#mobster!obi-wan x reader

[kenobers]

Gangs of Coruscant

Chapter One: Dire Straits

Mobster!Obi-WanxFem!Reader

Summary: The 23-year-old reader gets a fresh start in Coruscant after landing a sign language interpreter gig at one of the biggest hospitals in the galaxy. However, that plan flatlines after reader's attempts to be punctual land her somewhere she really really shouldn't be, where she sees something she really really shouldn't see. As luck would have it, that something just so happens to be the business of the most terrifying (and strikingly handsome) man in the city. Warnings: Mafia!AU, mentions of guns, drugs & violence, being held against one's will & non-sexual coercion (but not maliciously?), older man Disclaimer: Yes, this is a romanization of the concept of the mafia, but it is also a fictionalization based on the structure of the Jedi Order. No character in this story is based on any real life mobster and no plot point is based on an actual organized crime story. I am aware that most crime lords do not look like Obi-Wan Kenobi nor am I encouraging anyone to actually try and get with a made man (or woman). Please direct all complaints to Marty Scorsese. God Bless.

There was no way you were keeping this job.

You showed up late to orientation, much to the disapproval of the hospital director. Now you had completely missed your first official day. It wasn’t for lack of trying, honestly. The bus had arrived late on orientation day. When a kind older gentleman told you this was a common occurrence, you decided you could carve out extra time for the twenty-five minute walk. 

Then you missed a turn. Then another. Then you’d discovered you left your wallet at home and that your phone had, in fact, not charged overnight. Then you took a chance on a bus. Then ended up on an entirely different side of Coruscant. 

That had all been seven hours ago, when the sun was still up. The infamous neon lights of the central city were now a distant glow, taunting you from miles away. So much for being a sign language interpreter, you thought bitterly, so much for a brand new life in Coruscant. Not only were you going to lose the job you moved to this enormous city for, you might just lose your life. Oh, well. At least that was the worst that could happen. 

This side of the city was…there was no other word for it, shady. It was made up of graying warehouses and shipyards, abandoned by workers who had long since headed home. The few people you came across didn’t give the impression they wanted to be bothered. Not that your anxiety would’ve allowed you to try. Or at least it wouldn’t have an hour ago, before the hunger headache set in. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been cutting through the damn labyrinth of empty warehouses when you finally came across one with the lights on. The grimy windows dulled the sickly yellow shine, but it seemed like the most cliche sign from God.

You stopped before the aging building, weighing the thought of going in. A man’s laugh sounded from inside, making you jump. The news headline, “CORUSCANT’S MAFIA FAMILIES SPREAD THEIR POWER THROUGHOUT THE CITY” flashed in your mind. The words ‘brutal’, ‘ruthless’ and ‘violent’ had made appearances in the first paragraph. There had been a picture attached; a blurry image of two or three men slipping out of the senate building, a winged insignia sewn onto a leather jacket, a different flash of red against white fabric. 

To be fair, you hadn’t seen the symbol anywhere. You’d even read that the extent of the mob was overplayed by conspiracy theorists, driven by the myth of a couple of notorious figures. What was the chance you would actually come across someone ‘brutal’ and ‘ruthless’. The place looked like a shot out of GoodFellas, but a bus had brought you here. It looked like it was a busy area in the morning. It was too obvious. And more than anything, you were desperate now. It at least had to be worth poking your head in. 

Cautiously you approached the open door, took a breath and peered in. A shaggy haired young man leaned against a pillar, still laughing. 

“It’s not even that funny!” a young female voice shouted, although you could tell she was restraining her own giggles. Your eyes strained to see where the sound was coming from. Probably late night dock workers, you figured with relief.

‘Hello’ died on your lips and resurrected as a gasp when you laid your eyes on the large pile of spice and blasters in the middle of the floor. The man snapped his head towards you. You caught a glimpse of a nasty scar adorning his right eye and a set of white wings on the shoulder of his black jacket.

Terrified, you stumbled back into the shadows before he could get a good look at you. You backed away blindly, willing your fight or flight to take the wheel. 

Just as you were about to turn around, the rich scent of amber and vanilla filled the air and an unseen arm wrapped itself around your chest from behind. A large hand covered your mouth as you screamed, leaving the taste of a leather glove on your lips. Your back was pulled flush against a broad chest, the butt of a blaster prodding the small of your back.

Your fight or flight officially turned to lead as the weight of impending doom crushed your reflexes. 

