean I am!"

You'd stalked off, leaving him with an expression of shock and hurt on his face. Within five minutes, you'd regained your composure and your insides squirmed with the shame and guilt of unjustly embarrassing your friend.

Later that night, you'd snuck into Cal's quarters to apologise. He accepted with his usual good grace and, as you left, you'd placed a chaste peck on his cheek which made his face turn almost as red as his hair.

Cal was always quick to forgive you after that.

"Ok, ok, fine," you concede, bringing your mind back to the present.

You are unable to stop a smile spreading across your face as Cal struggles to stop his chuckling beside you. You'd always found his laughter infectious and nothing seemed to have changed there. Maybe, maybe you can see the funny side now.

"After three then," you say.

You both adopt a low stance in preparation to dart forwards and get the best start possible. You look at each other and grin and Cal starts to count.

"One...two...three..."

Before Cal can say go!, you set off at a blistering pace. You hear a scrabble of boots on loose stones and an indignant shout of hey! behind you as he scrambles into a run after you. From his perch on Cal's shoulder, BD-1 trills a similar reproval.

You laugh, exhilarated. The wind rushes in your face and through your hair as you pump your arms and legs as fast as you can. You feel like a child again. You feel free.

As you push your body harder, you reach into the Force and you sense the strength of Cal's presence, both familiar and new, in tune with yours. Something warm blooms inside you. It's as if a piece of you has been missing all these years.

It's meant to be like this, you think.

Cal is fast but you've always been quicker than him, your nimble frame allowing you to cover the ground like something feline. Even with his new advantage of height and longer legs, there's no way he'll catch you now as you speed towards the pillars and victory.

You raise your arms in triumph as you cross the makeshift finish line. You turn and Cal is right on your tail, BD-1 crouched low on his shoulder as if to be the cause of the least wind resistance possible.

Cal barely slows as he swoops behind you, grabbing you by the waist. You shriek with laughter and he picks you up and spins you around before setting your feet back down on the crumbling flagstones.

"Cheat!" He accuses, but his expression is joyful and his eyes sparkle with glee.

He puts his hands on his knees and folds over in an exaggerated gesture of catching his breath.

"Now you know what it feels like," you counter, and you slump down against the nearest pillar, enjoying the sensation of the cool stone against your back.

Cal joins you so that you are sitting shoulder to shoulder.

"Force, you're still so competitive," he says.

"And you're still such a sore loser."

You stick your tongue out at him and you both laugh.

You suddenly realise how tired you are. You and Cal have been walking and scrambling and clambering across miles of difficult, dangerous terrain for hours. The Temple is mostly in ruin now and so many parts of it have collapsed or caved in, placing obstacle after unexpected obstacle in your path.

"Rest?"

Cal takes a swig of water from his canteen pouch and grins.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

-------------------------------------------------------

10 years ago

"Padawan, your lightsaber!" Master Tapal admonishes as Cal's weapon skids across the floor and plummets into the oblivion of the turbo-lift shaft.

There is an uncharacteristic note of panic in his Master's voice. It causes a spike of fear to pierce through the young Padawan's very soul and makes him more afraid than even the betrayal of the once friendly Clones, the onslaught of blaster fire that seems to come at him from every direction, and the screeching, disorienting cacophony of the Venator's blaring alarms put together.

"Sorry Master!" Cal exclaims as he scrambles onwards and upwards, towards the escape pods feeling vulnerable and helpless without his weapon.

****************************************************

His Master lies dead on the floor before him. As the escape pod gives a terrifying shudder as it disengages from the Venator, Cal throws himself into one of the vessel's seats, fumbling to secure his safety belt.

He wonders what's become of you. The guilt and shame of his failure washes over him anew as he remembers your stricken face as you fell away from his grasp. He wasn't strong enough to help you. If you're dead, it'll be all his fault. Just like his Master.

The young Padawan clutches his Tapal's lightsaber tightly to his chest and squeezes his eyes shut. Finally, he allows himself to let out a wail of despair as he hurtles through space alone towards the planet of Bracca and the unknown.

-----------------------------------------------------

Present Day

Cal is still asleep. You're not sure how - he can't possibly be comfortable. He's lying flat on his back, arms folded across his chest, using a low stone slab as a makeshift pillow.

You have no idea whether the Empire have been successful in their efforts to break through into the Temple and you know you really should get going. But Cal looks so peaceful, you don't want to wake him. Not yet.

