#master obiwan

[pararararablof]

Which one would you choose:

A.Master Kenobi

B.Padawan Kenobi

C. Both

I think Anakin is gonna pick C

[jedi-hawkins]

Short Negotiations

A/N: Welcome to (one of) the beginnings of Bryn's story. This is an insert fic that follows the general plot of the prequels and Clone Wars timeline. Info about my OC, Bryn can be found pinned at the top of my blog. I don't have a set posting schedule, but I will write and post when I have the motivation. I just wanted to put this fic out into the world incase anyone might enjoy it!

3.4k Words

Pairings: Jedi oc x Obi Wan

Warnings: None, SFW

Next Chapter

Turmoil has engulfed the Galactic Republic. The taxation of trade routes to outlaying star systems is in dispute.

Hoping to resolve the matter with a blockade of deadly battleships, the greedy Trade Federation has stopped all shipping to the small planet of Naboo.

While the Congress of the Republic endlessly debate this alarming chain of events, the Supreme Chancellor has secretly dispatched two Jedi Knights, the guardians of peace and justice in the galaxy to settle the conflict. With the aid of another will they be able to stop a war before it begins...

"Captain."

The woman turns around to face the cloaked Jedi master in the doorway of the cockpit. "Yes sir?"

"Tell them that we wish to board at once."

"Yes sir," she replies, before speaking into the communications transmitter. "With All due respect for the Trade Federation, the Ambassadors for the Supreme Chancellor wish to board immediately."

The Neimoidian Viceroy on the screen nods as he replies, "Yes, yes of course. As you know our blockade is perfectly legal, and we'd be happy to receive the Ambassadors. Happy to."

The Jedi Master who spoke earlier turns to a second, shorter cloaked figure at his side. "Come apprentice, let us greet the Viceroy."

His apprentice nods and follows him out the door to the loading ramp. "I'm still not quite sure why the Chancellor sent us, Master. Wouldn't any other politician suffice?"

"In situations such as these, it is often better that those with level heads are the first to approach." The Master simply replies as the loading ramp opens.

The pair stride across the hangar and wait for a set of blast doors to open. On the other side, a TC-14 droid awaits them. It leads the two through the battleship to a dimly lit conference room.

"We are greatly honored by your visit Ambassadors. Make yourselves comfortable, my master will be with you shortly," the droid says before shuffling out the door.

"I have a bad feeling about this, Master Qui-gon." The shorter figure says as he throws his hood back.

"I don't sense anything, Padawan Kenobi," The master replies as he does the same.

"No, it's not about the mission, Master. It's something elsewhere... elusive."

Qui-gon rests a hand on his apprentice's shoulder and begins to stride across the room toward the window. "Don't center on your anxiety, Obi-wan. Keep your concentration here and now where it belongs."

Obi-wan's brow crinkles in thought as he follows, "But Master Yoda says I should be mindful of the future."

"But not at the expense of the moment. Be mindful of the living force, my young Padawan."

Obi-wan simply nods. "Yes, Master. How do you think the Viceroy will deal with the Chancellor's demands?"

His master smiles and shakes his head, "These Federation types are cowards. The negotiations will be short."

"Have you dealt with them much, Master?" Obi-Wan asks as he moves to take a seat at the long board table.

"Not as many as some, but more than I would have liked." Qui-gon says as he sits across from his padawan. "Though, I've never had the pleasure of dealing with the Viceroy himself."

"Is it in their nature to make us wait this long?" Obi-wan asks as the TC droid shuffles back into the room, this time with a tray of drinks.

"No," Qui-Gon shakes his head, "I sense an unusual amount of fear for something as trivial as this trade dispute."

Obi-wan graciously takes one of the drinks from the tray the droid offers him, his thoughts tumbling in his head.

Suddenly, a large explosion echoes through the battle ship and both Jedi jump to their feet, activating their lightsabers.

"Oh! Sorry!" The CT droid exclaims as it drops the tray.

The two Jedi quickly canvas their surrounding, but no threats are in sight. In seconds, a quiet hissing fills the room as a green-tinged gas flows from the vents.

"Dioxis. Take a breath Obi-wan, and don't let it go." Qui-gon instructs.

Seconds feel like minutes.

But it always feels like that when you're holding your breath. Obi-wan thinks to himself. The doors to the room slide open and Obi-wan moves to exit, but Qui-gon holds him back and lets the CT droid shuffle out first.

They can hear battle droids humming in the hallway. "Check it out Corporal, we'll cover you." One of them says.

As soon as the droid steps forward, the two Jedi ignite their weapons and leap into the hallway. They make quick work of the droids, deflecting their blaster fire and slicing them in half. Just as Obi-wan decapitates one, he looks up and sees three more approaching. Quickly, he raises and hand and force pushes them to the ground.

Qui-gon sighs and straightens up as he takes out the last droid. "Ah well that wasn't that bad."

"There will be more, Master."

"I would be upset if there aren't, Obi-wan." he replies, "Come on, we should get to the bridge."

Obi-wan nods and follows his master's lead through the battleship hallways, dodging and cutting down the droids that cross their path. When they finally reach the bridge doors, Qui-gon thrusts his lightsaber into the door and begins to cut through it while Obi-wan holds the rear flank. It seems to be going well until a loud boom resonates from behind the bridge doors.

"That sounded like the blast doors, Master." Obi-wan calls out.

Qui-gon stabs his lightsaber back into the center of the door, "Not a problem."

"Maybe, but that might be one." Obi-wan warns as two destroyer droids roll toward them down the hallway.

Qui-gon gives up on trying to slice through the doors and starts helping his padawan deflect the blaster fire back towards the destroyers. The two Jedi have good aim, but the deflected blaster rays simply bounce away from the droids.

"Master! They have shields generators!" Obi-wan exclaims.

"You're right, it's a standoff. Let's go!" His master replies as they turn to speed down one of the adjacent hallways, blaster fire flying over their heads.

Obi-wan glances over his shoulder to his master. "We can't keep running forever, we have to get off this battleship!"

Qui-gon nods in agreement. "You're quite right." Then he stops running.

"Master?"

Qui-gon suddenly moves and kicks in a vent in the nearby wall. "Get in, hopefully we'll find a way to the hangar."

With Obi-wan leading the way, the pair squeezes through the vents. They had gone up a few floors to reach the bridge, so hypothetically, going down would lead them to a landing bay.

Thankfully, the found one. Sneaking behind some crates, they finally started to gain the bigger picture.

"Battle droids," Qui-gon observes. "It's an invasion army. An odd play for the Trade Federation. We've got to warn the Naboo and contact Chancellor Valorum. We should split up, stow aboard separate ships and meet down on the planet."

"You were right about one thing, Master." Obi-wan points out. "The negotiations were short."

Qui-gon smiles at his apprentice's comment and moves to sneak aboard an invasion vessel. Obi-wan follows suit to the neighboring ship. He's always liked missions like this, uncovering the puzzle. It's one of the things he loves about being a Jedi. In that moment, a thought crosses his mind. A thought of a long time friend from years ago.

Bryn-ayla Del Caro, a fellow Jedi padawan. Obi-wan wondered what she was up to. They had arrived at the temple together when they were kids, but it had been years since he had last seen her. The Council had sent them on a mission to Mandalore to help protect a noble from an uprising. Qui-gon had proposed the two of them for the assignment since they had near twelve years of history. After they had completed the Mandalore assignment and parted ways, Obi-wan barely heard any news of Bryn. Wherever she was, Obi-wan hoped she was safe.

Obi-wan is pulled out of his thoughts as the doors to the transport slide open. As quickly as possible, he slinks out of the ship, trying to stick to shadows as much as possible. A breath escapes Obi-wan as he finally reaches the tree line, but all too soon.

"There's a Jedi! Blast Him!" A droid cries out.

Obi-wan turns and runs deeper into the forest, weaving in through the trees and ducking the blaster fire zipping past his head. Before he knows it, he stumbles into a clearing where Qui-gon stands with a tall aquatic-looking creature. Qui-gon ignites his lightsaber and deflects the blaster fire back into the assailing droids.

"You saved my again!" The aquatic creature exclaims.

Obi-wan looks at him curiously, "What's this?"

"A local." Qui-gon replies. He opens his mouth again to speak but is cut off by his comlink beeping. "Hello?" He says, adjusting the volume so Obi-wan can also hear it.

"H-hello? Hello, can you hear me?" A female voice says through the comlink.

"Yes this is Jedi Master Qui-gon Jinn, who on Endor is this?"

"Oh! Yes! Finally I reached you!" The voice exclaims. "Master Qui-gon, it's Padawan Bryn-ayla Del Caro. I was on Kalinda when the Council sent me word that they lost communications with you and they wanted me to provide support if I could. I've managed to slip past the blockade and I'm on my way down to the surface. Send me your coordinates and I can join up with you."

"Yes, of course. Sending the coordinates now." Qui-gon replies, "How did you manage to contact us? I thought the blockade was intercepting communications."

"I managed to piggyback off of one of their transmissions, I don't know how long it will take them to realize. I've got your coordinates, stay put as much as you can and I'll be there..." Bryn's voice crackles away.

Qui-gon slips the comlink back into his robes. "Looks like they found her. We'll wait until she reaches us, shouldn't be long."

Excitement rises in Obi-wan's chest, he can't believe it. He's going to see Bryn again.

A Jedi starfighter ducks and weaves to avoid fire from the invasion ships trailing it. The pilot frantically pushes a few buttons on the dash to redirect all power to the rear shields.

"Damn those droids really don't quit." The pilot mutters. "Almost there."

The starfighter enters the atmosphere of the blue planet of Naboo, still swerving to avoid as much fire as possible.

"Now where are you two..." The pilot grumbles.

Suddenly, the right wing of the starfighter is hit, causing it to lurch sickeningly.

"Come on you piece of junk, just hold together a little longer." The pilot urges the starfighter as the treeline approaches. "Just a few more seconds."

Obi-wan looks up at the sound of an approaching ship and spots a Jedi starfighter approaching with two invasions ships in close pursuit. "Is that smoke?" He asks his master.

"It would seem it is." Qui-gon replies.

The pair watch as the transports fire again on the little starfighter. It manages to dodge most of the rays but the left wing is also hit. The ship begins to plummet into the tree line, the right wing is sheared off by the timbers, quickly followed by the other. The flightless body of the starfighter crashes into the dirt a few hundred yards away from the two Jedi on the ground. They glance at each other before running through the trees to the wreckage.

As the fighter comes into view, Obi-wan's eyes fall on the empty cockpit. "No..." He mutters.

Before Qui-gon can say anything, a voice drifts around from the other side of the wreckage.

"Stupid piece of space metal. Can't even have rear shields that I don't know, shield the rear!" The voice sighs. "This would've been so much easier if Master hadn't taken D7 with him." A loud thunk echoes from the hull of the space craft as if the voice had kicked it in frustration.

Obi-wan and Qui-gon walk around the craft to see a young woman, about twenty-four, with a long braid draped over her shoulder and soot on her face, straightening her robes and grumbling at the spacecraft.

"Padawan Caro." Qui-gon says, clearing his throat.

The woman straightens up and a smile instantly lights up her face. "Master Qui-gon! Padawan Kenobi! Oh how great it is to see you two!"

"A smooth landing as always Padawan Caro?" Qui-gon asks with a slight smirk.

She smiles back, "Of course, Master. The transports got in my way."

"As did the trees, I assume." Qui-gon retorts back. "Did your master not accompany you?"

She shakes her head. "No, Master Plo had other matters to attend to. I was on Kalinda alone."

"Well we're glad you're here. Those transports following you won't be able to land without a clearing, but we should go before the droids on the ground find us." Qui-gon says, turning to walk away from the wreckage, with a gungan galumphing after him.

Bryn turns her attention to the man still standing in front of her. "Is that really you Obi-wan?" She asks with a smile. "Four years doesn't seem like a long time, but you've really changed."

Obi-wan smiles. "The same could be said for you, though sadly your flying has yet to improve."

Bryn scoffs at his remark but immediately begins laughing. "You know I'm a much better pilot than you will ever be. Now shut up and give me a hug."

The two embrace, a hug that was a long time coming.

"Obi-wan! Bryn! let's go!" Qui-gon calls through the trees, breaking them apart.

The two look at each other and begin to laugh. "Adventure awaits, Kenobi."

"Better not make it wait, Caro."

The pair begin to jog through the trees to catch up with Qui-gon and the gungan who is speaking to the Jedi Master.

"Ex-squeeze me, but de most safest place to go would be Gunga City. Is where I grew up. 'Tis a hidden city."

Qui-gon stop running and turns to the Gungan. "A city?"

"Uh-huh."

"Can you take us there?" Qui-gon asks.

The gungan opens his mouth, but pauses and shakes his head. "Ah, on second thought, no not wealy."

"No?" Bryn inquires.

"Iss embarrasing, but my afraid my've been banished." The gungan says. "My forgotten der bosses would do terrible tings to my. Terrible tings if my goen back dare."

A rumbling in the distance roll over the hills.

"You hear that?" Qui-gon says, pointing in the direction of the sound. "That is the sound of a thousand terrible things heading this way..."

Obi-wan nods and adds, "When they find us, they will crush us, grind us into little pieces, then blast us into oblivion."

Bryn takes a step toward the gungan. "I know you may be afraid of what they may do to you if you return to Gunga City, but I think it would be very brave."

The gungan nods. "Yousa point is well seen. Dis way! hurry!" He says before running off through the brush.

After a while, Obi-wan glances over his shoulder to make sure Bryn hadn't fallen behind. To his surprise, she's jogging right behind him.

"I'm alright Obi, no need to worry." She says when she notices him checking on her, her breath slightly labored.

The group comes to stop at the banks of a body of water. "How much further?" Qui-gon asks.

"Wesa goen underwater okeday?" The gungan says, gesturing to the water. "My warning yous. Gungan no liken outsiders. Don't expect a warm welcome."

"Don't worry," Obi-wan replies, "This has not been our day for warm welcomes."

The three Jedi look to each other and pull their respirators from their robes before wading in after the gungan. Bryn sucks in a sharp breath when the cold water soaks through her robes. Obi-wan, having heard, gives her a sideways look, one eyebrow cocked. Bryn rolls her eyes at her companion and jumps on top of him, dunking his head under the water.

The group of Jedi follow the gungan until the glowing Gungan city appears over a ridge of rock. Glowing orange bubbles float in the water, connected by an intricate system of walkways. The Gungan swims all the way up to the largest bubble at the center of the city and stands on a platform just outside what could be assumed as a doorway.

The gungan walks through the jelly-like substance first, followed by Qui-gon. Obi-wan steps aside and gestures for Bryn to follow next. She does so with a smile as she steps through the doorway. What a weird sensation it was, walking through a jelly-like border into a bubble of air. Bryn expected to be cold as she was still soaking wet from the frigid water outside, but as soon as she steps into the glowing bubble, the water begins to gently steam off of her robes.

"So good bein home!" The gungan exclaimed, taking in his surroundings.

"I'm sorry," Bryn says, grabbing the gungan's attention. "I never did catch your name."

"Oh!" The gungan says, "Meesa is-"

"JAR JAR BINKS! Stopa dare!" A guard bellows, riding up to the small group.

"Heyo-dales, Cap'n Tarpals." Jar Jar replies cheerfully. "Meesa Back!"

The guard shakes his head. "Noah gain, Jar Jar. Yousa goen to da bosses. Yousa in big dudu this time."