“You’ve been lurking around here all night,” a smooth, accented voice murmured in your ear. The warm breath on your neck made you shiver. In any other situation, it might’ve excited you. “Who sent you, young

one?”

You tried to shake your head, but the hand covering your mouth had moved to grasp your chin. 

“I-I’m lost,” you stuttered. “I-I didn’t mean t-to-to see anything, I-I’m just lost.” 

“Lost?” your captor mused. 

Tears pricked your eyes. He didn’t sound like he believed you. “I don’t-I don’t even know where I am.” 

He tilted your chin up, craning your neck to meet a piercing pair of blue eyes that light up in the darkness. The face above you couldn’t be more than 35-years-old. Despite the lack of lighting, you could make out well kept fair hair, complimented by a matching beard. He was handsome, strikingly so. Your brain went blank for a moment. 

“Obi-Wan, who is that?” a male voice called from the door of the warehouse. Obi-Wan’s eyes flickered to his companion but yours stayed trained on him. 

“Someone saw something she shouldn’t have,” Obi-Wan responded, looking back at you thoughtfully. He tapped your jaw and hummed, sending a vibration through you. Then he released your chin, only to tighten his grip on your shoulders. “Come with me.” 

You made no attempt to disobey as he led you into the warehouse. The scarred man waited by the doorway, his split eyebrow raised, evidently sharing in your confusion. You cringed under the intensity of his watch. His stance was relaxed, his arms were crossed, but he looked at you like he might lunge at any given moment. 

“This is what the alarm picked up?”

You winced as he gestured to you. He rolled his eyes and pulled a lighter out of his pocket.  

“Now Anakin, be nice to our guest.” 

He gave you a sarcastic, tightlipped smile before shoving his hand back in his pocket. 

You sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening that you weren’t about to be tortured to death. Although you weren’t holding out hope; you’d been praying all day. 

Obi-Wan sat you in a folding chair, the cold metal burning through the thin fabric of your button-up. 

A young woman around your age with fiery red hair and two blue and white braids appeared from behind the pile of spice. You gathered that’s who you heard earlier. She watched you with wide interested eyes as she handed Obi-Wan another chair. 

“Thank you, Ahsoka,” he nodded. You sent her a pleading look, but she merely gave you a friendly smile before retreating to the other man. 

Obi-Wan cleared his throat and you snapped your attention back to him. He was even more handsome in good lighting. He looked…almost kind, even as he studied you with a straight face. His hair was auburn and each stand looked as though it had been meticulously placed. The creased lines peaking around his mustache told you he smiled a lot. His warm complexion didn’t give you the sense it was from sadism. His nose and cheekbones were as sharp as his crystal eyes, but his expression was soft, curious and understanding. The most unnerving aspect of his appearance was his white suit jacket, decorated with a red winged insignia on the shoulder. 

“Your symbol…” you muttered. A blurry photo of the crest on white fabric and black leather…next to the words, ‘brutal’, ‘ruthless’ and ‘violent’. You glanced over at Anakin, who had finally fished a cigarette from the pocket of his black leather jacket. Ahsoka, who was paying your situation no mind, typed away on her phone, the case decorated with the same emblem in sticker form. “There was a photo of you,” you breathed. The full realization of what exactly you’d waltzed into struck you upside the head. You reeled back frantically in your seat, “I-I read about you, I t-think. You’re, you’re-”

“Not going to hurt you,” he assured, sticking out his hand as if to pat you. You made a skeptical face. He looked amused at your apprehension. “What’s your name, darling?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Out of fear, of course. 

“(yn),” you whispered. 

“(yn),” he repeated like it was poetry. “And you’re lost. You’re new to the city, aren’t you?”

“Is it that obvious,” you asked shyly, embarrassed. 

He cocked his head and shrugged. “No one dressed like you ends up this far past the Urscu district unless they’ve yet to get the hang of the buses, or they’re wearing this,” he pointed to the mafia crest on his jacket, “and considering your attire, I’m assuming it’s the former.” 

You couldn’t help it, you burst into tears. This man was toying with you. He was luring you into a false sense of security and forcing you to admit your own stupidity before he did away with you. He wasn't studying you, he was preying on you.

“I do-don’t know what happened, I-I just- are you fucking with me?”

Obi-Wan leaned forward, furrowing his eyebrows and blinking slowly. “Fucking with you?”

You tensed up again as you realized you might've just offended him. If you were taking a tone with a mob boss after all of day's events, then your poor excuse for survival skills belonged in some sort of lackluster hall of fame.  

