#i just love how obi-wan loves. it is so gentle and full of a quiet grief. anakin is so much more than memory

[obislittleone]

Come What May

Episode 4/?

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Padawan!Reader (little one)

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of pregnancy and miscarriage, allusions to smut but no actual smut. canon typical violence, robbery?? idek y'all

A/n: I can't believe I edited this in one sitting but here u go now be fed and I'll probably post another one in two months lol

NINE YEARS LATER…

The sand was relentless, as it always was. Such was the life on Tatooine.

The days, though boring and long, brought a sense of peace and security to you. It was comfortable, and you didn’t have to worry about being chased.

Life with Obi was still blissful, though he’d become a different sort of person than he used to be. He was still yours, and one thing that would never change in his life was his unending love and devotion to you. Over all the bad things, you were still there, and if that was so, his life could never be all bad.

He became grumpy easily, but you often teased him, joking about how old he was truly getting. He’d hate when you pointed it out, because he already felt so much older than he had when the war was going on. Many would argue that it aged him, but truth be told, he was perhaps living the youngest days of his life back then.

You, of course, had continued to mature into the beautiful woman he’d always seen before. You looked different, sure… but all the ways you’d changed, he would think were for the better. He loved how normal you seemed. It was always so much more peaceful, living here. It was mundane and often quiet, but it was peaceful, and far less demanding of your former lifestyle. He had always hoped you could live a simple and sweet life, maybe not on this maker-forsaken planet, but having days that were just the same.

The daily routine was easy, and by now implanted in both of your minds. It was second nature, and hard to mess up even if you tried. The mornings were always slow, as the work hours were different from what you’d once known. After dragging each other from the warm confines of bed, there was a shared silence that would fall over you both as you continued to ready yourselves for each job you had. You had the fat end of the stick, getting to work in the city. You were legally dead across the galaxy, and the empire had no warrant for you in any scanner known to the systems. Especially not in the outer rim.

Obi-Wan had taken up the name Ben, the name he remembers from childhood. He doesn’t know if it was his original name, or if it was the name of his father, but it belonged to him somehow, and he felt it was easy to go by.

An hour was spent riding to anchor-head everyday, in order to clock in for your shift, and for him to catch a speeder to whatever work station they needed him at for the day. Lately he’d been harvesting flying Tibidon sand whales for their meat. He never failed to bring back a sliver of what he cut for your Eopie. It was something he did out of habit by now, but it somehow reminded you of a small thing he used to do for you many years ago.

Back in the age of the Jedi, before the clone wars ever began, Obi-Wan Kenobi had two padawans. One was the chosen one, and though he was often found to be a trouble maker, he was still the favorite among the two. The other was a small girl, not yet grown to her full capabilities. She always had a strong appetite, though, and the meals given to her were never enough to satisfy her growing form. Obi-Wan was quick to notice little things like this, and always saved his portion of Ksharra bread for her to eat after everyone was finished. The smile it brought to her was not soon forgotten…

What a sweet memory, and you almost always thought about it when you were watching him interact with the Eopie. He was gentle to all creatures, even after he became a bit hardened and settled into his new role of life.

After the ride home, there were meals that were shared in a comfortable quiet, and then a discussion of the day. It was definitely a more quaint way to live, but you preferred it to the horrid idea of running for years on end. You always told him how thankful you were to be with him, to have him amidst everything. It was he who you remembered the earliest in your life, being there for you, watching out for everything you faced, and helping you through it. He was still doing that, in a way. Though it were not by the force, he gave advice of work topics, different moody customers that would come in during the day, and even just ideas to help the work day seem faster.

It was only after he left for bed, with you watching the stars rise, that you were able to meditate. To revel in the force and to trust in its ways without anyone stopping you. Not to say that Obi-Wan would stop you, but he perhaps would try and convince you it still was not safe. It was you, however, that kept up your daily strength by meditation, and use of the force without his knowledge.

Though he would never know, your strong uses of the force were the thing that helped him sleep through the night, as he often woke up with nightmares, stirring your slumber as well and making you alert to the bad things his mind conjured. It was mostly Anakin, because how could it not be? He was his Master and his best friend, a true brother and ally. He had to have felt some sort of responsibility for what happened to him, all leading up to his death.

You too felt semblances of guilt, but you dealt with it in other ways. For him, these nightmares were often occurrences, and it was due to you that he got any sleep at all.

He would sometimes sit straight up at a moment’s notice, scaring you awake and realizing what had happened. He would breath fast and loud and not be able to slow it down, not even when you wrapped your arms around him from behind, whispering soothing words like he once did for you in your time of nightly terrors. At first, he was lucky to get back to sleep at all… but the more it happened, he found you being near him helped to calm him back to sleep. He’d cut himself off from the force, he had no use of it anymore. He didn’t know it was because of your old developed ability to take away the bad dreams. You always slept soundly beside him, even before you were together. Whenever he was laid next to you, there was not a dream that could plague your mind for the worse.

There was one night when he woke up, calling his old Master’s name. He sometimes dreamt of the way he died. He felt as though it was also his fault, that he could have prevented the Sith Lord Maul from destroying his only father figure.

It was all you could do, to sit with him, and try and calm his mind… but that night was harder. He had begun counting his failures as if they were stars, making them the only thing in the forefront of his mind, and rejecting anything that wasn’t his detrimental thoughts.

You sat with him until sunrise that day, but once the twin suns were over the dunes of everlasting sand, the day went on as normal. The small moments of grief and self loathing were forgotten.

It happened this way, only sometimes.

Something that brought you both peace on the bad days was going out to the hills and crests outside of the moisture farms specifically that being owned by Owen and Beru Lars. It would never be uttered aloud, for these thoughts brought on more episodes of sadness, but watching a small boy grow up in the sandy plains was always bittersweet. Though Luke wasn't a starpilot, or a jedi knight, or a cunning strategist... he reminded you so much of Anakin. You knew Anakin at this age, and all the years after. Even little gestures Luke sometimes made to his aunt and uncle, would send a pang of guilt through your chest. Anakin should be the one watching his son grow up. You all should be retired somewhere nice, like Naboo, with Padme watching over the twins as Anakin and Obi-Wan once again conversed like the brothers they used to be. Bittersweet, watching Luke learn to tend the farm like his uncle, instead of watching him play with his sister whom he knows nothing about.

Obi-Wan would never admit it either, but it was both healing and detrimental to observe Luke from a distance. He was closer to the boy's father than Owen ever was, and much more deserved the title of uncle... but it was not to be. Obi-Wan was a hunted man, and allowing Luke to be close to him could be dangerous.

Obi-Wan would bow his head sometimes after watching the boy, trying to make sense of how everything in his life could have lead to to this, and what could have possibly gone wrong that the galaxy was this bad. He could not even have a relationship with the son of his dearest friend.

Recently, he had delved into something of an addiction for him, something that was a grounding tool to help him realize he wasn’t going insane in these days of mundane work and internal chaos on this maker-forsaken planet. Others might see it as normal, but he had never been so insatiable before now. He craved one thing, constantly… you.

Whether it be through physical intimacy, or even small touches of your skin, he couldn’t get enough, and it was causing him to form strong habits that would not soon falter. You were of course all too happy to indulge him, as for a long time after you first came to these mountains, there was a block between you. The emotional force bond being broken disrupted many things, and that was one of them. You hoped sincerely that this was not just a rut he found himself in, and that it would only last so long. You’d missed the late nights, shared kisses and times of devotion to one another. He was such a gentle and skilled lover, anyone would have killed to know this side of him, but it was you he chose, again and again.

Though one half of the dyad was not felt in the force, he was still the love of your life, and you’d come to know him in a different way these past years. He was not necessarily a new person, but knowing him without the force, and without your constant ability of silent communication, he did become unfamiliar at times.

Still, he was Obi.

Always, he was Obi… even when everyone else used the name Ben, you would never give up the way you’d called upon him since you were but three years old. In public, he was just Ben Kenobi, who worked out in the dunes of Tatooine for a days wage… but in your eyes he was still the great protector of the republic, the General of the 212th legion, and a Master of the Jedi council. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

-

You were late again.

Not to work.

You didn’t tell Obi of your suspicions, feeling as though there could be a mixed reaction from whatever came of your condition, if you were indeed under the diagnosis you felt you were.

It had been ten years, and you were sure you’d retained internal damage that might prevent this outcome, but of course, the galaxy has seen far more impossible things come to fruition. Anakin’s mother conceived him without a man at all, so with the rate that your husband and yourself were going, it was almost bound to happen.

You left work earlier than usual, and gave an easy excuse to your employer as to why, and he of course was more than happy to oblige. You were a loyal and decent worker, so he never had any reason not to. There was a small clinic in Anchorhead, not as far advanced or technical as the one you were able to go to in Mos Eisley, but good enough that you would find out what you need to know, or what you were certain you already knew.

Being still deeply connected with the force, you were able to tell something was there, just like the first time, although now there was a slight difference that made you question it at first. Obi still had no idea, and how could he? You hadn’t let on to it at all and there wasn’t an ounce of strangeness to your behavior. Throw in the fact that he can no longer sense those kind of things, and you have a completely oblivious husband.

The medical droid who tended to you was outdated, but even with old mechanisms and past due needed upgrades, it deducted your symptoms to a diagnosis rather quickly.

You were eleven weeks pregnant, no doubt about it after some quick testing.

Though you were nervous of what this could mean for you, it was far more of a joy. You never thought this would be possible again, given the circumstances of the last time leaving you with injuries that should have made you completely unable to reproduce.

You were so excited as you went back into work, reeling from the information, and trying to think of ways to tell the father of this child that he was in-fact getting another chance at his dream. It wasn’t how you both had planned. You’d wanted to settle down amongst your friends, on a beautiful planet like Naboo. You had hoped for the freedom of the galaxy to give you the opportunities of a peaceful existence. Instead, you were stuck here, on Tatooine. The ugliest planet in the outer rim and much worse than you remember it from your first visit all those years ago. It was all for a reason, of course. Obi-Wan was a wanted man, in nearly every system there was a bounty on his head, with more than enough hunters out searching for him to bring his body dead or alive to the empire. You, of course, being legally dead and all, could go anywhere you wanted… but without him you saw little point in traveling away.

This child would mend the broken dreams you both had for the future, you were sure of it.

You went back about your work with a gleeful smile adorning your face, being extra friendly to patrons and even giving them a little extra for their buck. You couldn’t help the joy, it was too strong to keep bottled up for later. You were sure, though, it would still remain long into the day, and all the others after.

You’d been cleaning out a glass behind the counter when it happened. A group of robbers from out in Mos Eisley came rushing in, holding everyone at blaster point and shouting for them to get down. You grabbed a knife from the nearby drawer, trying to strategize through the force how to deescalate the situation without hurting anyone. Your skills were just the slightest bit rusty, even though you practiced whenever you got the chance. A knife wasn’t exactly your weapon of choice.

The leader of the group stepped forward to the owner of the bar, and told him to empty the credit holds into his sack, but the owner hesitated, turning your way as if asking what he should do. You started taking quick steps towards him, pushing him out of the line of the blaster before it could go off. You waited for them to start shooting, but instead heard the ignition of a lightsaber. Or at least, it sounded a hell of a lot like one.

You jumped to your feet, watching over the counter as the scene played out. There was a man, around your age, wielding a lightsaber to defeat the robbers. They all went down pretty quickly, except one whom the man didn’t see behind him. You called for him to watch out, but he didn’t have enough time to react, so you raised your hand, focusing all your force energy on throwing the last enemy to the wall before he hit the ground.

He turned to you, eyes wide and saber still ignited.

“Did you just-?” He narrowed his eyes in your direction, and something seemed to click in his head.

Nobody else had seen you do that, but him seeing it was enough.

The bar rang with cheers and clapping in applause for the Jedi, who had saved the people in the establishment from being harmed by the robbery. They all commended him, and you had half a mind to forget it ever happened, just go back to work, but the man was keen on speaking with you. Even after the owner, and your boss, had spent a rather long time thanking him and offering him solace in the place, he wouldn’t be done until he’d had a word.

You were mixing up celebratory drinks for a few patrons when he finally was able to corner you, standing over the bar and keeping his voice down.

“I know who you are,” he said softly, as if trying not to spook you away. Most Jedi were like rare animals nowadays. Almost extinct, and completely vulnerable to sudden attack.

You set the glasses onto a tray and made eye contact with him for a single second, sending a glare his way before you went out to the tables and served the drinks around. He stayed and waited at the bar, and when you came back he sighed out.

“I know this must be hard, but I haven’t seen another Jedi in so long,” he rambled, all under the guise of a whisper, of course. You wouldn’t lie, as much as you feared the empire for everything it has taken from you, it was almost a breath of fresh air to see there were others, who hadn’t been stomped out by their evil yet.

“I was never a Jedi,” you said, but ultimately, you knew, no matter what you said, he knew who you were. As strange as it sounds, being the padawan of a famous Jedi came with some sort of notoriety. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

“I know that it’s you, because you’re supposed to be dead,” he had seen your name on the list of the deceased Jedi, along with his own name on the list of hunted ones.

“I am dead.”

He isn’t sure what he was expecting you to say, maybe that you’d been like him, hiding for the last ten years and hoping that there would come a time when Jedi could arise again. But that wasn’t realistic. As long as the empire held rule over the galaxy, there could never be peace and freedom. Not for your kind, anyway.

“And I’m not coming back,” you added ominously, cleaning out the glasses that had just been set on the counter for you to deal with.

He stayed silent a few moments, but didn’t leave. Even if you didn’t speak to him, you understood why he lingered. The only Jedi you have in your life anymore is Obi-Wan, but he’s cut himself off from the force. There is no familiarity of what was. This man is probably on his own, and has been all this time. He craves the sense of normalcy your presence is probably bringing right now. Perhaps you crave it too, and maybe it’s the reason you don’t shoo him away.

“He’s here too, isn’t he?” He asked after a while.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you weren’t doing yourself any favors in gaslighting this poor man, but you’d built yourself a wall of protection, and it wasn’t going to come down so easily.

“You were inseparable,” he recalls, and he knows you understand him, and that you’re just being standoff-ish. “I always wished to have that relationship with my Master.”

“Believe me, the relationship was far different from what everyone assumed it to be,” You let out sarcastically, finally being able to let your guard down a bit, but only enough that you could interact with him in a way that wasn’t stingy. You’d keep all current details hidden. He wanted to rehash the past? Fine, you could give him that.

“What it ended up as isn’t any of my business, but from what I could tell, the laws of attachment didn’t exactly apply.”

You huffed out a breath, followed by a drawn out ‘Nope.’

You thoughts shifted a bit, to just how poorly you followed the rules. You’re carrying the man’s child for force’s sake. You were never much one for the laws of attachment.

The man before you had a dumbfounded face on, and you mentally slapped yourself. You hadn’t been guarding your thoughts. You haven’t had to in so long and before you realized you needed you, it all just slipped into the open air.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered, bowing his head as if he’d been the one to provoke you. In actuality, you’d pretty much offered it all up freely for him to take, and you didn’t even know what to do about it.

“Don’t be, it’s my fault… it’s just-“

“Been a long time?” He guessed, and you nodded in agreement. “I understand.”

And now a complete stranger knew some very personal things. Perhaps he wasn’t stranger, though. He knew you, and Obi-Wan, and remembered the order from its glory days. You both had a sense of shared trauma that somehow bonded you without ever speaking a word to each other before.

“How did you recognize me?” You asked him after another bout of silence. You were drying off the dishes, and figured that as long as he was here, you would make the most of it. This clearly wasn’t an everyday occurrence. “I’m almost certain I’ve never met you up close before.”

He smiled, nodding to your hair, swept back into a style you’d become fond of lately. “Never met you, but I’d seen you around. You were rather well known among the order.”

“Guess those are the perks of being his padawan, huh?” You’d echoed your thoughts from earlier, and he chuckled.

“He was the person that everyone wanted to be. Not just a great Jedi, but a good man.”

Of course. You knew that better than anyone. He cared so deeply about everything he set his hand to. He was kind and gentle, though sometimes sarcastic and witty, but that too made him more likable in your eyes.

“He’s not changed in that aspect,” you let him know, and he took it as motive to tease you.

“I knew he’d be here,” he returned, and you looked up and laughed a bit. He’d caught you there. “He’d never left your side.”

You didn’t respond, just let that statement sink in. You guessed that many more Jedi in the order had perceived your relationship for what it really was, but never said anything. Maybe they were rooting for you, or maybe you gave them hope. It was all up for interpretation, but the one thing you could never deny was the realness in it. He’s never left your side, and he never will. Of that, you can be absolutely sure and certain.

When it was time to close up the bar that night, you’d left before the owner, making sure he was alright after the fiasco of the day. You passed your new and unlikely friend the Jedi on the way out as well, giving a simple nod that spoke more than just words. You knew he needed to talk with you, and as much as you will neglect to admit it, you needed to talk to him, too.

You found yourself at the stables before sundown, meeting with Obi by your shared Eopie, ready to go home.

You figured that the bundle of joy news could wait until things were a bit more settled. You didn’t know how the scene of today would go in the long run, or if imperials had been alerted, but you wanted to know about all of that before trying to make future plans for the child you were carrying.

He saw you enter the sectional, and smiled to you with that adoring look in his eye, the one that never faded.

“You won’t believe what happened today.”

-

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[ninjigma]

RexObi Week Part 1/7 - Next

Day 1: “Rise and shine, sleeping beauty.” Track: 'Who Do You Love' (E) - Mariana's Trench (Spotify / YouTube)

The sun was warm on Obi-Wan's face, splitting through the gently swaying curtains of the open balcony door. The blankets he was still tucked beneath were cool but heavy, and he was loath to open his eyes at all and break the hazy feeling of still semi asleep. It was a peace he hadn't known in a long while so why would he ever want to break it?

Well, there was perhaps one reason.

Silently there was a new weight on the bed. The sun that had been valiantly fighting to wake him was blocked by shadow, and Obi-Wan hummed absently at the relief, shifting his head slightly more toward the weight he recognized long before they spoke.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty."

Obi-Wan's smile couldn't be helped, and he knew now there was no chance to feign sleep even if he wanted to. "I am not sure who you are talking to my dear. I am neither asleep nor do I think my bed head looks beautiful."

"Well," Rex's voice was soft, not wanting to break the quiet moment as he set something further down the bed and leaned closer. "You have definitely slept in. Missed the breakfast cart and everything. And-" at this Obi-Wan felt some fingers brush against the wrist tucked near his head. "If I didn't think the messy look was beautiful, you may be out of luck."

Obi-Wan finally couldn't stop himself. The loving jab was just enough to prompt quiet laughter to bubble out of him, eyes opening to finally take in Rex. The clone was in fact leaned towards him, stomach down and only wearing tight black neoprene shorts that definitely didn't give Obi-Wan any quick reminders of the night before. He focused instead on how Rex was in fact reaching out, the warm fingers brushing over him also holding a cup of gentling steaming caf. Steam that rose and swirled up past Rex's face framed in short golden curls that had dared to grow out in the last few weeks, boldly caught the sun streaming behind him and used it to light up around his head like a true halo. And the more Obi-Wan looked, the more his smile grew and eyes crinkled, until Rex was tilting his head and knitting darker brows together. 

"What? No further protest sir?"

"Maybe I just finally learned not to protest such things?"

Rex pulled a face of disbelief that made Obi-Wan out right laugh this time, rolling more on his side and righting himself to better see that Rex had also brought a caddy with baked goods and fruit, along with another steaming caf. "Obi-Wan Kenobi," Rex started, the full name falling from his lips a rarity that still made something in Obi-Wan's stomach flip. "I would believe that just as much as I would believe you saying you had become a sith."

Obi-Wan hummed, and slowly brought his own hand up to cup over Rex's jaw, the clone no longer hesitating to lean into the touch. "Well, when it is you saying it, I find it has become much easier to believe."

A breath. Their eyes locked together in honesty, in growth; in how Obi-Wan gave out a bit more trust and Rex offered a bit more faith, as if they hadn't both already committed so much so readily. Somehow they still had further to go, and did so with all the excitement of a youth neither had truly experienced. 

No. Right now, with Rex taking a breath to make a retort Obi-Wan knew would make him laugher brighter then he had in years, the oh so great High General Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi felt like nothing more then the young fool in love that Rex had made him into.

@rexobiweek

[rainintheevening]

Had a bit a gloomy week… would it be to much to ask for some Qui-Gon Anakin angst from After all? Not a full fledged chapter maybe like a little scene or something??????

Absolutely! I'm busting out so much writing this month, it's insane, so what's a little more with characters I adore? (Hey, that rhymes.)

Promises of Fools AU, so Qui-Gon survives Naboo. Anakin is around 12 here. A little angst, a little fluff, a little hug... Hope this makes you smile! And I wrote this between the hours of midnight and 2 am, so excuse me if it's mush. ^^'

From 100 ways to say ILY

2. "It reminded me of you."

Anakin didn't bother knocking; he didn't need to with Qui-Gon, even if it was late.

The floor was silky smooth under his bare feet as he padded through the dark, empty living space toward the bedroom.

The light from Qui-Gon's glowbee was a soft yellow, and Anakin lingered in the doorway, watching the man sitting on the side of the bed, combing out his long grey and silver hair.

"Is everything alright, Ani?"

Qui-Gon always said 'Ani' so gently, or warmly, or happily. Anakin had to clear his throat, as he stepped further into the room.

"Yes. Obi-Wan’s gone to sleep, but I wanted to see you."

The comb hit a knot, and Qui-Gon paused, wincing.

Anakin hesitated, then asked shyly, "Could I help? I used to comb out Mom's hair sometimes. She even let me braid it, when I was littler." He stopped, embarrassed, wondering if that was a thing the other padawans might laugh at him for. But Qui-Gon wasn't one of the other padawans.

Qui-Gon was smiling softly at him. "Thank you, Ani, I would like that."

His words were simple, but something deeper shone in his eyes, and as Anakin moved forward to take the comb, he thrust his other hand into the pocket of his sleep pants.

"I got something for you. I found it in one of the markets we passed through."

Qui-Gon tilted his head curiously. "Why thank you, Anakin," he started, as Anakin laid the small gift in his large palm, and pulled his hand away.

"It reminded me of you," Anakin added.

Qui-Gon went quite still. Staring.

Anakin didn't know what else to do, so he stared too.

Perhaps four centimeters tall, the little stone tree glowed like a green star in the soft light. Anakin tilted his head one way, then another, admiring the way the shades shifted from nearly yellow to almost black. He liked it somewhere in the middle best though, where the colours of Qui-Gon's lightsaber, sun shining on grass, and the Verdé Nebula Cluster all existed at once.

Words seemed to stick in his throat, but he had no idea what the words were, he didn't know how to explain that something had turned his head, that the sun had come out from behind a cloud at the right moment, and all he'd thought was: Grandpa Qui-Gon.

Not 'Master', not simply 'Qui-Gon'. Grandpa Qui-Gon.

The tree was a sturdy thing, it's trunk thick and it's branches spread wide. The leaves were impossibly delicate, and the closer you looked, the more of them you saw as individuals. It looked so incredibly so thoroughly alive.

Obi-Wan was his Master, Anakin thought, a rough old word turned into something soft, and strong, and loving. A word that somehow said everything ordinary words like 'father' or 'brother' or 'friend' or even 'teacher' couldn't.

But Qui-Gon was different, Qui-Gon was... Grandpa. It was the same as when Obi-Wan called him 'Ada'. Different. Special.

Anakin didn't know how to say any of that, though. So he just clutched the wooden comb tightly, and peered up into Qui-Gon's face. He'd been awfully quiet...

Anakin must have made some sound, because Qui-Gon looked up quickly, blinking so that a few tears slid down his cheeks into his beard.

He said nothing at first, simply pulled Anakin in against his side, wrapped one arm tightly around him. Anakin went willingly, gentle with where he put his hands, but wanting to return the embrace.

"I missed you," Anakin mumbled into the man's shirt.

"And I, you," Qui-Gon whispered by his ear, voice husky, and a little uneven. In the Force Anakin sensed his rush of love and affection, mixed with sadness, and Anakin let it thrill through him.