Another guard rides up and pokes Jar Jar in the shoulder with an electric prod, causing the gungan to yelp in surprise.

"How wude" He says under his breath.

The group is escorted through the network of bubbles until the come to a small one at the very heart of the capitol.

"Yousa younglings will be quiet in the room of Boss Nass." One of the guards sneers as they pass through the doorway.

Bryn leans towards Obi-wan as they descend the stairs into the chamber. "We should probably let Master Qui-gon handle this."

Obi-wan nods in agreement. Five gungans look down upon the three Jedi.

"Tkk-tkk-tkk-tkk! Yousa cannot bees here." The one in the center says. "Dis army of Mackineeks up dare is new weesong."

Qui-gon steps forward. "A droid army is about to attack the Naboo. We must warn them."

The center gungan, Boss Nass shakes his head. "Weesa no like da Naboo. Tkk-tkk-tkk-tkk. Da Naboo tink day so smarty. Day tink day brains so big."

Obi-wan steps forward as well to stand beside his master. Bryn tries to grab his sleeve to stop him but he wiggles his robe out of her grip. "Once those droids take control of the surface, they will take control of you."

Boss Nassshakes his head again. "Mesa no tink so. Day not know of uss-en."

"You and the Naboo form a symbiont circle." Obi-wan argues. "What happens to one of you will affect the other. You must understand this."

"Wesa no carrre-nn about da Naboo." Boss Nass says. "Yousa. Small girl, whata do you tink?" He says, pointing at Bryn.

The two male Jedi step aside to allow Bryn to move forward. "I agree with my comrades, that it would be in your best interest to help the Naboo. But I also understand having to put your own people first. If you will not aid the Naboo, you will simply let us go about our mission." Bryn says as she waves her hand gently in front of her.

The gungan tilts his head to the side in consideration. "Well mesa guess..." He shakes his head. "No, wesa can not let yousa go."

Qui-gon places a hand on Bryn's shoulder and steps forward. "You will speed us on our way." He says calmly, gently waving his hand.

"Wesa ganna speed yous away." Boss Nass repeats.

"And we could use transport." Qui-gon adds.

"Wesa give yousa una bongo. Da speediest way tooda Naboo 'tis goen through the planet core. Now go." Boss Nass says, pointing to the chamber exit.

The three Jedi bow in thanks. "Thank you for your help" Qui-gon says. "We go in peace."

As they walk away, Obi-wan asks, "Master, what's a bongo?"

"Transport, I hope," he mutters back.

Just before they reach the steps leading out of the chamber, Bryn notices Jar Jar, bound in chains, shaking his head. "Jar jar? What's wrong?" She asks.

"Daza setting yous up. Goen through da planet core is bad bobin!" He cries. "Any help here would be hot."

Qui-gon rubs his chin in thought.

"Master, we're short on time," Obi-wan prods.

"We'll need a navigator, Master." Bryn interjects. "Maybe Jar Jar can help."

Qui-gon walks back to Boss Nass. "What is to become of Jar Jar Binks here?"

Boss Nass sneers at the mention of the meek gungan by the steps. "Binkss brokeen the nocombackie law. Hisen to be pune-ished."

"He has been a great help to us, I hope his punishment will not be too severe." Qui-gon replies.

"Pounded unto death." Boss Nass says with a sickly grin.

Qui-gonn rubs his chin in thought once more. "We need a navigator to get us through the planet's core. I have saved Jar Jar Bink's life. He owes me what you call a 'life debt.'"

Boss Nass turn his gaze to Jar Jar. "Yousa havena liveplay with thisen hisen?"

"Your gods demand that his life belongs to me now." Qui-gon continues.

Boss Nass sneers again, "Hisen life tis yos, outlander. Begone wit him."

The guards begin to unlock Jar Jars chains, but he shakes his head. "Count mesa outta dis! Better dead here, den deader in da core. Yee gods, whata mesa saying?"

Bryn shakes her head with a smile and beckons for Jar Jar to follow her and the other Jedi. "Come on, Jar Jar. What do could go wrong when you're traveling with three Jedi?"

Please let me know if you want to be tagged in future works!

[galactic-rhea]

One day i will create some serious art. But that day isn't today.

the individual art under the cut!

[cruella1989]

What do you think they’re talking about?

[thegreatwicked]

Padawan

Padawan

May I proudly present....! My first reader insert, I wrote this for all you lovelies who follow/like/reblog/comment on my stuff. This is for you! Obi-Wan/You/Reader Insert. Master/Padawan, SMUT. SMUT. SMUT. That is all. Or is it? Should I write more???