“I-I’m sorry, I just meant, like-like-like, please, I-I just want to go home,” you begged, your breath stuttering. He sighed and stood, towering over you. 

“And you will,” the crime lord promised with a surprisingly gentle sincerity. He tilted your chin up, his thumb catching a stray tear. “But you’ve seen too much. I can’t just let you walk away.” 

Nausea twisted in your stomach. A million scenarios of what he could do to you, of what he could make you do, raced through your aching head. This man was sick. Talking to you like you were a lost child and not a potential snitch was just a means coax you into being compliant with whatever he had in mind.

The sensation of his glove against your skin was suddenly overwhelming your sense and you swore you could smell blood beneath the leather. The groves in the material began to spiderweb all over your face, the seam coming undone to close your mouth. No one was around, no one would hear you scream. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” you pleaded with a sob, “Please, I promise I w-won’t say a thing, I’ll f-forget it.” 

“Take a breath,” he ordered, his tone briefly switching to that of a general. You obeyed, squeezing your eyes shut as he caressed your cheek again. 

He knelt beside you, softening his voice again. “You’ve given us no reason to hurt you, but that doesn’t mean we can trust you.” 

You nodded as if you understood. He continued. 

“Where do you live, darling?”

You sucked in another breath, “The Senate district, in the Millenium on Droid Street.” 

“Perfect,” he said. “We own a restaurant just around the block. We’re in need of a waitress.” 

You cracked your eyes open, suspicious. “You’re offering me a job?”

“We need to keep an eye on you,” he explained, standing up again. The way he looked down at you told you he’d be watching you one way or another. Given that you just lost your other job, you weren’t sure you had much of a choice. However, you couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the last waitress. “Unless you’d rather run drugs,” he added, pulling you out of your thoughts. You shook your head profusely. The blood started to smell like vanilla again.

“I think I can handle waitressing,” you accepted. Obi-Wan nodded, pulling you to your feet. He stuck out his hand. You hesitated for a moment, then your sweaty skin felt the lines of his leather gloves just once more for the rest of the night.

A rush of cold ran through you, flooding you with the feeling you’d just sealed your fate.

“Welcome to the family, (yn),” Obi-Wan smiled, patting you on the shoulder. “Now, let me take you home.” 

[mwolf0epsilon]

Superhero AU - The Jedi

Back to the superhero AU because I left it on such a hopelessly sad cliffhanger. This time, we get to see what the Jedi have been up to this whole time, and what their general plan of attack is.

Previous Posts: [X] [X] [X] —

It doesn't take long for the Jedi to realize something big is going on. They're not entirely sure what it is exactly (as much as people like to say so they are not, in fact, mind readers), but they do know it involves some rather strange disturbances as well as a very bizarre missing person's case that involves hundreds of individuals from all walks of life.

Usually they wouldn't immediately jump to the conclusion that both of these things are connected (their city is certainly a box of chocolates in terms of odd coincidences) but, seeing as this was brought to Obi-wan's attention from a fairly reliable source, it's safe to say they do start off an investigation with fair certainty that whatever caused the odd fluctuations of power in the city (the orbs had a very distinct force signature behind them) has to do with both the missing people's case, and the major incident that got swept under the rug before they could get to the scene of chaos (Palpatine's men were FAST).

The Jedi who are most involved with the investigation are Obi-wan who has all kinds of connections that give him an advantage (one of them being ex-mobster Dexter Jettster, who's sister-in-law is in hospital and her twin sons both vanished, so he has stakes in this as well), Jedi Shadow and Spymaster-in-Training Quinlan Vos (who's using the criminal underworld to try to figure out who are the shady people that the eyewitnesses saw taking their loved ones away), Mace Windu who is keeping tabs on the military's abnormal activities (he's noticed a pattern of sudden announcements, gatherings, recruitment campaigns and what not, and he's trying to figure out if it has anything to do with current goings on) and Jocasta Nu (who is coordinating the whole investigation since she has access to a lot of information and resources).

Everyone else is either keeping up with their usual daily lives (to not draw too much attention to the fact the Jedi are finding all of this extremely suspicious), or occasionally scouting the city for any signs of trouble (Anakin and Ahsoka like to nose around despite needing to focus on their studies). Either way, if something odd happens, the Jedi will know...

And something odd DOES happen.

A very extensive "family" of identical young men have recently moved into the city, enrolled in high school, uni, gotten jobs, are doing volunteer work, etc... And all of them seem incredibly friendly towards the Jedi. Unusually so. It raises a lot of red flags. Especially when there's also a sudden boost in crime and a group of new "heroes" is going about fighting said crime.