Involuntarily, he pulled back, tilted his head to check Qui-Gon's face just above his. "You missed me? Not just Obi-Wan?"

Qui-Gon's eyes were blue, but all Anakin could see was gold and green reflected in the gloss of tears.

"Of course, dear one!" The brush of his beard, the press of his lips on Anakin’s forehead startled the boy. "It's too quiet without you. Too cold."

Cold? What did that-?

"But thank you, Anakin." Qui-Gon held up the carved tree, turned this way and that. The colours seemed to flash like stars. "This is one of the most beautiful things anyone has ever given me. I will treasure it always."

His voice was solemn now, almost reverent, and Anakin leaned into that, let it settle him like earth around roots.

Qui-Gon's arm around him was warm and strong, and Anakin sighed, suddenly glad to be here. Glad to be home.

"Now, Ani," Qui-Gon said, lightening his tone. "You said you wished to help with my hair."

"Oh, yeah." Anakin was glad for the reminder. He slipped out from under Qui-Gon’s arm, and scrambled up onto the bed, shuffling around till he knelt at Qui-Gon’s back. "I'll be careful," he promised.

"Thank you, Ani," Qui-Gon said simply.

Anakin started at the bottom, silvery strands parting easily at his touch. It took a minute for him to feel totally comfortable, never having actually done this before.

He'd seen Obi-Wan take care of his master’s– his father's hair many times, especially at the start when Qui-Gon was so terribly wounded. He was used to Obi-Wan’s gentle hands himself, weaving the strands of his padawan braid again and again.

Now it was Anakin’s turn.

He settled into a steady rhythm, working his way upward to Qui-Gon's shoulders. Qui-Gon's breathing was steady, and he sat straight and still.

Straightening to gently run the comb down from Qui-Gon's scalp, the last few strokes, Anakin looked over the man's shoulder to see the tree still sitting in his palm. It made Anakin think of a star: tiny to look at, but a closer look could show a whole new world.

Anakin smoothed his hand down Qui-Gon's hair, and he wondered suddenly if there had been that much white or silver a month and a half ago, when he and Obi-Wan had left.

A strange stab of fear went through his chest, and he leaned forward suddenly, put his arms around Qui-Gon's neck, held him tightly.

Qui-Gon's only reaction was to lean backwards into him, relaxing the rigid posture his condition usually demanded, and letting Anakin hold him.

Anakin pressed his face into Qui-Gon’s hair, inhaled the smells of Temple issue shampoo, and sapir tea.

I love you, he thought, but couldn't speak.

"Anakin? Ada?"

So focussed were they on each other's presence, Obi-Wan’s voice startled them.

He came in, smiling softly, and Anakin’s heart leapt to see him.

"Master!"

"Have you come to collect your padawan?" Qui-Gon asked, standing up carefully as Anakin hopped off the bed.

"I was wondering if he'd fallen asleep with you." Obi-Wan reached to squeeze Anakin’s shoulder. "You should come sleep, Anakin. It was a long three days' travel."

Anakin tried to swallow a yawn, but it cracked his jaw, and Obi-Wan chuckled, before he yawned himself.

"I think the Force is telling us something," Qui-Gon teased, but Anakin caught something in his voice, something...

"Can we sleep here tonight?" He pulled away from Obi-Wan, and pretended to stagger to the bed, flopping down as if he would never move again. "I'm too tired to walk back," he mumbled into the blankets.

There was a strange quiet moment behind him—he could feel Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon having one of those wordless conversations—and he held quite still, waiting, hoping...

"Well, who's going to be in the middle then?"

Anakin lifted his head with a spurt of joy. "Qui-Gon," he announced firmly. Grandpa, he'd almost said, but he wasn't quite ready for that yet.

Obi-Wan laughed, and the room seemed to fill with warmth. "You've got the right idea, my padawan."

There had been other times they'd done this, all three of them sandwiched together into one bed, times of pain and sorrow and worry. This was not one of those times.

Anakin curled into Qui-Gon’s side, listening to his and Obi-Wan's deep breathing. They were already asleep.

The little tree on the nightstand still held some of the light's glow, even with the glowbee extinguished, and Anakin smiled.

He was happy. He was safe. He was...

Asleep.

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

When Obi-Wan says, "Goodbye, Darth," at the end of the Kenobi series, he's accepting Vader's claim that Anakin is dead, and that Vader, not Obi-Wan, is the one who killed him. He's let go of the crippling guilt that he's carried for the past ten years.

But. In A New Hope, when Ben is talking to Luke about his father, he says, "A young Jedi named Darth Vader, a former pupil of mine, betrayed and murdered your father."

Obi-Wan no longer blames himself for killing Anakin, but after all this time he is still taking accountability for part of it: he's saying, "I had a role in this. I might not have killed Anakin--but I helped create the thing that did." He's paying one last respect to the memory of his good friend. And determining that he will do what he must to enable Luke to do what he could not: bring Anakin back to life.

[x-childish-x]

could i request an obi wan x femreader fanfic where anakin says, “I see the way you look at her master. That’s how I look at padme everyday,” to obi wan? and then later in the story, padme and anakin say prompt #1 to each other (from the main prompts list) after seeing obi wan and reader sharing a kiss? i hope this isn’t too long sorry (T_T)

That Look

Pairing: Obi-Wan x fem!reader

Fandom: Star Wars

Warnings: FLUFF, kissing, female reader, librarian reader

Word Count: 1,305

A/N: AHHH! THANK YOU FOR THIS REQUEST IT WAS SO CUTE! Oh my gosh, I'm sorry if you didn't want a librarian!reader but the idea of Obi-Wan with a librarian reader just melts me in a different way. Anywayssss, I really hope you enjoy this, and that it's what you wanted. I appreciate all the support, feedback is ALWAYS appreciated! Sorry, it’s a bit long!

Summary: Anakin teases Obi-Wan about the look he gives you, not knowing it'd help your relationship with Obi-Wan move to the next level.

PART TWO

(gif not mine!)

"Hello, Master Kenobi, Master Skywalker, Padawan Tano," You smiled softly at the three Jedi's entering your library.

"Hello (Y/n)," The trio said in unison.

"So," You started, walking from your cart where you'd been putting books back into their spots, "How can I help the three of you?"

"Well, we--" 

Anakin was quick to cut off his Master, a large smirk on his face, "Obi-Wan wanted to come to see you. He insisted the books Ahsoka would need we'd only find here, even though I got mine from the upstairs library in the temple."

A blush crept onto yours and Obi-Wan's cheeks, making Ahsoka and Anakin smile, "Well, I uh... well."

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, quickly stepping in for Obi-Wan's stuttering clutter of words, "I wanted to come to visit you anyways. I know I still haven't returned that book on the history of the Old Republic."

You smiled at the younger girl, "Oh, it's fine, Ahsoka, I'll extend your date. I assume you need the next level of Jedi books?"

The young girl nodded, "Please."

"Of course, I'll get them real quick."

Anakin smirked, patting Obi-Wan's back in an attempt to make the older man stop giving you literal heart eyes. The Jedi Knight gave his Master a shove, sending him after you as Ahsoka laughed at Master Kenobi's awkwardness. It was something she felt she hadn't truly seen until just now, watching the older man stumble after you with a slight hop in his step.

"(Y/n)!" Obi-Wan called, making you turn to him with a smile, "Sorry, eh.. about Anakin, you know how he can be."

"It's fine Obi-Wan," You felt a blush slowly begin to creep up your neck and onto your cheeks as the Jedi-Master fell into step beside you, "I was hoping you'd come to visit me soon anyways. It's quite lonely being the only one running the lower division of the Jedi Archives." 

The older man smiled widely, taking a second to watch you struggle to reach one specific book Ahsoka needed. Smugly, the Jedi used the force to bring the book out and into your outstretched hand. You mumbled a quiet thank you before moving to grab the last book Ahsoka needed.

"(Y/n)," Obi-Wan spoke suddenly, taking the books from your arms and clearing his throat, "I was... I was wondering if you'd like to... grab coffee sometime?"

A smile broke across your face as you nodded, "I'd love that, Obi-Wan."

With that, the two of you walked back towards the younger Jedi's. Obi-Wan handed the books to Ahsoka, and Anakin simply smiled at you, watching the way Obi-Wan's gaze fell back onto you. You made some small talk with Ahsoka and Anakin before the trio declared it was time to leave, and you retreated to your cart, putting away books.

"You have that look," Anakin teased the older man immediately after they sent Ahsoka to drop her books off in her room.

"What look?" Obi-Wan asked, his eyebrows scrunching together.

"You know," Anakin smiled, nudging the older man, "That look."

"Which is??" Obi-Wan questioned, rubbing a hand to his chin.

" Oh please, Obi-Wan, I see the way you look at her, Master. That's how I look at Padme every day," Anakin scoffed, smirking at his Master.

"I have no clue what you're talking about," Obi-Wan replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Please!" Anakin laughed, "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You're a flustered little boy around (y/n)!"

"Anakin, someone could hear you," Obi-Wan warned, his eyes looking around casually, "Then we'd both be in trouble."

Anakin smirked, turning to his Master, "Are you saying you're opposed to the idea of leaving the Order for her?"

"N-no..." Obi-Wan sighed, "If she said the word, I'd leave the Order immediately. But she's not my girlfriend."

"Please, Master! You don't fool anyone by saying that!" Ahsoka's voice rang out as she joined the two older men.

Obi-Wan sighed, turning and beginning to lead the two away, "Why am I talking to the two of you about this?"

"Well--"

Obi-Wan quickly raised his hand, cutting off Anakin, "Rhetorical question, Anakin."

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

It'd been a few days since your coffee date with Obi-Wan, and it'd become quite routine for him to walk you to and from work each day. His former Padawan picked up on it quickly but stayed quiet on the matter. Anakin didn't want to be scolded by Padme again, not after her lecture about teasing the older man for finally being happy.

Anakin just happened to be lucky enough to live in the same apartment complex as you, so he got to see Obi-Wan drop you off each night, which he enjoyed. Maker knew he couldn't wake up early enough to see Obi-Wan pick you up to take you to work, missing all the quick cheek-kisses his Master would give you.

You knew you liked Obi-Wan immensely, and you felt it was mutual judging by his actions. While you knew Obi-Wan was a Jedi and technically couldn't have any connections, you still hoped that something would change. That the Jedi Master would make a move, confirm it was all mutual, and just kiss you! God, you just wanted him to press his lips to yours! You weren't getting any younger, and the war wasn't getting any better!

"Look," Anakin mumbled, elbowing Padme, "There they are."

"Oh, Ani, won't you leave Obi-Wan alone!" Padme rolled her eyes at her husband's behavior, but she still looked down from their balcony, watching you and Obi-Wan interact.

"Thank you, again," You smiled widely at Obi-Wan, "For the ride."

"Of course," Obi-Wan returned the smile, pulling your hand up to his lips to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles, "It was my pleasure."

"I don't work tomorrow," You reminded Obi-Wan with a slight pout.

His eyes dropped to your lips, admiring the way your bottom lip jutted out just slightly, "That's truly a shame,"

He gulped, his eyes struggling to focus back on yours as he watched your lips move as you spoke, "But I'll see you the day after, right? Early for our coffee date?"

Obi-Wan nodded, smiling softly as his eyes finally locked back onto yours, "Of course."

A peaceful silence filled the air, and like most times when you were left in silence with the Jedi Master, you found your eyes drifting to his lips and wondering what they'd feel like against your own. You knew your 'goodbye' was lasting far too long now, but you hated saying goodbye when you wouldn't see him the next day. After a few more seconds--and noticing that Obi-Wan's eyes were also on your lips--you felt a spike of confidence rise within you, and you let out a dramatic sigh.

"So, Master Kenobi, are you gonna kiss me, or am I going to have to kiss you myself?"

A soft laugh fell from his lips as he quickly leaned across his speeder, pulling you in until your lips met. It was gentle and full of passion, exactly how you had always imagined it. He held you like you were the galaxy's finest jewel as he kissed you, only making you swoon more at the Jedi's lips molded with yours.

Above, Anakin was frantically gripping Padme's arm, who herself, was frozen in shock.

"Oh, maker! Maker! I knew it, kriff I knew it!" Anakin cheered quietly, "I called it, oh, Obi-Wan is so getting teased tomorrow! I knew it! I told you, they're good for each other."

Padme smiled at her husband's childish reaction, "You think so?"

"Please!" Anakin laughed, "They were destined to be together!"

Padme simply giggled, walking back into their apartment with a shake of her head. She couldn't say she disagreed because Obi-Wan and you truly were a perfect pair. A pair that was destined to be together.

[primasveraas-writing]

Star Wars Preference- Whole World in Your Hands

Request: “A cute idea but how do the characters react to the reader saying ‘I can fit the whole universe in my hands’ then holding the said character’s face between their hands”

This is so late, but thank you for your patience! I hope you enjoy!

XXX

Anakin:

Anakin melts at this- cheesiness works on him. Perhaps he knows how sappy it is, but his eyes soften and he grins at you before wrapping you in a big hug and kissing you. He doesn’t let you forget that you used this line on him and you always remind him that it worked. It becomes something of an inside joke between you, as well as a long-winded pet name for Anakin (“How are you, light of my life, my whole universe in human form?”). He loves it every time.

Obi-wan:

The best he can do is roll his eyes at you. Obi-wan very much appreciates the sentiment, but he also can’t resist teasing you about it. Sure, he rewards you with a kiss, but after he starts calling you all sorts of over-the-top pet names, you garner the impression that your partner is poking fun at you. Nevertheless, Obi-wan is a massive flirt and above all else, totally in love with you- so while he might not show it outwardly, he appreciates you telling him how much he means to you.

Padmé:

She laughs- it’s one of the most delightful sounds in the universe- and leans in to kiss you. That’s your favorite type of kiss with Padmé, when you can feel her smiling against your lips. She responds in kind, telling you in hushed tones how much you mean to her, how lucky she feels that she can call you hers and wake up next to you every day. It’s sweet and gentle, and the moment very much reminds you of why you fell in love with Padmé in the first place.

Luke:

Luke smiles like a fool, grinning widely and chuckling. He draws you closer in his arms and affirms that he feels the same way, too. He doesn’t let you go for a long time, and you realize just how much this declaration means to him. It’s the quiet moments that you both cherish the most, when it’s just the two of you and nothing else, no fighting or responsibility or galactic divide. Instead, you and Luke enjoy a few peaceful minutes together, wrapped around each other and content in your company.

Leia:

Leia serves you a bemused expression- but when she looks into your eyes teeming with love, she cracks first, sighing in exasperation. She thanks you, and you try your hardest not to smile, but then she pulls you into a hug and rests her head against your shoulder, lingering there. Leia may not be as prone to mushy declarations of feeling, but she still loves you and it touches her heart to know how much she means to you.

Han:

Han doesn’t react- not a single muscle on his face twitches. After ten full seconds of silence, he finally just sighs and pecks you on the cheek. This is what makes you laugh, and you tease his lack of reaction. He only sighs and shrugs at you, before muttering under his breath that he “loves you too” even if you’re “the biggest sap in the whole galaxy.” He is, very secretly, pleased to hear it, though.

Rey:

You’re in luck- Rey’s never heard that one before. Her face lights up with a brilliant smile, and she laughs, her nose scrunching. Rey makes no effort to move, but leans in for a kiss with her face still held between your hands. Her earnestness makes you giggle too, especially when Rey repeats your line back to you, telling you again and again how much you mean to her. Your heart swells with love, and neither you nor Rey can wipe the grins off your faces for the rest of the day.

Finn: 

Nearly imperceptibly, Finn softens, but you can see in his eyes that he’s excited to hear the adoring words. He tells you that he loves you, too, and brings you in for a long hug. Finn knows you mean it, so little else matters, and you’re happy to tell him this again and again. It never loses value- you always want Finn to feel loved and appreciated, and he’s overjoyed to reciprocate the same for you.

Poe:

Poe can’t help but tease you, grinning wickedly and hugging you tight. He peers at you with laughter in his eyes, looping his arms around your neck. “You’re my whole universe too, baby,” he promises, and you know he means it despite his teasing tone. Poe holds you against him, humming happily and swaying gently. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and all you can think about is how very much you love him.

[willowcrowned]

y'know what's an au of yours that i absolutely love? time-travelling luke and leia adopt obi-wan after melinda/daan. if you have any Thoughts™ i would be delighted to hear them

Full disclosure I totally forgot this AU even existed and had to go check my list but thank you SO much because I adore the Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon dynamic in this and it's such a treat to get to think about this group again.

-

Things are... better after Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon talk— more settled, maybe, like Qui-Gon isn't constantly on edge, waiting for the moment to strike. Luke and Leia and Satine come back, and quickly, just like they said they would, and they escape again, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon in tow.

One morning, Luke wakes up to see Qui-Gon guiding Obi-Wan through katas, Leia watching them with the sort of intensity she reserves for Sith Lords, or a really, really drunk Han. Luke's not insecure enough to feel threatened by Qui-Gon (well, other than when the man is standing over him with his lightsaber out, looking very stormy and serious, but he's also got almost a foot on Luke, so Luke is chalking that one up to biology and leaving it there), but a stab of guilt wracks him— that he can't be the master Obi-Wan needs, that he's been keeping Obi-Wan from who he should have been for so, so long.

Then Obi-Wan looks over at him and grins, and Luke smiles back (because how can he not), and the feeling is forgotten, even if it's not gone.

Months later, when Satine is safely delivered to Coruscant, aid requisitioned for Mandalore, the four of them stand on the steps of the Jedi Temple, white statues looming high above them.

"It's right," Leia says in an undertone, so quiet only Luke can hear her. "It's so right here."

And he knows what she's thinking of because he can see it too— the Imperial Palace, cruel and dark and wrong, built upon foundations of blood. He'd come there only once, after the war, and he'd fled within seconds. He doesn't know how Leia endured it while she took it apart, legislative stone by stone.

Coruscant's sky is a blinding, brilliant, blue, and there's a slight breeze that passes by them, making their hair and robes flutter.

It wouldn't be so bad, Luke thinks, to leave Obi-Wan here. They can't stay— not while Palpatine is in power, not while they're taking him down— but it's good here, for all the mistakes that were made. There is peace and gentleness in the Temple, and that is something that neither he nor Leia can give to Obi-Wan. Their paths were forged in steel and blood years and years ago, with the death of Alderaan. There is no turning now.

He looks to Obi-Wan, opening his mouth, only to find a strange expression on Obi-Wan's face.

"You're leaving me behind," Obi-Wan says, eyes wide and clear, as if they're reflecting the sky.

"I—" Luke starts, because it's better for him here, safer for him here— because Qui-Gon knows what he's doing far more than Luke does, because he can offer something beyond raw power and bumbling direction, because, in the end, he cares for Obi-Wan as much as Luke or Leia.

"No," Leia says, and Luke swears he sees a look of agreement pass between her and Qui-Gon, an acknowledgement, maybe, or a hastily-constructed plan. "No," she repeats, vehement. "We don't leave people behind."

Obi-Wan looks at her in the same funny way Leia has, like he's staring right into her, and nods. He believes her.

And then he turns to Luke.

"I—" Luke says again. "I'm not your kind of Jedi." It sounds weak, even to his own ears, but it's the truth. The sort of Jedi Obi-Wan wants to become— he's not that. He's something else— a warrior more than a peacekeeper— and he doesn't know how to be anything else.

The tense line of Obi-Wan's shoulders relaxes, and he raises an eyebrow at Luke, something he must have picked up from Qui-Gon. "Well I know that." He crosses his arms, and the look on his face is so Leia that Luke wants to laugh. "We don't leave people behind, so I'm not leaving you, temple or no temple."

Luke's gaze darts to Qui-Gon, expecting to see frustration, maybe, or even anger. Instead he sees resignation— and a strange sort of anticipation.

"I was thinking," Qui-Gon says, and neither Obi-Wan nor Leia look surprised at what he says next, "that I might come with you."

Luke turns to Leia to see a grimace on her face, and then to Obi-Wan to see delight shining through on his.

"Yes, please," Obi-Wan replies, and oh. Well. That changes things.

"If you must," Leia adds, and Luke is sure they're meant to catch the flick of her eyes skyward.

Luke looks at Obi-Wan, and at the dark, cool, entrance to the temple, and back at their group, clustered under the sun of the Coruscanti sky.

"Okay," he says, and the relief that floods through the rest of them is almost equal to the relief he feels. "Yeah. You can come."

[inkformyblood]

i have not yet learned to hold you

Cody and Obi-Wan flee from the newly formed Empire and the shadows that wear Cody’s face. They travel as refugees, war-torn and clinging to each other.

Day 04 Undercover/Undercover as a Couple

Pairing: Codywan TW: violence/intrusive thoughts

@codywanweek

It would be so easy to break his General’s neck. 

Obi-Wan was slack against Cody’s shoulder, his breathing ragged as if he was trapped in a nightmare. His head lolled with every rumble of the transport, swaying with every jerk and shudder that passed through the decrepit ship, but he didn’t wake, wouldn’t wake.

He had fallen asleep barely moments after they had sat down, tucked into a corner where the air clung to the thick scent of engine oil and the metal burned as frost unfurled across it. But he had slumped against Cody, uncaring of the danger that it put him in, trusting him after everything he had tried to do—

Obi-Wan was in danger, and it only grew every second that Cody remained by his side. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to leave.

It had been simple enough to slip onto the transport — merely two exhausted figures amongst many — but even that small use of the Force seemed to have drained Obi-Wan. He had sagged the moment the man with the datapad stepped away, content with the deception Obi-Wan had planted in his mind. Cody had reached for him without thinking, old instincts overriding the newer urge to slip his concealed blaster from his holster, press it to Obi-Wan’s temple and shoot. 

The ship shuddered, wordless cries of discomfort echoing through the darkness before they were silenced, tinged with exhaustion, and Obi-Wan groaned, the sound becoming trapped in his throat before he settled once more. 

He looked tired. 

The war had left its mark on them both as the years unfurled with no sign of slowing, but this ran deeper. The way Obi-Wan moved was slower, more deliberate, and he had curled himself around Cody as they had walked. Landing at the spaceport had been a risk even though the ship they had managed to steal from Grievous' supply had barely had enough fuel to break through the atmosphere. Death and destruction was everywhere, from the weary faces of the children watching them as they had passed, and watching them even now — their eyes too old for their faces — to the scorch marks from blasters littering the buildings Cody could identify with barely a glance.

The sound of footsteps, careful but deliberate, drew Cody out of his dark thoughts, his head tipping to one side as he listened. They weren’t the heavy methodical movements of a soldier, instead stumbling, pausing whenever the ship trembled around them, but they were drawing closer. 

As carefully as he could, Cody reached over, tucking Obi-Wan’s head further into the hollow of his shoulder, the other man’s breath damp against his skin. The urge burned through him again, a passing thought that raked its claws across his mind that he could cut Obi-Wan’s throat and sit like this as his General bled out against him, but he pushed it down, curling his free hand into a fist and cutting half-moons into his palm. He smoothed the edge of one of his scarves down, tucking it beneath Obi-Wan’s chin before drawing a section over his mouth — so easy just to press and feel him gasp and choke — to hide his face.

Obi-Wan, for all of his notoriety, wasn’t as easily identified. Cody, however, had one of the most well-known faces in the galaxy, and the twist of laughter in his chest was a surprise. He had thought he had forgotten how to laugh in the face of the events of the previous days. 

One of the scarves, identifiable by touch alone in the dim light, was woollen and striped a combination of 501st blue and 212th orange, and Cody pulled it up over most of his face, catching a linen scarf as it slipped and tucking it back into place. It wouldn’t pass a close inspection, but he could only hope it would do for now. Obi-Wan deserved whatever scraps of sleep he could get.

The woman who moved into view was unremarkable, a Wroonian woman with skin the same colour as sea-foam and her dark hair pinned up, but several curls had sprung free. Her smile was hesitant, but warm, revealing a dark gap of a missing tooth. “For the journey.”

She offered them a small flask, the liquid inside sloshing, and Cody could only stare. He could smell the sweet tartness of the berries, one final summer harvest, and his mouth watered, the words catching in his hollowed-out throat before he could speak. “We have nothing to give in return.”