Summary: After disappearing from your Master for thirteen years, the Clone Wars has brought you back to the same planet and a brush with death back into each other's lives. But you’re not his Padawan anymore, you’re a knight, right? No, you’ll always be his Padawan, and he, your Master.

~~~

He wasn't a fool; he had sensed your presence the moment you set foot on the planet, like a blinding light or the ring of a bell only he could hear. Of course, he could feel you—how could he not? At least, he could feel you for a while, long enough for him to be certain that he didn’t imagine it in a post-battle haze. You were here.

The first time your force signature vanished, his heart skipped a beat, and a cold rush of panic coursed through his veins and a horrible cold weight settled in his stomach, making him feel like he may be sick. Determined and distracted, he abandoned his conversation in a mad sprint. Searching. He tracked down anyone who had been alongside you on the battlefield, questioning them relentlessly, not caring how he came off as slightly unhinged as opposed to his normal calm and stoic manner, but each inquiry was met with disappointment and vacant glances. 

It wasn't until he caught sight of the familiar sight of a blue and white lekku of Ahsoka that a glimmer of hope ignited within him, brighter than any lightsaber. Ahsoka, Anakin’s padawan. She was seemingly unaffected and greeted him with a smile as though she were seeing a dear friend or distant relative, and that in itself was calming. If Ahsoka wasn't distressed, it meant one of two things: either she hadn't heard of your demise, or, more optimistically, you were still alive.

A wave of relief washed over Obi-Wan as Ahsoka confirmed that you were indeed unharmed and engaged in another mission, your paths had briefly crossed long enough for friendly banter involving drinks later. You were not only alive but also hailed as a hero. Your proficiency with the light your orange, lightsaber had garnered admiration, and the news of your success spread across the battlefield.

As he processed this new information, Obi-Wan couldn't shake the questions that haunted him since the day you disappeared, thirteen years ago. What happened? Where had you been? Why had you left without a word? 

Had he been too strict, too distant? He paced in his quarters, the weight of uncertainty pressing on his shoulders. Thirteen years of silence, and now he learned you were not only alive but thriving in the chaos of war. Had he been oblivious to your struggles and triumphs as a padawan? Had he overlooked something crucial?

His distress and confusion fueled his determination to find you, to understand the reasons behind your disappearance. The bond between Padawan and Master was meant to endure, but his had been severed without warning or explanation. The quest for answers became a relentless pursuit, driven by a mix of concern, guilt, and an unyielding desire to reconnect with the one he had lost.

Ilum's gift had bestowed upon you a most unique kyber crystal, weaving the essence of the Force into your arsenal—a radiant burnt orange lightsaber. Obi-Wan swelled with pride, recognizing that your exceptional skills not only ensured your safety but also turned the tide amid battle.

Sharing the tale with Ahsoka, Obi-Wan recounted the moments of uncertainty, the fear that gripped him when the disturbance in the Force signaled potential danger. Ahsoka responded with a knowing smile and a playful eye roll, acknowledging your tendency to dive headfirst into peril and emerge victorious as if it was the only possible outcome. Relief washed over Obi-Wan, mirrored by a grateful grin exchanged with Ahsoka, reassured that you navigated the challenges in your own distinctive way.

“She’s gotten quite good at cloaking, hasn’t she?” And with those words, all his nervous energy fell away.

The reality settled, Obi-Wan marveled at the intricacy of your Force signature concealment. Your mastery of the technique was so impeccable that it eluded even his well-honed Jedi senses. In moments of deep meditation, he attempted to reach out, seeking the familiar touch of your intangible presence, only to encounter a mysterious void. Your cloak, flawlessly executed, had transformed you into a Ghost—a moniker that, suddenly, filled him with pride for your evolving abilities.

Days melted into an endless procession of battles, the smoke of war shrouding the fates of those who entered its domain. Unable to locate you through the Force, Obi-Wan sought solace in updates from Ahsoka and the soldiers who served under your command, the Echo Squadron they were called. 'The Ghost,' a symbol of your evasive prowess, deepened his admiration for the padawan who had become an elusive figure amid the chaos of war.

Despite the promising news, Obi-Wan Kenobi's frustration deepened. Thirteen years had passed since he last saw you, his once-promising Padawan and the silence surrounding your disappearance gnawed at him. Pacing his quarters, he questioned the events that had led to this point. You had excelled in your Jedi trials, proving yourself worthy of knighthood, and yet, without a word, you vanished from his life.

The lack of closure weighed heavily on him. Had he failed you as a master? The memories of your training together, the countless missions you undertook side by side, haunted him. Had he missed something? Obi-Wan couldn't fathom why you chose to sever ties so abruptly and so completely. The bond between a Padawan and a master was meant to transcend time and distance even the Force itself.

His mind danced through potential reasons. Perhaps he had been too stern, too demanding, but he couldn't recall any unresolved conflicts or bitter disagreements. It fueled his restless pacing, so much he thought he might wear a hole in the floor. The war had claimed many, and the unpredictability of life in those times made such disappearances common. Yet, the absence of a farewell, a simple goodbye, perplexed him.

Obi-Wan stopped, staring at the transmission device on his desk. He contemplated reaching out through the Force, attempting to sense your presence, but a lingering doubt held him back. If you wished to remain hidden, he knew the Force would not easily reveal your location.

With a heavy sigh, he admitted to himself that he needed answers. The Jedi Master reluctantly accepted that, without your cooperation, he might never unravel the mystery of your departure. The internal conflict played across his features as he grappled with the uncertainty, the pain of an unanswered question tugging at his Jedi calm. ~~~

 Obi-Wan flickered back into his senses, and he’d had enough, your Force signature, elusive and soft, presented a challenge to pinpoint. Yet, now seemed as opportune a moment as any to seek you out. He anticipated that the moment he reached out, you would sense it, and the possibility lingered that you might vanish as swiftly as you'd appeared. Despite the odds, he had to try.

For days, throughout his search, panic clawed at him as your signature exhibited erratic behavior—flickering, softening, going dim and occasionally blazing intensely. Unsettled, he worried about your well-being. Had something happened with your men or yourself? When news of Echo Squadron’s return came across his com, he decided on a more direct approach. The uncertainty fueled his urgency as he raced through the compound's halls, drawing closer to potential answers.

The revelations unfolded when the heavy blast doors swung open, and a chill gripped Obi-Wan's heart revealing a fractured company of clone troopers stumbling in, wearied from the throes of war.

Amidst the chaos, Obi-Wan's voice cut through the clamor, a determined command in battle's aftermath. 

"You! Where is your Commander?" he bellowed to the nearest trooper. The man, a walking testament to the horrors he'd witnessed, appeared as if he had traversed through realms of death and fire. His gaze held the weight of someone who had glimpsed into the abyss, far beyond the immediate surroundings.

Obi-Wan called to the trooper, attempting to shake him from his trance, but it was evident that shock had claimed the soldier, rendering him useless for any immediate assistance. A surge of frustration gripped Obi-Wan, that familiar icy sensation taking root within him, he could stand it no more. 

"Where is she?" he shouted, his voice cutting through the lingering echoes of combat. Heads turned in response, and a battle-worn trooper, fatigue etched on his face, stepped forward.

"General Kenobi," the trooper addressed him with a weary acknowledgment, capturing Obi-Wan's attention. With practiced discipline, the trooper began to relay the grim news that had been haunting his thoughts.

A surprise attack, swift and ruthless, caught the entire company off guard, unleashing chaos and claiming numerous lives. Amidst the chaos, your unwavering courage emerged as the linchpin that prevented even greater losses. The trooper, his voice tinged with awe, spoke your name with a reverence that echoed through the hushed murmurs of your fellow soldiers. Their expressions carried profound respect, acknowledging the pivotal role you played in turning the tide of the ambush.

The trooper went on to reveal a tale of resilience and determination. The men who managed to return from the battleground owed their lives to you. Your strategic prowess, coupled with an indomitable will, had become the catalyst for the survival of those under your command. The atmosphere grew heavy with gratitude and admiration as the trooper unfolded the narrative, and the unspoken bond between soldiers resonated with the unyielding spirit that defined your leadership.

“Injured?” Obi-wan breathed not wanting to believe it, “How badly?”

The trooper wore a solemn look before explaining; three. You had been hit by three blaster bolts and thrown back in an explosion that you had only barely managed to contain with your force shield, Obi-wan felt as though the breath had been punched out of his lungs. Murmurs of agreement sounded with troopers calling you a hero, and they would go into battle with you any day. 

The trooper initiated the playback of the security holo, and the room was enveloped in the eerie glow of the holographic display. The flickering images revealed a chaotic battlefield, where your orange lightsaber danced in a brilliant display of skill, deflecting blaster bolts and cutting through the air. The scene, however, took a grim turn as the explosion unfolded.

The trooper's narration painted a vivid picture of your unwavering determination. Your face, illuminated by the glow of the lightsaber, displayed a fierce concentration as you called upon the Force. The protective barrier you conjured was a testament to the immense power you harnessed. Smoke, flames, and debris relentlessly assaulted the shield, crashing against it with an intensity that seemed insurmountable.

As the holographic depiction continued, the strain on your shield became evident. Each impact pushed you back, a slow and relentless retreat under the overwhelming assault. The trooper's commentary reflected the increasing tension in the room, capturing the collective breaths held by those witnessing the event. Finally, with a heart-wrenching collapse, the protective barrier gave way, and your motionless form was violently thrown backward by the force of the explosion, resembling a discarded puppet.

The disturbing imagery etched itself into the minds of those present, leaving a haunting impression of the sacrifice you had made for your comrades. The room fell silent as the holographic display faded, and the gravity of the moment lingered in the air.

“Where is she?” Obi-Wan’s voice a hoarse whisper.

The troopers exchanged puzzled glances, their expressions shifting from a state of surprise to one of guarded curiosity. Why did General Kenobi, the renowned Jedi leader, express such concern about the whereabouts of a single Jedi, especially one who hadn't reported directly to him? The very nature of Jedi loyalty was well-known, but this level of interest seemed unusual, especially considering General Kenobi had never spoken your name and had no prior connection with your company.

In the austere world of warrior monks, emotional attachments were often deemed a distraction, a sentiment echoed by the Jedi Code. The troopers, accustomed to the stoic and disciplined demeanor of their Jedi commanders, found it perplexing that General Kenobi, known for his wisdom and strategic brilliance, was showing a level of personal investment that transcended the typical chain of command.

As the trooper spoke, the realization hit Obi-Wan like a sudden gust of cold wind. The men, once indifferent, now wore expressions of awe and respect. He had been the mentor to their leader, the padawan of the legendary General Kenobi, and none of them had been aware. It was a revelation that changed the dynamics within the group.

“I apologize, General Kenobi, we didn’t know.”

Obi-Wan's confusion deepened. How was it possible that you had never spoken of your training under him? He couldn't fathom why you would erase any mention of your master, especially considering the strong bonds that typically formed between Jedi and their mentors.

“What do you mean? Has she never spoken of it?”

The trooper shook his head solemnly. His name had never left your lips. There was no connection with Obi-Wan Kenobi, and your silence regarding your master left him perplexed and troubled. What had transpired to make you erase the very existence of your training and relationship with him from your history? It was a mystery that left him with an unsettling sense of guilt and regret.

Dread settled over Obi-Wan as the clone recounted the events in the medical wing. The last remnants of the company had made it back, battered and bruised, their fallen comrades in tow. However, you were conspicuously absent, having been transported to the medical wing for intensive care due to the injuries you sustained. Without a moment's hesitation, Obi-Wan set his sights on the medical facilities.

In his urgency to find you, Obi-Wan maneuvered through the bustling corridors, barely sparing a glance for those he unintentionally bumped into. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the low hum of medical machinery. The chaos within the medical wing mirrored the turmoil in Obi-Wan's mind as he scanned the rows of occupied beds and the busy healers tending to the wounded.

He sought your name among the patients but found no trace. Panic tightened its grip on him, as each unoccupied bed intensified his worry. In the organized chaos, Obi-Wan grappled with the fear that he might be too late, that he had lost you in the vast sea of casualties.

"She’s alright. She was moved out of intensive treatment yesterday; she’s recuperating in private quarters on deck five."

Obi-wan's tension eased at Ahsoka's reassurance. The weight that had settled on his shoulders lifted as he absorbed the news. Ahsoka's brief but impactful update became a lifeline, giving him direction in the chaos. Gratitude filled his eyes as he nodded, silently expressing his thanks. The urgency to find you intensified, but now armed with information, he promptly set off towards the turbo-lift, leaving Ahsoka with the unspoken promise that he would find you.

Inside the lift, the monotonous hum did little to alleviate his restlessness, in fact, it made them worse. The usually swift elevators felt unusually slow on this particular day, and he entertained the thought that taking the stairs might have been a faster option. As he impatiently waited unconsciously tapping his boot, the seconds felt like an eternity. When the doors finally opened on the desired floor, he bolted out, the urgency in his steps reflecting as he raced down the corridor. This was the most cardio he’d had in days. His eyes darted around erratically, scanning the room names, and he eventually found yours. 

Adorned next to the door like a beacon, and with a mix of hope and trepidation, he pressed the call button, but only silence answered back. He pushed it again. Then again. And each time the ominous silence was his only response. Mad with anxiety he pushed to override the security lock, a move usually foreign to his respectful nature. 

The door slid open, and his heart stilled, there you were on a sofa bathed in daylight from the small window close to the ceiling. Relief surged through him, but it was fleeting; his heart remained uneasy and it would until he saw some indication that you were truly alive. Striding purposefully, he crossed the room, the force signature around you echoing your weakened condition like a medical monitoring device would communicate a pulse or heartbeat.

The aftermath of battle left its gritty mark across your features—bacta patches firmly affixed your shoulder and upper arm worked to make you whole though the tendrils of bruising could be seen around the borders. The marks on your skin were like a gritty painting, telling the vivid story of explosions, blaster fire, and flying debris. Scratches added rough brushstrokes to your face, tracing the chaotic path of the battlefield. Minor burns left fiery imprints on your neck, marking close encounters with searing heat. Bruises, like somber echoes, formed a mosaic on your arms and hands, narrating the intense dance with projectile-like debris. 

Despite this, you lay in peaceful repose on your side, facing him, eyes closed in sleep; an elusive serenity amidst the chaos of war. Your head was cradled in your arms, one leg casually folded beneath you while the other stretched out, a blanket loosely entwined around your legs and gathered at your waist. As he crouched down to study you, he sought the familiar essence of the padawan he remembered. The passing of thirteen years had left its mark in the longer strands of hair and the refined, soft features that shaped you into a woman, a stark departure from the Padawan he once guided. No longer bound by the apprentice title, you had evolved into a Jedi Knight—a seasoned warrior.

A close call with death, all for the sake of your men who deeply admired you, almost snuffed out your light. But, your command and growing mastery of the Force made him prouder than ever at that moment.

A subtle shift in your sleep saw a strand of your hair falling gently over your face, just over your nose each little breath lifting it slightly, It brought a smile to his face, and for the first time in days, he felt a sense of tranquility, his pulse calming in the warmth of that precious moment. The chaos of the war outside felt distant within the confines of the cozy room.

Unbeknownst to him, his hand had instinctively reached out, delicately brushing the strand of hair away from your face, inadvertently prompting you to stir in your sleep, accompanied by a soft, sleepy groan.

Wakefulness pulled you from the warm embrace of sleep and instinctively you stretched, a grimace of pain crossed your lips as you moved, prompting you to recoil slightly into a ball once more. Then your eyelashes fluttered open gradually met by crystal blue eyes, quickly filling with a storm of fatigue, confusion, and curiosity. 

"Hello, young one," he uttered, his voice a gentle murmur rich with affection, and his smile extended to the corners of his eyes, creating subtle crinkles.

"Obi-Wan?" 

"Yes, it's Obi-Wan."

Was this a dream? It didn't feel like one. You scanned the room, casting a questioning glance at your surroundings and the unfolding reality. Your expression wasn't one of pleasure upon seeing him; instead, it bore confusion and distance, as if you were looking at a stranger. He couldn't ignore the palpable sense of disconnect. Hoping for a misunderstanding, that perhaps you had maintained secrecy for a mission, he observed the passing seconds, realizing it wasn't as simple as that.

"What day is it?" 

Not the question he had expected, but he was so relieved to hear your voice, that it didn’t matter.

"Primday. You've been in medical for two days, released from the intensive treatment wing just yesterday."

Thirteen years melted away, and those familiar, brilliant blue eyes, so kind and warm. Nostalgia washed over you, and you couldn't deny the yearning for the comforting presence of your former master. 

However, as the waves of reminiscence subsided, the reality you'd been avoiding for thirteen years resurfaced. Obi-Wan's knowledge about your condition, coupled with his intense worry, unsettled you, you had to get away from him. Sitting up was a struggle, and as you finally managed to rise, the blanket slipped away, laying bare the toll of battle on your body—a sight that triggered anger, and concern in Obi-Wan's eyes.

A large portion of your left thigh was concealed beneath a sizable bacta patch, and the same superficial injuries that littered the rest of your body continued, it seemed no part of you had been spared, your less-than-optimal state caught him off guard. 

“You should be in a bacta tank! They released you like this?” Obi-Wan was flabbergasted, the worry etched on his face evident. “Come, I’m taking you back to the medical wing.”

“Absolutely not!” Your bold assertion caught him off guard and he stopped, there had only been a handful of times where you had defied your master. You adjusted your tone to a more calm and measured cadence before adding, “The bacta tanks are at capacity, and there are far more injured than I. –I’m fine. Just scratches.”

He blinked rapidly, his concern escalating. “Scratches? These are NOT scratches.” Oblivious to your state of undress, he gestured to your leg. “You were nearly killed! I saw the holo myself!”

Feeling the weight of responsibility on your shoulders, you searched for any excuse to put more space between you and your master. Ignoring his pleas for you to stay put, you tried to stand again, driven by your stubborn nature. It wasn't until Obi-Wan physically stepped in, restraining you, that you finally came to a stop.

“You can't go back like this,” he insisted, “You're in terrible shape, you need time to recover.”

You made a final attempt to push past him, but Obi-Wan wasn't having it. A firm but considerate hand on your chest gently pushed you back, and a wave of discomfort washed over you as the dull throb of your muscles crying out caught up with your exertions. Glancing to the side table, he spotted a hypo syringe, and without hesitation, he reached for it, eager to bring an end to your pain. However, you extended your hand and vehemently shook your head, intensifying his disbelief as you refused pain medication despite the evident discomfort you were in.

“I don’t need it,” you insisted, defiantly rejecting any relief for your pain. Obi-Wan couldn't fathom your refusal, considering the severity of your injuries.

“You were hit by three blaster bolts and blown up, and you refuse pain medicine?” His voice rose unintentionally, a mix of concern and frustration evident. He shook his head in disbelief, disappointed by your seemingly stubborn choices. He set the syringe down and rose turning away from you, hands on his hips trying to make sense of you but you’d never made it easy on him.

“And you expected to make it down the hall, into the turbo life through the halls, and into the squad bay like this?” He gestured vaguely to you and huffed out a breath The internal conflict of caring for someone who refused care etched across his face and he shut his eyes in exasperation. “What am I to do with you?”