Obi-wan is convinced they've found their missing people. The question is, what is going on with them?

The Jedi can sense how forced the friendliness is. How they very clearly want to be anywhere but where they currently are. But at the same time they can sense the fear behind their actions, as well as the feeling of defeat and resignation practically rolling off of them in waves. Whatever it is that's gotten them in such a bind is clearly not something they can easily fix...

For now all they can do is play along and try to figure out a way to help these people. Before whatever it is that's slowly building up becomes an actual problem. Maybe if they make themselves available to them, show they want to help, these people might open up to them and share their plight?

Only one way to find out!

[the-new-fanfic-order]

Buttercups and Bloodstains {Part II}

Author: Zoe

(A/N: Hope everyone’s lockdown is going okay and everyone is safe!)

Mobster! Obi-Wan x Reader

Plot Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi doesn’t consider himself a mob boss. More or less, the leader of a vigilante group against a ruthless political figure by the name of Dooku, and the rival group that didn’t take lightly to trespassing on their territory. He especially doesn’t understand why this mob seems to congregate around a certain flower shop owned by a pretty girl. An unsuspecting front for the most powerful woman in the territory.

If there’s one thing Obi-Wan never considered, it’s going into rival territory for flowers. 

Flowers of all things.

The things he does for his protege. He taught him how to be a gentleman, but now he’s looking around for a bouquet because Anakin thought a few flowers picked from the park was good enough. He shakes his head, looking around, knowing he taught him better than that. He should have let him figure it out himself, let him embarrass himself in front of the Senator.

No. No, he couldn’t do that to him. He may be a mob boss, but he’s not cruel. He spots a flower shop, noticing a few members on this side of town around it. Almost protecting it.

It could be seen as noble. Men known for bloodshed protecting the few pure things left.

“Hello there.” Obi-Wan nods, taking off his hat courteously.

“You here for trouble, Kenobi?” One stares him down, and Obi-Wan can swear he can see his trigger finger twitching on the right side of his hip.

“None at all. I’m only here for the flowers.”

“A funeral?” Another growls, a glint of brass shining off his knuckles in the afternoon sun.

He shakes his head, simply putting his hat back on and opening his coat. “I’m shopping for a friend. And I am unarmed.”

They look between each other, before finally letting up as he closes his coat. “Thank you, gentlemen.” He opens the door, the bell jingling to an empty shop.

“...Anyone?”

“Sorry! Sorry, I’m here!”

You run out from the back, smoothing down your apron. “I could barely hear the bell from back there! Can I help yo-“ You freeze, seeing the man at the counter. “...You’re Obi-Wan Kenobi. Aren’t you?”

“You know of me?”

“...I do. You look different than I thought.” You note, as he lets out a light chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling good-naturedly.

“How was I supposed to look?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. More scarred, maybe a different hair color?”

“You’re thinking of my protege.” He hums. “He visits this side of town more than I do.”

“Well, it’s good to meet the man behind the name.”

“You’re not… scared?” He furrows his brows when you shake his hand like meeting a new friend.

“Why would I be?” You tilt your head slightly, leaning into the naive act. “The mob’s everywhere, and I can’t complain if the ones here protect my store.”

“Why is that?”

“I do a lot of their flowers.” You answer without hesitation. “Funerals, weddings, I actually did some for one of their daughter’s birthday parties.”

“Nobody realizes how important a florist is when it comes to events until they’re in the thick of it.”

“I’m just glad that my work is appreciated here.” You smile. “...Oh! Right, anyway, I’m getting off track. How can I help you out today, Mr. Kenobi?”

“I’d like a bouquet. A friend doesn’t exactly know how to shop for a woman, I’m doing him a favor.”

“That’s very kind, considering the reputation mob bosses tend to have. Any idea on the flowers?” You ask. “What do you want the bouquet to say?”

“Say?”

“There’s a whole language of flowers.” You note. “Different flowers and different colors have different meanings. Put the right ones together and you’ll have a message hidden in plain sight.”

He strokes his chin, raising a brow. ‘This could be useful. Maybe this is why they protect this shop.’

“They’re old friends. From childhood, they haven't seen each other in ten years.” He takes his hat off again, running his hand through his hair. “And he’s not very subtle about being attracted to her.”

“Understood.” You chuckle, picking up some flowers. 

“May I ask…” he follows you around the store. “Which flowers mean what? I’m curious myself.”