“I ask for nothing, only offer kindness.”

She stretched out once more, the flask held by the edges of her fingers and Cody knew. 

How many people had she offered the same kindness to on this ship, and how many had accepted the final whisper of a home now gone? There was still liquid, so each took only a mouthful and moved along in gratitude. 

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he wordlessly reached for the flask. She stepped back, turning to look back down the ship, and Cody could have wept at the unexpected gentleness of this woman whose name he did not know, and who he would likely never see again. 

“My love?” Cody pressed the edge of his forefinger to Obi-Wan’s cheek, his hand curved to keep the flask steady. The endearment felt strange, lacking the familiarity of the Mando’a Cody repeated in his mind but had never given voice to. It had always been something for after the war, and yet here they were, and the war was over, and Cody couldn’t say it. Wouldn’t say it. Obi-Wan deserved someone whose every thought towards him was filled with love as sweet as honey instead of ideas of how to kill him twining through at the edges. 

Obi-Wan woke in fractions, a slow blink of his eyes — the brilliant blue now clouded and filled with a grief that was still raw and present — then a gentle sigh, pressing his face further into Cody’s neck. 

“What’s happening?” His voice was quiet, barely audible above the rumble of the engines, and Cody turned towards him, trying to shield him from everything, including himself. 

“A drink. If you want some.”

Cody watched the woman, waited for the gleam of her eyes to turn away before pulling down the scarf enough to take a mouthful. It burst on his tongue like the final days of summer on Kamino when the sea would rage, and he could slip away from training for a moment as the lights and cameras flickered and died to pluck fruit from the carefully regimented gardens. Only one drink, one memory, and Cody pushed it to the forefront of his mind, sweeping the thoughts of death beneath it. Obi-Wan’s thoughts brushed against his mind, the sensation akin to a kiss ghosting over his temple, and he hummed in quiet, exhausted joy. 

Their fingers brushed when Obi-Wan took the flask, and Cody’s cheeks burned in answer. They were pressed together from ankle to hip to shoulder, and Obi-Wan’s head still rested on Cody’s shoulder, but that single touch as Cody felt Obi-Wan draw comfort from his memory threatened to break him utterly. 

Obi-Wan pressed himself up, one hand firmly planted on Cody’s thigh, just enough to drink before passing the flask back. 

Cody waited until he was settled, their faces tucked back behind the flimsy fabric shields before extending the flask back. “Thank you.”

“Thank you. You’re lucky to have each other. May your peace find you on the road.”

“May your peace travel with you.” Obi-Wan’s voice had grown in strength, and the woman paused, her eyes widening in delight as a grin burst across her face at the traditional response. She bowed once before moving back up the ship, her steps lighter now. 

“Always full of surprises,” Cody murmured, pressing his cheek to the top of Obi-Wan’s skull, feeling the other man laugh more than hearing it. 

“I’d hate to ever bore you, my dear.” Obi-Wan drew his hand away from Cody’s thigh, and he missed the single spot of contact, his skin feeling like it was burning where Obi-Wan had touched him deliberately rather than convenience. “It’s a lovely memory you showed me.”

“I hadn’t thought about that in years,” Cody laughed despite himself. His grief was still too raw to examine, the wave of sorrow in his chest barely tampered behind his focus. He could grieve later, allow himself to sink to the floor and scream for his fallen vode but only when they were safe. “It’s strange how your memories work, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan hummed in quiet, exhausted agreement, curling in closer to Cody’s side and, as delicately as he could, Cody raised his arm to wrap it around Obi-Wan’s shoulders. 

“If you—“ Obi-Wan paused, and Cody watched him think out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t sense the Force, but all of the clones had spent enough time around the Jedi to pick up a base knowledge. Cody had only watched his brothers turn and walk away from him, wiped clean as neatly as any droid would be, and die in a thousand different ways since the war started and even before.

Obi-Wan had felt every agonising second of it.

“Your pain isn’t any less than mine.” Obi-Wan’s voice was hushed, barely louder than a whisper, and Cody turned, catching a glimpse of eyes as blue as the ocean out of the corner of his eye. “We’re both grieving our losses.

“But I wanted to ask, would you let me share a memory with you?”

Obi-Wan had shared fragments with him before after Cody had agreed he could, never before. It was a strange sensation to be in the middle of battle to glance out over the smoke-covered fields and know where Obi-Wan was, feel the wind rush past his face, letting Cody hold out his hand to catch his saber once again.

But that had been purely tactical, and Cody couldn’t let himself dwell on the fact Obi-Wan never asked anyone else, only him.

“I’d like that.”

It stole over him like the slow slip of the sun beneath the horizon, flickering into place between one blink and the next. He could feel the warmth press against his skin, sweat prickling against the hollow of his throat as it dried and the sticky sweetness as juice ran down his chin. The fruit caved in at the slightest press of his teeth, and for a moment, decorum was abandoned, cool, wet pulp smearing against his cheeks as he ate. The man next to him laughed, leaning back so that their shoulders bumped together and his cheeks were stained the same vibrant purple that covered his hands. Cody didn’t know this man, and yet, he did. Qui-Gon reached out and smoothed a hand over Cody’s shoulders, drawing him close in a hug, warm, and he hoped it would never end. 

Cody blinked, the sunlight falling away and the harsh metal walls of the ship closing around him as he was forced back into the present. 

“I’m sorry.” Obi-Wan cupped Cody’s face, his thumb smoothing over his cheekbone, pressing their foreheads together in a kovyn. Their breath fogged as Cody gasped, tears burning at his eyes. 

The desire burned through his chest to draw his head back and slam it forward, yearning to hear the snap and crunch of bone and the burst of blood, warm and tacky, against his forehead, but he pushed it down. He pressed into the embrace instead, closing his eyes and feeling Obi-Wan’s heart settle in time with his own. 

They couldn’t stay like this for long. Already the groan of the ship’s engines had begun to change in pitch — a clear signal that they were coming into land. 

“Don’t—” Cody caught Obi-Wan as he started to straighten, unable to bear the separation. “Can we stay like this, just a few moments longer?”

It was dangerous, like trying to catch lightning with his hands, but he wanted a moment longer of peace and love, a selfish and ruined want that coursed through him like a heartbeat.

Cody couldn’t meet Obi-Wan’s gaze, but he caught the edge of his smile, so full of a love that neither of them had admitted to, and knew that whatever happened, they would be together. 

[superhusbands4ever]

DinLuke (Skydalorian) Fic Rec List

Hello all! Like many of us, I have fallen into Dinluke hell since the season 2 finale of The Mandalorian, so I have compiled a list of Dinluke fics that I love for you all to read. I’ve sorted them by series, and long fics, and one-shots. Incomplete/in-progress fics are marked with **. If you are like me and you absolutely LOVE force-sensitive Din Djarin, those fics will be bolded. If you want a rec list of just force-sensitive Din fics, let me know!

Enjoy!

Series

**Seperate Ways by PepperPrints - Explicit - iconic, exquisite, 1000/10, peak art, would recommend

With Moff Gideon defeated and the Darksaber reclaimed, the rumours of newly named Mand'alor Din Djarin spread through the galaxy... along with the stories of the Child he carries with him. Determined to meet him, Luke Skywalker arrives on Mandalore -- but before he can get any closer, he has to prove himself worthy of Mandalorian standards. 

**Skydalorian by Celestial_Alignment - Explicit

What if Din and Luke met pre-episode 4 and continued to run into each other through the years.

The Mandalorian ends up at Tosche Station and meets a desert youth who is apparently named "Wormie."

**The Vanishing Breed Series by @dosmit-raeh - Mature

The first thing Din noticed was the fire in the hearth. Near the hearth was a small, handmade crib, and from the crib came an excited cry. It spread through Din's chest like a bloodstain, perhaps it had in fact pierced his heart. He knew that little voice.

“Hey, you,” said Din softly. He dropped to his knees as the Kid scrambled out of the crib and scampered to him, crawling into his lap and burbling happily.

“That’s the most excited I’ve seen him in months,” said Skywalker. Din hadn’t even noticed him sitting across the room at a rough-hewn wooden table, nursing a cup of something. He wore the same carefully neutral expression he'd had on Gideon's ship, but his clothes were now desert-colored and hung loose around Skywalker's wiry frame. His hair was in disarray and it made him look much younger than he'd seemed on the ship; there, he'd seemed world-weary and ancient. Now, Din felt an insane need to protect.

Skywalker raised his cup at Din in greeting, a lopsided smile on his face. “He’s missed you," he said.

“Feeling’s mutual,” said Din gruffly.

___

The Mandalorian becomes Din Djarin. Din Djarin becomes.

(Luke helps.)

**Beskar and Kyber by Insomniac_with_dreams - Not Rated

“This is going to be awkward,” Luke sighs down at the baby in his arms. R2 beeps besides him and Luke nods in agreement. “Nothing to do but go back.”

His X-Wing is almost completely dismantled, sparking where wires hang limply. There is no way he’s getting off of this cruiser until it’s repaired. There aren't even any escape pods on board all of the docking bays empty. He hadn’t anticipated this, and now he was going to have to walk back to the bridge with the baby and explain himself to a heartbroken Mandalorian.

**you and i have memories by itBlackLeader - General

“What are you doing ?” A quiet voice asks behind his back.

Luke only responds with hums of contentment and a gentle tap on the grassy ground next to him.

(Luke and Din enjoy a quiet evening.)

Long Fic (Multi-chapter & 10K+)

Smoke Signals by Thestorans - Explicit - 23.5K

"Din Djarin"

He hears his name and it scares him enough to throw up his blaster, finger hovering over the trigger that is pointed right at Luke Skywalker's heart.

(or the one where a Jedi meets a Mandalorian and things get complicated.)

More Than His Armor by twoseas - Teen - 12.6K

Din visits Grogu at Luke’s academy more than any other parent. Luke isn’t complaining.

**Fates of the Force by starkjoy - Explicit

Six months after Grogu's rescue, an unexpected encounter launches Din on a quest throughout the galaxy alongside Jedi Master Luke Skywalker—a journey that may alter their fates forever.

the warmest bed i’ve ever known by ceedawkes - Explicit - 11.5K

pre-original series, din djarin is injured on a remote planet and found by an incessantly chatty farm boy named luke skywalker || i won't ask you to wait, if you don't ask me to stay || aka "making out with hot farm boys doesn't count as breaking the creed if he's blindfolded during it". edit 12/29: now with a post-series chapter 2.

**Worlds Apart by PepperPrints - Teen - honestly an absolute favorite, it only has 3 chapters so far but I’ve already re-read each one a million times

Having safely delivered the Child, Mand'alor Din Djarin inherits the Darksaber, a ruined planet, and the burden of Moff Gideon's fate. That burden brings Din to the New Republic on Coruscant, where he's thrown into a shimmering world of galactic politics even less familiar to him than the planet meant to be his home.

Din isn't the only one on Coruscant with his hands full of a once forgotten order - the Jedi is here too, and as their paths cross, Din will be forced to navigate both what's expected of him, and what he wants.

**we could be enough by @snap-dragon-pop - Teen

Din Djarin fights a war he never wanted to be a part of, and Luke Skywalker slowly makes a place for himself in a family he never knew he needed.

**he feels like home by bilgegungorenoo - Teen

Luke is in love.

And Leia doesn’t even need her strong Force bond with her twin to know that.

Or, 5 times people try to convince Luke to ask Din out, and 1 time Din takes it upon himself to do it.

**Family is a Funny Thing by SkylaDoragono - Mature

He promised the child he would see him again; he just didn't realize how hard it would be for him to stay away, even with the responsibility that came with the Darksaber breathing down his neck.

**Kir’manir by @iamonewithyouandyouarewithme - Teen - this one is one of my top 5 favorites already and it only has 2 chapters so far lol

He lets go of everything.

He reunites with his son, sees with his own eyes that he is safe, and just as quickly loses him again.

He gives the child to the Jedi, watches them prepare to leave. He sins, removes his helmet; feels the faintest touch of his son's tiny hand against his tired skin.

And then Bo-Katan shoots the Jedi in the back.

**For All The Things My Eyes Have Seen by Strawbebbi_Daiuiri - Teen

“He missed you.” The Jedi laughed. For a moment, Din didn’t respond, too wrapped up in the moment. Not that he probably would’ve responded anyways, but his focus was on the child in his arms. The feel of the other man’s stare, however, brought him back to where he was. ---- Or, the one where Luke and Din don't realize they're in love with each other for way too long and raise children together.

**no path runs smooth series by @andillwriteyouatragedy - General

"I don't know what game you're playing, here, but you know you have to go with the Jedi. This is your destiny."

"Luke." Din looks up to the Jedi, scanning him through his visor. As if he can see his face — and Din hopes even the most powerful Jedis can't see through beskar — the Jedi smiles at him again. He clarifies, "The Jedi? Has a name. I'm Luke Skywalker, Din Djarin."

One Shots

HOT SINGLE DAD IN YOUR AREA NEEDS YOUR HELP by coldishcase - Teen - crackfest but honestly relatable and funny as hell

A bright red box appears in Luke's vision, declaring in big, bold basic lettering: "HOT SINGLE DAD IN YOUR AREA NEEDS YOUR HELP." He's seen several just like it by this point, each more insistent than the last.

Someone needs his help, apparently. They sure have an interesting way of asking him for it, though.

How (Not) to Meet Your Son’s Boyfriend by fifteenminutesoffame - Not Rated

“You’re blocking the sunlight,” Obi-Wan chides, cast in shadow from Anakin’s hovering, his eyes still closed.

“Will you pay attention?” Anakin snaps. “Luke has made me a grandfather.”

i think i’m gonna marry you by snapdragonpop007 - General

It is an ancient tradition on Mandalore, that before you can ask for someone’s hand in marriage, you first have to defeat them in battle to prove your abilities to care for and provide for the family you’ll have. If you are not a capable warrior, you are not a capable spouse.

Luke didn't realize he had already skipped that step.

Got Me Hypnotized (So Mesmerized) by wasted_wallflower - Teen

“Thanks. For what you’re doing, I mean.” The words come out stilted and slow, and not for the first time, Din curses his inability to talk to people like a normal person. Luke Skywalker smiles at him, ducking his head with an undoubtedly bashful expression on his face, while the kid (Grogu, he reminds himself) chatters between them. “You’re welcome.” He says, that smile still on his face, and oh.

Oh no.

Din Djarin does not have a crush, despite what everyone else thinks. Enter Luke Skywalker.

[oldtowrs]

hello! i just finished reading ‘lovely presence’ and i loved it!! especially the reference to obi-wan having freckles all over his back and shoulders. and idk if you do blurbs or headcanons, but if you do could you maybe do a senator!reader removing obi-wan’s jedi robes after a long day in council and senate meetings and kissing obi-wan’s shoulders? and maybe she tells him that his skin looks like a pale, softer version of the brilliant night sky? like he has stars all over his shoulders? if you don’t tho it’s fine. it’s just an idea that i loved, and that i thought you might love too. love your writing!! <33

omg i don’t think you understand, i love the headcanons that involve obi-wan with freckles. it just fits so well with his character. and in case anyone was wondering, yes i will do blurbs, but for that to happen you have to send me requests!

this really should be a fic in itself, because of how long it is, but I'll still classify this as a blurb because I definitely could've written more with this concept! please enjoy! and if anyone has any requests, send them in here!

FRECKLES LIKE STARS ——————— ˚ ⋆ ⊹ * · .

➣ an obi-wan kenobi/handmaiden!reader blurb

the sun had finally sunk below coruscant’s horizon, the city planet beginning to light up golden amongst the growing dark. it was in in that dying light of day and the soft luminescence of the city and your personal senatorial chambers, obi-wan collapsed dramatically onto your bed. a soft sigh fell from his lips as the sheets and blankets and comforters enveloping him in the plush warmth and scent of you.

‘long day, my love?’ you asked, mirth at his dramatics and concern for him melding into the softness of your tone as you began to run your fingers through those ginger-brown locks that you loved so dearly.

‘yes, quite,’ obi-wan signed, the words articulate and elegant in his delicate coruscanti basic as he turned to nuzzle his face into the warmth of your thigh, the chiffon and silk of your nightgown pleasantly caressing the skin of his face as it emanated from your form in lovely, gauzy waves. ‘master plo koon faced more interference near the bith system than anticipated.’

‘oh, yes, we heard that anakin went to help and retrieve him if need be. padmé was very concerned for his safety,’ you said, hands playing about the silvery strands that infiltrated the gilded forest of auburn, brass and gold that was obi-wan’s hair and beard. ‘senator organa was rather worried as well.’

your delicate hand moved to slip below the collar of the woolen jedi cloak and cream jedi robes that covered obi-wan’s broad chest and shoulders from view, for he had forgotten to forgo the heavy materials in his exhaustion. and while obi-wan sighed at the contact, you couldn’t help but worry over the tension that seemed to lurk beneath the skin, as if every nerve in obi-wan’s lovely body was so on edge, so ready for disaster, that relaxation was not an option.

your delicate hand moved to slip below the collar of the woolen jedi cloak and cream jedi robes that covered obi-wan’s broad chest and shoulders from view, for he had forgotten to forgo the heavy materials in his exhaustion. and while obi-wan sighed at the contact, you couldn’t help but worry over the tension that seemed to lurk beneath the skin, as if every nerve in obi-wan’s lovely body was so on edge, so ready for disaster, that relaxation was not an option.

your delicate hand moved to slip below the collar of the woolen jedi cloak and cream jedi robes that covered obi-wan’s broad chest and shoulders from view, for he had forgotten to forgo the heavy materials in his exhaustion. and while obi-wan sighed at the contact, you couldn’t help but worry over the tension that seemed to lurk beneath the skin, as if every nerve in obi-wan’s lovely body was so on edge, so ready for disaster, that relaxation was not an option.

‘obi, you’re so tense, my love,’ you said, allowing your worry to weave itself into your words, wishing more than anything that your jedi would remember to take moment for himself, to soothe his wounds and worries

'I am a master of the jedi council, I'm afraid. not being tense isn't really an option, unfortunately,’ obi-wan sighed, kissing the delicate skin of your inner arm as it snaked down the front of his robes, grazing the strong musculature and bone structure that laid beneath the warm welcome of his skin.

‘i-i could give you a massage,’ you offered timidly, your hand ghosting over his prominent collar bones to the swell of his bicep, squeezing gently at the familiar parts of him.

obi-wan’s golden eyelashes fluttered open, revealing his soft, ice-blue irises which seemed to shine with starlight at your offer.

‘oh, my darling i’d love nothing more.,’ he said, his voice quiet and slightly raspy with comfort.

and with a soft shuffle, he was sitting up, eagerly awaiting the warm, calming touch of your hands - hands which were now finding their way between his jedi robes and his cloak, slipping the latter from his shoulders gently. falling down the slope of his chest, they settled about his hips and worked to loosen the utility belt before letting that fall away too. his jedi robes were the last to go, the simple cream fabric revealing a lovely sight as it fell away and on to the heap of obi-wan’s clothes: his broad, lovely shoulders covered only by the black, sleeveless fabric of his undershirt and the pale light radiating from the city planet beyond the comfort of your quarters - the light covering him in a soft light which seemed to illuminate the of spattering of freckles about his shoulders.

a blush rose to obi-wan’s face as your gaze softened at the sight of his star-freckles shoulders. his arms were lined with muscle, defining and accentuating his bone structure as a result of years’ worth of training and fighting. but those freckles which scattered along the surface of his shoulders and faded in cascades softened his defined edges, making him softly, delicately and genuinely human.

‘you’re staring, my love’ obi-wan hummed teasingly, his gently calloused hand raising to meet the lovely curve of your cheek.

‘they’re like stars,’ you hummed softly, eyes softer than the morning sun as they followed your fingers brushing delicately over the solid, comforting curve of his shoulder, caressing the star-kissed skin. ‘they’re so beautiful.’

‘darling,’ he said, his words barely above a whisper and heated with affection as a beautiful rouge painted the canvas of his cheekbones as he dipped his head, hiding behind the auburn fringe that fell into his eyes and the soft golden eyelashes that kissed his cheek with a gentleness you could only ever hope to achieve. 

‘oh don’t go all bashful on me, obi-wan,’ you teased, bringing him back into your loving orbit with a gentle hand to the back of his head and a kiss to his cheek, the roughness of the beard that decorated his jawline, his adam’s apple, his pulse, the soft line where his perfectly trimmed beard faded into the softness of his skin and finally to the freckled expanse of his shoulders- everywhere you could reach. ‘you are utterly handsome, my stars, and i know you know that - at least to some degree.’ 

‘oh, you flatter me so, darling,’ he hummed happily, eyes raising to look into your own longingly, lovingly - as though you were the only being that could hang the silvery strands of celestial entities in his eyes. 

they were only open for a moment, however before your hands began to slip down the valley in between his shoulder blades, and back up again in succession. the soft cotton of his undershirt was the only thing between your finger tips and the freckled expanse of his back, and oh, how you wished it wasn’t there. 

obi-wan, as though reading your mind, relieved himself of the final article of clothing, before throwing the pile of linen, cotton and wool in a heap on the floor, before returning himself to your loving hands, surrendering himself to the deliciously pleasant fire that flowed comfortably through his veins at your touch. 

obi-wan couldn’t help but hum his delight as your hands worked, applying gentle pressure to all his points of tension. it was all he could do to keep himself from moaning happily into the curve of your collar bone as he collapsed into a warm puddle of jedi against it. he found himelf falling, melting into you, melding his softness into your own as he fell against your shoulder, pillowy lips pressing kiss after lazily, loving kiss to your exposed skin, chiffon and silk alike. 

maker - your touch was heavenly, and you, heaven-sent. it was as though you were a creation of the force sent to his side to love him so wholly he felt as though he could fly among the stars you claimed were so beautifully replicated along the expanse of his soft skin. obi-wan was warm against your shoulder,  and melting beneath the gentle pressure of your touch. he had found eternal pleasure in your arms, nerves alight with a delicious pleasure as your fingers dug comfortingly into the tight muscle of his neck until he had melted beneath your touch.

‘oh, my darling,’ he hummed with a voice so full of comfort it had turned dark and warm in its timbre, comfortable sighs fanning against your shoulder and neck as he turned his head to kiss a fault line of affection along your shoulder and up your neck before trailing behind your ear and into the softness of your own hair. ‘whatever would i do without you.’ 

‘probably work yourself to death, my love,’ you teased lightly, smilingly softly against the forehead as you tipped his head down with gentle ghosting touches, lips placing themselves against the fiery crown of auburn that was becoming increasingly messy the longer he was in your loving presence. 

it was then that obi-wan's strong arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you up and into his lap, as he swung his legs out from beneath him. the whole time, his cerulean eyes never left your own, the eye-contact only breaking when his eyes fluttered shut to kiss the soft expanse of the skin of your own shoulders, collarbones, neck and jawline.

' I suppose that means you're stuck with me, then, darling,' he hummed, his voice soft in volume and dark and rolling like waves of pleasure as he murmured the words against your skin, lighting a fire in your heart that was so warm and so bright it would've burned the whole of kashyyyk to its core. 'because there is no way in this galaxy and the next that I would leave you alone in this universe.'

obi-wan caught your chin between a gently calloused thumb and forefinger, and settled his lips softly against the curves of your own, the softness of his beard tickling your face as you smiled into the kiss. a soft sigh escaped him and your warmth melded into his as your body curved into his for a delicate moment you wished would last forever.

but it was no more than a moment, before obi-wan's lips parted from yours, and gazed into your eyes like they held the world, like you were everything beautiful in this galaxy and he was proud to be yours -which, of course, he was.

his eyes fluttered shut once more and an expression of absolute adoration filled his features as your fingertips caressed his temples and ran into his hair, burying themselves in the auburn at the base of his neck before you rested your head against his and enjoyed the way his arms seemed to hold you even tighter to his shirtless form, his muscles rippling beneath star-kissed skin for you to feel and adore.

'perhaps,' you hummed, voice just as quite and lovely as his was only moments prior as it occupied what little air there was between you and your loving jedi. 'but being stuck with you is my life's greatest pleasure, and there's no one I would rather enjoy all the galaxy has to offer with than you, my obi-wan.'