The room settled into a calm stillness, and he could feel the Force flowing gently, like a quiet river moving past him. Eager to offer support, he laid a comforting hand on your shoulder, connecting his own Force presence with yours. A tranquil hush filled the space as you both embraced the ancient practice, seeking solace for the aches and pains that lingered.

The room filled with the soothing hum of the Force, a brief moment of relief washing over you like waves tickling at your toes, easing the discomfort. The pain began to melt away, replaced by a comforting warmth. Yet, as soon as you felt his added touch, your eyes snapped open, and you jerked back abruptly cutting off both the Force connection and the physical contact. It was as if you pulled back as if the sensation burned you. Confusion widened his eyes, hurt creasing his handsome features. He lowered his head into his hands, his voice tinged with a tremor of pain as he grappled with the mystery of your sudden distance and coldness toward him.

"What have I done to you?" 

His eyes closed in unbearable agony, and his head bowed forward, hair cascading over his face. 

"How have I wronged you? In what way did I hurt you so profoundly that my own padawan refrains from uttering my name to her company, or anyone else? That she remains a secret, that no one knows she was mine?" 

His?

An ocean of hurt filled those beautiful blue eyes as he looked up, and for the first time, he saw you gaze back at him and actually see him.

"Nothing, you did nothing. Obi-Wan I–" 

Shaking your head, you reached out to him, but this time it was he who recoiled, taking several steps back, attempting to regain control over his faltering composure. Pain welled up within you, the knowledge that you tried to follow what you believed was right, what you were taught was right, and still it had caused harm.

"I must have done something to you for you to treat me this way." His voice carried a hint of indignation now. "Was I too harsh? Unjust? A cruel master? What did I do to make you harbor such hatred towards me?" Hate? 

No, no, no. This was all wrong. What had you done?

"I don't hate you," You pleaded, your voice carrying the weight of regret. "I could never hate you, Obi-Wan."

"Oh? What else am I left to believe? One moment I'm watching you being knighted, the youngest of your clan, my heart swelling with pride at knowing the galaxy will never see another Jedi like you. And the next, you're just gone! No goodbye, no farewells, no communications, nothing. As if the years I trained you were of no consequence, as if the bond that follows a Padawan and Master throughout life meant nothing."

Your heart hurt, and you weren't sure which was more painful: the idea that he thought he had wronged you so much that you hated him, or the realization that you had hurt him and continued to do so.

"That's not what it was." 

Your voice was meek, and you struggled to explain but it felt useless, the damage had ben done, by your hand. You had hoped to avoid this conversation, knowing there was only one inevitable outcome: the loss of your relationship with your master, forever. Yet fate seemed determined to unfold it now.

“Then what? What, padawan?”

As he closed the distance between you, your internal turmoil heightened. You clutched the blanket tighter around yourself, a feeble attempt to shield not just your body but the vulnerability you felt at that moment. 

"Please, don't call me that."

You sank into the protection of the blanket, avoiding the term that carried memories of a time when things were simpler, a time you desperately wanted to distance yourself from. The weight of the past lingered in the air, leaving you exposed and uncertain about the path this conversation would take.

He seemed both confused and offended now. How could such an important name hold such bitterness for you?

“Padawan,” You flinched at hearing him speak the word in what felt like spite, each syllable caressed by his thick Coruscatnti accent.

“Look at me, padawan.” His commanding presence made it difficult to resist, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, you just couldn’t. The last threads of resistance faded when he spoke as he had whenever you were in trouble, “You will obey your Master’s command,” 

Of course, you would. You always would when he called, as instinctive a reaction to you as breathing. Painfully slowly, you looked up eyes still fighting it the whole time hoping he would understand without any further explanation, but stubbornness and snark was something the Great Negotiator was famed for, and he would not be denied any longer. 

As your eyes locked with his, an unexpected vulnerability washed over you, and you felt more naked than you were. It had been more than a decade since you looked into those eyes, yet the magnetic pull was just as potent now as it had been thirteen years ago. You subtly shook your head, silently pleading.

As the seconds passed, realization dawned on him. Your face, colored by shades of shame and embarrassment, betrayed the unspoken truths. The hand reaching up to your temple was the final revelation, leaving you with nothing to do but let him see.

In the jumble of thoughts racing through your interconnected minds, fragments of him surged to the forefront. His deep blue eyes, the warmth of his smile, the soft touch of his hands—all tangled memories, causing a storm within. He saw the moment you grappled with the painful truth: the man you desired could never be truly yours, shackled by the rigid Jedi code and Obi-Wan's unwavering commitment. Faced with this agony, disappearing into the void seemed like the only refuge, a self-imposed exile to shield both of you from inevitable heartache. So, when you had heard Master Yoda speaking of a mission on the other side of the galaxy, you seized the opportunity. Leaving right away? Perfect. Despite hating the choice, it felt like the only way. You’d have done anything to protect him from yourself. 

He understood now, that whenever he uttered "Padawan" the word brought you pain because it was as close as you could ever be. The pain reverberated, and he, peering into your thoughts, could sense it all. As he withdrew, his eyes conveyed not disappointment but a poignant sadness, leaving a lingering ache that cut deeper than any vibroblade could.

The emptiness he left in your thoughts was unbearable. Your head sank into your hands as you whispered apologies—apologies for keeping secrets, for causing him pain, for leaving him, for unintentionally making him believe you were angry or had betrayed him with these unspoken thoughts. The weight of it all overwhelmed you, and grief started to take hold.

"You ran away, for my benefit?" the weight of his words hung heavily in the air. 

With a single nod, you admitted the harsh truth. And what good did it do? The heartbreak you'd been dodging finally caught up with you, but you’d given it one hell of a run.

You could hear him taking a cautious step back as if you were a dangerous threat to him, but then again, weren’t you? The impending void that would stretch between you two loomed now, and it would stretch for far longer than the span of a few years. This was exactly what you'd hoped to avoid—the door opening, him walking away, and leaving behind an emptiness that nothing could fill.

In the aftermath, you'd head back to your company, join your men, skillfully avoid their questions, and bury the sound of his name so deep it might never resurface. No more uttering it, not even in the quiet corners of your mind. The once-warm memories of your kind master guiding you in the Jedi ways would become bittersweet relics, stained by your own choices.

A profound hopelessness settled in as you rested your head against your hands, hair falling like a curtain. You braced for the tears, waiting for the sound of the doors to open and close one final time before you’d let them fall, shutting your eyes tightly to keep them in. Any second now.

However, the doors remained sealed, he was still there. Was he about to scold you? To make you feel more the foolish girl who should have had better control over her stupid emotions? Guess every wound needed a little salt, though, didn’t it? The situation seemed to only get worse and you found yourself wishing that the blast you struggled to hold back might have killed you instead, that you might be spared this pain.

His voice was almost a whisper, prompting you to glance up. "You don’t hate me?"

You shook your head vigorously, "How could I?"

Was there a chance to salvage this? In any way? You struggled to get back on your feet, your movements thwarted by a shooting persistent pain that would sooner see you fail in your attempt to reach him. And stumble you did, barely managing a few steps before you failed, but your master was right there, catching you before you could hit the ground. With his support, you managed to stand, though he still towered over you. His arm wrapped around you, a reassurance that you were safe. This shouldn't be happening, and he should have left, but he stayed. Why? Would this be it? It had to be. 

Giving in to a momentary desire, you let yourself enjoy a small gesture—your fingers slipping through the back of his neck, remembering the softness of his hair. It was shorter now, and although it suited him, you couldn't help but miss the longer locks that used to invite such thoughts.

“What am I to do with you, padawan?”

His choice of words sent a shiver down your spine, but not in the way it used to. There was a strange undertone in his voice, something you hadn't heard before. You had no answers to his question, but it seemed like responses didn't much matter to him. Then, out of the blue, he stooped down and picked you up in his arms, something you'd only dared dream about.

"What're you doing?"

"Taking you to bed, where I can take you properly." 

You froze. What did he say? Could he really mean what you thought he did? There had to be some misunderstanding. Your love-struck brain must be playing tricks on you. Your master wouldn't actually give in to those desires, right? Your blood raced, your heart thundered and your skin tingled as he effortlessly carried you, making your weight seem inconsequential.

The bed, though not exceptionally soft, transformed into the most comforting spot in the galaxy as he tenderly placed you upon it. Kneeling beside you the mattress dipping to accommodate him as well, he cradled your face in his hands, prompting a shaky "Wha-?" from your trembling voice.

"Stubborn girl," his words hung in the air, accompanied by that unforgettable tone, yes, it was slightly critical but there was something else to it. "You're not leaving this bed until you're fully recovered. Understand, Padawan?" Confusion swirled in your mind at hearing his command, but you managed a small nod. "You will obey your master's commands, won't you?" The authoritative tone was unfamiliar, prompting another slow nod from you. "Say it."

"Yes, Master."

"Good girl," he affirmed, drawing closer, and his lips met yours in an unexpectedly ferocious kiss. 

His mouth quickly took control of yours, leaving no room for confusion about what his intentions were when he said ‘take you properly’. It felt like a tempest, threatening to engulf you, carrying you to the darkest depths but after thirteen years of wanting, and needing, the storm could do as it wanted, if he was the storm.

He smelled like blaster fire, adrenaline, smoke, and lightning—the aftermath of the battlefield sticking to him. Mingling with his scent, like the promise of rain, held traces of incense, taking you back to moments meditating in temples and deserts during your years of travel together. It was a smell that whispered safety and felt like home, a unique cologne you'd spend countless credits on. Something you wanted to drown in.

In countless dreams, you'd imagined moments where your master sought you out after hard battles, dangerous missions, or late at night, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you two. You dreamed of clandestine rendezvous with his hand covering your mouth urging you to be quiet. 

Now, it wasn't just a fantasy; it was real. His lips moving against yours, licking at your lips, sucking on the tip of your own tongue, fueled by hunger as intense as that of a starving man, confirmed the reality of the moment.

During your trials, he had worn his beard and mustache, and it had long sparked your carnal curiosity about the sensations they might bring – a persistent tickle or a pleasurable burn? It turned out to be both, exquisitely and painfully so, surpassing the allure of any narcotic. The intensity of his mouth against yours was relentless, lips brushing yours before his tongue entered the equation. It delved into your mouth, leaving your usually sharp mind in a state of struggle, accompanied by shaky moans. Yet, none of it mattered. The moment he pressed himself between your legs, seizing the hem of your shirt, all rational thought vanished. Your hungry mind could only process the overwhelming realization that your master was kissing you, his tongue licking at your mouth, and he was pawing at you, undressing you like your clothes were an unforgivable offense. 

His hands, leaving trails of smoldering embers, intensified the moment, but the euphoria came at a cost. When you moved to discard your shirt, a sharp pain shot through your shoulder, stealing a cry from your lips. Clutching your wound, you fought back the urge to cry.

The sudden sound shattered the enchantment, and his eyes snapped open. He pulled away abruptly, looking as if he were shocked to find himself in this situation with you. Clarity returned to his gaze, and a heavy feeling settled in your stomach as he stepped back, his features clouded with alarm, shaking his head.

"No, we can't," he uttered, releasing you abruptly. In an instant, it was over. A desperate breath escaped you as you reached out, but he vanished.

The urge to scream, cry, or tear down the walls clawed at you, but none of it could change what had just happened. Flopping back on the bed, your shoulder met the mattress with a wince. Anger pulsed through your core, fueled by both the recovering blaster wound and the missed opportunity.

He'd kissed you, and touched you, and just when the promise of something more seemed within reach, it slipped away, leaving a bitter taste of disappointment. The thought of his bare skin against yours, a tantalizing dream, now felt elusive. Despair settled in, but the sudden sound of hurried steps shattered the silence—Obi-Wan's unexpected return.

Before you could fully rise, he gently pressed you back down, his body covering you. His lips sought yours again in a softer, slower kiss, dispelling confusion but introducing a new layer of uncertainty.

He hadn’t left. "Master?" You could barely get the word out before his lips crashed into yours again, a hungry, intense kiss that made you forget about everything—the sudden exit, the unexplained return—all vanished in the heat of the moment. A sharp sting in your arm brought you back, and you pulled away with a surprised 'Ow!' Glancing down, you noticed the hypo-syringe in his hand and the red mark on your arm. "Wha-?"

He came back for another kiss, a hungry and urgent embrace that left you breathless. His tongue teased at your lips, an intrusion you found hard to be angry about. During this heated exchange, he murmured, "I'm sorry," between breathless kisses, his hand entangled in your hair, adding an electrifying thrill to the encounter.

His voice, heavy with sincerity and restraint, trailed down your neck as he continued the assault of hungry kisses. “I don’t want to hurt you,” The tingling sensation from the hypo spread through your body, replacing pain with a welcomed numbness. Now his words made sense – he had injected you with an anesthetic, he wasn’t going anywhere.

"But being gentle is not an option right now," he confessed against your skin, his lips sending shivers down your spine. "And I can't wait any longer."

And neither could you.

His presence enveloped you, a promise to soothe the ache that had haunted you. Rational thoughts and hesitations melted in the passionate exchange, leaving behind an urgent desire for his tongue to dance with yours, to savor the taste of you.

The pain became a distant murmur, overshadowed by the seductive cadence of his armor shedding away. The unmistakable sound of metal parts cascading to the floor filled the air, a harmonious unveiling that played like a haunting melody, laced with the promise of imminent closeness. Each metallic clink and rustle, orchestrated with practiced finesse, blended seamlessly with the mounting heat, composing a sensual symphony that underscored the unfolding intimacy.

"Padawan-” He sounded so full of need. “Have you waited this whole time to touch me, only to just lay there?"

No, you hadn't. Your senses snapped back into focus, and the relentless ache demanded action. Rising up with fiery determination, you seized his lip between your teeth, fingers tangled in his tousled locks. Leg wrapped around his waist, you provocatively thrust your hips into his, stirring a primal hunger. A low, appreciative groan escaped him, and the remaining shreds of restraint evaporated in the scorching intensity of the moment.

“Very good, padawan,” he whispered between searing kisses "Now, tell me what you want. Tell me every craving, every ache you've hidden from your master."

The legendary negotiator, renowned for his poise, eloquence, grace, and dignity in the heat of battle or the midst of a debate, was always portrayed as a polished and composed figure. However, the General Kenobi before you was a stark departure from that image—a persona that sensually grazed your neck with his lips, tenderly explored the curves of your breasts with his hands and moved his hips in a rhythm that ignited an intense passion. This wasn't just the great negotiator; it was the manifestation of a double life—a formidable lover hidden beneath the veneer of a respected leader.

His shorter locks proved to be the perfect handhold, their soft strands entwining with your fingers. The subtle roughness of his beard intensified the already electric atmosphere, adding an extra layer of intensity to the moment. 

In the fiery dance of passion and longing, he'd always preached the power of actions over words. Guided by that intimate lesson, you eagerly set out to unravel the layers of his robes, with a gentle push, he rose back up to stand while you sat on the bed, your hands moving with a fervor fueled by desire. The belt surrendered first, dropping to the ground with a soft thud, the lightsaber noticeably absent, carefully stowed away. Urgently, the ties of his loose robe followed suit in the passionate race to undress him. The linen shirt glided away from his broad shoulders, gracefully descending to the floor, revealing the lush expanse of his bare chest. With unwavering determination, you committed every inch of your master's body to the canvas of your memory, each touch a sensual exploration of his lean, muscled skin, a sensory feast that ignited the flames of desire.

"This." 

Your fingers traced the shape of his already hard length beneath the fabric of his trousers, coaxing a low moan from Obi-Wan against your neck. "Master, I want this." A firm squeeze elicited a shudder, coursing through him as you continued to tease through his clothing. "I want it in my mouth." His breath hitched, and his hips responded eagerly. Slowly untying the laces of his trousers, your hand slipped inside, embracing his him. The guttural groan that escaped him sent warmth rippling through your body. "Between my legs."

Your master's throbbing cock pulsed in your hands, radiating heat against your skin—hard and demanding. Each stroke elicited untamed pleasure, breaking through the disciplined walls the Jedi Order had meticulously built over the decades. The symphony of his responses played out in sensual notes: the quivers across his skin, the ragged gasps, and the vulnerable moans, all orchestrated by your skilled touch. Hypnotized by the power you held over him, you savored every moment, captivated by the way his body reacted to your every movement. How his hips surged forward in a hungry plea as your hand teased and retreated, and then faltered when you squeezed him with deliberate, unhurried strokes. An irresistible urge surged within you, a yearning to fulfill the fantasies that had simmered within your soul for a decade.

“Master, your padawan wants your cock.” 

His hips faltered again at the sheer filth that you spoke of, the way your voice caressed such dirty thoughts, he twitched in your hand and you tried not to moan. Like a siren call you began to dip your head forward, desperate to satisfy the curiosity of how he tasted, your goal so close, a breath away from your lips when it was cruelly ripped away from you. His hand wrapped gently but assertively around your throat giving the softest squeeze that prompted you to rub your thighs together to still the full body shudder. 

“My padawan will learn patience. I asked you to tell me your thoughts, not to carry them out.” 

You wanted to cry, maybe he expected a submissive little padawan.

“Up, further on the bed.” 

He let you go, and you followed his command, scooting back towards the middle of the bed. The intensity of his gaze made it challenging not to tremble. The sight of your master, shirtless, messy hair, swollen lips, and trousers hanging dangerously low on his hips, carried the knowledge that his hard arousal had been in your hands. Knowing you had driven him to that point made obeying his commands a fierce internal struggle. The difficulty only intensified as he knelt on the bed, crawling toward you like a predator closing in on its prey. His eyes held an unfamiliar, burning intensity, setting your own desires ablaze. How was it possible for blue eyes to burn?

His voice, low and commanding, demanded you to lie back, leaving no room for protest. The once-lacy barrier of your panties and bra felt like an unnecessary formality as he leaned over, his arms creating a delicious trap against the bed. Escape wasn't even a consideration, not that you wanted it. He peered at your shoulder, voice holding a hint of soft concern as he asked, "Are you in any pain?" With a shake of your head, A wolfish grin played on his handsome face. "Good. Though, you might when I'm done with you." Oh, stars. Denying you a proper kiss, his tongue traced the trail of desire from your lips down your jaw and neck.

“Going to have to punish you a bit for abandoning your master,” 

What? He was going to punish you? Your heart threatened to burst as his lips drifted down your chest, lavishing every imperfection marring your skin with a sweep of his tongue and a caress of his hands.

Despite having command of the force all your life, the very notion that it may be used against you, that it could be unseen hands acting on Obi-Wan’s will, tearing the rest of your clothes off thrilled you. But he surprised you, it seemed he was more hands-on, the bra you wore was quickly gone and that hot mouth of his found its way to your nipples delicately teasing. Slow and purposeful swipes of his tongue coupled with the soft seal of his lips and the gentle scrape of his teeth made you arch wantonly into his waiting mouth with a whimper. 

Was this what he’d meant about punishment? 