Fondly, you examine his face, reacquainting yourself with the constellations of freckles that sit on his nose and cheeks. You still can't get over how grown up he looks. How handsome he's become. The beard gives him a rather dashing appearance.

You wonder how he got that scar across his nose which disappears as it reaches his right cheek then reappears again on his neck. You don't doubt he's got many such marks from his scrapper's life on Bracca.

Deftly, you reach out with the Force. You smile. Elements of his presence feel so familiar to you - Earnest, honest, kind-hearted Cal.

But there is also determinedness, a level headedness, and a self-assuredness you've never felt from him before. You feel a rush of emotion as you realise it reminds you of the steady, secure feeling you used to sense from Master Tapal once you'd stopped being scared of the purple Lasat's outwardly stern demeanour and truly giagantic size.

Whenever you and Cal got into trouble - or, perhaps more accurately, whenever you got Cal into trouble - by sneaking out into the Gardens of the Jedi Temple after hours or some such similar escapade, Master Daylum would almost always lead the reprimand, while Master Tapal would merely observe, an almost imperceptible smile on his lips.

As an adult, you understand now that the Lasat considered your independent spirit and rebellious nature to be a good balancer for his sometimes overly cautious and uncertain Padawan.

You retrain your mind on Cal. There's something else, something he hides, deep within himself. You realise it's the same bitter collection of feelings that you have struggled with every day since the violent extermination of your Order.

Doubt. Grief. Fear.

You pull back, realising you are teetering on the edge between curiosity and trespass. As if the you have summoned these unpleasant notions to the surface of the sleeping young man's psyche, Cal starts to mumble in his sleep. He twists and jerks as if he's having a terrible nightmare.

You crouch beside him and shake him gently by the shoulder in a desperate attempt to wake him. It takes longer than you would like and as he catapults back into consciousness, he sits bolt upright, his broad shoulders heaving up and down as his breath comes in short, sharp pants.

His eyes flash wildly as he reorients himself and when they finally lock on to yours they blaze with the intensity of green kyber. It's as if he's relieved all over again to see that you are alive.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he blurts out, "I left you there. I left you on that ship."

"No, Cal" you say softly and you place a hand on his bearded cheek.

You've never blamed him. Not once.

Over the years, you've been unable to quash a secretly harboured shard of resentment towards the Jedi, despite your love for the Order you once called home, your family. As an adult, you started to find yourself doubting the morality and the wisdom of training young children to be weapons and sending them off to war.

Nowadays, for the most part, you are able to reconcile your loyalty to the Order with these criticisms, but the realisation that Cal still perceives what happened on the Venator as some kind of personal failing makes these feelings flare up within you all over again.

"No," you repeat and your tone is firmer now, "we were kids, Cal. We both did what we had to to survive in a situation we should never have had to face.”

Cal shakes his head and looks away.

“Do you ever dream of it? Of the Venator?” he asks, staring into the distance.

“All the time,” you answer truthfully and you smile sadly.

You are relieved to see that when Cal trains his gaze back onto your face, his expression, while still sombre, is less feverish.

"How did you escape?"

"I commandeered a shuttle," you explain, then smirk, "Crashed it, of course. Into a field on Pelka-4."

"That sounds like you," Cal quips, and you are glad when the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

"I was lucky. A family of farmers found me. They kept me safe, hidden while I healed. I stayed with them for a few years until I managed to find a Rebel cell to join. Been sticking it to the Empire ever since."

You suddenly realise that neither of you have spoken about your lives after the purge until now. You don't know anything about the last ten years of Cal's existence.

"What about you?" You ask.

"Ended up on Bracca," Cal says and he lifts the sleeve of his shirt to display a tattoo on the underside of his right forearm.

It's a worker identification tag and you feel a surge of sympathy for him. Force what a hard life for a kid.

"Scrapper," he continues, "Until, one day, I used the Force to save a friend from a fall. He died anyway when the Inquisitors came for me."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too..." Cal rubs the back of his neck as he continues, "I was working with a team including another Jedi for a while. It's complicated, but we went our separate ways and I've been part of Saw Guerra's operation since."

"You're working for Saw Gerrera?"

"I'm working with Saw Gerrera."

You both look at each other and burst into laughter, knowing that the formidable Rebel warlord himself certainly wouldn't see it that way.

"What does Gerrera want with a Spori data archive?"

"He doesn't," Cal says, "but intel picked up a lot of Imperial activity in the area and I knew that's what they were after. I wanted to take it out the game before they could get to it."

You take the Spori data sphere out of your knapsack again and hold it out towards Cal in your open hand.

"What do we do with it now?"