--

taglist -

@obihoekenobi

if you wish to join the taglist, message me for now until I can get an official taglist page up

[parvulous-writings]

SFW alphabet// Obi-Wan Kenobi x reader

Request: There isn’t one- this is pure self indulgence. 

Submitted by:​ MEEEE

Genre/fandom: Fluff/Star Wars

Warnings:  None.

Summary: SFW alphabet for Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Not my gif

A - Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Obi-Wan is pretty damn affectionate- when you both are alone. In public, it is often a different story. That’s not to say he doesn’t sweet talk you quietly when you’re out and about, but he rarely holds your hand when in places that the Jedi Order could see you. When you are alone though, either in his quarters, your Coruscant apartment or elsewhere out of sight, he is one of the most affectionate people you’ve ever met, giving you so many hugs and kisses it’s hard to count. One of his favourite things to do, during slower days, he’ll sit in his favourite chair whilst he reads, letting you sit in a nearby chair, your hands linking you both together.  B - Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? Where does the friendship start?)

Quite simply, Obi-Wan is one of the nicest and fairest beings in the galaxy, and the very best friend should you put the effort in to get to know him- though, even if you don’t, he’s still extraordinarily kind hearted, and ever the gentleman.  The friendship would probably start when he’s assigned to protect you- and of course he politely introduces himself, and you’re drawn to his friendly and calming presence. 

C - Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He ADORES cuddles. All of them. In bed, in comfy chairs, standing up- anywhere, anyhow, so long as you aren’t discovered. Given half the chance, he would cuddle you to the end of time. He’s a big one for physical affection. A lot of his favourite moments with you are spent curled up together, talking about both everything and nothing, basking in each others company.  D - Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking, cleaning, ect?) Obi-Wan would love to settle down- and he was incredibly ready to leave the Jedi Order for you, but you told him to stay, at least for Anakin’s sake.  He is a marvelous cook- and you can’t convince me otherwise. You don’t go out for secret date nights, oh no, Obi-Wan cooks you a delicious home-made meal.  He’s also quite clean, doing all the chores around his quarters almost every day or when he gets the chance between training sessions, meetings and the missions.  E - Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?) If he had to, he would try and let you down slowly. He would try not to make a show of it and explain calmly to you why he think it would be best for you to go your separate ways. It would break him inside, but he’d keep his composure until he was alone.   F - Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? Do they wanna get married?) He would like very much to get married to you 😊 you are his one and only living love, after all. He’d leave the Order for you, if you let him. Enough said, really. G - Gentle (How gentle are they both physically and emotionally?) Very gentle physically, very very gentle indeed. His touches are always so soft, as if he’s nervous that you’re only a dream, and if he’s too rough with you, you’ll suddenly poof out of existence. It’s quite sweet, actually.  H - Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it, and what are they like?) Like with cuddles, Obi is a pretty big hugger. His hugs are warm, and full of all the love he holds for you. You almost always catch his scent- the faint smell of spices, and it always calms you down, it’s soothing. His hands often find the small of your back and the back of your head, supporting you as well as keeping you close to him. I - I Love You (How fast do they say the “love” word?) Not particularly quickly- he tries to suppress his feelings at first, and it takes many weeks of being around you for him to even admit to himself that he liked you, not to mention how long it took for him to muster up the courage to admit his feelings for you.  Even after he admits his love for you, he usually only says the L word when he thinks it’s a special occasion- though he makes sure that you know he loves you in other ways.

J - Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What are they like when jealous?)

Obi-Wan doesn’t often get jealous- he understands the need for close friendships outside of your relationship. But there have been one or two instances where his emotions have gotten the better of him. When he’s jealous, he can get rather possessive. He doesn’t mean to- he truly doesn’t- but he’ll put his arm around your waist, pull you close to his side, whilst giving a very dark glare to send them a message. (He’ll try not to do this in front of Jedi, and has so far succeeded in that regard.)  K - Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?) Obi-Wan’s kisses are often quite light and brief- as most of them are given in public. Kisses in private are much deeper, much more passionate, much longer. His favourite place to kiss you is the very tip of your nose, he doesn’t know why really, he just thinks it’s a very endearing place to kiss you. His favourite place to be kissed is just under his jaw, your lips just seem to press against his skin so nicely there.  L - Little Ones (How are they around kids?) Oh, Obi-Wan is a dream around children! He is a wonderful mentor to the younglings in the temple- a brilliant father figure for those who see him as such. Absolute father/husband material, I tell you.  M - Morning (What are mornings like with them?) They are sometimes few and far between, but... Imagine the most idyllic scene you can think of. Sunlight streaming through the window and lightly hitting your face, as the wonderful smell of breakfast hits your nose, rousing you from your slumber. There he stands, in his nightclothes with his back to you, as he cooks you a glorious breakfast. He turns to smile at you as you get up, moving over to quickly give you a morning kiss on the cheek.  That is a morning with Obi-Wan. N - Nights (How are nights spent with them?) Just as heavenly as the mornings. They’re quiet, more often than not, but they’re still wonderful. Though just as rare as the mornings, if not rarer, you both spend the first part of the evening watching the sun set, before dining together, and finally ending up in each others arms, talking nonsense till you both find  slumber.  O - Open (When do they open up about themselves?) Usually late at night, a month or so into your relationship. It’s not about what most people would consider ‘secrets’, but to Obi-Wan these things are incredibly personal. He talks to you about the bond he had with his master, and how he felt when he lost him, he talks about how proud he is of Anakin, all of it. It takes a few weeks and countless late nights, but you’re both all the closer to one another for it.  P - Patience (How easily angered are they?) Man’s a Jedi. The King of patience. He doesn’t often get angry.  When he does, though... Yikes. He loses it. Thankfully his rage is almost never directed towards you. 

Q - Quizzes (How much do they remember about you?) He remembers everything you tell him, down to the last detail. You mention something as a throwaway comment? I guarantee you he’ll be doing or purchasing something  to do with that little throwaway line. Every detail goes into his head and never leaves.  R - Remember (Favorite memory with you?) A time he found you entertaining the younglings whilst waiting for you. You seemed so happy, your eyes sparkling and full of life, glinting as you laughed. He leant against the wall, just watching you as you played with them, letting them embrace their childhood for a little bit longer. It is something he’ll often play it over and over again in his head when he’s watching you sleep. 

S - Security (How protective are they?) Obi-Wan knows you have to fight your own battles, and he does try his best to let you do that, offering guidance if you need it. However, when he knows you’re out of your depth- whatever that may be- he will step in and defend you in whatever way he needs to.  T - Try (How much effort do they put in?) He puts in so much effort for you, trying to prove himself to you even though you constantly remind him he doesn’t need to. He also finds it his constant quest to make it up to you for not spending more time with you when in the Order. You tell him not to do that too, but he never seems to listen.  U - Ugly (What are their bad habits?) Apologising too much. For not spending enough time with you, for being late when he isn’t.. Little things. Little, pesky things. It started off sweet at first, but quickly you found it to be a little bit of a problem.  V - Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?) Not really that concerned. He keeps himself clean of course, he has more than enough decency for that, but he’s not really that fussed. He’ll pay more attention to small things- like the style of his hair or how he wears his robe- if he wants to impress you, but he’s not exactly vain. W - Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?) Oh he would definitely feel incomplete without you. He misses you deeply when on missions- and even goes as far to use his holocom to contact you when far off and he can’t bear not hearing your voice anymore.  X - Xtra (Random HC) Obi-Wan is an absolutely divine cook. You want a meal that the canteens or cafeteria don’t do a good job on? Say no more, he shall provide for you. He’d cook practically anything for you, just to see you smile.  Y - Yuck (Things they don’t like either in general or a partner?) Obi-Wan isn’t particularly fussy when it comes to partners, however there is one thing that almost always has to be there. Manners. Otherwise, you may just have a few ettiquete lessons from Master Kenobi. Z - Zzz (Sleep habits)

Obi-Wan is usually a sound sleeper, and has a regular sleeping pattern. This pattern is only slightly taken off track when you sleep in the same bed as him, and he’ll spend at least half an hour running his hands through your hair as you sleep, admiring the blissful smile that crosses your lips. 

[renegadeontherunn]

hello fiona my love, hope you are doing amazing - i am so excited you are doing prompts!!! AAAAHHHH could you do 29. "you're a really bad liar." with obi & soka?? or really whoever you want!!! ily queen

SAM MY LOVE!!!!! AHHHH THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK AND FOR YOUR KIND WORDS I HOPE YOU'RE DOING WONDERFULLY TOO ILY!!!!!! and thank you for being my first EVER prompt fill!!!!! 

29. “you’re a really bad liar.” // from these prompts! // read it on ao3!

Ahsoka doesn’t look at the Temple.

She can still feel it—that gentle warmth and familiar glow—wherever she goes, but she doesn’t look at it. And it’s fine. She doesn’t need to see it to still feel the gaping hole where the Jedi used to reside and she shoves the Force away at every opportunity.

Ahsoka pulls her cloak tighter. The nights have been getting colder and colder and she finds herself missing the Temple (and its inhabitants) more and more.

She looks over her shoulder again on instinct, half expecting to see Anakin or Master Yoda, or even Rex. But there’s just the usual blank, dark faces of the Coruscant nightlife and Ahsoka breathes a sigh of sad relief. If she can just get off Coruscant, get to a new planet, maybe somewhere Mid-Rim, then she can actually relax. Then she’ll be free. Ahsoka shakes her head, arms wrapping around herself.

She shouldn’t have to worry about being free.

The diner she steps in is nicer than most of the ones she’s frequented in the weeks she’s been exiled, and it’s late enough to not be crawling with too many sketchy figures. The Force simmers as the little bell dings to announce her entrance, and so Ahsoka keeps her senses sharp. A quick reaction can be the difference between life and death. She’s learned that enough times.

“Ahsoka.”

There. Ahsoka’s shoulders tense up immediately, her whole body freezing, and she squeezes her eyes shut. Of course. Of course. Ahsoka thought she wasn’t sure if she wanted to see anyone—each check behind herself was bittersweet, would it be better to reconnect or is complete isolation the safest option?—but as soon as the quiet, surprised word drifts into the air, an anvil slams down on Ahsoka’s chest and she wishes she was anywhere else.

She could leave. She could just turn around and walk—run—away, hide back in her seedy apartment with the moldy ceiling and rusty door. But something, be it obligation or pride or just plain shock, forces Ahsoka’s head to her left and she locks eyes with Master Kenobi.

He’s dressed exactly as she remembers: a few thousand layers of robes with no doubt the hundredth brown cloak wrapped loosely around his shoulders. There’s a full cup of what looks like cold caf nestled between his hands. Ahsoka tries not to walk too woodenly over to him, screaming against her own body for betraying her.

Not now, not him, not this.

His face is paler, a bit more sunken than it used to be, or so Ahsoka thinks, but his face is all pleasant surprise and familiar, if a bit hesitant, warmth.

“Please, sit down.” He gestures to the seat across from him.

Ahsoka’s heart lurches. “I’m good.”

A beat of silence. She sits.

His eyes scan her face. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she answers automatically. Oh, this is not going to go well.

Obi-Wan doesn’t seem fazed. He nods. “That’s great.”

More silence. Ahsoka tries not to fidget, fails; tries not to stare, fails at that too. And her flailing attempts to squash the surging anger inside herself—well, you can probably guess.

“What brings you to a place like this at such an hour?”

Ahsoka nearly huffs. He hasn’t changed a bit. She can’t decide if that’s comforting or . . . disappointing. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Obi-Wan nods again. “You could.”

She doesn’t.

“Would you like something to eat?”

Ahsoka’s mind goes on the defensive immediately, though she knows that’s completely off the mark. Does she not look like she can support herself? She doesn’t want—or need—his help, his charity. Ahsoka is perfectly fine on her own, thanks (for nothing), and has no desire for unsolicited aid.

“No.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t flinch, but Ahsoka feels like he wants to. Like this conversation is somehow pricking his chest with bitter pain. Well, that makes two of them.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

Ahsoka bites her tongue hard, fangs digging in deep enough to make her head pound.

Obi-Wan’s brow twitches, lips pulling down into a pretty good impression of concern. “Ahsoka?”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He blinks at her. “I’m sorry?”

Ahsoka’s eyes widen and she huffs in near-incredulous mocking. “Are you?”

His face darkens a touch. “Ahsoka—”

“Stop.” Force, why hadn’t she just walked out? “Whatever you’re about to say—don’t.”

But Obi-Wan has always loved talking, and Ahsoka should know that. “Ahsoka, please. I understand your feelings toward—”

“No you don’t.”

Obi-Wan’s jaw clicks shut.

Ahsoka’s face grows warm. “You can’t possibly imagine what I’m feeling, what I went through, other than your own part in it.”

“You’re right.” Obi-Wan’s hand is out and Ahsoka can’t remember if it always used to shake like that. “I misspoke. But I do know that you’re hurt and you have every right to be. I am so sorry.”

If this conversation doesn’t end soon, Ahsoka is either going to start throwing punches or sobbing and neither is a great look for her. “Okay.”

“If I could go back—”

“Well you can’t. And neither can I, but I guess that’s life.”

She’s purposely trying to goad him; fighting has always been easier than talking and maybe if they’re both angry, then Ahsoka won’t have to deal with the regret and guilt and fear and homesickness. But Obi-Wan is not so easily led.

“I only wish to explain, though I know it can never fully alleviate the pain of what happened. May I?”

Ahsoka can’t think of anything she wants less than to hear what he has to say. She wants—she wants Obi-Wan to stop talking, wants him to feel her devastation, she wants him to see how she is crumbling beneath the weight of what his Council has done to her.

“You all expelled me. You lost faith in me the second you got the chance to jump ship.” She chokes back tears. “The Jedi were supposed to be there for me—you were supposed to be there for me. Like family, right?”

Obi-Wan looks half on the verge of tears too.

“Ahsoka, I never lost faith in you, you must believe me.” He reaches for her. “I promise you, I tried everything in my power to speak for you in the Council, to try to prove your innocence.”

Ahsoka scoffs, feeling more bitter by the moment. “Fantastic job. Do you want applause?” She’s not sure where all this pent-up rage is coming from; she’s spent enough time meditating, considering the situation, her decision, trying to look at every angle. It’s been months. She thought she was past it. Or, at least, mostly past it.

“I understand your anger at me, I feel it myself. I completely failed you in your trial, Ahsoka, don’t think I’m unaware of that.” Ahsoka’s nails cut crescents in her palms. “I wish I could’ve done more—I should’ve done more.”

“You know what? Yeah, you should’ve. But this isn’t about you, Obi-Wan.” The name is sour on her tongue. “If forcing all this guilt on yourself somehow makes you feel better, be my guest, but you don’t have to burden me with the guilt of not absolving you from it.”

Because Ahsoka does feel guilty. She wants to forgive him and have everything go right back to the way it was, she a Jedi, he her partial Master, the three of them more like family than anything else. Her own stinging words churn in her stomach, half her brain raging against the other half: accept what’s probably your last chance at that old happiness or fuel the retribution you’re convinced you deserve. And she doesn’t know if she actually deserves it. And more importantly, she’s not sure Obi-Wan deserves this.

Haven’t they all been through enough?

But Ahsoka has never been good at thinking before speaking. And it’s a hell of a lot easier to feed the wolf craving vengeance than to scale the high road.

“Ahsoka, I am so sorry—”

Tears stinging her eyes, Ahsoka grabs her cloak, nearly knocking her chair over, her eyes never leaving Obi-Wan’s. “You’re a really bad liar.”

Obi-Wan flinches like he’s been struck.

Ahsoka lets the festering rage in her chest slither up to her tongue, lashing out in the empty air. “You’d think you’ve had enough practice.” Her voice is rough, harsh with stifled tears, words ripping holes where affection and warmth used to rest. All Ahsoka feels now, though, is scraped raw, and frustrated, angry confusion, and . . . and something else she doesn’t have time for. The door handle is cold on her blazing skin.

“Ahsoka!” Obi-Wan grabs her arm. She tries to shake him off, but his grip is too strong in its desperation. “Please, listen.”

Tears are dotting the greasy floor now and Ahsoka doesn’t know if they’re hers or Obi-Wan’s. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that, I—” She’s still pulling away. The bell on the door is ringing.

“Ahsoka—”

“Just let go!”

The Coruscant air is freezing on Ahsoka’s face and she wrenches her arm away as they burst out of the diner.

They turn to face each other, blue eyes to blue eyes, two strangers with far too many memories.

“Ahsoka.”

And his voice is home and friendship and comfort and Anakin and the past.

“I’m sorry.”

The air is too stuffy, her chest too tight. There’s no room for the past in the scathing pieces of her heart.

She bolts off into the darkness.

“Ahsoka!”

[daddywanken0bi]

That Will be All for Today

word count: 1.5k

author: Jess

summary: Obi Wan x Padawan!reader. Obi Wan helps you hone your lightsaber skills in the training room by having an intense spar session. 

warnings: SFW, with slight suggestive content. Absolutely FULL of sexual tension.

a/n: I live for some tension-filled moments with a commanding assertive Obi Wan. (Him and Jango Fett in ATOC oh my GOD). Here’s a little one shot that i could not get out of my head. Thanks for being patient while Allie and I adjust to a new semester, we love you all and MTFBWY!

________________

You slash downward at the training droid with a frustrated grunt. Your lightsaber seems heavy and unbalanced in your hand, and even though your eyes are covered, you can tell you missed. It seems as though every movement you make is clumsy and awkward, which makes you upset. And the more you are upset, the more you miss. It’s an endless cycle. You’re older for a padawan, with only eight years between you and your Master. And yet, you still have much to learn.

“Focus,” you hear Obi Wan Kenobi say from behind you. “Reign in your emotions. It will do you no good to become frustrated with your failures.”

You try to calm your breathing, but you are too focused on the red-hot feeling rising in your chest. You close your eyes and concentrate on sensing the small, circular droid flitting around the room. You reach out with the Force, letting it surround you and become the sight that you are lacking. You feel a flicker of something to your right, and hone in on that area of the room. Your arms burn from holding your weapon for so long, but you breathe through the pain. You focus all your energy on the small sphere, and suddenly lash out with your lightsaber, a quick upward motion. You expect to hear a sharp clang of metal as the droid drops to the floor, but instead you can still hear the faint buzzing of its motors. You had missed again.

Utterly beside yourself, you click off your lightsaber and rip the blindfold from your eyes. You whirl to face Obi Wan, who stands a few feet away with his arms crossed. “I had that,” you yell, throwing down the scrap of cloth in your hand. 

Obi Wan raises an eyebrow, his blue eyes bright. “You need to calm yourself, young one,” he says, his voice stern. “Mistakes are a part of training. Perhaps you have other things on your mind today,” he accuses while turning off the training droid and replacing it on the rack.

Images from earlier flash before your eyes: Obi Wan tying the blindfold gently behind your head, a hand brushing the hair from your neck. A shiver running down your spine as he turns you to face him, his fingers warm as he wraps your own around your lightsaber. “Don’t forget the way you hold it in your hands matters, young one. Your grip must be firm, but gentle.”

You shake your head, a blush creeping up your cheeks. Come on, you think to yourself. That is no way to think of your Master. Focus. 

“I’m sorry, Master,” you say apologetically. 

He studies your face, nodding slightly and stroking his beard. The silence of the empty training room envelops you both as you await his response. With a sigh, Obi Wan mutters, “Perhaps that is enough training for today.”

A slight panic rushes through your body. Training with Master Kenobi was one of the highlights of your day, and you suddenly feel guilty that your short temper had caused it to be cut short. “Wait,” you say quickly as Obi Wan begins to turn toward the door. “Perhaps it would be beneficial for me to go over some basic techniques with the lightsaber. I still feel as though I am struggling to wield it properly.”

He turns back to you and strokes his beard again, thoughtfully. After a moment, he nods. “I believe you’re right. Take a few minutes to rest, and we will practice.” You nod and walk over where you had placed your cloak and water bottle. Taking a few sips, you study Obi Wan as he strides over to a corner of the room to adjust his boots. As you watch, he drops his shoulders, letting his dark brown cloak fall to the floor in a large puddle. You glance away, feeling yourself start to blush again. You shake your head to clear the dirty thoughts that are starting to arise from his disrobing. 

“Are you ready, little one?” you hear Obi Wan call from across the room. You nod, taking a final pull from your bottle and placing it back on the floor. As you make your way to the center of the room, you see your Master pull his lightsaber smoothly from his belt, and you hear the familiar crackle as it springs to life, a spear of blue fire. He whips it around behind him, spinning it easily, as if he did this in his sleep. You wouldn’t be surprised if he did.

You smirk, pulling your own saber from your side and igniting the green blade. “Show-off,” you taunt him.

To your delight, a devilish grin lights his face and he bends his knees, starting to lead you in a circle. You can tell he is waiting for you to make the first move, studying every small step you take. Without warning, you lunge at him, aiming for his ribs. Obi Wan dodges the attack easily, stepping backward. Your swing misses him, and you use your momentum to bring it back toward his neck. Again, he sidesteps your saber, moving swiftly and gracefully. You huff, frustration beginning to rise in you again. 

“Move in, padawan,” your Master tells you. “The closer you are to your opponent, the harder it is for him to dodge. Force him to parry with his own weapon.”

You nod and take a deep breath, steadying your anger. Obi Wan is a great teacher, and you have to remember that he is only trying to help. You take his advice and stride boldly toward him, eyes ablaze. You bring your lightsaber up behind you, aiming straight down at his head. So quickly you almost don’t see it, he brings his blue shaft up to parry. As the blades cross in between you, his face lights into a grin. 

“Good,” he says with a short nod.

Happiness blazes inside of you at his praise, and it pushes aside all of your frustration. Obi Wan pushes you back with his blade, and you begin to find your rhythm as you attack again. Soon, the two of you are engaged in a deadly dance, twirling and slashing with flashes of light. The only sound is that of your panting, and Obi Wan’s occasional comment to adjust your posture or fix your grip. 

For a while, it seems as though you are gaining the upper hand, but you soon realize that Obi Wan was just waiting to make his move. As your arms begin to tire and your attacks become more sloppy, he goes on the offensive, berating you with attack after attack. You are forced to back up, and are scrambling to parry his strikes. The few strands of hair that keep falling in your Master’s beautiful face do nothing to help your situation. His face is flushed, eyes bright, and the grunts that keep falling from his lips are utterly distracting.

Suddenly, your back hits the wall of the training room, the cold metal surprising you as it kisses your skin. Obi Wan lowers his saber, holding it close to your neck. You feel the heat of the blue flame warm your skin, but you aren’t worried about injury. The only thing you are focused on is the way your Master is looking at you. His eyes are wild, and his chest is heaving. The hand not holding his weapon is planted next to your head on the wall, and you are suddenly aware of how close he is to you. The bottom of his tunic brushes your leg, and you shiver, not breaking eye contact with him.

Obi Wan notices your shudder and his eyes widen. His gaze dips to your lips, which are parted as you continue to suck in air. His body tenses, and he wordlessly turns off his lightsaber, bringing it away from your neck. You do the same, and for a moment, the two of you stand almost chest to chest, eyes locked on each other. The room is so quiet, you swear you could have heard a pin drop. 

Obi Wan snaps his gaze away from your face and nods sharply. “Very good, young one,” he says, voice rough. “That will be all for today.” Without another word, he retrieves his cloak from the floor, slinging it around his shoulders. The door hisses as he exits without a glance back at you.

You slide down the wall, sinking to the floor. What was that? No matter how hard you try, you can’t stop replaying the moment he pinned you against the wall. Your cheeks flush as you feel a fire ignite in your chest. Uh oh. This is not good.

[northofdespair]

You know @obiwanobi , it really didn’t take much to tempt me lol. 

Part two of this post! And uh, well, it got significantly spicier than the previous part now that our favorite Togruta apprentice has vacated the scene.

This one is for @crvdematter , who really started the whole thing months ago, and I feel terrible for forgetting to mention you in the last post! Really, it’s a miracle that I’m coming out from under my nice, cozy rock to give you E-rated Obikin of all things, so hopefully it’ll make up for my grievous omission! Thanks for sparking this into existence!