He quickly answered that for you, the gentle vibrations of his moan passing through your teased nipples as he switched from one to treat the other to equal pleasure. 

“Your punishment can wait though,” That eloquently talented tongue of his drew sensual circles that brought a choked sob past your lips. “First, I’m going to take care of my padawan. Make her come for me in all the ways she’s ever dreamed, so she’ll never leave me again,” Your heart skipped a beat, several in fact, “Till her body shakes and she can no longer bear not having my cock in her.” 

He finally released your aching nipples moving down the soft flat expanse of your stomach tongue dipping into your navel. “My powerful,” he kissed your hip, “beautiful,” he sucked on the skin as his fingers tucked into your panties “Sensitive,” and pulled them down your legs. “Neglected,” His breath ghosted over your thigh, tossing the garment aside. “Padawan.” 

Never again would the word Padawan cause you pain, never again would it represent ache and loss and missed opportunities. Your chest rose in shallow breaths and you were fairly certain you were going to have a heart attack. Your eyes fixed on a point on the ceiling before fluttering closed completely, listening to your master's voice, feeling his hot breath on your most delicate body parts. And for a few terrible moments he let you sit there feeling his breath, the occasional brush of his beard on your skin, the anticipation more horrible than a thousand lonely nights with only your fantasies and touch. 

“Master.” You wished you hadn’t sounded so pitiful, so needy and pathetic but you were and you couldn’t help it. Naked on a bed with your master’s breath teasing you between your legs, you were ready to beg. 

“Padawan,” 

The word whispered, barely audible a fraction of eternity passed before you felt the sweetly sinful furnace of his mouth on your lips before his tongue swept past them to taste you. A shrill and sudden intake of breath shattered the stillness of the room, and your hips canted up against his mouth and you cried out in a drawn-out moan. Not in any pain but the desperate tens of thousands of lonely nights where you cried his name in your mind each time you came against your hand. 

His strokes were sweet and slow and left no part of you untouched. You’re lungs seized up momentarily and your brain misfired too many impulses, the instinct to jump away upon the startling contact with his mouth warred the desire to watch him, which also struggled against the urge to seize his hair and beg him to take you right then and there.

All impulses crashed into one another with each broad stroke of his tongue against your pussy, you lay back practically panting desperately trying to remember how to breathe properly, but with every flick of his tongue saw to it that you forgot whatever it was you were trying to remember. 

Your toes curled slightly in shameless pleasure when you felt his fingers stroking your entrance, teasing you with the promise of sublime ecstasy to be had if he would only use his fingers. The very ones calloused from years of wielding a lightsaber now brought blistering pleasure with every touch. The sounds of his breathing intermingled with deep groans as he lapped at you like he was dying of thirst, only adding to the symphony of sex you would play over and over in your head until the end of your days. 

As you lay there losing your mind in the velvet embrace of your master’s mouth, Obi-Wan was studying you, learning your pleasure through each taste, stroke, and flick of the tongue. Committing to memory how you reacted when he licked hard or sucked softly the cadence of your breathing and the buck of your hips, what drew sweet whimpers or unabashed moans. He found a rhythm, long, slow broad strokes, that made you gasp each time no matter how often he did it, you could never get used to it. Followed by the quick teasing flutter of his tongue on your clit, fingers sweeping gently along the length of your lips throwing fuel to the fire he that was beginning to rage out of control. The hot lazy hunger of his mouth was better than anything you’d ever felt and it was impossible to keep your eyes open for any length of time, it just felt so good, as if your brain was struggling to keep up with what was happening it would occasionally rapid-fire messages to you as though you were unaware of exactly what was going on.

‘Master’s mouth is between my legs.’

‘Stars! He’s licking me.’

‘He’s going to make me come!’

Somewhere in the back of your mind you registered the soft sound of a deep and throaty chuckle, the reverberations stole your breath and sidetracked your thoughts.

‘Yes, padawan, you will come for me. Until I grow weary of the noises you make.’

The words played out in your mind as if they came from everywhere echoing off the walls of your thoughts, but when you glanced down, Obi-Wan was focused on you. Not even a teasing expression, his eyes seemed closed in rapture as though he were enjoying an exquisite, delicacy catered to his palette only. And enjoying it thoroughly.

When not dancing teasing touches to your entrance, his hands stroked the inside of your thighs opening your legs further each time, mindful not to agitate your wounds, his touch so delicate that it made your skin tingle with sensitivity. 

It was unbelievable how quickly he’d gotten you so close to cumming but then his voice in your head tell you the most wicked thoughts aided in that considerably. 

Never before did you ever think such a thing would happen, your master hungrily feasting on your pussy. It had to be a dream, it was too good, any moment when you were nearly ready for the rolling torrent of orgasm to crash upon you, you would wake up and cling to the remnants of this dream while hurriedly bringing yourself to climax while muffling any sounds into your pillow.

“No, my padawan, this is no dream. I’m going to make you come for me now.”

His mouth found your clit again, giving it a series of slow licks and gentle, open-mouthed kisses before spreading your lips open giving you no reprieve from that masterful mouth of his. Then he truly went to work on you, stimulating that little bundle of nerves by flicking the tip of his tongue over and over increasing in speed until you could scarcely breathe and your body was writhing on the bed, the moans tumbling from your mouth. Your wails combined with your desperate pleas carried through the room with lick, swirl, and suckle. 

Obi-wan’s voice continued calling to you whispering so many salacious things to you; that he loved how you tasted so sweet to him, “My darling, padawan, your taste is divine, so sweet.” 

That your moans were what he would play in his head when he stroked himself if he couldn’t have you, “Yes, sing for me, tell me how good I’m making you feel,” 

How he knew you were going to strangle his cock when he finally let you have it, “S’going to feel so good when I bury my cock in you, isn’t it? Going to strangle me, aren’t you?” 

How gorgeous you looked like this for him and it was only for him, “So, beautiful all laid out for me, only for me, aren’t you?”

And for each whispered thought in your mind you moaned a ragged “Yes, master! Yes! Yes!”

This was it, he was going to kill you, this was how you would join the living Force, wildly in the throws of orgasm. You couldn’t even manage his name, barely able to utter the first syllable, voice raising in pitch, your body growing rigid as it all culminated towards an exquisite peak. It was the sound of Obi-wan’s half breath, half moan, and the demanding cadence of his order sounding in your mind rising above all other words; the command to come for him, and you did. The thick throaty satisfied moan of a man who wanted to be no other place than between your legs, reverberating through your flesh and raced up your core.

Waves of fire, hotter than any star, more molten than any lightsaber, radiated from your thoroughly stimulated pussy overtaking your body as his mouth worked you over slowly teasing out every ounce of pleasure he could, wringing it from you like water from a rag. 

Repeating the word "Master" like a mantra, a symphony of desire and surrender as you writhed against him. No longer in control, you became a willing captive to the relentless pulses dictated by Obi-Wan. The euphoric journey continued an unending cascade of sensations and shared ecstasy. And it didn’t stop, like a fire it grew more and more intense, shocking you, never before had you experienced sensations like what he was giving you. You just kept coming.

Would it ever stop? The overwhelming wave of pleasure seemed boundless. It was intoxicating, almost too much. As the peak of ecstasy subsided, it left behind little electric shocks of overstimulation with each additional stroke of Obi-Wan's tongue, trying to coax out a little more. The intensity lingered, a sensation that bordered on both pleasure and sweet torment.

The sweet agony of pleasure mixed with the sting of overstimulation was a cruelty of human physiology. You wanted more, a hungry desire pushing him to give you everything. But your body rebelled, aching for a momentary escape from the relentless assault. Your hips wriggled and began to buck trying to throw him off in a wordless plea for him to ease the intensity. Yet, he pressed on, undeterred, as you grappled with the conflicting sensations, lost in the dizzying dance of pleasure and pain.

“Master! Please! No more– I-I can’t!” The way your words sounded so weak and your voice nearly broken seemed to finally reach him and he slowed to a stop, depositing one final deep kiss and drawing an unadulterated moan from you before he finally released your overworked, quivering flesh. 

Your body shivered as he moved up the bed to kiss your lips. The lingering scent and taste of your orgasm clung to his mouth—a mix of sweat and satisfaction, intensified by the unique aroma coming from him. It was potent enough to make you teeter on the brink of another climax, a fortunate secret he remained unaware of.

For some reason you felt like you needed to thank him, which was ridiculous, thank him for what? For giving you the most amazing orgasm you’d ever had? It seemed a bit awkward and out of place but somehow given this new dominant side of your master, he might enjoy that.

He breathed in deeply as if savoring the aftermath of a fulfilling workout. But the look on his face spoke of more than just exertion; it was a blend of delight and contentment.

You, on the other hand, felt a bit like you'd had one too many drinks. The air seemed to swirl around you, and his disheveled hair falling over his face only added to the effect. His smile was downright criminal, it seemed almost unnatural for a man to look so good wearing nothing but a smile.

"Thank you," you mumbled, the word sounding feeble even to your own ears, but Obi-Wan's pleased expression suggested he appreciated the sentiment.

“Did you enjoy that, my little padawan?” The endearment sent a shiver down your spine, and all you could manage was a nod. As his lips met yours once more, a wave of euphoria washed over you. Soft, powerful, firm—his kisses were everything you'd hoped for, stirring desire in every part of your being, and the knowledge that he’s just used that mouth on you made your heart race and your cunt ache.

“Tell me, before I take you, how many?” The question hung between you, a mix of desire and curiosity in Obi-Wan's voice. You were a bit baffled, trying to figure out the context of his question. Orgasms? It wasn’t something you kept tabs on. Sensing your confusion, he clarified, “Men. Lovers. How many?”

An awkward lump formed in your throat as you replied, “None.”

His eyes widened, and he licked his lips. There was a momentary flicker in his expression that could almost be mistaken for anger, but his subsequent fervent return to kissing dispelled that notion. “None? How is that possible? That I am the first to ever touch you like this?”

“The first man.” He froze, his expression shifting to shock at your admission. The truth was, you couldn’t bring yourself to be with a man when the one you desired was out of reach. Women, however...

“I’ve had lovers, just not any men; I didn’t want them.”

“You’ve taken female lovers?” he asked. You nodded, hoping he wouldn’t disapprove. His grin returned, now carrying a wolfish quality, and his mouth found its way back to your breast. His kiss turned fierce, hungry—a prelude to the kind of passion that precedes throwing someone onto a bed and ravishing them.  “Naughty thing,” he murmured. Relief flooded through you, quickly followed by euphoria. “Did you enjoy that? Letting other women touch you?”

"Sometimes." He appeared puzzled, and you nonchalantly shrugged, steering clear of his penetrating gaze. The notion of accepting disappointment felt like a subtle form of judgment.

"Women can be selfish lovers too." The idea of your satisfaction not being guaranteed seemed to trouble him. He shook his head slowly, 'tsking' you, as though imparting guidance on what was and wasn't acceptable.

"That won't do at all," he declared, lowering his lips to yours in a kiss that sent electric shivers down your spine. "I’m going to erase every memory of anyone who’s ever touched you." His tongue danced over your nipple again, barely tasting it and he stopped to savor your little breath. “Going to fuck you until you cry out my name, going to make sure you’re never left wanting again.” With a flick of his tongue, his hand started massaging your other breast, “Would you like that, padawan, for your master to make you feel good?”

“Yes! Please, Master! Please!”

“So respectful when you’ve had your cunt devoured, aren't you?” 

Those words, oh, they hit you in all the right places. You never thought he had it in him—the raw, unfiltered sexuality. Suddenly, you weren't just yearning for his touch; you wanted to be the one to make him quiver and groan, to do to him, what he did to you. To see how your words and caresses could unravel the composed Jedi Master. It wasn't just about fulfilling your own cravings; it was about sharing a dance of passion and exploring uncharted realms of desire together.

Strength surged within you, not the physical kind, but a potent force you had at your command. Calling upon the Force was as natural as breathing, and with a graceful wave of your hand, Obi-Wan found himself unceremoniously tossed onto his back, a look of astonishment etched across his features as if captivated by an unexpected dance. Yes, you had just harnessed the Force against your master.

The sight of your master supine, his bare chest rising and falling with each breath, hair tousled in disarray, trousers precariously low on his hips, and all because you had put him there. His eyes held a mesmerizing blend of surprise and desire, mirroring the emotions flickering within yourself. Seizing the moment before he could recover, you took a daring leap and went in to lay siege.

Obi-Wan, caught off guard by your bold moves, sank into the softness of the bed. Your fingers danced through his hair and beard, jerking his head back to expose his neck, ensuring he wouldn't forget this moment. A low, appreciative purr escaped his chest, silently praising your audacity. With each kiss and playful nip, he seemed to yield to your lead, responding with soft sounds of approval.

You savored the blissful aftermath of victory, those suspended seconds lingering in the air. In that fleeting time, your senses buzzed with playful thoughts, tempting fantasies, and desires long confined. He might have allowed the moment to stretch a bit more, but then came your teasing nips, tracing the spots that made him flinch with delightful sensitivity.

“Want to taste you,” You muttered, fairly certain you hadn’t imagined that little ‘oh.’

"Padawan..." His voice, a touch hoarse, accompanied the journey of your fingers down his ribs and along his toned stomach. Moving closer to the tantalizing waistband of his trousers where your prize awaited you, the desire to feel him in your hand became almost unbearable. Yet, you found justification for a bit more teasing. Fingers dipped just inside the band of his trousers, close enough to feel him twitch and buck at your almost-touches, it was too delicious to only do once.

Perhaps you shouldn't have pushed your luck.

Because, like the fabric of Jedi robes, his patience wore thin. It was then that your Master's restraint snapped, like a stretched cord finally giving way.

In an instant, he grabbed your waist, executing a swift and aggressive flip that left him looming above you, pinning you down on the bed. His body pressed into yours, and a sly grin hinted that the game was about to get a lot more daring. The air hummed with anticipation as he shook his head, capturing your mouth in a kiss that left you breathless.

"What were you thinking, Padawan?" His voice, low and husky, carried a thick layer of desire, each word steeped in need. His intense gaze locked onto yours, silently questioning.

"Touching your master without permission?" 

Stunned. You struggled to form a response, your lips moved, and no words broke free. Was he serious? After the intoxicating dance of his mouth had just brought you to an unparalleled climax, he expected you to ask permission to touch him? It felt absurd.

Questions raced through your mind. Was this some kind of test? A dominance play? Your stomach dropped. Maybe this was the punishment he’d spoken of, an exercise in humility? Searching his cerulean eyes for a hint of jest, the intense atmosphere from before remained, now layered with a different kind of tension. He simply shook his head slightly. The weight of his expectation hung in the room, leaving you torn between the impulse to surrender and the desire to meet his challenge with your own fiery response.

 "Yes, I do. I expect my padawan to remain obedient and respectful, no matter how she hungers." 

His fingers lingered just above your cheek, a subtle reminder of his ability to pluck your thoughts effortlessly, like plucking a flower from the grass. However, you had long since outgrown the status of a padawan, having ascended to the rank of Jedi Knight. If he expected pleading or begging, he was in for disappointment. A steely determination cast a shadow across your features. With narrowed eyes, you threw down a challenge. If he sought access to your mind, you were prepared to offer more than he had bargained for.

A coy smile danced on your lips, causing his own smile to falter ever so slightly. That mischievous glint in your eyes was a familiar precursor to something daring, and you had no intention of disappointing your master in this unexplored realm. Shutting your eyes, you tilted your head, letting his fingers brush against your face, shifting the battleground from the physical to the unseen.

Instead of engaging him through physical means, you chose to confront him on the mental plane, projecting your thoughts with an intensity that demanded attention. He took a sharp breath, caught off guard by the rush of images, thoughts, and sounds hitting him like a brisk breeze. The unexpected depth of your mental communication briefly disrupted the seamless flow of the physical connection.

This wasn't just a subtle act of rebellion; it was a declaration that you were no longer the Padawan he once trained. As a Jedi Knight, you wielded more than just a lightsaber—you possessed a will of your own, armed with a bag of tricks beyond anyone's expectations.

Though he could still address you as Padawan to elicit a reaction, you were so much more. Long-concealed thoughts, years hidden in secrecy, surged forth, intertwining with stolen glances and intimate moments—all now laid bare before Obi-Wan.

A mosaic of self-indulgent pleasures unfolded—whispered calls of his name amid moments of personal bliss. Stolen encounters, and lingering desires, all painted a picture of your yearning. The once-private fantasies, meant for the sanctuary of your thoughts, now exposed—a checklist of desires you had secretly harbored for him.

Breathless, he found himself caught in the private corners of your mind, imagined scenes unfolded, that saw you in a passionate dance, bodies entwined, covered in sweat, exploring countless positions. An insatiable hunger for him, even if he lay prone and exhausted, pleading with him for more.

The many ways you wanted to touch him, to pleasure him, and hear him echo your name as you had cried his— to render him powerless and explore his body until he succumbed to climax after climax and could give no more. 

He shivered with excitement, lost in the fantasy of the intense bliss you painted in his mind. Those throaty moans of pleasure felt so real, almost like he could taste them. Surprised by the raw intensity of your craving to taste him and drink him, he moaned your name in the tangled passion, every drop of his essence landing on your eager tongue as he lay back lost of the haze of sex and stimulation.

It wasn't merely about satisfying him; your desire surpassed that. There was an unquenchable hunger for him to seize control, to witness him unrestrained and consumed by passion and dominance. Whether he threw you onto the bed or pressed you against the wall, positions that brought a delightful twinge of discomfort on your end, all aimed at bringing him ecstasy, standing unassisted became an impossible task. The profound intensity of your yearning unfurled like a revelation, taking him by surprise.

The cat was out of the bag; the secret lay bare. Now, with an untamed glint in his eyes, it seemed you might have ventured into territory beyond your expectations.

"Padawan, my sweet, sinful, Padawan," His lips dipped to your ear, and the warmth of his breath sent shivers down your spine. "Perhaps I should enlighten you with some of MY thoughts."

Composure became a fleeting notion as he placed his hand firmly on your temple and a rush of sensations overwhelmed you, powerful enough that the right touch might send you into another blinding climax, akin to a torrent of whitewater tossing a stick of dry driftwood.

His unfiltered thoughts surged into your mind, a river of forbidden fantasies and suppressed desires. In the shared space of his consciousness, visions unfurled like an intimate tapestry—a clandestine gallery of how he yearned for you, each scene a seductive exploration of passion.

In one vivid fantasy more powerful than your own, you found yourself pressed against the cold metal of a ship's wall, arms held captive overhead by an unseen force naked while he still wore his full robes. Your leg draped over his shoulder, he knelt before you, entirely at the mercy of his desires, and he had none. He skillfully coaxed orgasm after orgasm from your quivering form, every touch and caress hearing you cry out and wail his name until you were hoarse. Overwhelmed by the sensations, until you were rendered speechless, too weak to utter the word "Master" as pleasure consumed your senses.

Then the landscape shifted with your master now behind you, his hands exploring your body with practiced skill. Fingers danced between your legs, teasing your aching clit, perfectly synchronized with the slow, deliberate thrusts of his hips. In the shared intimacy, he praised you, “Such a good girl” and admiring your patience in holding back on coming until he granted permission. His voice, a velvety whisper, encouraged you to hang on, promising to reward your patience but only after he had cum inside you, again.