Cal reaches out and closes your palm around the device.

"If you have somewhere safe for it," he says, his emerald gaze earnest, his voice low and sincere, "You get it there."

************************************

Cal doesn't need to wonder if he's made the right decision in suggesting you take custody of the Spori archive. He's not ready to visit Cere on Jedha, and Saw Gerrera's numerous bases of operations are constantly at risk of Imperial attack. Smaller cells, like yours, are easier to hide, easier to move. More than that, he trusts you completely to keep the sphere safe.

Even as a child, you were the most capable, determined, head-strong person he's ever met. Nothing's changed. You still make him laugh until he cries and he can't believe quite how much he's missed being relentlessly teased by you.

Having you near him again is enchanting. He feels drawn to you, like the invisible chord that has tied you together all of your lives has suddenly been pulled taut and you are being pulled inexorably towards each other.

Despite the circumstances you find yourselves in, Cal is happier with you down here in the dark with you than he's been in years.

And it really is dark down here. And damp. And cold. Squeezing through the Spori service tunnels which seem to be in more and more disrepair the further you go, it is as if there are unnamed things skittering about in the blackness.

Cal tries to put this down to the loose pebbles and stones you both kick up as you make your way through the ruined passageways, but he's not convinced.

He doesn't much like small spaces, but as you make progress down the increasingly narrowing passage in front of him, BD-1 on your shoulder lighting the way, Cal can feel your panic rising in the Force.

He suddenly remembers that you are severely claustrophobic and he scolds himself for forgetting. How could he not remember the night he sat up for hours holding your trembling hand in the Jedi Temple's med bay after your experience on Ilum.

Master Yoda had taken you and Cal with your peers to the ice planet for the ceremonial Gathering, the traditional rite of passage where young Padawans explore the great ice caves to source the kyber crystals with which to construct their lightsabers.

The ritual was always somewhat dangerous, but you'd had a particularly fraught time, falling down an ice crevasse and almost getting stuck between the tightly packed sheets of ice. You were forced to crawl and squeeze your way out in the dark all alone.

You were hours later than everybody else. Cal remembers how he came the closest he'd ever been to disobedient, sneaking away from the pack of Padawans and Master Yoda himself who were waiting by the transport ship outside the caves for your return.

Determined to try and find you himself, Cal made it halfway to the entrance unseen - or so he liked to think - when you finally emerged from the caves, hunched over and limping, but your kyber crystal firmly in hand.

The Jedi Council had been impressed with your perseverance and bravery, but Cal had never quite forgiven them for allowing you to suffer like that.

"This is only getting narrower, Cal," you say, jolting him out of his memories. He can hear the uncertainty in your voice, "Maybe we should go back."

BD-1 lets out a little boop which is almost a scoffing sound.

"It's ok for you, buddy," Cal reminds him patiently, "You're very small."

He hears the droid trill a bashful apology in your ear.

"That's ok, BD-1," you say and the genuine warmth in your voice makes Cal smile. You always had a weakness for cute droids, even when they were cheeky.

"Kriff," you swear softly in front of him as you come to a halt so abrupt he almost crashes into you.

In the dim light, Cal can see that part of the tunnel has collapsed. He watches as BD-1 hops off your back, and scurries into the small opening on the ground. Glad of something to do, the droid proudly scans the terrain and projects the way ahead. It's not blocked and it's not far, but it'll be tight. You'll have to crawl.

Cal places a hand on your shoulder and has to resist the urge to recoil as your fear arcs through the Force and passes through his own body so acutely that it feels like a bolt of electricity.

"I'll go first," he says.

The narrow corridor is barely wide enough for two people. You press yourself as flat as you can against the damp stone wall so that Cal can squeeze past. He raises his arms and rests his palms against the rock either side of your head for balance as he steps cautiously in between and around your feet and legs.

It's intimate, almost awkwardly so. Cal hopes you don't notice the blush he can feel creeping up his neck as he is forced to press his body into yours as he climbs over you. He looks down into your eyes as he passes, raising his eyebrows and tilting his chin upwards in mock flirtation in an attempt to lighten the mood.

He is relieved when you giggle and jab him playfully in the ribs. He can't help but notice that your cheeks have turned a rather fetching shade of pink, no doubt mirroring his own, as BD's torch lamp passes over your face.

Something inside him glows as he realises you feel it too - the ember of something new between you smouldering into life as your shared past collides with the present.