“I didn’t think someone like you would be interested in something so niche.” You glance up at him, surprised.

“It takes something special to captivate my interest.” He answers, in a matter of fact tone. 

“Well…” You look back down, your cheeks slightly warm before you shake it off. “These are chrysanthemums. Red and white are good for this occasion.”

“How so?”

“Red symbolizes love, much like many of the flowers, but mixed with white, it conveys loyalty. And if we mix it with a little bit of honeysuckle for devotion, and lots of daffodils for happiness… I think we have ourselves a bouquet. And you know what?” You wink at him. “I’ll add some sweet peas for luck.”

“Can people send messages with flowers? As in genuine messages?” He asks, tracing a gloved hand along the thorny stem of an orange rose.

“Technically.” You reply, knowing he’s fishing for information. “It's no proper worded message, but people can send flowers to tell them they received a message, a letter on its way, warnings, congratulations, even yes or no answers. Vague messages, but if the recipient knows the deeper meaning of it, it can be a really pretty way of communication.”

“Interesting… I never knew about this before.”

“It’s not exactly common knowledge.” You chuckle, as he takes his wallet out.

“How much?”

“For you? I’ll give you the first time discount. Keeps you coming back.” You wink, as he smiles slightly, putting a few bills back into his wallet before handing you the rest.

You ring him up before passing him the bouquet back. “You have a good day. Hope she likes the flowers!”

“Wish my protege luck, not me. And I’ll be back, you’ve given me a lot to think about.” He hums, before leaving the shop.

“So have you, Kenobi. So have you…” You take a notebook out. “I should start keeping tabs on his flowers.”

You write in your notebook, putting a date, a bullet point, and pressed flowers into it.

Bouquet for Obi-Wan’s second in command. To be given to _____.

Red and White Chrysanthemums: Love and Loyalty

Honeysuckle: Devotion

Daffodils (more than one): Loyalty

Sweet Pea: Luck in Love

Flowers Featured in Chapter

Orange Rose: Fascination

[kenobers]

Gangs of Coruscant

Chapter Two: The Godfather Espresso Blend

← Chapter One

Mobster!Obi-Wan Kenobi x Fem!Reader

Summary: After her run in with Coruscant's most notorious crime lords, reader finds herself working in one of his diners. Obi-Wan makes her feel anything but easy. However, sometimes he's a little less frightening when he's sweaty. Warnings: Mafia!AU, sweaty Obi-Wan Notes: I actually meant for this and the next part to be the same chapter, but this was so warm and gooey that I figured I'd separate it from when shit starts to get real. Disclaimer: Yes, this is a romanization of the concept of the mafia, but it is also a fictionalization based on the structure of the Jedi Order. No character in this story is based on any real life mobster and no plot point is based on an actual organized crime story. I am aware that most crime lords do not look like Obi-Wan Kenobi nor am I encouraging anyone to actually try and get with a made man (or woman). Please direct all complaints to Marty Scorsese. God Bless.

Obi-Wan paid well.

Technically it was the Jedi Order that paid well. Legally, it was Dex. But your checks always came hand delivered and signed by Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

It turned out you liked the waitressing job much more than you thought you would. If the diner was a front for mob activity, as you'd originally thought, that was none of your business.

Dex was a good boss. He was a big, burly man with a booming voice, and his bushy mustache covered much of his lower face, but you could always tell he was grinning. You were certain the man had lived every lifetime possible. He had a never ending slew of stories and postcards from every system lined the walls of the diner.

For the most part, the folks who frequented the diner seemed to be alright. The regulars had begun to learn your name - well, except for one elderly gentleman, who had thin hair tied in gold colored plates that reached his shoulders and had managed to call you by every variation and sound-a-like except for your actual name. You didn't hold it against the chap. You just appreciated the effort and the hefty tips. It was nice to have some semblance of community.

At first, being in the diner had felt suffocating. You would be lying if you said Obi-Wan didn’t make you nervous. The man had a kind smile and his eyes made you a little weak in the knees. He was beautiful, he was considerate and, once again, he paid well. 

Still, you couldn’t ignore the fact that he was keeping you here to surveil you. Or that he carried a gun with him. Or that he was an infamous crime lord. Maker knew you were paranoid about doing something to make him suspicious. You knew that’s why he dropped by so often; he was waiting for you to slip up. 

There were some days, however, where you could almost pretend this wasn’t the case. Like when he came in during lunch one afternoon. Instead of the usual tan and white suits, he wore a gray tank top with a Mandolorian band printed across it and a faded pair of green basketball shorts. His auburn hair still looked strategically placed, even when sweat had plastered it across his gleaming forehead. 