“You think your desires are greater and darker than my own? So innocent of you…” 

His words hit you like a revelation, unraveling a new side of Obi-Wan Kenobi that forever changed the way you saw him.

Another shift of vision saw you in the High Council Chamber, he sat naked in his seat, his strong thighs spread wide, and there you knelt before him. His hand gripped your hair, guiding his cock down your throat, and you obediently swallowed it all. With a gritty grunt, he demanded you not waste a drop, telling you to swallow all of it, praising your beauty as you served your master on your knees.

Your body pulsed and throbbed with each vision he gave you until the sights, sounds, and sensations grew so powerful all it took was the gentle stroke of his fingers between your legs to set you off. You threw your head back into the bed and moaned as the strength of your orgasm was amplified by your connection to your master as his most private thoughts continued playing in your head.

As he let you go, the fantasies slowly faded, and you found yourself returning to the tangible present. It was like your vision was coming back to focus, bit by bit, from the edges to the center. The room's immediate surroundings started to replace the lingering echoes of those intense daydreams.

In that moment, it was clear—he had won. The sly grin on his face revealed a man who knew he was about to get what he wanted. It was the look of someone who had conquered and was eagerly anticipating claiming their prize.

“Tell me, Padawan, are you ready to ask your master if you can touch him?” 

But there you were, a flicker of fight still dancing in your eyes. Trying to push against him to sit up, that burning desire to kiss him ignited, fueled by a longing to make him yearn for you. You wanted to kindle the flames of passion until he begged for your touch. Yet, your Master had other plans. Suddenly your body refused to cooperate, stubbornly resisting your every attempt. Even the simplest tasks, like wiggling your toes, proved to be impossible.

As your efforts were thwarted, Obi-Wan's grin grew, taking on a dark intensity. His stormy eyes promised something profound, something that transcended the physical. His gaze seemed to revel in the power he held over your immobilized form, piercing through the struggle within.

“Use the Force on your master to tease him, will you? Let us see how you like it?” His lips ghosted over your breast, barely warming your nipple, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. “You will ask permission, Padawan. I can wait.” His mouth enclosed over the hard bud lazily stroking, teeth occasionally grazing as your pathetic little whimpers danced in the air. 

He seemed perfectly content in his torturous teasing, but he had to be aching himself. Had to want to fuck you as badly as you wanted him to fuck you. This wasn’t fair, this wasn’t fair!

"Life is never fair, padawan," he murmured, as if reading the turmoil in your mind. "I had a very different plan for you until you chose to utilize the Force on your master. Now, you'll beg for the privilege to touch me."

His words sent shivers down your spine, and as he continued his fervent exploration, his hands tracing paths on your body that bordered on pain due to the lingering sensitivity from previous climaxes, you couldn't fathom how he remained so composed. The dichotomy of your desperation and his controlled demeanor only added to the maddening allure of the moment.

“You have no idea how much I want to sink my cock into this tight, perfect cunt,” His fingers grazed your lips and you were powerless to stop him, you could barely tremble at his touch. “How badly I want to feel you squeeze my cock, but I’ve not achieved the rank of master without considerable discipline.” 

He returned to your breast sucking harder, as his fingers employed a more delicate touch between your legs, which you were powerless to close, soft, sweet strokes on your thighs, and your lips but cruelly or mercifully avoiding your clit. Your lips trembled at the delicate touch, and in that moment, the unfairness of it all struck you like a tidal wave. 

For years, he had been your mentor, teaching you the art of patience and urging you to play the long game. "Be patient," he would say, "gauge your opponent."

But in the whirlwind of your desires, the very lessons he drilled into you seemed to crumble. Impatience surged, a desperate yearning for instant gratification that clashed with the wise teachings of your master. He offered to fulfill your every desire, promising pleasures beyond imagination. Yet, in your haste to assert newfound power, eager to prove you were more than just his padawan, you discovered there were still lessons for him to teach, more wisdom to share.

Your urgency led to a clash of power dynamics, revealing your master still held the upper hand. A soft sob of frustration escaped, breaking his focused demeanor. His once passionate cerulean eyes now held a glimmer of concern and curiosity as he paused.

"Say the words, padawan," His voice entreated gently, a soft call laced with a plea that tugged at the strings of your stubborn pride. You might have resisted longer if not for the unsaid words that reverberated in the echoes of your mind. "Padawan, please!"

Your eyes shot open, scanning the room for any hint that the desperation in Obi-Wan Kenobi's gaze was just a figment of your imagination. Yet, there it was—a pleading look that intertwined compassion and desire in a delicate dance across his face.

At that moment, it dawned on you: you had won. The silent struggle between you and your former master, the unspoken battle of wills, had reached its conclusion. The walls you'd built around your emotions had crumbled in the face of that unspoken plea. It wasn't about conquest; it was a surrender, and the victory was yours. 

You might be the first to say the words but he was the first to beg.

"Please, Master," Your voice, a sweet melody of desire, reached into the core of his being. His gaze narrowed, and he froze, the invisible bonds around you weakening, his resistance giving way. "Let me touch you, Master," You pleaded sweetly, your words dripping with need. "I want you," You added, turning up the heat until the bonds snapped completely. “Let me taste you, let me have you.”

With their release, he was on your lips again, kissing you with a desperate hunger, untamed and wild. Yet, despite your newfound freedom, you lay still beneath him, a silent presence he couldn't resist. 

"Padawan! Are you going to touch me or not?" 

His outrage was amusing. A playful grin toyed with the corners of your lips, hinting at your delight. 

Feigning innocence, you shot back, "You haven’t given me permission to touch you."

His eyes widened in surprise, a jolt of anticipation coursing through him as a deep, appreciative groan escaped him, acknowledging your skillful play as his Padawan. 

"Darling, please, touch your master," 

With a surge of passion, you seized the moment, fingers seizing his hair with purpose, jerking hard enough that he cried out, a pull that danced on the edge of sweet pain. 

Defying the limits of control, you launched a fervent attack on his lips, reclaiming the kiss with an intensity that screamed desire. Your tongue demanded entry, a forceful and unapologetic dive into the depths of his mouth. A low grunt slipped from him, a mix of surprise and a hint of surrender, adding fuel to the blaze sparking between you. The dance of your intertwined tongues became a symphony of passion, a primal declaration signaling the end of any lingering boundaries.

Your hips rolled into a painfully hard erection, and any trace of Obi-Wan's usual witty banter vanished into the charged air. The playful banter was replaced by a more primal language.

Pushing him onto his back was effortless now; he offered no resistance. Finally. The tension that had once held him captive had melted away into bliss. His half-lidded eyes, lost in a dreamy state, promised memories that would keep you warm for days to come. 

With deliberate intent, you explored every inch of his chest, savoring the taste of his skin. His deep breathing echoed in the room, accompanied by the subtle sounds of contentment that escaped his lips. As your journey continued downward, tracing the path of pleasure, you encountered the nearly pained expression that adorned his face. His chest heaved with anticipation as you approached his trousers, the memory of how close you had been to having him earlier playing in your mind. A grin danced on your lips, fueled by the sharp gasps escaping him, as you mouthed his cock through the fabric.

You couldn't wait to have him, the urgency taking over. The waistband tugged down in a hurry, your mouth watering in anticipation. Your hand wrapped around him, and he stuttered at the touch. His cock, just as perfect as you'd imagined—long, thick, and undeniably eager to be touched—and positively leaking. It felt like the room might collapse when your tongue licked at the pearlescent precum gathering from his weeping cock, you swept around his swollen head, savoring every delicious drop. His hands shook, gripping the bed in an immediate white-knuckled hold. As you kissed it and slowly swallowed the crown of his cock, he howled in ecstasy. The salty taste of him filled your mouth and he wept at the exquisite, wet heat. Jolting with every swirl of your tongue, each lick, and suckle, the delightful vibrations echoing from the back of your throat to his cock.

“Yes!”

His body arched, his signature flickering wildly, and then you truly went to work on him. Wanting to show him exactly how much you had thought of this moment. With each eager motion, you took more of him, brushing off the impending jaw ache. Your master was sprawled on your bed, fervently chanting your name, but coherent words were out of reach. He tasted just perfect, filling your mouth just right. You traced the veins on his cock like an old familiar map, committing every detail to memory. As you slid over his head sucking gently like one would enjoy a sweet treat, his hips surged, and he let out another wild moan of pleasure. 

“Padawan! Padwan! Padawan!” 

But you had more, oh so much more to give him, but you wouldn’t tease him as he had you, you gripped firmly what you couldn’t swallow, and aided by the slickness of your own saliva you stroked and twisted his length in your hand. And your other hand? It didn’t sit idle, no, it reached into his trousers to offer gentle almost tickling caresses to his neglected balls. Lesireuly massaging and softly squeezing. Surely, someone must have heard the moan that tore from his chest, it was primal and almost powerful enough to make you come again. 

The flood of sensations overwhelmed him, a storm of desire and vulnerability that left him at a loss for words. Normally eloquent, his tongue now stumbled in this unfamiliar territory. His disciplined mind, usually a stronghold of wisdom, faltered under the onslaught of passion. Every muscle rebelled against his rational commands, caught in a moment of indecision the muscles of his stomach flexed and contracted wildly. The composed master was briefly overshadowed by raw, primal forces, his tense muscles reflecting the battle of a man surrendering control to overwhelming desire. He became a disheveled mess, mouth hanging open, eyes wide and then tightly shut, breath hitching in short, irregular gasps as if he kept forgetting how to breathe smoothly. His lips clumsily grazed the edge of words, catching and then losing them amidst the whirlwind of sensations.

“Oh! Maker!”

Oh, another word? Impressive. His disciplined nature must be paying off. Using the last bit of strength he had, he propped himself up on his elbows, determined not to miss the spectacle. There you were, between his legs, your lips wrapped around his cock, all slick with your saliva, disappearing into your mouth. It hit the back of your throat in a way that made him shudder from head to toe. He could watch you do that for as long as the stars lit up the sky. It was something else—beautiful, the way you handled his cock like his pleasure belonged to you.

You were determined to extract every ounce of pleasure from him, poised to take him to the brink, so close to tasting him completely, but your mission hit a pause when his hand gently grasped your jaw, urging you to meet his gaze. His needy “Please,” didn’t go unnoticed either. A slender strand of saliva linked your lips to his throbbing length, and the disbelief in his eyes was palpable. It was as if he couldn't fathom witnessing what lay before him. A ragged breath escaped him, followed by a hard swallow. Redirecting your attention from his pulsating, slick arousal, he steered you into a deep, passionate kiss, one you didn't resist.

“Darling, enough foreplay. I need to feel you on my cock. Tell me that’s what you want.” 

His eyes sparkled when you whispered, "I want it, Master," with desire glowing in your own. It made you wonder if anyone had ever been so upfront with him, if anyone had looked into those captivating eyes and just said, "I want you." Had he ever known how it felt to be so openly desired before?

"Good girl, now, up you get." 

He effortlessly lifted you onto his lap, surprising you even more because he didn't employ the Force; it was the strength of his own muscles at play. Observing them flex and shift beneath his skin was nearly as gratifying as witnessing him in the throes of pleasure. He held you over his lap for a moment, lips tangling with yours, muttering against them. 

“Look at me, want to see you properly.”

How could you ignore a request like that? Oh, no, you couldn’t. And with a nod from you, he began to release you.

Never had anything felt as exquisite as the moment his cock slid effortlessly into your pussy. The sensation of that satisfying first stretch surpassed any pleasure you had ever known—far superior to the touch of your own fingers, toys, or any previous lover. As gravity took its course, guiding you down onto him, there was nothing left to say or do. Your head rolled back and you moaned his name. His chest rose and fell with measured breaths, every ounce of strength dedicated to maintaining control. Surprisingly, his energy remained entirely serene.

The experience was a symphony of wetness, heat, tightness, and perfect slickness. His arms enveloped you, pulling you close, mirroring the way you squeezed his cock. It was perfect. You would ache for this later, he was right, you’d be sore to the touch everywhere he’d touched you but it would be worth it for the exquisite ecstasy you felt right now.

Damn the code, to hell with forbidden attachments; the High Council could go up in flames for all you cared. In this moment, he belonged to you—every inch of him. His response to your body defied description. He was unequivocally yours.

He uttered your name, his mouth tracing up your neck in search of your lips. "Darling, kiss me."

Not padawan, not master. He called you by your name.

Your lips met his, as he’d asked, sweetly, gently as lovers did. The high of shoving your tongue into hi mouth was wonderful but not so wonderful as this simple brushing of lips the added heat and girth of his cock buried in you, there were no more barriers. You kissed him like that for a few minutes until your cunt throbbed demanding more, then you shifted, rising up savoring the way his lips parted in shock before sliding back down slow enough you could see his eyelashes flutter. “Again,” His voice was so full of need and heat, how could you deny him? The warmth of his breath against your skin was like a balm, soothing every ache, alleviating every burden, and imparting tranquility to long-standing wounds.

As his arms encircled your legs, lifting you up to help you along, a surge of emotions overwhelmed you. The dichotomy of wanting to sing or cry left you unable to suppress the whimper rising in the back of your throat. His name escaped your lips again.

His arms held you securely, and he buried his face in your neck, releasing a deeply contented breath. With deliberate slowness, he began to thrust upward. Your hands found their way into his hair, pulling him up for another smoldering kiss, swallowing his moan.

Passion surged like wildfire between you and the man you had yearned for over the years. The connection between your bodies was intense, each thrust an urgent proclamation of desire. The air was thick with the mingling of hot breaths, punctuated by the sound of lewdly slapping skin and fervent kisses exchanged in the throes of lust.

His movements were powerful and rhythmic, and left you gasping for more, all you could do was hang on. With every thrust, he hit that perfect angle that sent shivers through your entire body. The sensation was electric, a tantalizing dance on the precipice of pleasure.

As your breaths intertwined, the shared rhythm hinted at the imminent climax, drawing you both closer to the edge. 

In the throes of passion, your murmurs of his name reverberated against his lips as he quickened the pace, both of you on the precipice of an imminent release. The urgency in your voice only fueled his desire, and he nodded in approval as you moaned: 

"Obi-Wan…"

Encouraged by your compliance, he implored you for more, his hunger evident. "Again, darling, say it again!"

In a cascade of breathless utterances, you willingly complied, chanting his name with increasing fervor. 

"Obi-wan! Obi-wan! Obi-wan!"

With a fluid blend of strength, grace, and skill, he effortlessly tipped you onto your back. The swift change momentarily took you by surprise, but before the disorientation settled, he surged back into you with newfound intensity. Each movement reached deeper, and he committed his entire weight to each forceful thrust, immersing both of you in a realm of heightened pleasure.

His frame shook with each thrust, and with every motion, he felt a piece of himself slipping away, lost in the fervor of the moment. Desperation marked his every move as he teetered on the precipice of oblivion, but determined to hold off just a little longer. The urgency in his actions spoke of a desire to witness you unraveling in the throes of pleasure, to experience the cascade of ecstasy like a tidal wave crashing over him.

His fingers laced with yours, holding a connection that transcended the physical, while his kisses conveyed a hunger that mirrored the intensity of the act. Amid groans and the forceful snap of his hips, he dropped his lips to your ear, breathing hot against your skin.

"Come, darling, come for me!" He moved with an increasingly wild and intense rhythm, his passion reaching new heights. The affectionate term "Padawan" slipped from his lips like a whispered plea, an irresistible command, urging you to surrender to the pleasure he was offering, to climax for your master.

And you did, your body arching in response to the unrelenting intensity, hips bucking wildly against his, meeting his every thrust. Lips locked with his, you welcomed the furious pace he set each time he bottomed out, your bodies entwined in a dance without inhibitions. He threw his weight behind every motion, determined to make you feel every bit of him, to give you everything he had.

His desperate cries of "Padawan!" grew louder in the heated air, a mantra underscoring the intimacy of the moment. The repetition of the endearing term only served to heighten the exquisite pleasure, acknowledging a connection that surpassed the physical act. As he reached the pinnacle of ecstasy, a shudder ran through his entire body, and a helplessly primal howl escaped his lips. The heat of his seed spilling deep within you was the final catalyst, triggering a powerful climax of your own that rocked your entire body.

The Obi-Wan Kenobi you knew, with all his composure and eloquence, had vanished into thin air. In his place was a man, wild and satisfied, fucking you senseless, thrusting his erupting cock hurriedly back into your cunt as though he might die if he stopped. It just kept coming, he thrust harder with each rope you pulled from him until his body had nothing left to give and he began to still after one final hard thrust.

His breaths slowed, and he fought to stay upright. The only thing keeping him from melting into the mattress and pulling you into him entirely was the awareness of your injuries. Thankfully, the pain that had plagued you earlier had quieted down during your passionate love-making, granting a brief moment of relief. His cerulean eyes shifted from the storm of passion to their usual cool and compassionate state. The aftermath unfolded a scene of vulnerability—echoes of shared passion and lingering concerns for your well-being.

He wrapped his arm around you, drawing you close, and skillfully rolled both of you onto your sides. With his arm firmly around your waist, he stayed seated, still in your warmth, unwilling to leave it just yet.

In the ensuing silence, the room was filled only with the sounds of your shared and labored breathing. 

"Are you alright?" His voice returned to its soft and warm timbre, the familiar hum that felt like a safe, warm home. When you remained silent, he shifted slightly, concern lacing his words, "Darling, is your leg in any pain?" Despite his own exhaustion, his concern for your well-being was touching. The way he called you darling further added to your sated state, and it made you smile.

"What leg?" 

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, a comforting warmth you hadn't felt in ages. Shifting to a more serious tone, he inquired again about your injuries, but the light-hearted demeanor lingered.

"I don’t care. Ask me in the morning," You replied unbothered, arms wrapping around his neck. Nestling into the comforting warmth of his chest, you threw a leg around his hips, pulling him closer. His gasp of pleasure, maybe mixed with a hint of overstimulation, brought a satisfied smile to your face, ignoring the subtle throb echoing through your body. It was worth it—the pains, the frustrations—just to lie in your master's arms, his cock still buried in you basking in warmth, safety, and a newfound satisfaction.

"Mmm, Master?" You murmured, your voice laced with the weight of drowsiness.

He chuckled bashfully, "Darling, you don't have to call me Master, anymore."

"Just trying to be an obedient padawan," you teased, planting a kiss on the sensitive spot on his neck, earning a delightful twitch from his cock.

"Careful, darling. I still owe you a punishment for abandoning me," He playfully reminded, his words hanging in the air. "What was your question?"

"If I abandon you again, and you happened to find me. Would you follow through with your 'punishment' against the wall on a ship?" 

The recollection of that fantasy, coupled with the echo of his playful threat, coaxed a deep groan from him, as both of you relived those shared fantasies. "Please, Master?" You breathed against his neck, your request underscored by a subtle roll of your hips.

His arm wrapped possessively around you, the warmth of his breath tingling against your ear. A soft growl slipped past his lips, melding with the restrained rhythm of his hips, you could feel him driving into you once more wringing out a moan from your lips. His voice, tinged with both amusement and authority, whispered,

"It seems my Padawan still needs a bit of instruction."

Why, yes, there's more...