But now, he needs to concentrate. Reluctantly, he brushes aside the giddy feeling you've awakened within him and he reaches into the Force. He inhales then exhales deeply, slowing his racing heart as he focuses on the task in hand. Then, following BD-1's lead, he crouches down and crawls head first into the gap in the stone work.

*************************************************

If your lungs didn't feel so constricted, so full of dust and musty, cloying air, you'd probably scream. When you'd squeezed yourself into the collapsed passageway after Cal, at first you'd been able to crawl on your hands and knees. That was almost tolerable but now... Now you are now flat on your stomach, making painstaking progress by clutching at the rough, stony ground in front of you with your fingers and pulling yourself along like some undead creature in a horror holo novel.

You try to ground yourself in the Force, but just like when you were a child, your panic has severed your connection to it, cut you off from it, leaving you adrift in the painful void of its absence.

Suddenly, you hear the scrabbling of Cal's body and boots against the ground ahead. Before you can register what's happening you are plummeted into darkness, BD-1's headlamp extinguishing without warning.

Oh Force, they've fallen down some crack in the ancient structure, plummeting into oblivion where the earth has swallowed them whole and now you're stuck here in the dark alone with no way forward and no chance of turning around...

The sharp, solid ice - no, this isn't Ilum - rock bites through your clothing, stony shards pressing into your body as your chest expands with your panicked breathing.

"Cal?" You gasp out, then, in a shout that's almost a scream, "Cal?!"

Abruptly, your eyes are assaulted with a white light so bright it dazzles you. You jump and hit your head painfully on the stone ceiling above you. A pair of hands, Cal's hands you realise, reach through the blinding light of BD's torch and you snatch at them wildly as if he might withdraw them and leave you there alone in the dark.

He doesn't. Of course he doesn't. With ease, he pulls you gently through the last little length of the tunnel and up onto your feet where you emerge gasping and wheezing as if you've been held under water.

You throw your arms around Cal's neck in relief, launching yourself at him with such force that he staggers backwards. Once he's regained his footing, he places a hand at the small of your back, drawing you close to him and cradles your head to his chest with the other. His heart beats out a sonorous, steady rhythm and resonates through your own body, slowing your breathing and calming your rattled nerves.

Funny, you always used to be the one to comfort him when you were children.

"I've got you," he whispers gently into your ear, "I've got you."

A passing thought that maybe you should be embarrassed for allowing your fear to overwhelm you like this is discarded almost immediately as Cal places a soft kiss gently on the top of your head.

A feeling of warmth rushes through you. You suddenly realise how safe you feel with him as you press into the warmth of his strong, solid body. You breathe in his old familiar smell which has a new, heady quality to it like clean leather mixed with the oddly pleasant scent of his physical exertions.

"Sorry..." you mumble, finally, into his chest, hoping he can't feel where your panicked tears have rolled unbidden down your cheeks and soaked into the fabric of his shirt, "I was thinking about..."

"Ilum," Cal finishes for you, "I know."

"You remember?" you say, pulling back to look at him.

He smiles kindly.

"I remember."

You shiver. Is it the memory of that icy planet that still chills your bones? No, you decide, it really is cold in here. Although, you realise, the air feels and smells different somehow. Fresher. Sweeter.

Reluctantly, you extricate yourself from Cal's arms and take a look around the Spori chamber you've just put yourself through hell to get to.

Except...you're not in a chamber at all. You're not even inside.

You look upwards and see stars twinkling above you, a million points of light in the darkness. Around you, the roofless, crumbling remains of the Spori Temple stretch raggedly into the inky sky like skeletal fingers.

You think back to when you'd studied the climate of planet and the geographical position of the Temple before setting off on your mission. The ancient structure would certainly be exposed to harsh winds on this northern side, especially in the formidable Spori winter. This part of the Temple has simply not weathered the ravages of time.

In the twilight, you take in the shadowy treeline of a great forest which lays across a meadow of high, fragrant grass which sways gently in the breeze. The tops of far away mountains are illuminated by the ethereal blue light of Spori's twin moons. The natural beauty of the place is magical.

You fill your lungs with beautiful, clean air. You can breathe again. You let out a joyful whoop, throwing your head back and laughing, stretching your hands up into the night sky and spinning round and round in the glorious open landscape.

When you finally stop, you notice that Cal is watching you with an expression of pure delight.

"We did it!" You say breathlessly, coming to rest in front of him and he laughs.

BD-1 hops from foot to foot in front of you, wanting to join in your celebration. You crouch down and scoop the little droid into a tight embrace where he purrs like a Loth cat. After a minute, he hops out of your arms and across to his usual spot on Cal's shoulder.