SPICE under the cut. 😘

Enjoy? 😨🥰

~*~

This is not the first time that Obi-Wan has kissed him while he has a split lip, and Anakin is sure that it won’t be the last.

The pain is a constant, throbbing reminder of their earlier tangle, even as his Master sucks it gently in apology, but Force, Anakin never wants him to stop. He lifts a hand to squeeze Obi-Wan’s wrist where his face is framed by gentle, bloodied hands, then settles his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck with a shuddery sigh.

Obi-Wan’s tongue slides into his mouth and he lets out a guttural moan of approval at the sensation. It spurs his Master on just the way he knew it would, and Obi-Wan leans forward into his space to pin him against the wall. The weight grounds him, steadies him, and he breathes in the comforting scent of Obi-Wan between kisses. Force, even covered in sweat and blood, Anakin loves the spice-and-tea scent of him.

There was a time that Obi-Wan had left one of his robes in his quarters on the Resolute. His Master never noticed the missing garment, prone as he is to dropping the damn things in every corner of the galaxy, and Anakin decidedly did not tell him. It was a lonely month in space, far away from Obi-Wan and even Ahsoka, and if he wrapped that cloak around his shoulders at every sleep shift he got? Well. No one had to know.

The increased proximity lends itself to intimacy, and they both moan quietly into each other’s mouths as their growing erections press together for the first time that night.

The first time in too long, really, and Anakin feels giddy with the promise that this is theirs. That they can have this, and it doesn’t have to stay in the darkness of the Coruscanti underworld. Obi-Wan wants him, loves him, and this night won’t end in longing glances when they think the other isn’t looking, nor will they have to part.

Obi-Wan breaks the kiss to bite and kiss along Anakin’s jaw, sliding his fingers back into Anakin’s hair, and oh, Anakin could give himself up to the Force with how good those fingers feel tightening against his scalp. He gasps instead, rolling his hips forward to seek out more friction. In a rather uncharacteristic move, Obi-Wan lets him. He even grinds against him in return as he sucks on the tender skin behind his jaw, and Anakin whimpers into the open air at the allowance.

The indulgence doesn’t last long, however, before Obi-Wan nips at his earlobe and murmurs,

“Shall we take this back to the Temple then, dear one?” his voice rasps with lust, and Anakin gives a full-body shudder at the feel of it in his ear before he shakes his head.

“No. Not- ah- not now,” he swallows as Obi-Wan presses a kiss to the hollow of his throat with a speculative hum.

“No?” he comes back up to purr low in Anakin’s ear, “Why would that be? Do you want to stay where you can cry out for me? Where no one but I knows the sound of your voice? Or is it that you cannot wait that long?” Obi-Wan punctuates his last words with a hand squeezing over Anakin’s erection in his trousers, and Anakin pants out his breath at the pressure.

“Please, Master. Both, just- fuck me here, please,” he begs, tightening his hold around Obi-Wan’s neck.

His Master presses a long, firm kiss to Anakin’s lips before breaking it to look into Anakin’s eyes with his own intense, crystal blue stare. The sight of him, pupils blown and cheeks flushed in the dim, blue light of some far-off neon, makes Anakin’s stomach flip.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it; the way Obi-Wan stares at him with such desire plainly written on his face. He’d never quite been able to decipher it completely, the way Obi-Wan looked at him, but now he thinks he knows.

It was love, always love, and before there was a strange wistfulness that he never understood until tonight. There is no wistfulness to his gaze now. Now there is only heat and desire, amplifying the love he now readily identifies. It’s enough to make him dizzy, especially when his Master rasps, “Since you asked nicely,” and drops to his knees.

Anakin leans heavily against the wall for support as Obi-Wan wastes no time in tugging his trousers and undergarments down to his feet, taking his erection in hand and meeting his eyes as he presses a kiss to the flushed head. Anakin bites his lip, no longer noticing the sting as he watches Obi-Wan reach into his own trouser pocket with another hand to produce a packet of bacta.

Obi-Wan flicks his tongue against the slit, drawing out a surprised little moan from Anakin’s throat, before pausing to coat his fingers in bacta. Soon he’s rubbing cool circles at Anakin’s entrance, and Anakin gasps at the feeling, grinding back almost involuntarily to coax them in.

Obi-Wan stares up at him with something like wonder on his face and shakes his head slowly.

“The things you do to me,” he whispers, and leans forward to press a kiss to the side of Anakin’s cock.

“You’re one to talk,” Anakin’s breathless rebuttal breaks off in a broken moan as Obi-Wan takes him into his mouth and breaches him at the same time.

He clutches at the back of Obi-Wan’s tunic as lightning-hot arousal shoots down his spine.

It’s funny- all this time, between their fights and sex in back alleys just like this one, they’ve been sort of ignoring the fact that it’s happened at all when they get back to the surface. Obi-Wan was right; what happened here, stayed here, no matter how much Anakin longed for that to change. But all of this time, they’ve been learning each other’s pleasure. What makes the other throw their head back or bite down in desperation.

And so he is no match for the tongue that swirls with a knowing twist, the second finger that eventually adds to the first as he opens for his Master, and the deep, rumbling moan of Obi-Wan’s voice around him.

“Master. Master I’m- hhahhh- I’m going to cum if you-“ Obi-Wan curls his fingers at that moment, and he cuts off with a whimper, clenching his fist in Obi-Wan’s tunic and gritting his teeth against the crashing wave of arousal that follows.

His Master pulls off of his cock with a wet pop and looks up at him speculatively, adding a third finger and watching intently as Anakin groans from deep in his chest.

“Do you want to come now, darling?” he asks, squeezing at Anakin’s thigh to catch his attention.

Anakin tries to clear his head enough to think. He- he could come now, and he knows that Obi-Wan would fuck him just the same, but...

“No. No, I- with you, Master. Please.”

Obi-Wan smiles up at him, stretching the wounds that decorate his own face after his night of fighting, and kisses his thigh.

“All right, love.”

Anakin sighs through his nose at the simple, gentle response, and lets his head fall back against the wall as he closes his eyes and attempts to calm down a bit. Obi-Wan’s fingers have all but stilled in him, occasionally moving slow enough that the quiet tide of pleasure he feels isn’t enough to push him back to the receding edge.

It’s a testament to how well Obi-Wan knows him, how much he can read his expressions and his countenance in the Force, that the moment he feels like he can keep going, his Master spreads the three fingers and curls them once again to brush against his prostate. He inhales sharply through his nose and clenches his mechno-hand against the wall behind him at the sparks of pleasure that crackle through him.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” Obi-Wan’s voice falls, deep and gravelly from his mouth.

“Yes, Master,” he whispers.

“Good.”

Obi-Wan presses one more kiss to his thigh before removing his fingers with a wet squelch and rising slowly to his feet. Anakin clenches around nothing, swallowing a whine as Obi-Wan caresses his skin on the way up. This time, it is he that draws Obi-Wan into a kiss with a hand around the back of his neck. His Master willingly goes, quickly taking the control that Anakin so readily gives.

In battle, he does not mind control. He might even go so far as to say that he thrives on it.

On missions and even in teaching, he will gladly lead.  

But oh, in this.

In this, he wants nothing more than the way Obi-Wan dominates him with his tongue.

In this, he wants nothing more than Obi-Wan’s weight, pinning him to the wall, caging him in, grounding him.

In this, he relinquishes all control to his Master, until he cannot think beyond the violent pleasure that flows like magma through his veins.

The biting kiss does not last long before Obi-Wan breaks it with a low growl, dipping down to grab the backs of Anakin’s thighs and hoist him up against the wall. Anakin lets out an undignified squeak and scrabbles for purchase on Obi-Wan’s shoulders, wrapping his legs around his Master’s waist.

Obi-Wan chuckles. “All right?”

Anakin huffs indignantly. He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, he feels Obi-Wan’s hand shift, and suddenly the head of his cock is nudging at Anakin’s entrance. He hadn’t seen Obi-Wan slick his own cock, or even push down his own trousers, but he’s certainly not going to complain. His voice gives way to a high-pitched whine, pleading wordlessly for Obi-Wan to just-

“Ahhhh-“

Obi-Wan’s cock finally sinks into him, all at once, and Anakin keens.

Force, he could come from the stretch alone. If Obi-Wan didn’t appear to need a moment himself, he might have. But Obi-Wan simply pants into his neck for a stretch of time as Anakin does the same into his ginger, sweat-damp hair, and it both calms and stirs up the sea of need between them in one fell stroke.

When Anakin is seconds away from begging Obi-Wan to move, he lets out a cry instead as Obi-Wan growls and pulls out slightly before snapping his hips forward. The pace he sets to begin is slow for what feels like only a moment–though it is surely longer–as their pleasure quickly builds.

Obi-Wan mouths at his neck as Anakin gasps with every thrust, clinging desperately to Obi-Wan’s back. He feels Obi-Wan shift him in his arms and wonders idly if he’s too heavy after Obi-Wan’s already strenuous evening, but all thought is immediately erased as Obi-Wan finds what he was looking for and Anakin sees stars.

“Master,” he moans breathlessly, and Obi-Wan groans.

“Force, you’re perfect. You take me so well, darling. So good,” the words melt into Anakin’s veins, and he moans from deep within his chest as Obi-Wan nips at his throat. “Can you come from this, darling?”

“Yes. Yes, Obi-Wan, Master, yes, just don’t stop- ah- don’t stop, please-“

His words devolve into incoherent babbling into Obi-Wan’s ear as their pace quickens, and the sound of skin on skin echoes in the empty alleyway.  

“Come on then, love,” Obi-Wan’s voice is rougher now than it has been tonight, and Anakin knows by some thoughtless instinct that he’s close as well. “I’ve got you. Come for me, Anakin. Love you, dearest. I love you.”

And that, with one more thrust against his prostate, is enough. Anakin throws his head back against the wall and comes so hard he sees white. A deep, punched-out noise rises from his chest and his nails sink into Obi-Wan’s tunic. His mechno-hand scrabbles so hard he’ll probably leave marks, awash as he is in the tempestuous wave of pleasure.

He is distantly aware as Obi-Wan thrusts rapidly a few more times, fucking him through the crest of his orgasm before he comes with a snarl of Anakin’s name and a bite to the juncture of his neck. Anakin gasps at the pleasure-pain of teeth set into his flesh and shakes with aftershocks as Obi-Wan pulses inside him.

They come down slowly, breathing together as Obi-Wan mindlessly kisses at the bite and Anakin strokes his Master’s hair. A few long, peaceful moments pass this way, simply holding each other and pressing lax kisses into each other’s skin and hair before their position grows to be too much.

Obi-Wan slides out of Anakin, setting an apologetic kiss to Anakin’s cheek at the hiss of discomfort it draws forth. He sets him gently to the ground and steadies him with hands at his waist when Anakin’s legs shake at the reestablished equilibrium. Anakin bows his head for a moment to collect himself, and when looks up he finds Obi-Wan watching him with a soft smile on his face.

His eyes twinkle in the low light, and Anakin’s breath hitches quietly. The communication that passes between them then is too marvelous, too complex for words. Just by staring into his Master’s eyes, Anakin knows that Obi-Wan understands all the words he can’t bring himself to speak into the night air.

Softly, in the back of his mind, he feels the stirring of a familiar pathway. He sucks in a quiet, surprised breath as he realizes at once just what it is. He hasn’t travelled that road for a long, long time, but he knows the well-worn path of their training bond better than life itself.

Obi-Wan searches his eyes even as he strokes over the quiet remnants of the bond, and Anakin knows the question that lies behind the icy blue of his Master’s gaze. And just as he knows the question, he knows the answer. He reaches for his own side of their bond and brushes away the cobwebs, pushes aside the vines, and then-

A rush of consciousness, not his own, floods into his very being, overwhelming and all-consuming as a sandstorm. He hadn’t really known what he was missing, hadn’t let himself miss it, but oh. Obi-Wan’s Force signature dances with his own and fills the dark places of his mind with beautiful light.

It’s overwhelming, awe-strikingly powerful, and the rightness of it fills a part of his soul that he didn’t know he was missing.

He gasps brokenly, tears welling up and spilling over his eyes before he can stop them, and Obi-Wan laughs wetly. Anakin can feel his joy in the Force, as physically as the hand that comes up to wipe his tears away.

Hello, dearest, Obi-Wan’s voice echoes brilliantly in his mind. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

Anakin can only nod through the tears, completely overwhelmed by the resurgence of their bond. He had thought he’d never feel this again. The fact that it was Obi-Wan who initiated their re-connection is almost surreal.

Force, they have so much to talk about, but for the moment, Anakin simply shuts his eyes and breathes.

Patient as ever, Obi-Wan holds him quietly until he is sure that Anakin can stand on his own before setting about putting them to rights. Anakin had all but forgotten that they are standing in an abandoned alley, half-naked with cum drying on the front of his tunic and dripping down his leg. He winces at the realization, shifting uncomfortably as Obi-Wan pulls up his own trousers and produces a cloth from his pocket. He wipes Anakin down gently before lifting his trousers and handing him the cloak he’d dropped when Obi-Wan first kissed him.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

The bond somehow feels so fragile, so new, that he’s afraid he might shatter it if he deigns to speak through it. Obi-Wan casts him a gentle, knowing look, and kisses his cheek.

“You’re welcome,” he smiles.

Like a picture coming back into focus, Anakin suddenly notices the wounds that litter Obi-Wan’s face and dip down into his tunic.

“Master,” his voice comes out as a pained breath.

Obi-Wan raises his eyebrows in question, then winces as it pulls on a nasty-looking bruise. Their bond colors a sheepish pink, and Anakin tries not to reel from the sensation of the extra feedback.

“Ah. Yes, that.”

“What happened? You never let them touch your face,” he reaches forward to brush his fingertips lightly over the deepest bruise.

“Yes, well, that Devaronian was tougher than he looked. You landed a hit or two as well, I daresay.”

Anakin grimaces. “Sorry.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head with a fond chuckle.

“You should see the other guy,” he winks.

Anakin huffs a laugh and shakes his head in return, and when Obi-Wan smiles at him? He knows then and there that no matter how fragile their bond may feel, no matter what happens next, they’re going to be okay.

[geeks-universe]

To The Stars...

Past Obi-Wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader

Present Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Jedi!Reader

The One-Shot absolutely nobody asked for.

Italics for the past. Print for the present.

You were lost.

A fire had burned through every inch of your body, lighting each nerve burrowed beneath the red-hot agony engulfing your skin.

Pain.

It was all you knew, the entirety of what your fractured, scattered mind could piece together from the material it was given.

You cradled your body in the darkness, the brush of your hand against your arms hellish, blistering heat searing down your spine at the sensation.

Then it stopped.

Like the flame had been doused in a bucket of water, thoughts drowned in the sudden torrent of cool air. The burning was gone, replaced with the wispy smoke of unpleasant memories.

You opened your eyes, trying to ascertain your location to request for some sort of backup, or a possible extraction. Your head was pounding as light slowly filtered in, visions dancing like ghosts in the barren landscape around you. The cord that connected you to the life that breathed air into the atmosphere, that linked each soul to the ground they walked, was severed, like a knife to your very being. The constant, vibrant string in your mind, that tethered you to the creatures of the universe through the Force was quiet, muted as if the whole of existence was silenced.

“Zifri,” you choked out, your voice, raspy from the confines of pain, seeking out the presence of your Padawan.

As requested by the Jedi Council, you had entered the Temple of Aion, only to be locked within the confines. Your connection to the Force had pulsed through your veins, the rush of power mixing with the heat of destiny. The ground shook with possibilities, strings of fate illuminating the world around you. For a brief moment in time, you felt everything.

And then...

Nothing.

You had used the Force for many things throughout your life. Under the guidance of your master, you had learned to harness the abilities for both defense and offense, something typically advised against. Master Yoda understood the precariousness of your situation, and in an effort to gain mastery over the vastness of your abilities, had trained you in both Light and Dark.

When you were in the Temple of Aion though, you knew you had accessed a piece of the Force you’d never touched before.

The world you knew was gone.

“Zifri,” you repeated, louder, with more gusto as you grasped at any bit of the Force you could feel.

It was there, quiet, like a drum long forgotten. The lifeforms that dazzled the connection was gone, dimmed to a few scattered, unrealized potentials.

Something was wrong.

Upon realizing the startling truth that it wasn’t you who was disconnected with the Force, but rather the rest of the universe, you left in search of the truth.

“Master Kenobi.” 

His lips tugged upwards in acknowledgment of your presence, a dangerous sign, to be sure. He hadn’t met you until a couple of years prior, but from that moment on, he knew he was in trouble.

You brought with you a sense of peace he could never hope to find in your absence. The Light seemed to radiate from your presence, and his connection to the Force flared to life with each accidental touch of your hand. He had never been so allured by another, and the enchantment seemed to grow with every passing hour.

“Starling.”

Your lips twitched down at the nickname. He’d taken to calling you it since your first meeting, and you still weren’t entirely sure why.

“That,” you crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at the man, “is not my name.”

The look on his face was far too mischievous for the esteemed Jedi Master. You felt the beginnings of a smile threaten to overcome your pout, and fought hard against it.

“And Master Kenobi isn’t mine,” he reminded you, mirroring your stance.

Your eyes narrowed, before you crossed the distance to give his shoulder a gentle shove. It hardly affected him, but the press of your hand against him, even muted by layers of clothing, sparked a fire down his spine.

“Obi,” you laughed. There was a brief pause, where your gazes met, affection exchanged, even through the desperate denials. “I got a Padawan!”

His smile widened. He’d known that you were to be assigned a Padawan. You had finished your Jedi training in record time, and there was no doubt that you could guide a fresh face on their journey, even if they were more than half your age. 

“Hopefully your Padawan listens more than Anakin,” Obi-Wan joked.

He was caught off guard when you threw yourself into his arms. It wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, but he was quick to return the sentiment.

“I know you advocated for me,” you whispered, your breath hot against his ear.

A piece of his training chipped away that day. How could he believe that holding you in his arms, giving into the affection he had for you, was so wrong when nothing in the world had ever felt more right?

“Always,” he replied, voice not above a murmur.

The other words he wished to speak, the feelings he wished to reveal, died in his throat. Today, he would not break the Jedi Code.

He could not speak for tomorrow, though.

Slowly, through frightened whispers or reverent murmurs, you pieced together the chronicle of the reality you awoke to.

30 years.

A full 30 years had passed.

When you were in the Temple of Aion though, you knew you had accessed a piece of the Force you’d never touched before.

With the power that resonated at your core, and the energy that hummed in the quiet halls of the Temple of Aion, you had been able to step through time.

Master Yoda had always claimed you had a destiny, one you could never fully comprehend, but you hadn’t expected it to include time travel.

Anakin.

Anakin Skywalker.

The very same man you had grown close to, had both learned from and mentored, was responsible for the desolation of your people. It seared your heart to learn the truth.

And Obi-Wan.

Your Obi-Wan, a soul so full of Light, forced to shoulder the burden of guiding, and loving, the man accountable for the atrocities committed against the Jedi. It pained you to think of how alone he must’ve felt in a galaxy he’d spent his life protecting. He was suddenly without his Order, without his closest friend, and without you, his lover.

How would things have changed if you were there?

Would you have perished with the other Jedi, or would you have survived, forced to live a life without the structure you’d become accustomed to?

What happened to your Master? To your Padawan? To Ahsoka?

You sighed, holding the bowl of steaming broth you were sipping on a little closer.

Your hunt for others was not going well. You weren’t even sure if there were anymore Jedi. The silence in your mind through the Force had become deafening, and you couldn’t take it anymore. It was driving you to the brink of insanity, living so long with a string connecting you to the other lifeforms that the sudden disappearance of them was startling.

So, you cut your connection to the Force.

It was painful, and every day a piece of you desperately called out to it, to reconnect your soul, but you held firm.

“Jedi.”

It was a mutter, spoken in a quiet conversation a few seats down, but you still heard it. Curiosity got the best of you, and the small spark of hope stirred deep in your gut.

Against better judgement, you followed the Mandalorian who had inquired about Jedi out of the establishment, and towards, what you presumed to be, his ship. The Mandalorian in question was cautious, looking over his shoulder with every step he took. Had you not been as well trained as you were, you more than likely would have slipped up and ousted yourself.

Alas, you managed to navigate your way through the bustling streets of some backwater planet while keeping your identity concealed from the vigilant Mandalorian.

“Starling!”

Obi-Wan had taken to calling you his ever-affectionate nickname more so than your given name. Typically, though, the endearment was saved for teasing mutters, or mirthful mumbles.

The two syllables had never been filled with such worry before, and the instincts you’d adopted in your years of training flared to life. Ahsoka was beside you, having been volunteered to stay with the unit by her esteemed Master Skywalker.

Zifri, your Padawan, had gone with Obi-Wan and Anakin. Having as many Jedis (Padawans included) had seemed a bit overkill, especially with Master Windu already stationed at a nearby base, but as an assault began to rain down around you and young Ahsoka, you quickly realized why.

The enemy was fierce, unrelenting, and incalculable in size. Rex’s unit was with you and Ahsoka, but following Obi-Wan’s warning, he and the rest of the backup were effectively cut off.

The twin sabers in your hand sprang to life, purple light reflecting in the harshness of your gaze.

“Get her to safety,” you ordered, holding the frontline as the enemy poured the brunt of their resources into your position. “Now!”

Rex jumped at the suddenness of your command. He offered a brief nod, before he signalled his troops to fall back, and tried to get Ahsoka to do the same.

She stood firm, refusing to leave you.

“We’re stronger together,” Ahsoka argued, unsheathing her lightsabers in a valiant attempt to provide assistance.

Time froze, just for a fraction of a second, as you smiled at the young Padawan. She was a fast learner, and fiercely loyal. If you asked, she would stay, and she would fall. Your heart squeezed in your chest as you eyed the facility the enemy were housed in. If you could get inside, you could buy enough time for Ahsoka, Rex, and the entire unit.

Your decision was made before you ever made a move to enact it.

You thought of Obi-Wan then, as you forced the young Padawan backwards, and charged forward into the enemy.

He would be proud.

“What do you know of the Jedi?”

The words had barely left your mouth before a blaster was being pointed directly at you.

You eyed it cautiously, blinking.

“What are you doing on my ship?” The helmet made the Mandalorian’s voice a bit mechanical, but there was no denying the hostility in it.

“I asked first,” you held your hands up in surrender, a bit too much cheek.

“This is my ship,” the man before you felt the need to remind you.

“Well, yes,” you answered lamely, spying the little guy that peeked out from behind the man’s cape.

Your eyes widened, recognition flashing across your features as a face similar to your beloved master revealed itself. You took a step back inadvertently, your heart fracturing in your chest as a gentle gaze tore open old wounds.

The child cooed, carefully stepping around the Mandalorian to approach you. A part of him recognized the Force inside you, you were sure, as his tiny hand reached out for you.

In a daze, you bent down to meet him.

A stillness grew in the air, like the world was holding its breath, waiting to see the interaction.

The Child was attempting to make contact with you- not just physically, but through the Force too- and panic rose in you at the thought. Alerts blared red throughout your systems as you physically recoiled. The little guy wasn’t deterred though, and despite your absolute withdrawal from him through the Force, his small hand wrapped around your fingers.

He made a noise, one that could be interpreted as friendly, and looked back to the Mandalorian. The Mandalorian, for his part, had been patient during the exchange, but his finger hadn’t been removed from the trigger, an obvious sign of his mistrust.

“Who are you?”

His voice echoed in the small space of the ship. You cleared your throat.

“I heard you talking about Jedi,” you mentioned, holding onto the creature that looked so similar to your Master. “I’m looking for them.”

A pause.

“Why?”

You considered the question. Your identity had been a closely guarded secret. After all, you still weren’t entirely sure why you’d been propelled 30 years into the future, so you made the decision to keep quiet on the subject. This was no exception. 

“I want to know what happened to my family,” you gave a half-truth.

If he wondered why the Jedi would know, he didn’t question it.

“The kid seems to like you.”

It was an observation, though you could tell it was one he took to heart. The Mandalorian may have thought the kid had good intuition, but you knew it was his connection to the Force.

“I can help you.”

The twin lightsabers that were concealed in your robes burned, the handles icy to the touch from disuse, yet flaming with the sudden desire to be the person you had trained to be. They, too, had been untouched in the year that had passed since your sudden upheaval.