~~~

If you would like to see more stuff like this (reader inserts) let me know and let me know if you'd like to join the tag list! For my faithful Obi-Wan content readers! @split-spectrum (you helped inspire this!), @heyhawtdawgs. @pickleprickle @decembermidnight

Alright! I need a cigarette!

[mayhemspreadingguy]

Master~

[artanis-draws]

Oh damn it… those two are making me emotional.. I would have wished them both peace and a good ending. Unfortunately, the drama makes this story so perfect and so I cry myself to sleep. Haha 🥲

Btw I got the pose and the lighting from a beautiful piece from pinterest, thank you, unknown artist ❤️🙏

[jollyhaunt]

coruscant has the space equivalent to the cosmopolitan magazine, including those celebrity quizzes pertaining to things such as "which actor is your bestie" etc. except they come out with an issue about the jedi INCLUDING "which jedi master would be your soulmate"

the troopers have a riot with this, the jedi amused just as much if not more (no one has heard yoda laugh this much since a prank some padawans *cough cough obiwanandquinlan COUGH* had pulled on mace). cody had refused to participate in the quiz no matter how much heckling he received from the 212th. on the other hand, obiwan is having a riot with it.

when obiwan hears troopers who got him, he becomes more friendly than before—overuses terms of endearments, more pats on the shoulders, smiling a little sweeter, those sorts of things. 212th troopers who got jedi like anakin or plokoon, obiwan just waggles a teasing brow and makes teasing little comments whenever they're teamed up.

it's rex that finally gets cody to take the quiz. some off hand comment about obiwan and his eyes or something along those lines. cody just yanks out the nearest datapad and does the questionnaire with much more thought than he ought to.

and what'd ya know—he got obiwan.

rex leaks it to the 212th and cody receives so much crap for that. obiwan overhears it and bc he is such a bastard, participates in all the teasing, just outright starts flirting bc isn't it so fun to see cody, marshall commander of the 3rd system army, become pink in the face from all the implications?

the next issue is of the high ranking officers of the GAR, including the clones. obiwan gets cody and anakin gives him so much crap for it as well. cody gives obiwan a taste of his own medicine

[anointedinink]

“Master Ani, can we play??”

Reverse age au bc i liveee for smol kenobi!!!

[mikeluciraphgabe]

This disaster lineage is so silly when you break it down

A goblin who Fucks and runs this bitch before going completely off the rails and moving to the middle of nowhere

^ that one’s son padawan who decided that his dad master’s rules we’re stupid - left - and became a wine aunt who is deranged but in a lowkey way

^ that one’s son padawan turned pothead that takes his own son padawan out to fight for ‘enrichment’

^ his dad master traumatized him and made him a whore, slut, booty call if you will as a result

Anakin

Anakin’s first daughter padawan who is a sweetheart - never done anything wrong ever and will stare at her enemies in the eyes before doing the most unnecessary and unexpected move

The ‘last’ Jedi who doesn’t even know how to do the most basic move with a saber - meditates while doing a handstand AND is a Twink (oh and Anakin’s illegal bio-son)

^ that one’s twin sister who is lowkey the most chill but is also Unhinged (don’t take the calm exterior seriously - she’s fucking crazy) (Anakin’s illegal bio-daughter)

The twink’s first ever padawan who is his great-great-great-great grandfather master’s bio-son but then decides that ‘nah this ain’t me fr’ and goes to live with a mandolorian for a couple of years

Boy who is going through a phase evil but falls in love with Anakin’s groomer’s granddaughter and acts like he doesn’t care for her when he Very Much Does (Anakin’s illegal bio-daughter’s son)

[pararararablof]

I imagine the first day in Jedi hell is really tough for Anakin

[jedi-hawkins]

Tattoine

3.8k Words

Pairings: Jedi oc x Obi Wan

Warnings: None, SFW

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Escape!

After fleeing Naboo, our band of heroes manage to make it to the barren desert planet of Tatooine. Here they must make much-needed repairs to their ship before they can return to Coruscant for the Queen to make her plea for help to Chancellor Valorum.

This planet holds more mysteries than expected, and each corner may hide more danger for the young travelers. Perhaps one may reveal a new ally instead.

As Bryn, Obi-wan and Padme walk through the corridors of the ship, Obi-wan's comlink beeps again.

"Obi-wan." Qui-gon's voice says from the little device.

"Yes Master?"

"Bring that astromec droid that aided in our escape along with you. You should find him in the engineering bay."

"Of course, we'll be up in a moment Master."

Padme pauses at a doorway to the left of the hallway and presses the access panel on the wall. "In here." She says.

The lights turn on as  Obi-wan and Bryn pass through the door and the droid in the corner turn to the trio entering. He rolls up to Bryn, whirring and beeping at her.

Bryn lets out a light laugh. "Yes, hello little friend. It's okay, I'll be alright."

"You can understand him?" Obi-wan asks in surprise.

"Better than most. I still have to rely on communicators for more comprehensive conversation, but I can get by with more general vocabulary." Bryn replies. "I found it's a useful skill to be able to work and speak with droids. They're often underestimated. Come on little one, the Queen wants to see you." She says, smiling at the blue astromech droid.

"Her Majesty's chambers are up this way." Padme gestures, leading the way with the droid beside her. Obi-wan and Bryn follow, the latter leaning heavily on her partner's arm.

The door to the Queen's Chambers glides open smoothly to reveal the young teen perched on a throne. Padme joins the other handmaidens at the Queen's right side and Obi-wan helps Bryn over to stand beside Qui-gon.

"Is this the droid?" The guard captain asks, gesturing to the dirty droid rolling in after the two Jedi padawans.

Bryn nods, still leaning on Obi-wan for support. "Yes, sir. This is him."

The Captain looks the astromech up and down. "An extremely well put together little droid. Without a doubt, it saved the ship, as well as our lives."

"It is to be commended." The Queen remarks. "What is it's number?"

The blue droid lets our a series of beeps.

"R2-D2, your Majesty." Bryn translates.

Queen Amidala bows her head to the droid. "Thank you, Artoo Detoo. You have proven to be very loyal. Padme," She glances over to her first handmaiden. "Clean this droid up the best you can. It deserves our gratitude."

As Padme escorts Artoo into a side chamber, the Queen turns back to the Guard Captain. "Captain Panaka, Continue."

The Captain shifts his weight nervously, glancing at the three Jedi next to him.

Qui-gon steps forward. "Your Majesty, we are headed for a remote planet called Tatooine. It is a system far beyond the reach of the Trade Federation. There we will be able to make needed repairs, then travel on to Coruscant."

Captain Panaka hold up a hand in protest. "Your Majesty, Tatooine is very dangerous. It's controlled by an alliance of gangs called the Hutts. I do not agree with the Jedi on this."

Bryn takes her weight back from Obi-wan, swaying slightly. "You should trust in Master Jinn's judgement, your Majesty. Our options are slim, and he has weighed all of them."

The Queen looks Bryn up and down, taking in her blood-stained robes. "You're the one who took the shot for Padme?"

Bryn nods.

"I remember you, Padawan Caro. You are very brave. You also helped secure the palace before I ascended the throne, didn't you?" Queen Amidala continues. "Very well, I have faith in you, so Tatooine it is. You are all dismissed."

Captain Panaka sends a sideways glance to the Jedi before leaving the Queen's chamber.

Qui-gon gestures for the two padawans to follow after him towards the bridge. "Bryn , I left a spare pair of robes in the galley. Join us when you're done changing."

She nods and starts to leave the main corridor, but Obi-wan catches her when she wobbles again.

"Do you need help?" He asks, worry layering his voice.

She gently pushes his arms away. "Thanks, but I'm fine, just getting my head back."

"Alright, if you're sure." He says, turning to follow his master to the bridge.

The door to the galley slides open and the lights turn on. Bryn moves over to a table where a pile of folded robes rest. She begins to strip her crusted robes off her body, careful of the stitches on her side. Injuries like this are no stranger to Bryn, she once finished out a mission Dantooine after dislocating her shoulder. Given, that was just a reconnaissance assignment, but it still wasn't fun.

Bryn steels herself as she lifts her tunic over her head, but the expected shooting pain never reaches her side. She looks down at her ribs and where the blaster had struck her, beneath a blue bacta bandage, is a neat row of stitches. She tentatively sways her body side to side and murmurs only slightly when she feels the stitches pulling in her raw, healing skin.

"Thank Maker for bacta." She mutters to herself as she begins to pull on the clean robes.

The sweet scent of seedarwud and eukaliptis wafts from the fabric. Bryn takes a deep breath in, as a warmth washes over her. The robes must have been Obi-wan's, Bryn would recognize that smell anywhere. They hang a little looser than her normal robes, but all she has to do is cinch her utility belt close to her waist. Bryn pulls her boots back on, slides her arms into her cloak and quickly re-braids her hair before walking back up to the bridge.

Qui-gon and Obi-wan stand behind Captain Panaka, gazing at one of the navigation screens.

"What's our status?" Bryn says as she strides through the door with ease.

"We're almost there." Qui-gon replies without moving his eyes from the screen.

Obi-wan looks over to Bryn and his eyes widen in curiosity when he notices she's no longer hunched in pain. "Are you alright?" He asks her in a low voice.

"Of course, just a scratch." She replies with a wink. "Look, there's Tatooine."

One of the navigators presses a few buttons near the screen in front of him. "There's a settlement just below us. A spaceport, looks like."

"Land near the outskirts." Qui-gon instructs. 'We don't want to attract any unwanted attention."

"I'll go and start evaluating what repairs we'll need." Bryn says. "Obi-wan, can you come give me a hand?"

Qui-gon dismisses the two padawans with a nod and turns to speak to Captain Panaka. Bryn leads the way back down to the engineering bay.

"Alright," she says. "Best start with checking the propulsion systems. Try accessing the diagnostics program through that terminal. That way we can know if there's any problems with the power converters, fuel lines and such."

Obi-wan nods and moves over to the screen Bryn gestured to and begins swiping through the operations. Bryn opens up the tool chest and pulls out a wrench, which she uses to loosen up one of the floor panels. Once the hardware bay below is accessible, Bryn hops down to assess the damage.

"Obi-wan?" She says.

"What is it?"

"Do you feel something?"

"What do you mean?" Obi-wan replies.

"There's just something, off." Bryn says, sticking her head up above the floor to look at Obi-wan. "Something in the Force."

He closes his eyes momentarily and steadies his breathing. "Yes, I feel it too. Curious..."

The two connect eyes for a moment before returning to the task at hand. Bryn ducks back into the hardware bay and immediately, she can see many of the cables need to be replaced. Her heart sinks when her eyes fall on the hyperdrive generator.

Just as Bryn pops her head up from the bay to inform Obi-wan of the damage, Jar Jar bursts through the door.

"Obi-wan, pleeese, no mesa go!" He cries, falling at Obi-wan's feet.

"You must." Qui-gon says, striding in wearing a farmer's cloak. "You'll make things less conspicuous.

"Qui-gon's right." Obi-wan replies. "Sorry, Jar Jar."

"Oh pleeese! Pleeese no! Bryna, come with us?" The gungan says, turning to the young padawan's head poking out from the floor.

"May I, Master?" Bryn asks.

Qui-gon simply nods. "What's the damage?"

Bryn hops up out of the hardware bay. "Well a lot of the cables need to be replaced, and the hyperdrive generator is gone. We'll need a new one."

"Okay then, come with us and you can point out what we need." Qui-gon replies. "Can you handle everything here, Obi-wan?"

"Of course, Master." He replies.

Qui-gon beckons the two padawans to move closer. "We must keep our wits about us young padawans. Do not let them send any transmissions, Obi-wan." He says. "Be wary... I sense a disturbance in the Force."