Cal's face is covered in dirt which runs in dark streaks down his cheeks where rivulets of sweat have trickled their path. You imagine you look similar. Automatically, you reach up and rub at the patch of grime caked above his left eyebrow with your thumb.

Cal brings his hand up to rest against yours as he leans into your touch. His expression is soft and there is a longing in his face so intense that he almost looks lost. You burn with a sudden yearning for him as his gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips.

Something chirps, breaking the spell. Cal reaches into his back pocket to pull out a small data pad.

"The Mantis can pick us up here in the morning," he says, inserting coordinates into the device and transmitting them to his crew, "We can drop you back wherever you need to be if you want a ride?"

Your heart sinks and you can tell by Cal's regretful expression that your face has fallen with it. In your euphoria, you'd almost forgotten that your reunion was probably only temporary.

Cal looks crestfallen by your reaction and you know he must realise that, however unintended, the abrupt shift in tone would have seemed callous to you. You can tell that he is searching for the words to repair the damage - he still has this need to say the right thing.

But it's too late.

"Sure," you reply, and you hate the coldness in your tone.

****************************************

Cal is lying on his side in the grass, somewhat sheltered in the corner of the part of the ruin you'd chosen for your camp. It's little more than a cluster of decaying stones, but it's better than nothing and it keeps the wind at bay. You've built a fire for warmth and placed yourselves at either side of it.

As Cal studies your peaceful face through the leaping, crackling flames, he smiles to himself. You look so beautiful to him, as you always had. Even on your worst days when your temper or your hard-headedness won out, he'd always likened you to a force of nature - a tempest or a forest fire. Something elemental.

The thought of going through another separation from you is unbearable. He curses his thoughtlessness earlier. He was certain that he had just about plucked up the courage to kiss you. Sensing your own feelings through the Force, he was almost sure that you wouldn't have rejected him and he'd certainly been willing to take that chance.

Wallowing in self-pity for this missed opportunity made it impossible to even think about sleep. If only that blasted device hadn't interrupted the moment.

And besides all that inner turmoil, Cal's teeth are chattering so loud in his skull that he's certain they could wake the dead, never mind himself. While softer than the solid rock that had been serving as his bedding recently, the turf beneath him is damp and the chill is seeping through his clothing and into his skin. He is so uncomfortable.

"Cal?"

Just as his eyelids start to droop, he hears you speak his name in a soft, sleepy voice. When he looks across at you, you are sitting up, the firelight dancing across the bright, glassy orbs of your eyes, your hair wild.

Force you look ethereal.

"Are you cold?" You ask.

"Freezing," Cal admits.

"Me too," you pause before saying in a hushed tone that makes Cal's stomach flip, "Come here."

He hesitates for a moment before he does as as he's bid, standing and making his way over to you. Wordlessly, you reach up to him and he takes you hand in his as you guide him to lie at your back and return to your position on your side. He feels a heady thrill when you press yourself into him as he curls his body around your smaller frame.

Cal laces one arm underneath you while the other wraps around your waist, holding you flush against him. You clasp the hand the hand that rests against your stomach in your own. Cal wonders if you can feel his heart slamming against his chest.

"I've missed you," he hears himself blurt out suddenly and he curses inwardly, feeling stupid.

But the temporary embarrassment fades quickly and is replaced by certainty and desire as you bring his hand up to your mouth and trace a trail of kisses across his knuckles with your soft lips.

"I can't lose you again," he continues ardently, "I can't."

Cal brushes a strand of stray hair away from your ear, as if that might allow you to heed his words more clearly.

"You won't," you say firmly, and a new sense of hope blooms inside him for the first time in a long time.

You twist towards him and onto your back, propping yourself up on your elbows to look up into his open, sincere face. Unable to resist any longer, Cal places a hand at the nape of your neck and draws you up into a deep, passionate kiss. His heart sings as your hands fly up to twist in his hair as you move your lips urgently against his.

As you embrace, Cal feels your familiar presence in the Force blossom with something new, something which glows incandescent like a beacon guiding him towards you and only you. Suddenly, every nerve in his body is on fire and, as you move together, he feels as if you are two flames blazing through the very heart of the Galaxy itself.

Only in his dreams did he ever imagine that he would see you again after that awful day on the Venator so long ago. Now, as you lie down together beneath the stars amid the mysterious ruins of the Spori Temple, Cal Kestis promises himself that whatever the future holds, he'll never let you go again.

#cal kestis x reader #cal kestis x you #cal kestis fanfiction

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