“...Okay.”

He was reluctant, and you were sure if it wasn’t for the pleading eyes of the youngling, he would’ve outright refused. He didn’t seem like the kind of man to embrace company, and you weren’t the type that liked to impose, but if there was a possibility of you finding a Jedi, you needed to take it.

“Perfect.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Snips.”

“If I had just-”

“My Master is as stubborn as she is strong, you wouldn’t have gotten through.”

“Rest, we must allow her. Watch over her, Master Kenobi will.”

The voices you’d been listening to had faded, and you were barely able to open your eyes to register why that was.

“Easy,” the familiar articulation above you was fraught with apprehension.

“Obi?” You inquired softly, his face a blur as you tried to adjust your vision more properly.

“Starling,” he breathed, relief palpable in the drawl he spoke with. The air grew lighter at the nickname, and you felt the tension melt from your body.

“Is everyone okay?”

Obi-Wan visibly flinched at the question. Hesitantly, after a moment of contemplation, he nodded. A smile began to tug at your lips and- despite your body heavily protesting the action, muscles groaning at the strain- you sat up.

“I’m sorry, I know-”

“It was reckless,” Obi-Wan reprimanded, staring down at where his fingers tapped against the edge of the bed. He had an air of agitation, but there was something else deep beneath his facade that you couldn’t quite read.

“It was necessary to save the people I…” 

His eyes snapped to you, imploring- no, begging- you to continue. Your voice went quiet, the atmosphere weighed down with the words you struggled to utter. You ran your tongue along your teeth.

“The people I love.”

Obi-Wan let the words simmer between the two of you. He was digesting them, critiquing them, and then embracing them. The beating of his heart matched the erratic thumping of yours.

“I was terrified,” he admitted on a whisper, as if divulging a secret. “But proud.”

The Child was still reaching out to you.

You had been vigilant in your effort to remain disconnected to the Force. With him so nearby, and more days passing without the connection so integral to your person, your defenses were struggling, but you refused to relent.

The kid knew it too.

A deep sadness reflected in his glossy gaze, chipping away at the armor you had locked around your heart. You stared at yourself through his eyes, at how battle hardened you looked. Throughout the Clone Wars, you had been an esteemed general, but you had a family- if not by blood, by choice- that kept you grounded. Since your stint with time travel, you had been alone, and as unfair as it was to leave the kid on his own, you couldn’t open yourself back up yet.

There was pain without the Force, but dammit, you didn’t know if you could handle the fresh hell your connection to it brought.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” you apologized, holding your hand out for him.

He took it, waddling closer to better inspect you. He was desperate for the attachment you were denying. It likely had to do with the tidbit of information Mando had given you. He said the kid was 50, which meant, technically speaking, you were only five years his senior. Though, you didn’t really consider yourself to be the 55 the timeline suggested, considering you skipped 30 of those years, which left you with the appearance and memories of a 25 year old.

“Why the sorcerers?” The low, mechanical baritone of the Mandalorian asked from the doorway, his body sturdy and intimidating.

He had grown a fair bit on you, especially considering the long and bloody past between Jedi and Mandalorians. The look you pulled following his description of Jedi was one of indignation, however.

“Sorcerers?” You echoed, the words distasteful on your tongue. “Jedi are not magic. The Force isn’t some- some-”

Your argument was crashing, as you realized just how much you were implying about your past with each word used in defense of the Jedi. The Mandalorian had been suspicious, and you replying as spirited as you did, did nothing to convince him otherwise.

You cleared your throat.

“The Jedi are an ancient and respectable order tasked with maintaining balance across the universe,” you explained calmly, refusing to stare at the blank, chrome exterior of the beskar helmet the Mandalorian wore.

Instead, you looked at the youngling.

“I’m not entirely sure there are any left, but their memory still deserves admiration.”

The Child cocked his head to the side, like he was digesting the bit of information you’d given. Mando, however, let the silence breathe for a moment.

“Did you know any?”

You pressed your fingers to the baby’s cheek, a ghost of a smile curving on your lips at the reminder of the people you had surrounded yourself with.

“Many,” you admitted softly.

Mando had taken a step towards you, bending down to level himself with you. He reached out towards the Child, offering him a bit of warmth, as he assessed you beneath the armor he wore.

You wondered then- certainly not for the first time- what he looked like. You hadn’t had a whole lot of interactions with Mandalorians in the past. Between training, both your own training and your Padawan’s training, and your individual role within the Clone Wars, it hadn’t ever really occurred. Most of what you knew was what Obi-Wan had told you, and the occasional excited recount Ahsoka had regaled you with. 

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,” the words were purposeful as they left the Mandalorian’s mouth, and though you weren’t quite sure of their meaning, you knew they were said with the intention of honoring the unmentioned Jedi you’d lost.

Your heart skipped a beat, and the coo the kid had released was softer than normal, like he was mourning your loss too.

You rested your hand on Mando’s, holding it against the small chest of the kid.

“There is no death, there is the Force.”

The Child perked up in recognition of the final words of the Jedi Code. He, like Mando, did not interrupt the moment. The culmination of two cultures, so starkly different from one another, were weaving together in the small child. While this might suggest some amount of concern, you could only see a chance to transcend the mistakes of history.

“Thank you,” you mumbled to the bounty hunter.

None of you moved, and for a quiet moment in time, all was right with the world.

“Focused, you must remain.”

Master Yoda was being cautious, trying to keep you on task, but worry was beginning to seep into your actions. You’d finished the Trials, and you were a fully fledged Master- with a Padawan currently under your care- but your training was still ongoing.

The Jedi Council wasn’t taking any chances with the sheer power you displayed in regards to the Force. If it weren’t for Master Yoda and Obi-Wan, the Council may not have even allowed your training to progress. They were concerned about the training, especially when Yoda revealed that he had been training you with Force abilities tied to the Dark side.

“I think-,” you sighed in frustration, “Maybe I need the day off.”

Master Yoda considered the request, and then conceded when he realized how deep your fear ran. Power bred fear, and he never wanted you to fear your own gifts.

“Time, you should take. Return, we will, after some rest.”

You bowed, then scampered away as quickly as you could. Tears began to blur your vision, as you ran to safety. Your feet were moving on their own accord, pulling you towards security- which, incidentally, brought you to Obi-Wan’s quarters.

You paused briefly, wondering if it was a good idea. The two of you had been growing close, toeing the line of what was allowed, and what was forbidden. Before you could turn away and retreat into less dangerous territory, Obi-Wan opened the door.

Concern was etched into the furrow of his brow, and the downturn of his lips looked unnatural in comparison to the joy he typically radiated around you. Without thinking, or even considering possible consequences, you shut the door and fell into his embrace.

It wasn’t the first time the two of you had been so close before, but every time you were, it drew you one step closer to engaging in feelings deemed off limits by the Jedi Council.

“Is there anything I can do?” Obi-Wan’s voice was soft, but fierce.

You pulled back just a fraction to meet his eyes.

It was the way he looked at you, like there wasn’t anything more sacred in the world than you. Your heart stuttered against your chest, and you surged forward, your lips meeting his in a long overdue kiss.

He responded like he’d been waiting his entire life for it. There was no hesitation, no worry, and no doubt about his feelings.

You knew that would come after, but for the moment, you had each other.

“Do you have a name?”

The Mandalorian leveled you with a stare. Even without seeing his face, you knew the expression he bore was something close to absolute bewilderment.

It’d been nearly seven weeks since you boarded the Razor Crest. The Mandalorian and you had grown somewhat closer, but he was guarded and you were secretive. The Child had taken to you immediately, drawn by the Force, and charmed with your sweet voice.

“Do you?”

You pursed your lips.

“Touché.”

Silence reigned supreme once more, save for the occasional coos of the Child. He was secure in your lap, alternating his hands between holding yours or reaching for something on the console.

“(Y/N),” you finally broke the silence, steadfastly ignoring his gaze as you focused on the little guy. The Child looked up to you curiously, tilting his head as he mumbled a vague string of syllables that sounded somewhat like your name mixed with babble.

“(Y/N),” the Mandalorian echoed. It felt nice to hear him say it, the way he pronounced it carefully, taking care to taste the name on his tongue.

“I think I should be more cautious with my identity,” you admitted, gesturing to his helmet. “We don’t really know what we’re walking into.”

Mando thought on the idea for a brief moment, before he huffed his assent.

“You can call me Starling,” you interrupted on a whim, almost regretting it the second the word left your mouth. “It’s an old nickname,” you explained, curling in on yourself at the way the Mandalorian watched you.

“Starling it is,” he said finally.

If he found your behavior odd, he didn’t comment. In fact, he wasn’t the least bit phased when you donned a mask to show him. It was a darker shade of silver than the chrome armor he wore, and there were intricate designs carved into the metal, the same carvings the hilt of your lightsabers bore. It would render you completely unseen, and thus a bit safer until you could discern whether the Jedi in question could be trusted with the truth or not.

Mando routed the ship for a new destination, flipping levers and pressing buttons like it was second nature. He didn’t pause, and his voice was so quiet you almost missed the soft utterance, but you heard it nonetheless.

“Din.” 

“We’ll see them again.”

Every ounce of strength and faith was released into that short sentence, a gentle reminder to the man you loved of your capabilities.

He studied you, tracing every inch of your face like it was the last time he’d see you, and he needed to memorize the curve of your cheeks, or the slope of your nose.

“I know we will.”

He tried to echo the sentiment of your voice, but it fell short. He was beginning to believe that your recent endeavor had taken a turn for the worst, and that the two of you might not find your way off the godforsaken planet you crashed into as easily as you believed you would. With the woods crawling with enemy droids, and not a single friend in sight, it wasn’t a horrible assumption.

“Obi,” you pressed, resting your hand against his cheek to get his attention. It worked. “We’re going to get out of this.”

It wasn’t often the man before you lacked the strength to carry hope, but in the times that he did, you were the only person that could spark conviction in him.

“What would I do without you?”

It wasn’t a question meant to be answered. He had found himself wondering what a life outside of the Order might be like since the day you kissed him- perhaps even longer, if he were honest with himself. A part of him longed to be selfish, to keep you from the world.

He knew then, though, or maybe he’d always known, your destiny was larger than him. You were born to soar above the fears and expectations of the Jedi Order. You were born to live a life of your own, not one defined by him, and he felt himself fighting a losing battle, trying to hold onto you for as long as he could.

It had come out as a rhetorical question- but, deep down, he knew the truth: one day you would be without him, and he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to carry on.

You, though, were resilient.

You could carry on.

He needed you to.

Faded, silvery lines painted a picture on your back.

Each was a scar, a tragedy of a life long forgotten. There was a large print in the form of a gash from where you’d narrowly escaped a crashed ship, or a thin line that spanned the length of your shoulders from being thrown across a battlefield. The memories that came from the stories they told weren’t always pleasant. They were reminders of who you were and where you’d been, even if you were trying to run from the past, and deny the existence of the person you’d once been intimately familiar with.

There was a new scar too.

This one was where your shoulder met your collarbone. It was an angry, red wound that hadn’t quite scarred yet, but was just beginning to show the puckering of a lasting injury. You’d jumped in the line of fire to protect the youngling. Before that, you’d been effortlessly weaving through enemies, cutting them down with a staff you’d wrestled from the first to jump at you.

Would this scar prompt the same feelings the others did in the future?

You sighed, meeting your own gaze in the mirror. You looked different. Not in the sense that you’d drastically changed on the outside, but the way you carried yourself was different.

You had never been one to strictly follow the Jedi Code, but there wasn’t a trace of Jedi left in you anymore. The hope that used to light your eyes, the wonder that settled on your brow, the joy that tugged at your lips- it was all gone, replaced with a heaviness you couldn't quite carry.

A curse sounded from beside you, and the sudden appearance of Mando startled you. Despite what his exterior, and copious amount of armor, might suggest, the man moved surprisingly quiet when he wanted to.

You didn’t bother to shield your body at the sudden intrusion. You were decent enough where you weren’t exposed, but more skin was on display than normal. Mando awkwardly shuffled in place, torn between leaving and checking on you.

“I’m fine, if that’s why you’re here,” you decided for him, ghosting your fingers along the new wound.

“Good,” he muttered. Though his helmet shielded the direction of his eyes, you could feel his stare run the length of the skin on your back.

He had questions. They filled the silence, pressing the void with the desire to voice them, but not the strength required to.

“They’re from another life,” you explained, gazing at him through the mirror.

A breath.

“I was a-” you paused, changing the direction of the conversation last minute. “A general. War isn’t easy.”

Din inclined his head, the barest gesture of acknowledgement. Even though he wasn’t speaking, and not offering physical comfort, his presence made you feel at ease, like he could understand some amount of the pain you felt.

You turned to him then, cautious steps bringing you closer until you were nearly chest to chest- or chest to abdomen, if you were being honest with your height. Din hadn’t moved an inch, though his helmet was tilted down, and you knew beneath it, the eyes of a hunter were watching every movement you made.

Carefully, you lifted a hand to the side of his helmet, pressing it against the cool beskar, in direct opposition to the heat of your skin. It reminded you of your Order, and his, and the conflicting views of the two, how different it had formed you both. Though, you hadn’t really felt the opposite of him, but rather complimentary, like your opinions and actions lifted him up, and vice versa.

“Thank you, Din.”

By the time he’d really processed what you said, you were out of sight, leaving him alone in the dark, with nothing but the heat rising to his cheeks at your actions.

The Jedi Code was in place for a reason.

You knew that.

Obi-Wan knew that.

Yet it hadn’t stopped the affection from blossoming.

The early lights of a rising sun crept in through the window, shining down on the two of you, still entwined and bare from the previous night’s events. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, heated skin meeting his lips in an action that spoke more than he ever could.

‘I love you’- not spoken in so many words, but conveyed through the soft brush of his hand, or the gentle press of his mouth. 

Time was your enemy, so long as you continued down this path, and you knew it wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, the Jedi Council would become aware of the blooming relationship. They would punish you. You would probably lose your Padawan, and maybe even your status. Obi-Wan would be in a similar situation, and as much as you wanted to care, it was difficult to.

He meant everything to you, and you meant everything to him. Nothing in the world made more sense than being together.

“We have to get up soon,” Obi-Wan reminded you, not quite ready to give up on the charade.

You understood. There was Anakin, Ahsoka, and Zifri to worry about.

“I know,” you agreed on a hum, running your fingers through his hair. His eyes slipped shut at the sensation, as they often did.

“Master Windu spoke of a mission you’re going on?” Obi-Wan inquired, his tone quiet as he reveled in your attention.

“Mmm,” you murmured, holding a kiss to his forehead, “The Temple of Aion, just a quick trip.”

“Be careful,” he warned, holding your hand in his. 

The words he should’ve said stayed silent, waiting for a different opportunity that would never come. That would be the last time you saw Obi-Wan, though you didn’t know it at the time.

Or maybe you had known, deep down, as you ran your fingers along his lips, committing his face to memory- so expressive and filled with love.

That was goodbye.

Bo-Katan had mentioned Ahsoka, and you had barely been able to breathe from that moment forward.

Din had picked up on the change in attitude. He wanted to ask about it, but he wasn’t one to pry. Instead, he’d been silently lending you strength.

The flight had gone off without a hitch, and typically you’d be thankful for the lack of interruptions, but the quiet had been slowly descending you towards a maddening cycle of imagining how Ahsoka would react to the revelation of your fate. Your imagination wasn’t being kind, and you were nearly convinced that she would blame you for everything that had happened with Anakin and the Jedi Order.

Your sweet, stubborn Ahsoka, who had meant so much to you, that you would willingly lay down your life for her. Would she think you a traitor? Would she understand what you’d gone through?

The tiny, gentle hands of the kid interrupted your thinking. His wide eyes were directed at you, and you could feel the Force inside you thump against the confines of your chest to get to him.

Ahsoka would know.

Even with your self-induced severance to the Force, she would know it was you, with or without the mask.

What would be the point then?

Should you tell Mando and the kid?

After all, they were searching for a Jedi to train the kid, and you were a fully-fledged Jedi, who, through a series of unfortunate events, had lost their Padawan. One of the kid’s own kind, Master Yoda, had been your teacher. For all intents and purposes, you were the perfect teacher for the kid. Mando wouldn’t need to be separated, and you could rekindle the fire of hope that the loss of the Jedi Order doused.

You would tell them, then. You would restore your connection to the Force, and you would aid Din, but only after you reunited with Ahsoka.

The kid, as if sensing your resolution, gave you a toothy smile. It pulled at your heart, reminding you of your own Master.

Tears welled in your eyes, and the gentleness of the creature before you, the worry, caused them to fall.

You mourned your people- Master Yoda, who taught you, Anakin, who joked with you, Zifri, who looked to you for guidance, and Obi-Wan, who loved you unconditionally.

You mourned the ever-progressing change that had transformed the galaxy from the one you knew, to the one you now learned.

And you mourned yourself- the girl full of hope, who found faith in the people around her, and spent her whole life trying to make the world a better place.

Din found you like that, holding tight to the Child while you let yourself mourn what you’d lost one last time before facing the future.

He didn’t know the full extent of your past, just as you didn’t know his, but the secrets kept in the dark of the night hadn’t distanced either of you.

“Ready?” He inquired.

You nodded, propping the kid on your hip as you stood to your full height, forgoing the mask you’d been wearing entirely.

You wouldn’t hide your identity any longer. The world wouldn’t scare you into submission. You were a Jedi, and it was high time you started to act like one.

There was a brief hesitation before Din’s gloved hand slipped into yours, igniting a strength you’d long since thought was gone.

You smiled down at the kid, and then where your hand met Din’s.

You’d been lost for so long, but now-

Now you were found.

[penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories]

No Matter How Many Skies Have Fallen

A/N: I really have nothing to say for myself at this point. 

Sequel chapter to this fic here, if you’d like to catch up. 

Thank you to @caffeine-in-an-iv​ for being my incredible beta and to @maybege​ for letting me rant to you and giving me so many wonderful ideas when I hit my walls. Also to the Obi-Wan fandom in general: Y’all are some of the kindest, most supportive people I’ve ever encountered on this hell site. Thank you for your support and your content! 

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force Sensitive! Fem! Reader (no Y/N)

Word Count: 11.9K (I lost all control) 

Warnings: SMUT!!! Soft Dom! Obi rights, Also, Sub! Obi vibes, Foodplay (but not how you’d think), Inappropriate use of the Force, Voice Kink, Obi-Wan Kenobi’s Hands Appreciation Society, As Usual: Too Many Feelings For Porn, Emotional Competence Kink, Trust Kink, TW: Pregnancy, TW: A character draws blood on themself unknowingly

Title from one of my favorite quotes:

“Ours is essentially a tragic age, so we refuse to take it tragically. The cataclysm has happened, we are among the ruins, we start to build up new little habitats, to have new little hopes. It is rather hard work: there is now no smooth road into the future: but we go round, or scramble over the obstacles. We’ve got to live, no matter how many skies have fallen.”

-D.H. Lawrence

What infinite irreverence the galaxy has for Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

As if his master and only semblance of a parent wasn’t taken from him when he needed him most.

As if a boy who needed a father wasn’t entrusted to Obi-Wan quickly following, far too young and full of his own loss. 

As if he wasn’t thrust onto the pedestal of parenthood when he really only wanted to be a brother. 

As if that isn’t what they became anyway, and as if that wasn’t the exact cloud that hung over the atmosphere of your lives ever since you’d arrived on Tatooine. 

As if the being whose life signature resided in your abdomen didn’t throw a punch into each of those blooming bruises by its very existence.

Which is why, you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you couldn’t tell him yet. 

Normally, it’d be no small feat to keep something of this scale from him. But these days, he’s so focused on having his shields up around you, keeping you from both being hurt by or helping with his torments. 

You have to take great care to control your body language, because even when he’s shut off from you in the Force, his keen perceptiveness will pick up on something being off anyway.

The art of a convincing lie is having layers. If he senses your feelings and decides to dig, then only give up one layer, and he’ll stop looking.

 In this case, it’s your worry over him. It is true you’re trying to shield him from feeling that, not wanting him to carry the burden of it on top of having to work through his own pain.

  But it’s not everything you’re trying to hide from him. So you let a small projection of your fear over his well-being escape, like you’re losing control of your feelings. It’s enough to convince him, and something critical inside you dies at the victory every time.

 He deserves your honesty, and you’ve never given him anything less until now.

 You hate how well your strategic deceit takes root. Because only part is due to your talent as a liar. The rest comes from how much he trusts you.

  You’re not stupid, though. You know it’s only a matter of time before the biological changes in your body betray you. 

Obi-Wan said he needed time, and you’re going to give him as long as you possibly can before dropping this anvil on him, hoping the further he gets from it all, the better off he’ll be. 

You could kick yourself for not being more careful. You hadn’t missed any dose of your herbal Ho’Din contraceptive. It was one of the few things you shoved in your bag with the mere minutes you had to leave Coruscant for good. It was from a reliable medicinal shop, and there’s no good reason it should have failed in any way.

But here you were anyway. 

Of course, there are options that free you from the obligation of carrying the child to term. All are expensive, and Tatooine is sorely lacking in any trustworthy medical facilities. The alternative methods could put your own life in danger as well. 

Even if it wasn’t, you’d feel so strange making that kind of decision without Obi-Wan. Not that he wouldn’t support whatever decision you needed to make for yourself if you did, but going behind his back is something you’re not sure his trust could recover from. 

And really, far too much has been decided for him in his life. 

The worst reason why you can’t bring yourself to move towards any solution that ends the pregnancy now, the reason you abhor, is because somewhere within you, despite the awfulness of the time and place, you want this baby. 

You couldn’t give a definitive explanation for yourself, but you did. Undoubtedly

Obi-Wan doesn’t press when you ask to cease your combat training for a time, asking to start learning the new offerings of the Jedi texts instead. 

He’s concerned when you tell him, but if he’s suspicious as for your reasoning, he doesn’t show it outwardly, at least. 

The way he doesn’t even ask about why, though: It makes you wonder if he had a reason all of his own why he’d rather not fight, even in imitation.

The Jedi writings given to Obi-Wan by Master Yoda are often more cryptic and mystifying than logically applicable without deciphering, which you are at first annoyed by, but then strangely thankful for, as Obi-Wan verbally processes his understandings of it, knowing what he does of the Jedi way, and you adding your thoughts from the stance of fresh eyes. 

The conversations distract wonderfully, and you savor any way you still get to connect with him.

You don’t push for the ways he doesn’t allow you to connect with him anymore. The way he won’t let you in his mind. Because now, you too have a reason to not let him in yours. 

*******

When it’s time to go into town for supplies again, you make up some feeble excuse which you know Obi-Wan sees through as a lie, and this time, he does pry, eyes soft and concerned. He knows you love going to the markets. You simply explain that you’re tired, which is true enough to satisfy him, leaving you behind with a kiss on your forehead before you watch him saddle up your eopie and ride off.

You sigh, sagging against the closed door once he’s disappeared into the horizon. You do love the markets. They’re the most colorful thing the planet has to offer, textiles and rugs and shiny, hanging things. 

But the spices. Fragrant and potent, usually so appetizing and intoxicating, you know would turn your stomach alone. And that doesn’t even account for the strange meats being cooked at different vendors, and Maker help you if anyone was selling raw meat of any sort today. You’ve done your best to keep your nausea at bay, at times even tapping into the Force for centering when the world felt like it was rocking. But you know the market would be too much, too many variables.

It’s not a fast journey, even on the eopie, and you don’t expect Obi-Wan to be back for hours. Which is why when you hear a knock on your door, the tool in your hand clatters to the floor, as does the remnants of your project. 

You quickly grab one of the long staffs you and Obi-Wan had only begun to use in your defense training, trying to recall the lessons as adrenaline begins to rush through your veins. Tatooine isn’t known for its pleasant company, and if anyone was going to try to rob your home, now would be as good a time as any. 

The knock sounds again, and you shout from the inside, “What do you want?!” 

“A peace treaty in the form of baked goods,” comes the feminine voice, one you recognize. 

Opening the door, you lower the weapon in your hand as Beru Lars blinks at you.