Bryn and Obi-wan make eye contact with each other before nodding.

"Yes, Master." Obi-wan replies.

"We felt it too, Master." Bryn adds.

"I'm sure it will reveal itself in time." Qui-gon says, matter-of-factly. "Come, Bryn. Radio us with any concerns, Obi-wan."

Obi-wan catches Bryn's sleeve before she leaves. "Be careful out there." He says.

She smiles back at him. "Of course Obi-wan. All we're doing is going to the market. We'll be back before you know it."

He reaches a hand into his robe and holds out a single Republic credit. "Get me a souvenir?"

Bryn raises an eyebrow in curiosity. "A souvenir? I think there will be pretty slim pickings out here, especially for your budget."

Obi-wan shakes his head. "Doesn't matter what it is, so long as you're the one who brings it back to me."

Bryn smiles and pockets the credit. "Very well. Be back soon, Padawan Kenobi."

As Bryn is striding across the sand to catch up to Qui-gon and Jar Jar, a voice behind her catches her attention.

"Wait!"

It's Captain Panaka.

Bryn stops beside Qui-gon as the Captain and Padme run up to meet them.

"Her Highness commands you to take her handmaiden with you. She wishes for her to observe the local-"

Qui-gon raises his hand, cutting Panaka off. "No more commands from Her Highness today, Captain. This spaceport is not going to be pleasant."

The Captain shakes his head. "The Queen wishes it. She is curious about this planet."

"Is she now?" Bryn says, her gaze set on Padme in simple blue robes.

Padme holds the padawan's gaze. "I've been trained in defense. I can take care of myself."

The Captain lets out a heavy sigh. "Don't make me go back and tell her you refuse."

"I don't have time for this." Qui-gon says, frustration building in his voice.

"I'll vouch for her, master." Bryn speaks up.

Qui-gon shakes his head again. "Fine. But she's your responsibility." He points at Padme, "Stay close to Padawan Caro."

Qui-gon leads the way with Jar Jar nearly tripping over his cloak. Padme and Bryn follow a few steps behind and Artoo whistles along beside them.

"This planet is so strange." Padme remarks as they move along. "What do these people do for their lives?"

"Moisture farming, for the most part." Qui-gon replies. "But there are a few indigenous tribes and scavengers. The few spaceports like this one are havens for those who do not wish to be found."

Padme nods, glancing around nervously. "Like us."

Bryn reaches over and nudges the young girl, giving her a reassuring smile.

In front of them, Jar Jar is muttering to himself. "Dissen very very bad." He stumbles over his own feet and steps into a puddle of ooze that Qui-gon had moved around. "Ohh, icky-icky goo."

"Master," Bryn calls out, "It would probably be best to try one of the smaller dealers."

The Jedi master nods and gestures for Bryn to lead the way. A small junk shop off to the side catches her eye. It looks pretty unassuming, but the large pile of broken ships behind it looks promising.

The small band of travelers step into the dingy shop and a pudgy blue toydarian buzzes over to them.

"Ha, chuba da naga?" He asks in the local huttese.

"Achuta," Bryn replies. "Chut chut. Mwa huttese sa ree goola. Chuba ca tinka baseek?" She continues.

The toydarian raises an eyebrow. "You're right, your hutteese is terrible. What do you want?"

Qui-gon steps forward. "I need parts for a J-type 327 Nubian."

The shopkeeper rubs his chin. "Ahh, yes, yes. Nubian. We have lots of that. What kinda junk?" He asks before shouting over his shoulder in huttese. "Boy, get in here! Now!"

Bryn nudges Artoo forward, "Here, our droid has a list of what we need."

The little droid rolls forward just as a young boy runs in from the junkyard out back. Bryn's heart lurches at the sight of him. He's so young. She thinks to herself. He's dressed in ragged clothes and covered in dirt, but there's something about him. Maker, he deserves better.

The shopkeeper waves the boy over, speaking again in huttese. "What took you so long?"

The boy replies, "I was cleaning the bin like you told me-"

"Never mind!" The toydarian interrupts. "Watch the store, I've got some selling to do." His eyes narrow slyly as he turns to Qui-gon. "Sooo, let me take- a thee out back. Ni you'll find what you need."

Qui-gon starts to follow the shopkeeper, but glances over at Jar-Jar, who is fiddling with something off of one of the work benches. "Bryn-"

"I've got him, you go." She replies instantly. Binks babysitting it is. She walks over to him and pulls the piece of metal out of his hands. "Don't touch anything, Jar Jar."

As she sets the part back on the bench, she notices the way the young boy is looking at Padme.

"Are you an angel?" He pipes up eventually.

"A what?" She replies, startled.

"An angel," the boy repeats. "I've heard the deep space pilots talk about them. The live on some star, I think."

Bryn nods, "I know what you're talking about. They actually live on the moons of Eiago, very far away."

"They are the most beautiful creatures in the universe." The boy continues as he fiddles with a machine part, "They are good and kind, and so pretty they make even the most hardened spice pirate cry."

Bryn smiles slightly, seeing a pink flush come to Padme's face.

"I've never heard of angels." She says shyly.

The boy tilts his head to the side. "You must be one. Maybe you just don't know it."

Bryn moves over and squats down next to him. "You're a funny little boy. How do you know so much?"

He smiles. "I listen to all the traders and star pilots who come through here. I'm a pilot you know, and someday I'm going to fly away from this place."

"You're a pilot?" Bryn asks.

"Mm-hmm." The boy nods, "All my life."

Bryn glances around the dirty shop. "And how long have you been here?"

"Since I was very little, three, I think." The boy says, reaching for a nearby grease rag. "My mom and I were sold to Gardulla the Hutt, but she lost us, betting on the Podraces, to Watto, who's a lot better master than Gardulla, I think."

Padme's brow wrinkles. "You're, you're a slave?"

The boy scowls at her question. "I am a person! My name is Anakin."

It's obvious Padme regrets what she said. "I'm sorry." She replies. "I don't fully understand. This is a strange world to me."

Anakin looks her up and down. "You're a strange girl to me."

Suddenly a little droid that Jar Jar was investigating jumps to life, startling the others. The Gungan tries to restrain the droid, but it slips out of his grip.

"Hit the nose!" Anakin shouts.

Jar Jar trips over himself trying to catch the droid circling around his feet. Bryn thrusts out her hand and focuses on pushing the droid's nose. Thankfully the force aids her and the droid quickly folds back into it's dormant state.

Anakin gazes at the girl in long robes in wonder. "Woah, how'd you do that?"

Bryn just smiles at the boy, "Oh, that's just a trick I know."

"Where did you learn it?" he prods further.

She shrugs, "Ehm, a system. Far, far away from here."

Padme rises an eyebrow at her friend's obscure answers.

"I've heard rumors that Jedi can do magic like that. Are you a Jedi?" Anakin asks.

Bryn kneels down in front of Anakin. "There's no such thing as magic."

The boy huffs. "You didn't answer my question. Are you a Jedi knight?"

"Not yet," the young padawan replies. "But hopefully one day I will be."

"I wish I could be a Jedi." Anakin says wistfully. "Then I could be invincible."

Bryn reaches out and grabs his shoulders. "Being a Jedi does not make you invincible, Anakin. In fact, it makes you more vulnerable."

"But how? A Jedi doesn't have any weaknesses."

Bryn looks the young boy in the eye. "Do you promise you can keep a secret?"

The boy nods eagerly.

Bryn gently reaches into the folds of her robes and brings out her first lightsaber. "Here," She says, holding it out for Anakin to take. "Be very careful." She says.

Anakin's eyes widen as he gently takes the metal hilt in his hands. "I've heard of these. Is this what a laser sword looks like?"

Bryn laughs, "It's called a lightsaber. And it is every Jedi's greatest weakness."

"How?" He asks, turning it over in his hands.

Padme steps forward, holding a cautionary hand out. "Bryn, it might not be best-"

"It's alright, I trust him." She replies. "Once someone gets their own lightsaber, it becomes their entire life."

Anakin continues running his small hands over the intricate pieces of metal. "How is it your life?"

Bryn gently takes the lightsaber back from the boy. "Well, when a Jedi is ready they make a promise to dedicate their life to something greater than themselves. They are pledging to protect the innocent and stand against the dark forces of the universe, even if that means giving their life for another. This weapon doesn't just represents that promise, it is that promise." 

Anakin watches as Bryn clips the saber back to her belt beside it's partner. "How to Jedi get a lightsaber?" 

"They'll build their saber, piece by piece; it's a process that can take weeks." Bryn says with a smile. "My master taught me and one day I will teach a student of my own."

"And who are you?" the boy asks.

"I am Jedi padawan Bryn-ayla Del Caro, it's very nice to meet you, Anakin." Bryn replies.

Anakin's eyes float down to his feet. "How do you become a Jedi?"

"Well," Bryn takes a breath, "There is something called the Force. It is the energy that flows through everything in the universe, connecting it all together. If an individual is trained properly, they can learn to interact with the Force, and they can become a Jedi."

"So anyone can do it?" He asks shyly.

"Some are born with a stronger connection than others, but that only gives them potential." Bryn replies. "Here, let's try something. Lay your hands on top of mine and close your eyes."

She holds both of her hands out, palms facing up and Anakin follows her direction. "Now," she says, "Feel yourself connect to the floor below you. Feel the air around you, Padme and I in the room with you. Feel the scrap around the shop, even the market outside. Now try to reach out to the energy flowing through all of it. Reach out with your energy and try to connect with it."

Anakin's eyelids flutter as he concentrates on Bryn's words. After a few moments he opens his eyes and lets out a defeated sigh. "Nothing." He says. "I didn't feel anything. I guess I'm not special."

Bryn tries to give the boy a reassuring smile as she swiftly stands up. Just as she's brushing some dirt off her knees, Qui-gon strides back into the shop.

"We're leaving." He says hurriedly.

Bryn nods and waves goodbye to Anakin, but she doesn't make eye contact.

Padme pauses before following the Jedi out the door. "I'm glad I met you, ah."

"Anakin," The boy reminds her.

Padme smiles. "Anakin."

"Anakin Skywalker." He clarifies.

"Padme Naberrie." The young girl replies before following her guard out of the shop.

The group quickly ducks into a quiet alleyway away from the market center.

"Best touch base with Obi-wan." Qui-gon instructs Bryn as he scans the perimeter.

Bryn nods and pulls out her commlink. Obi-wan picks up after it beeps a couple times.

"Bryn? Is everything okay?" He asks hurriedly.

"Yes, we're fine, but we've run into a bit of a complication." She replies handing the commlink to Qui-gon.

"Obi-wan," He says, "I need you to check what there is on the ship that may be of value, we've found the parts we need, but the shop owner won't take Republic credits, I doubt anyone else will either."

Obi-wan hesitates for a second. "There's some supply crates, the Queen's wardrobe perhaps, but not enough for you to barter with. Nothing near enough to equate a hyperdrive generator.

"All right, another solution will present itself. I'll have Padawan Caro check back with you later." Qui-gon says, handing the commlink back to the padawan at his side.

"Stay safe, Obi-wan."

"You too."

As the group moves back out towards the market streets, Bryn pulls Qui-gon back a few paces.

"Master," she starts in a low voice, "that boy in the shop."

Qui-gon nods, "Yes, I know. A boy that young, a slave. It's an ugly truth about places like this."

Bryn shakes her head. "No Master, I sensed there was something special about him. I think he's what we've all been feeling. So I had him try to reach out to the Force."

The Jedi master raised an eyebrow. "And? Did he feel anything?"

"He didn't." Bryn begins, "But I did. Master, this boy is extremely strong in the Force. He needs guidance, I think we should take him to the temple."

Qui-gon stops walking for a moment and turns towards Bryn. "When you say 'extremely strong' you don't mean-"

She shrugs, "The Chosen One? Maybe, I don't know, but something is telling me this boy isn't something we should overlook."

"I sensed something too, but he's too old, Bryn." Qui-gon says.

Bryn's jaw tenses. "That's your answer, Master? This boy is so strong in the Force and he doesn't even know it. He needs to be trained, he could become dangerous otherwise. The Jedi take children from their families all the time, at least with this boy, we'd be freeing him."

Qui-gon thinks for a moment before beginning to walk again.

"Master? I'm sorry, I was out of turn. If he's too old, he's too old." Bryn says, her eyes trailing on the ground.

"Not me." Qui-gon finally says.

Bryn glances up at him. "What?"

"Not me." He repeats. "You. If you think that he should be brought to the temple, then I will help you do so. But you're the one who found him. That means you'll have to convince Master Yoda on the boy, then and only then, will he become your youngling."

Bryn looks at her old Master in surprise. "You really think I'm ready for that?"

Qui-gon smiles at her. "You have always been strong with the Force, you said it yourself that Master Plo is preparing you to take the trials. It seems that the Force wants you to begin teaching another. We'll try to find him again and start with a midichlorian count."

[sharpasanaro]

You know that trending sound with the woman humming into the fan, something slow, maybe mournful? And you know how it’s been sending fanfic writers into a tizzy going, “actually that’s {Insert Character Here} when they were going through {Scenarios}.”

Don’t think about Obi-Wan Kenobi humming Jedi songs of mourning under his breath as he heads to Polis Massa to rendezvous with Yoda and Bail, mourning his brother in all but blood, mourning him in more ways than any one person could count. His brother his friend his son his whole world for an entire ten years his brother in arms his hope for himself and his people is shattered

Obi-Wan singing quietly in the delivery room after Padmé dies, begging the Force for answers, why did she have to go why was it her time why didn’t she tell me did her and Anakin not trust me was this always my fault???

Obi-Wan’s voice finally cracking as he holds the twins together in his arms, the final time he will see them together as children, whispering songs of hope and healing into their soft hair they could have grown up in the Temple they are as strong as their father they need more than I can give them that can’t be given anything more than this why is separation the best option they will never know peace as long as the empire reigns but oh Force what can two Jedi do to stop what an entire Temple could not?

Ben humming for the first time in a decade as he rescues Leia to soothe her to sleep on their way back to Alderaan, finally safe and sound is this to soothe him after having to fight the thing that wears Anakin’s face and speaks with his voice or to comfort a traumatized child welcome home welcome home

Ben singing to Maul after he dies a tragic and wandering soul, forever haunted by a path he never asked to take he joins the Force he is whole at last welcome home welcome home

Old Ben whispering pleasant nonsense while aboard the Millennium Falcon, Han thinks it’s because he’s a crazy desert hermit, but Luke is entranced and can’t explain why the language is Dai Bendu the language of the Jedi the language of the Light the language of the Force the language of his people welcome home welcome home welcome home

Old Ben hears the Force singing aboard the Death Star as he faces Vader one last time, he sees the twins reunited at last, he knows it is his Time

Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi finally joins his Order, his people, in the Force, and it sings with Light and so does he

[twinsunstars]

since i did a tales of the empire poll…

i'll make another poll with this poll's top for once it is it over to get our two winners later on! reblog for more samples!

[kana7o]

May Sketches!

[mmelolabelle]

Obi-Wan Kenobi: You need to kill Darth Vader! The very fate of the galaxy depends on it! He is pure evil. The source of all that is wrong in universe. Every bad thing that has ever happened ever is his fault - like on a personal level.

Obi-Wan Kenobi: You want me to kill him? Me? The master swordsman? The battle-hardened general? Arguably one of the greatest Jedi of all time? Oh no, I couldn’t possibly!

Obi-Wan Kenobi: No you don’t understand - I love him. Mind your fucking business.