“I’m sorry, I thought you were…” You step aside, gesturing for her to come in.

She waves a hand, dismissive. “I understand.”

You lead her over to the small living area as you fix two glasses of water from the kitchen. 

When you set them down on the table, Beru speaks. “I apologize for the intrusion, if there was another way of contacting you before coming here…”

“It’s absolutely fine, I’m glad to have you.” You smile in what you hope is an assuring way.  “Although, I’m surprised at it just being you. Where’s Owen?”

Her eyes flick to the stone floor. “He um… doesn’t exactly know I’m here. He’s out on a business deal today.” 

You feel your eyebrows go up at that, waiting for her to continue. But instead, she changes the subject. “Where’s Ben?” 

“In town. We needed some things from the market.”

Awkwardness settles in as a conversation topic evades you. 

She breaks the beat of quiet. “Here, I brought these for you.”

You take the basket in her hands from her, peeling back the thick woven cloth to reveal a simple form of bread. It looks so appetizing your stomach clenches, and you instantly realize you haven’t had anything since breakfast. 

But then the smell hits you, hard and powerful, and stars, it’s just bread, there’s nothing that should do that about bread, but you’re on your feet in a minute, forsaking the basket on the ground as you bolt to the fresher, barely making it in time to the sonic sink before you start heaving. 

In a moment, you feel soft hands at the nape of your neck, gently holding back the fabric of your shirt and blowing cool air as you continue to wretch. 

By the time everything has settled again, you’ve dealt with the aftertaste in your mouth, and splashed on your face with a precious cup of cool water, hot shame rises in your cheeks at how this must seem to Beru. 

You wipe at your face with a rag, half muffling your words when you address her. “I’m so sorry, I’m sure they’re absolutely delicious, It really has nothing to do…” 

“How far along are you?”

Your spine straightens instantly, and you let the cloth drop to the floor.

“I… what?”

Now she’s the one to flush. “My apologies, it’s just that it’s known for being a very gentle bread, it’s one my mother used to feed me when my stomach ached. If that smell turned you... I just assumed, and I shouldn’t have.” 

Your lips purse as you consider your options. It’d be easy to say nothing, or just to nod. 

“Two months,” you hear your own voice answer despite yourself. You’ve never been one for easy anyway.

A surge of emotion wells up in you at even being able to speak it aloud, aloud to another human, and next thing you know, to your absolute horror, you’re crying into your hands as your shoulders crumple in on themselves. 

Why now, of all times? In front of Beru Lars? Whom you know accepted Luke with her husband without question because they couldn’t biologically have any children of their own? 

“I’m… so… sorry,” You manage to choke out through the sobs, disgusted at your own lack of control.

At some point Beru must join you on the floor, patting her hand soothingly on your back. “Shhh, it’ll be alright. You’ll see. It’s not so bad having a young one around, you and Ben have so much to look forw…”

“He doesn’t know.” 

Her hand pausing briefly on your back is the only indication she gives of shock.

“Would he not be happy?”

You take a steadying breath in, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t know,” you whisper, small and almost frightened to let the room hear you say it.

It falls silent again, but it echoes around in your brain, bouncing against your thoughts until you feel the onset of a headache.

After you’re to a numb enough state to enjoy yourself, you and Beru make tea and bring it back to the living area. 

She lifts her glass to yours, clinking them. “To secrets kept from men and the mischievous company they bring.”

Your head now throbs with pain, but you smile anyway. “Thank you,” you say to her, and you mean it so very much.

********

The next time Obi-Wan goes into town, you’re feeling well enough to go with him. 

You’re not visiting the food portion of the market, after all, so you’re not as much of a risk to set your stomach off. He’s taken to fixing small machinery for trading with the Jawas recently, the extra income helping with the projects around the house. 

There’s a trap door that you found within the first day of being there. The staircase carved out of the bedrock beneath the hut leads to a small room that has now served as additional storage and a place for Obi-Wan to work. It’s also quite cool during the day, so if you can stand the smell of the various meats hung to dry, you’ll sit down there with some sort of project, or even reading material if you come upon it.

So today, he’s looking for a few specific tools that will streamline his working. 

It doesn’t take long to find a promising stall among the maze of shopkeepers, selling everything from trinkets to weaponry of questionable legality. Obi-Wan finds what he needs easily enough, and it looks like the trip is going to be as efficient as it is successful as you walk through alleyways with him. 

At some point, he takes your hand in his, squeezing it gently, projecting an assuring strand of affection toward you. It’s such a small gesture, but you’ll never tire of the feeling of his hand clasped in yours. 

You’re almost back to where the eopie, Rooh, as he named her, is stabled when Obi-Wan abruptly slows his pace, dropping into a stall. An alarm goes off in your head when you watch him pick up a frivolous trinket on a table that you know he has no interest in. 

You open your mouth to inquire at his actions, but it answers itself once you see him glance out of his peripheral vision to where the holonews plays in the stall adjacent. 

Battle footage on what you recognized to be Kashyyk at the presence of the many Wookies plays with the Emperor addressing the viewers in a very two-dimensional, sugar-coated, thinly-concealed threat to any other world that would try to resist occupation.

There’s wreckage and uncensored violence, and you turn your head away. 

“May it be known that Lord Vader is quite capable and willing to help those into compliance that require assistance... “

The item in his hands crushes, ceramic tile cracking into his hands, breaking the skin and drawing out drips of red.

But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even seem to register the glass he’s pushing into his own hand. His eyes are wide and he makes a wounded noise from the back of his throat, eyes peeled to the holonews now, not even trying to feign disinterest.

His signature sparks, giving a flash and then a severe cry of anguish, and it hits you then. Pieces of information coming together as you feel Obi-Wan tear apart at seams. 

Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side, and Obi-Wan thought him dead. There’s a new Sith Lord now; the correlation and timing can’t be coincidence. 

The Toydarian male behind the stall shouts something about paying for it in full, and you quickly hand over the credits with a glare.

You start to pull Obi-Wan’s other hand off the table, but you quickly realize your mistake in that.

The moment it isn’t holding his weight anymore, his knees start to give, and you’ve only a second to react, jamming your body under his arm to keep him upright. His momentum nearly pulls you forward, but you plant your feet and remember at the last second to call on the Force to assist you.

He seems to come to himself enough to walk somewhat as you steer him to the nearest alley away from the vendors.

He braces a hand on the stone wall, but even it isn’t enough as he drops to his knees. He doesn’t even seem to have the will to stand.

Crouching beside him, you place one of your hands on his chest. 

“I…. I…” The tremor in his usually so crisp wording and steady voice crushes your chest, making it hard to breathe. “I failed him. I failed him.” 

“Obi-Wan,” you start, trying to grasp at anything, everything to comfort him, not even thinking of how you can’t call him that here, even if there’s no one in sight.

If he registers your call, he doesn’t let on, continuing in his whispers to the wall.  “He was burning. Burning, but I couldn’t do it. It would have been mercy to kill him, it was my mandate to do it, but I could not...” his voice gives out on the last word, and his shoulders fall forward in a shuddering inhale that transforms into a cut-short sob on its exhale.

“And now…” as the words pour from him, his shields fall, and so do the floodgates on his emotions, and it takes all the training you know to not be washed away in the torrential current of his grief. Does he even know he’s doing it, or has the insurmountable weight of his burden finally overridden his innate control over them?

“I’ve sentenced him to a fate worse than death.” He’s only barely choked out the end of his thought before his shoulders start to shake in earnest and he crumples in on himself as he begins to weep for his brother.

Giving no heed to the odd angle, you throw your arms around him. Trying to get your arms around his body is exactly the embodiment of the feeling of the moment, this anguish you don’t even begin to be enough to cover. 

What could you say? What could you do? What would even begin to… 

When you press your fingers to his temple, it’s light, a show of how unforced this is, how much he can say no if he needs.  Because this isn’t for you. No, it’d be so much easier to not know the exact depth of his pain and rip your chest open with that knowledge. But you’re offering it,  meaning it absolutely, desperate for him to take the hand offered to him. “Please let me in. Don’t do this alone. Let me…”

Then he’s pulling you in, not just letting you come in yourself, clinging to you like a person drowning. You remember to steady, to try to keep your own head above the water as wave after surging, overpowering wave of soul-crippling agony like you’ve never felt it engulf you in their surge.

You can’t hold out against it no matter how hard you try, so you refocus from centering yourself to pulling his signature into yours as you wrap your arms tighter around his torso. 

 And you begin to weep with him.

 *********

 The suns are drifting low by the time both of you have any intelligible thought, far too late to start the journey back to the hut. 

At the inn, as Obi-Wan falls into the beginnings of a restless sleep, a thought emerges, clear and crisp in its awful truth. 

 You cannot tell him for a long while still. 

 *******

 It’s different now. Because when he wakes in the night, he doesn’t give you falsehoods you see right through. He lets you into the terror and distortional dreams that all reside over one theme.  

There’s silence in the first days after. Just silent tears and still embraces and the way time seems to freeze when grief is at its worst.

But then he starts talking. It comes in little pieces, then in larger ones.  

The loudest thing his signature screams is guilt.

You tell him how it isn’t his fault, how Anakin is responsible for his own choices, but he just gives you a new reason every time as to why it is his fault, how he could have stopped it. 

Because even in what he considers his worst failure, his verbiage is indicative of how it’s not his own image and pride hurting that he’s even considered. All of his thoughts, all of them, are on what Anakin needed that he didn’t give.

 At first, it’s just impressions from his mind, unsorted, blurry thoughts and feelings, but it eventually begins to become words. 

“After his mother died… I know that he blamed me. How couldn’t he? He told me of his dreams, dreams he knew were foresights, but I dismissed them, multiple times, at that. And the council… advised me against comforting him, but he… I… I did anyway.” His shoulders are forward, body sagging with unsureness that doesn’t fit him right in the slightest. “But it was far too late. I know there was something pivotal about the death of his mother, and I am...” he hesitates, seemingly not because he doesn’t know what to speak, but because he does. “Terrified. Terrified it’s all because I didn’t validate him sooner. If I had not...” His voice breaks off, as he shuts his eyes.

Fear is not something admired by the Jedi, you know. When he speaks of his own emotions, he speaks them like he’s confessing them.

 And as he confesses and confesses, you comfort where you can, cry with him when you cannot.

 *****

 The swells of sorrow ebb and flow in their intense bursts and receding stillness, and despite the moments of not being able to breathe under the weight of it, there are miniscule, almost violating, hysterical intervals where smiles and life spring to the surface, gasping for air. 

Or in this case, the inexplicable desire to dance. 

You don’t even really know when you start, simply going about cleaning clothing in the sonic washer, and the next, some ridiculous, repetitive tune sweeps you to move your hips and feet, uncoordinated and graceless. The tune itself played from a datachip, scrapped with some pieces Obi-Wan was repurposing to make repairs. You’re not even familiar with the type of music, and it’s hardly the type of music you’d normally choose, but you find that today, it’s an improvement on the quiet that falls upon the house as Obi-Wan works outdoors. 

The song swings into a bridge, and you slide across the stone floor, imitating something you saw in a music holo years ago, as you do, your foot catches on the rug you recently added, sending you fumbling for your footing. You eventually catch it before you fall, but as you look up, you decide to lower yourself to the ground anyway at the sight of Obi-Wan, leaning up against the door frame, watching you with an amused expression, the fingers of one hand tracing between his lips and chin.  

You sit splayed as tactless and gangly as you danced and let out a short, startled laugh. 

“Please, don’t stop on my account. I was quite enjoying myself.”  

Maker, could you just hide under the rug you tripped over? “Please tell me you haven’t been standing there long.”

He pushes off his lean on the wall, crossing the room to you. “I won’t tell you lies, my love.” 

Shame twists in your gut at his words, chasing the laughter in your throat away. But Obi-Wan extends a hand down, and you take it, letting him draw you to your feet. 

He kisses the back of your hand before taking it in his, extending the clasp out to the side of your bodies as his other hand rests hot on the small of your waist. 

“But I will join you, if you don’t mind a style change.” 

“I don’t know how to dance like this,” you say, factually.  

“Then allow me to teach you.” When you look in his eyes, they’re lined with the etches of heartache still, but there’s something else too, brimming to the surface. 

“What, to this music?” You give your last, unconvincing protest.  

He simply drops his forehead to yours, and the small sounds of the room fade to white as a sweet, moving melody replaces it. It’s not perfectly clear, and it takes a moment to realize that it’s because it’s coming from Obi-Wan’s memory.  

The music has a distant, foggy quality, and it has potential to be eerie, but instead, it just lifts you into an ethereal feeling.

He steps, and your feet follow, not as graceful, but he makes it easy for you, the steps hinted out in his thoughts before taking them in actuality. 

When you start to feel confident enough in the movements, you look up at him. “Does this mean I can teach you my dances next?”

He laughs, laughs, unabashed and with no emotion harbored under it, and some torn piece of your heart mends at the sound.

“Certainly not.” 

You laugh too, even at the thought of him trying. The laugher rolls into a smooth quiet, and you let yourself bask in the feel of his body against yours, the press of his hand on your back as you rest your cheek against him. 

Obi-Wan cradles you to him, forsaking the pattern of the dance as he encompasses you in his arms, lowering his lips to your cheek, then your mouth in a blazing kiss. 

He takes your hand in his, lifting it above your head. Then you’re guided into a spin, and the room spins double with it as you abandon all endeavors of trying to get the dance correct. Your hand drops protectively to your belly before you can even think better of it, and by the time you know you’re not going to throw up, it’s too late. You already feel Obi-Wan’s unmistakable concern right before he asks, “What’s wrong?” extending an arm out toward you. 

His complexion is ashen with worry, and when you don’t respond, you feel him start to reach out to your mind; a spike of panic zaps down your spine, and you’re suddenly not sure you’re not going to throw up after all. 

Your shields crash down, not enough time for subtlety, and he retracts both his hand and inquiring tendril of energy as hurt and confusion shape his features. 

You can’t do this. You can’t keep up this facade or cover this moment with a lie you know he’ll see through. But you can’t tell him either. After all the weight he’s carrying, the weight of the being that grows in you should be yours alone. You can’t thrust that upon him. 

But it’s a delusion that you can keep this from him forever. You’re going to hurt him one way or another, and the weight of your silence and lies multiply every day you insulate him from the truth. 

You take in a shuddering breath as dread settles into your bones. You know what you have to do.

Even as you slowly lower your shields, opening your signature, your mind screams at you in opposite directions, ripping you in half, and your hand shoots out to the nearest wall to stabilize yourself. How could you be so sadistic to tell him this? How could you not tell him? After all the trust you have in each other?

But he doesn’t take the invitation. “I will not touch your mind if you are still unsure you want me to,” he says softly but resolutely as he approaches you, but stays an unthreatening distance away, as if approaching a frightened animal. 

No, no, no. You won’t have him being the one to sturdy you through this. You need to be strong, be ready, don’t force him to coddle you through the blast to his own chest. 

So you dial down your own emotions and switch your absorption to amplifying the still tiny, barely recognizable life you’ve been carefully censoring ever since you heard it yourself.

You want to close your eyes, blockade the pain of both how it impacts him and how it will impact you, but that’s not how you two do things.

Summoning every iota of bravery and resolve running in your veins, you force yourself to look up at him as you watch understanding coat him. 

His eyes go wide, and his hands clench and flex at his sides in an erratic, nervous pattern. 

You can’t keep your signature open to his mind’s reaction, you just can’t. He’s seen enough, and you can put your shields up again. His face is enough to confront all on its own.

Obi-Wan steps toward you, slowly, dazed in a completely uncharacteristic way. With the way he seems to ever be prepared for the blows life throws at him, you hate how you have to be the harbinger for the second one that’s knocked him off his feet.

When he stops in front of you, he places his hands on either of your shoulders and looks into your eyes, searching for confirmation, and you nod, trying to not let fear seep into your expression.

One of his hands covers his mouth as he takes it in. 

And then he’s sinking in front of you, off of his feet indeed, and onto his knees. You want to follow, ready to hold him through the heartache sure to follow, at the second child he didn’t ask for while he still grieves the loss of the first. 

But his hands instead take purchase on your stomach, tightening the fabric of your tunic around the barely-visible bump before bunching it up and lifting, just enough so he can tilt his forehead against the skin there. 

You can feel him reaching out, not taking him long at all to find what he’s searching for, and curiosity beats self-preservation at the last moment, prompting you to open your mind again, just for you to be able to catch elation coursing through Obi-Wan.

You don’t even bother trying to stifle your confusion as he looks up at you with glassy eyes.

Sinking to your knees to meet him, you take his face in your hands, trying to make sense of it all as he takes your hand in his. “I never... “ when his voice comes out unsteady, he clears his throat and tries again. “I never thought I’d have... That we could… didn’t occur to me that now...stars above, how long have you known?”

You don’t recall when you start crying, but tears are falling freely down your cheeks as you shake your head. “I’m so sorry. I… I would never want to keep something like this from you, Obi-Wan, but I couldn’t tell you, not with everything, not with all you already have…and i’m so sorry.”

“Oh, heavens, no. You should not have to do this alone. Please don’t keep things from me, even if you think it to be for my sake. We can…”

You fix him with a pointed, unamused stare. He exhales as he must notice his hypocrisy. 

“Your point is well-put and taken, but the sentiment still stands. We’ll not keep secrets from each other anymore. Do we have an accord?”

Despite it all, you smile at his overly-formal phrasing, something you’d normally have a quip about if it weren’t for the concern still nagging at you.

“Are you not angry then? Or disappointed?” you watch him carefully, praying to any deity listening that he doesn’t concoct some half truth to placate you. His first instinct is always to protect, but you’d never want it at expense of his authenticity. 

Bafflement marks his brow at first, then he takes your face in his hands. “Darling, no.” He says your name, gathering every bit of your attention. “I dreamt of you. During the war, when I was away. I did not sleep well, even then, but when I did, I’d sometimes dream of you, holding a child that I knew to be ours. When I woke, I would remember it so vividly, so painfully, because I never thought that was an attainable future for us.”

But that doesn’t need to matter if you… do you want this child?” His eyes are so full of hope, and it was the last thing you expected, but here he is laying it down on the altar of your preference, and maker, are you glad those two things aren’t opposing each other. 

Because his hope and yours are one in the same, and once he knows it too, at your whispering, choked, “yes,” he’s clutching you in his arms.

And for the second time in a month, you’re both huddled on the ground in tears. The first, bowing under the mass of catastrophe. Now, at the glowing relief of the sprouting of a dream sown in tears, too tender before to even say aloud.

But now? You’re saying it, back and forth, from him to you as your walls fall, permitting him into your mind as he welcomes you into his, and finally you take true comfort once again in the home you’ve built in each other. 

*******

The night after, you lie side by side, hand in hand, on a blanket splayed not far from the hut. The suns have sunken, but the pinks and oranges of their palette still paint the sky where it hasn’t yet turned to midnight cobalt. The light of the lantern gives off a similar hue, dousing everything in your reach in soft, warm hues.

It has taken Obi-Wan some convincing, being so out in the open with everything he had to worry about wasn’t his first choice, but you compromised for a small alcove in the rock formations which surrounded you on two sides. More easily defensible. Not that he needed it, but if he was cautious before, it was borderline unbearable now. With the added danger of the Empire knowing without doubt that he lived.  With more than ever to lose. 

So, he was in charge of safety, you were in charge of snacks. And if they so happened to be almost entirely comprised of those melons you couldn’t quite get enough of lately? That was no one’s business except yours. You brought a few things you knew Obi-Wan liked too, of course. 

What little remains of the miscellaneous spread you push to the edge of the blanket so you can both lie down. 

“I dare say it’s almost pleasant out tonight.”

You turn your head to him, a snort ready at him discussing the weather of all things, but it instead forms a cloud in your throat at the sight of him. 

His eyes are closed, hair rustling in the slight evening breeze, a tranquil ease over his profile. 

The small patches of grey in the part of his beard next to his ears catch the first glints of moonlight in a way the rest of his hair doesn’t, giving them away. 

The mellisonant lowness of his voice brings you back to yourself, cheeks heating. 

“I can feel you staring, little one.”  He opens his eyes, leisurely rolling to his side. “Some say it’s quite impolite.” Slanting over you, he lifts a brow, daring your response.

“And is that a problem?” You look up at him through your eyelashes, feigning innocence. 

Obi-Wan’s gaze follows back up to the stars, as he plays right along, pretending to have to think on it. “I suppose it depends.” 

“On?”

“On whether or not you allow me to return the impropriety,” he responds with a coy smile, moving back to you, so close now you can feel his exhales on your cheek. 

Warmth blooms through you as you answer back, “You can always look, Obi-Wan.” You lift yourself to close the short distance between your face and his, pressing your lips together, which he deepens right away. Using the hand not supporting half his body off of you still, he fans out his fingers across your belly, towing the line between caressing gently and clutching protectively. 

You pull your lips back from his as an uninvited slither of insecurity slips into your chest. 

He senses it, of course, so you speak before he even needs to ask. “Are you really, truly, certain this is what you want? Now? I don’t want you to just say so because…and we could wait, we have...”

“I am,” he says, adamantly, before you even have a chance to finish. His eyes flash to the side. “I…” He rolls back onto his back, looking straight up as he talks seemingly half to you, half to himself. “There is not much I know for certain these days. Some days… I scarcely can remember who I am anymore.” 

He turns his eyes back to you, unwavering. “There are seldom few things I haven’t questioned of late, and my love for you isn’t one of them. And from the moment I’ve known, from the very first instant you let me feel the life within you, my love for them hasn’t been one either.” 

Your thoughts split into two, one wanting to lean into it, to take him for his word that’s always true, and the other cautioning you, telling you to keep distant and watch for the surface level honesty he gives that hides the brutal one he safeguards you from. 

But you’re not hiding anymore, feelings unconcealed in your energy and on your face, so he leans back into you, grasping your arm in his hand, squaring your shoulders to him. You cringe at yourself when you know he’s heard the impression of you questioning. It’s redundant, but self-doubt always is. “Know, please know, my darling.” Taking your hand in his, he brings it up to his temple with an insistence that you have no desire to counter. 

And it’s there. Right there and sparking in its clarity, right at the threshold of his mind as you enter it. How much he means his words, no holds barred, no cleverly crafted glazes to an unly underbelly of reality. His reality was this, how severely he craves starting a family with you. How much he already loves the being within you, how he looks forward to the day he gets to hold them in his arms. 

The fear is there too, quiet, but not kept from you. The fear of failing as a father, unsure of assuming any role that resembled a mentor again, all-too-familiar with the ghost that will float over him in every lesson he teaches. 

What shocks you there is his faith in you. In how much he’s already learned from you about the impact of open affection, in how you don’t let your feelings lead you, but you let them breathe, not suffocate them. It’s part of how he even can acknowledge his fears to himself and to you without berating himself under the too-simple phrase “fear leads to the dark side.” There’s truth in it, but also inaccuracy. 

Because he’s afraid, and yet, there is so much light in the acknowledging of it to himself, and in that very act, it loses much of any power it could have had over him. Oh, how deeply he wishes he could have articulated that understanding to Anakin. 

The pain is fresh, but so is his anticipation for the future, swirling together in a potent drink, and his throat bobs with the effort to swallow them down simultaneously. 

He knows you’ll help ground him through it, he trusts you, even in his uncertainty in himself.

It breaks your heart but also warms it: the knowledge that he lets you into that place where he keeps the questions of himself, the place only you and the man who’s caused most of this doubt have been permitted. 

 With a thankful short farewell, you part from his mind as you know exactly what you want to do.

The remains of your snacks still rest on the edge of the blanket, including the shells of the deep purple-pigmented melons. The one draw-back to their delightful taste was how badly they stained your fingers. You had to break them into tiny pieces, plopping them into your mouth without allowing them to touch your lips unless you wanted your mouth to stain too. 

But right now? The staining quality was just what you needed. 

Although first you needed a blank canvas. 

“May I take your tunics off?” you ask, sitting up. 

Despite a short twitch of confusion and then interest, Obi-Wan follows, raising himself up into a kneel, slightly lifting his arms in compliance. 

The paleness of his skin catches all the light of the lantern, highlighting your view as you slowly slide the fabric up and off, gliding your hands up the line of hair dipping below his navel as it becomes more exposed. It grants you a quiet, steep intake of breath from him and you suddenly give halt momentarily, distracted by the alluring appetite you’ve created. 

No, you won’t give in. Not yet. He needs to know this. 

You take one of the broken pieces of melon rind in your hand, where little tart bits of the fruit still cling, dribbling pigment, but before your finger makes contact with the taut skin of his chest, you pull back at the realization you might have bitten off more than you can chew. 

How do you even begin to describe him? Obi-Wan is so many things at once, so many attributes, and every descriptor that comes to mind falls blatantly short of him. 

Then you recall Obi-Wan going through the motions of Alchaka, watching his body fight to maintain the poses at times. Being such a personal practice, you felt honored that he let you see him go through the exercises, and even more honored that he opened up to you about the purpose behind it later. It was an exercise of both physicality and Force use, and the goal was absolute exhaustion. That was the destination. Trying, knowing from the start that he’ll fall short in the end, but doing it all the same. Because there’s so, so much to be said for the trying.

So you do. You bring the messy fingertip to his clavicle, smearing the first word you know to absolutely be true of him, as if starting the premise with a whisper of I know you’re even more than the sum all of these singular praises. 

The word “complex” appears in your penmanship on his skin as you drag it to life. You look up to his eyes, and his curiosity is clear there, but also so is the tenderness that is elemental to any time he looks at you. And just like that, you have your next word.

Kind.

And at the way he flushes so lovely for you at that?

Beautiful. 

You feel his protest before you see it, the objection in his signature, and you know you’re going to have to switch methods. 

Just then, a droplet from where you’ve written the last word on his pectoral falls, down, down, threatening toward the hem of his trousers, but you’re fast, dropping your mouth down and catching it all on your tongue before it can stain the bleached beige of his remaining clothing. 

When his stubborn revolt at the affirmation quiets in his mind in exchange for a flash of searing lust, you know exactly how you’re going to continue. 

Because Obi-Wan Kenobi, general, warrior, negotiator, Jedi Master, legend, has rarely ever been affirmed as such, and he squirms under the thick blanket of his humility and deprivation anytime someone endeavors. 

So you need his mind to be preoccupied enough, guards down low enough, so he can even hear the message get through.

When you place your hands over his waistband, locking eyes in inquiry, stopping when he hesitates, scanning the area around you, vigilant as always. Overly so now. 

“We’re alone. And wouldn’t you be able to sense it if we weren’t?” 

He looks down at you as he answers. “If I stay mindful enough to do so, yes.” 

Good, he’ll be even less prone to fight you if he has some of his mind sensing outward.

You look back up at him with the facial equivalent of asking “well?” to which Obi-Wan sighs in response. “Very well then.”

With your familiarity with ridding him of clothing, it only takes moments before you can finally taste him where you want to, where he’s already hard and swollen for you. 

 You know you won’t be able to take him as much as you want, a recently-developed overactive gag reflex preventing you. But it just so happens to be convenient tonight, as the resulting taunt should have him right where you want him.

A gentle kiss, right to the head of his cock is all the warning you give him before taking the whole tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him, pulling a choked hum deep from his throat. 

Oh, oh, Maker, have you done a grand miscalculation, because you forgot an entire factor in this equation: the way you have been borderline hysterical in hunger for him.

You’ve kept so much from him, and part of how you’ve even managed is starting to convince yourself of less than fact. Facts like how many times you’ve had to change underthings recently, physical evidence of desire unwilling to comply to your head’s demands. Facts like how you’ve literally had to bite your finger to keep the feelings at bay. 

You’d expected changes in your body even before your belly grew, but this was one you hadn’t anticipated. In some ways, it wasn’t that different than usual. You never knew you could want someone with the breadth that you want Obi-Wan. 

But this? Of late? It feels like it’s been amplified tenfold. 

You’re not keeping any cards close to your chest anymore, but you do have to ignore your own body’s screaming cries as you complete this.

He needs to know. 

Nerves still serenading his brain with feedback, you re-wet your finger with the purple juice and write the next words across his abdomen. 

Wise.

Perceptive.

He’s caught on to your scheme by now, cued by the all-too appropriate addition of the last word, and he lets you know it, an impression projected, speechless but still unobstructed. He’s still powerless against it. Or rather, letting himself be powerless. Trusting you with the control he has left, trusting you in his vulnerable places. The places where he’s weak.

Strong.

The word spread over his right upper arm, where he’s obviously just that. But may the tint of the word bleed through his skin, may it run through his veins, because that’s how deep and deeper still that his strength runs. It’s in the way he doesn’t flaunt it. It’s in the way he chooses to wield it. 

Gentle. 

He closes his eyes, flinching at the onslaught of acclamation, and you dip your head down again, wrapping your lips around his cock, letting him slide to where you can take him comfortably, just starting to build a pace as his hips squirm in harmony with his suddenly erratic breaths. Oh, how you’d love to let him deeper, allow his cock past your lips beyond the teasing amount you can take now, but the little writhes his body gives in protest are enough to almost make you okay with how your mouth won’t agree with your ambitions. He says your name, groaned out in bliss as he cups a hand on your cheek.

His barriers are down, so it’s easy to hear when his deprecating thoughts quiet again, and you switch back to coloring him again. 

You know the moment you look up at him that it’s a mistake, because he’s flushed, so torn, suspended in the limbo of your give and withdrawal, mouth ever so slightly open, tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

You’re only human, so before you draw anything else, you bring your lips to his, which is yet another mistake, because among the many things Obi-Wan is, he is a deep kisser, and as his tongue delves into your mouth, your will power takes a devastating blow. 

You pull back, reeling at the reminder of how easily he can take back control, knowing you have to complete this before you let him. 

Stars, how you want to let him. 

For now, you need that control back, so you take him into your mouth again, filthily wet and not nearly long enough as you quickly pull back, watching in satisfaction as he heaves forward at the loss, correcting himself quickly back into straight posture. 

With a smirk, you drag your slippery, pigmented finger across his lower stomach. 

Disciplined.

There’s so many more words, so much more he needs to know, and if you covered every inch of his skin in the smallest writing it still wouldn’t be sufficient of all that he is. 

Or you could whisper it all through the Force, embed it all in his mind. 

But because you’ve been there, know his mind inside and out, you know every time he sees his own skin, all he sees is the red of blood on his hands. The blood of his brother. 

And that’s exactly why you’re going to stain it in your own colors. Take back territory and push back the front lines that the army of guilt has taken over on him. 

Your Jedi, ever-adorned in unassuming beige, now drips in the color of royalty.

Charming.

Humble. 

Confident. 

Steadfast. 

You’re only left with enough space for one more word, and you want some sort of conclusion to it all, something to summarize the expanse of the man kneeling in front of you. 

Nothing can. 

But maybe, just maybe, one word encapsulates what he is to you. 

Treasure. 

This time you do chant it across his thoughts, prompting him to open his eyes and look at you.

Cerulean blue blinks open, slowly, almost painfully and nearly overflowing with emotion. 

Thank you, is all he says, unable or unwilling to say it out loud, much too heartfelt and newly-budded for that.

You know his pain has older roots than those tended to in this moment, but you vow to yourself that you’ll never stop trying. 

Lowering your mouth around him once again, you don’t tease him anymore, at least not intentionally, even though you still can’t take more than half of him. 

“Look at you, you’re…” he hisses in a breath as you swipe your tongue against that vein on the underside of him. “Stunning. You’re doing so well, little one.” 

The taste of him compels you as much as his words, seizes you in spice-like addiction, and how interesting it’s going to be explaining that taste craving to him, among your sudden adoration for those damn melons. 

“Darling, I’m…” 

You feel it in his energy before he says it, already pulling off, replacing your mouth with your hand, dropping your lips down even lower, mouthing at his balls, and the feedback is instant. An outpouring crest of his pleasure blasting outward as he lets out a depraved moan, netting his hands into your hair.

Your hand is wet and so is where he’s spilled on his still flexing and releasing stomach, clear white maring the lettering halfway through “disciplined.” You’d clean it with your tongue if you weren’t sure how your overly sensitive taste buds would react now. 

It’s not the first time you’ve had sex since you’ve known you were pregnant, but it’s the first time since he’s known, and it’s the first time you’re not hiding the symptoms. Before, you carefully shied away from anything that might give you away, and between the preoccupation of everything on his own mind he was trying to keep from you and his respect for your boundaries, he never pressed. He had questions in his eyes, but you knew how to carefully reveal partial vulnerabilities to keep him off your trail.

Your chest flares at the memory.

We’re not hiding now. 

It’s your chant, your reminder, your comfort. How nothing of this caliber will be kept between you again.

His eyes confirm it, sincere and exact as they fight to break through their dazed slipping. 

Never again. His voice in your head is home, so consoling it can and has put you to sleep before. 

Right now, it wakes you up in a different light, dowsing you in heat as Obi-Wan takes your hand in his, wiping it on a piece of his discarded clothing before wiping the spend off himself. 

Then he’s taking your face in both his hands tilting you up before kissing you soundly. 

I love you, he says across the wire that ties your minds, the wire that keeps growing stronger every day. So, so very much.

You say it back, a fact as simple as breathing. You love him.

You want him, borderline need him the way you need your next inhale, you don’t say, but he must hear it anyway, because that cocky little smirk that’s been gone far too long is back.

“Shall we do something about that?”

You’re about to just lift your shift dress up and off in response, but he halts you, grasping your wrists. 

“Allow me.” 

He pulls you into another sultry kiss, completely neglecting the task of ridding you of clothing.

Or so you think.

There’s buttons all the way down the dress, and you’ve never used them, always wondering at their purpose if it can so easily lift over your head. 

At first, you don’t even know he’s doing it until you start to feel the coolness of the night air on your nipples. Opening your eyes, you pull back from him to watch as seemingly in thin air, your buttons undo themselves. 

“You needn’t seduce me further. You already know how much I need you,” you gasp, breathless from the kiss.

Obi-Wan just gives a small smile as he drops a hand, dragging it down your side, then down your thigh. “Hm. So impatient. All this from just pleasuring me?”

Maker, he knows! He knows that you are. You always have been, and it’s not as if you weren’t projecting your feelings too.

When he reaches a hand between your thighs, parting them and making a single, tempting stroke through them, his fingers come back glistening. 

“I should think you could feel that I am.” You let the tide of your frustration spill over into your connection to his mind. 

You know he had to hear you, but he gives no indication that he did. 

“Mm. Desire needn’t always be indicatory of impatience,” he punctuates his statement with a hand at the base of your skull, tipping your head back to expose your neck. “I need you to be patient, little one. Let me savor you.” And with that, his mouth makes contact with your neck at the same time his other hand plays with one of your exposed nipples. 

You whimper at the attention, quietly pleading with him for more. Among the still slight changes to your body, this has been the most notable one. How sensitive your breasts have become to even the scrape of the fabric of your clothing. 

And with the rough pads of his fingers working only one, leaving the other to pang in want...

“Obi-Wan,” it’s a prayer, a request. He doesn’t need his hands to cause sensation, and you’d beg him right now if he asked. 

He lets up on your neck, only barely, lips moving against the now throbbing skin. “Answer me first.” 

Clearing your throat, you give the most cogent response you can muster. “Depends on if you’re definition of savor is synonymous with torture.”

He locks eyes with you then, gently grasping a breast in each of his hands, dragging his thumbs over the nipples as you moan out your assent.

His chuckle is far too self-satisfied to be becoming of a Jedi, but you’re already too far gone to call him on it. 

“Is that what you want, little one? For me to torture you so?”

An affirmative whimper is all the response you can give, and Obi-Wan reacts quickly, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your eyes up to his again. 

“Then you will be patient for me. Because I’m always happy to stop, and we can begin again when you decide to adhere.”

Your brain short circuits on the spot, and all energy is redirected much, much lower. His voice, stars above, his voice when it takes a commanding tone. 

It’s intimate, it’s personal, and yet this game is almost inappropriately playful for how sincere the moment is. 

But such was being loved by Obi-Wan. Full of dissimilar feelings that shouldn’t fit, but moved together in liquid consistency. Like metaphors that didn’t rhyme but still somehow gave their own life-giving rhythm, not dissimilar to the sound of his heartbeat when you lay your head against his chest at night. 

Making quick work of the remaining buttons of your shift and underwear, he beckons you to join him as he lies back down, large, warm hands guiding you to turn around so you’re facing away from him. 

You know that the purple stickiness of the fruit will smear from his body to yours like this, but you can’t at all bring yourself to care. 

You gasp a sigh of relief as one of his hands finds your breast, brushing a knuckle over the too-sensitive nipple. 

“Please.” Your whispered beg sounds pathetic, even to your own ears. But as you arch against him in a frenzied attempt at skin contact, Obi-Wan juts his hips forward, grunting into the exposed column of your neck, and stars, yeah, maybe he didn’t find that so pathetic after all. 

“What do you want, darling?” His voice doesn’t divulge any desperation, and for only the hundredth time do you envy his immaculate self-control. 

“You know, don’t pretend you don’t.” Leaving any doubt to the wind, you push your chest against his barely-touching hand. 

“Specificity can be a virtue; that I also know.” 

You change techniques, driving your hips back softly into where he’s hard and insistent against your ass, hoping it compels him. 

Then you simply… can’t anymore. You’re frozen, unable to move your lower half at all. 

Tangling your desires into a knot and tucking it away, you find the mindfulness to reply. “Yeah, so is mercy.” 

“Indeed it is. I shall concede when you do.”

You won’t win a battle of the wills with him. You’re not sure anyone could.

So you bring his hand over to your nipple. “Touch me here.” 

You feel his smile without even seeing it as he starts tweaking the bud. “Like this?”

It’s so much sensation, all concentrated on such responsive flesh, that you want to beg for him to switch to touching you between your legs.

You haven’t even finished the thought when you feel his unmistakable metaphysical brush against your thigh.

Extending a tendril of your own energy, you invite him in, and he takes it eagerly, ever as eager if not more to be entwined with your mind as with your body. 

He hears it all, the besottment, the arousal, the neediness. The panic that he might drag this out longer, that you’ll have to go a single minute longer without...

“It’s alright. It’s alright.” He sends soothing waves through your connection, and he swaps the positioning of his hand with the curl of power. He turns his hand so that the back of it runs through where you’re aching for him, gathering up your slick on the backs of his knuckles. You have to contort your neck to see what follows when he takes the hand back behind you, and your mouth goes dry when he sucks the knuckles in between his lips. 

You want to hear, you want to know what he’s…

He’s welcoming you in, navigating you to the brink of his mental barriers, letting you take that final plunge into the unsuppressed fullness of your bond to each other.

Now it’s your turn to hear it: how his carefully constructed unaffected persona is not at all a match for his naked, wanton need for you. 

And under that, the foundation on which that desire is built, not the product of it, is his love, his unyielding, unashamed, iridescent love for you. 

It’s all you can do but to pour it back, affirming and soothing and calling his love into action with your own. 

You both don’t want anything else except the most complete of entanglement, and that’s exactly what he moves to do, situating your bodies, hiking your top leg in the crook of his arm as you feel the initial breach of his body into yours, and all breath leaves your lungs in an exhilarating evacuation.

His audible gasp is an echo of his emotions, how he thinks he’s prepared for this onslaught of feeling, but how you take him off guard, how his equilibrium threatens to teeter every time. 

The web of his consciousness enveloping you, it’s easy to pick out a single thought blaring within him: How much he adores the way you fit together. Your back against his chest, how your breast fits in his hand, how the snug joining of where his cock presses into your body sends you into trembles, how comforting your very presence is to his soul when he lets you in like this. 

Tears, without warning, seep out of your eyes as he starts to move against you, slow and deep. You close your eyes, willing the powerful emotion away, but glimmers of light flash out behind our closed lids the moment you do, and how the kriff does he stay composed? 

Anchor. Anchor against me. 

He stills, letting you have a break from the barrage of pleasure blinding you as you search him out, looking for the cords of his intellect that seemingly both steam downward and beam upward, grounding him.

You find it, and you clasp on tightly.

But the moment he starts moving again, you lose sight of it all over again.

Your heightened hormones make your flesh so susceptible, and the tears start to fall again. Obi-Wan rolls your nipple in between his thumb and index, and he’s so good, and you’re so full, and you can hear his pleasure as your own, adding, doubling everything…

Scorching, electrifying heat speeds through your veins, hitting hard and fast, leaving you astounded and even more sensitive than before. 

Obi-Wan’s signature spikes as your climax resounds through him, and you can feel the vibration of the wanton noises he’s making right where his beard scratches against your neck. 

But he doesn’t allow it to overtake him, letting it run through him without resistance, making himself pliable but unmovable, keeping himself back from the edge. 

You still have much to learn.

Because that control? Gives him the ability to not even stop, not even hesitate once, even at both yours and his own ecstasy flowing through him.

When he starts striking his hips hard into yours, the weight of him inside you dragging exactly in the right place, you start to cry in earnest. Obi-Wan stops for a millisecond, concern radiating off of him, even when he can hear how much you want this so clearly, has access to every little passing thought. 

“Don’t stop, I’m fine, I pro…” He does just as asked while moving his hand down to your belly again, a soothing touch to his rough thrusts. Your eyes are blurred with wetness, overwhelmed with him. 

He’s listening to it all, applying every micro-feeling of feedback into action against your desperate, post-orgasmic skin, hand switching back and forth from your nipples to loosely clutching your neck, Force energy focused on applying pressure to your clit. 

“You’re doing so well, so good for me,” comes the wisp of his sultry tone, lips pressed against your ear. 

Since you aren’t even thinking about changing position, you know it’s his own preference that has him withdrawing, guiding you onto your back. 

There’s no inhibition this way, not the way there is when you’re on your side, no separation from your bodies being flush when he pushes into you again. You have to anchor in him, both mentally and with your fingernails clawing at his shoulder blades as your body starts into tremors.

He’s keeping the weight of his chest off of you, even though your belly is still barely swollen into distinguishable roundedness, and as much as you miss the contact, you can look into his eyes like this, can see the unfiltered attachment and all the weight of all the emotion he wills his body to not cave under. 

But then the tremoring transforms into series of contractions throughout your body, centering through your slick core, and you thrash your head to the side catching a glimpse of Obi-Wan’s fingers clenching into white knuckles, grasping into the exposed sand from the blanket being bunched up. 

He projects his thoughts across the tether to you,  how thoroughly impacted by the very fact you’re carrying his child, how affected he is by every little thing about you, honored that he’s allowed to touch you like this. 

You roll your hips back up into his, and that’s what it takes. His stuttering body is the lightning, and the searing, molten pleasure across your connection is the thunderous repercussion. 

It completely overthrows you, and your body bows against him as his high instantly cues yours again.

You can feel him throb inside you at the very moment you do, his turn to experience the secondary sensory white-out of your mate’s climax through the Force, his shuddering shout meeting your breathy whines in the close distance between your mouths. 

And he does kiss you then, soundly but with the haze of afterglow slowing it. 

“Have you any idea how bewitching you are to me?” He breathes it out, and despite all the ways you’d normally scoff at such words, his eyes tell the story, and you listen to it’s truth. 

His eyes hold that constant infiltrating study of you, the one that could be unnerving if his mind, still tethered to yours didn’t hold such amor, heart bleed such fondness that settles in the creases around his eyes. 

How interesting it is watching someone as knowledgeable as him having such an inquisitive outlook on life, and being so frequently the object of those investigations. 

Did the galaxy know her debt to him? Did she know the sum owed to inflicting the worst of life’s pains on someone who refused to let it build anything except an even gentler man of himself? When does she plan on repaying him? What does she offer in exchange for her cruelty of the hand she’s dealt Obi-Wan Kenobi?

Then the whisper comes, soft but crisp, from somewhere in the threads of existence around you, “Can’t you see? It’s you, child.” 

You could argue it. You could scream how it’s not enough, how you’re not enough,  how he deserves so much more from some dark insecure place inside you. Or how love shouldn’t be treated as currency in exchange for pain, how the galaxy could still have your fists if that was how it tallied. 

But the finality of it settles in your soul, more impressionistic than in solid wording: there is no easy conclusion that ties the suffering of life into purpose, no experience that erases or mends its pain. But love. Love makes the complicated endeavor of trying to find purpose in the madness worthwhile.  

Obi-Wan’s hum of agreement resounds in your ears and through to your head. His Force signature feels so familiar, so at home within yours and yours within his, that you’d briefly forgotten he could still hear you. 

With all the strength still left in quaking limbs, you wrap your arms around him, and he melts into it. 

The compassion of his soul hardly matches his war-ravaged skin, his guilt-ridden memories. Every good thing here came to be with a war waged, refined and not burnt away in fire at his sheer tenacity. 

It’s a growing thing, blooming in the desert. The beliefs in both of you. Your love for each other. Your own trust in the Force. 

Healing is no short journey, but her two sojourners here are determined.

And if that tender hope can blossom here?

Then maybe, just maybe: Tatooine is exactly the place for a baby after all. 

*********

In the valley beyond the hut, a boy jets quickly away in some mechanical contraption he recently motorized, a girl in a similar vehicularized compilation of junk not far behind. 

On the cliff’s edge stands Obi-Wan, eyes scanning the landscape intermittently for any sign of threat between longer affectionate looks at the children before him.

He turns, feeling your approach in his keen awareness as you set a hand on his shoulder from behind. His temples are now even thicker with sun-bleached silver, and his eyes wield the lines of laughter around them. 

And you? You’re as roped in by his gravitational pull as you’ve always been. 

He puts a hand over yours, clasping it to bring you in front of him, where he can still watch the children and encase you in his arms at the same time. 

“Slow down, Luke! You’re going too fast!” comes the distressed cry of your daughter, Ahlina, drawing your attention away from admiring Obi-Wan and back to the valley. Her vowels curl in the same way her father’s does, but her more casual phrasing was certainly thanks to you. Luke shouts back at her, “Come on, keep up!” while he races on ahead.

Obi-Wan smiles, seemingly amused at a secret joke. 

“They are much too young for this nonsense still,” he speaks, muffled slightly as he hides his lips in your hair. 

“Probably,” you reply with an airy laugh.

Not long after, the engine on Luke’s small contraption gives out, jutting him off and tumbling forward into the sand. 

“I told you!” Ahlina yells, her own machine coming to a halt not far away from Luke. 

When they make it back up the cliff, Obi-Wan couches and opens his arms, and they both come running with smiles. They’re still young enough to be unshy about affection, and Obi-Wan knows to soak it up, closing his eyes in relishment. 

Luke is the first to wiggle down, waving before running over to hug your leg, which you happily return, brushing some of the blonde mop of hair from his forehead. You adored the nights that the Lars let him sleep over. 

Although the nights that Ahlina slept over at theirs certainly had their allure too. 

“Can we have a snack, Daddy?” Ahlina asks, still happy to be hoisted up on one of his arms. 

“Hm. Perhaps I can make some of those ahrisa sweet breads again?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Can Mommy make them?”

“Why not mine?”

“Because you always burn them.”

He bops a finger lightly on her nose with a smile. “Cheeky.”

She goes to bop him on his nose in return, but he catches the finger, holding it. 

“Give it back!” she screeches through a giggle. 

“No, no. I think I’ll keep it now.” 

The suns are dipping low as you retreat into the hut, the two children running ahead, racing to gather the ingredients to help you bake the bread. Luke especially was an enthusiastic sous-chef. 

You step to follow them, but Obi-Wan grasps your hand. You turn back to him, and he barely gives you a second before he joins his mouth to yours. Sliding a hand into the auburn beard, you open your mouth to him, letting his familiar taste permeate your senses. 

He reluctantly breaks after a long moment, and you take his hand in yours. When you turn back to the horizon, the suns are dipping, blanketing the landscape in the most celestial light of the day. 

The planet’s eyes aren’t harsh in the way you used to see them. They’re still intense, and frequently unforgiving. 

Perhaps they never changed. Maybe only you did.

But as they sink now, you give a silent, partial farewell, knowing they’ll greet you again in the morning. 

Because if Dark’s patience is infinite? 

So is the promise of the return of the Light. 

Tagging upon request: @million-dollar-legs