“Obi-Wan!” Dex greeted, shuffling out of the kitchen with a plate of food in each hand. “I take it you’re here for some protein?”

Obi-Wan laughed, “unfortunately not, although I wish I had the time. I’m just here to pick up coffee for Anakin and Ahsoka.” 

“Ah, (yn) will be right on that,” Dex nodded your way and realized you’d been starring. You dropped your head, then glanced up as if it was the first time you’d noticed him. However, you could tell from the amusement on his face that the silly little ruse hadn’t worked. 

Who could blame you for looking? It wasn't like a mobster in Adidas was an every day sight.

He slid down the counter to where you were stationed by the coffee pot and handed you a slip of paper with two orders on it. The first neatly written request for a white mocha with almond milk, complete with a smiley face and a thank you. The second was for a large coffee with a lethal amount of extra espresso shots and a particular amount of vanilla flavoring written in undeniably male handwriting. 

“I figured it might be easier just to have them write it down,” he said. Over the corner of the sticky note, you caught sight of his forearms, each adorned with a brown leather bracelet, and prayed that he couldn’t see your eyes popping out of your head. 

“Thank you,” you managed to whisper, getting to work on the order.

Your hands followed the instructions with ease, but the focus didn’t meet your eyes. They resisted the urge to turn back to the sweaty crime lord, acutely aware that he was studying you.

“I never asked what brought you to Coruscant.” 

You peered up at him like a deer in the headlights. As if you were unsure whether or not he was speaking to you, you glanced behind you - only to realize you were the only one behind the counter. 

“Well,” you started, pausing to add just the right amount of syrup to the first order. “I actually came here to work at the hospital.” 

There was an awkward moment of silence, before Obi-Wan sheepishly went, “Ah.” 

You gave him a small smile. It wasn’t his fault you’d lost the job you’d uprooted yourself for. Still, he looked a little guilty. 

“But,” you continued, moving to the second order. “It hasn’t been bad working here. A fresh start is a fresh start in any package.” 

He hummed thoughtfully and your heart stuttered a little at the musicality. 

“That’s an excellent philosophy. I don’t think I could’ve mustered up the same amount of patience when I was your age.”

Heat rose to your face. You managed to squeak out a little “thanks!” as you whirled around to grab the vanilla syrup, pretending to fumble for it before turning back to him. Maker knows why this conversation was giving you heart palpitations. 

Because his arms are, like, really strong, one voice in your head giggled. Another protested, or it’s just because he’s showing some interest in you. A third one shut them up, it’s because he’s hot, scary and he’s showing interest in you. 

“And what about sign language? How did you end up interpreting of all things?”

You looked up at him, a tad surprised. He wore a soft smile and seemed unnervingly laid back. There was a curious glint in his blue eyes, but it wasn’t prying, like it had been that night in the warehouse. He was genuinely conversing with you. 

“I was a bit of a hypochondriac and thought I was going deaf when I had an ear infection in high school, so I started learning some basic phrases. Then I just found a passion for it. It’s a fascinating language and culture, really.” 

You blinked, realizing you’d said all that while making direct eye contact with him - the longest you’d probably looked him in the eye since meeting him.

He chuckled, capping the lid on Anakin’s espresso death. 

“That’s admirable, my dear,” he said easily, placing both drinks in a carrier and tucking a generous tip into the metal jar. “And very cute.” 

You could’ve melted into a puddle of coffee right then and there.

However, it wasn’t enough to win you over. You couldn’t let your guard down around him.  

“He knows you aren’t trouble, doll,” Dex had assured you after Obi-Wan had dropped off your third paycheck a few days later. “He just has to be vigilant, he’ll do you no harm.” 

You hadn’t realized how tense you had become until Dex spoke. You sighed, “I know, he just….he makes me a little nervous.” 

Dex let out a hard laugh. “You wouldn’t be the first pretty girl to say that about him.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully as you opened the envelope. Two checks fluttered to the freshly cleaned counter. A yellow sticky note was attached to the bottom one. You frowned - what if this was a test. 

Your fingers shook slightly as you picked up the sticky note, turning it over in your hand to read it. 

Meant to drop this off last week, forgive me. 

You’re doing very well. :) 

O.K

You traced the smiley face, feeling heat rush to your own face. Then you picked up the second check. 

$1,000 made out to (yn) (ln)

For an excellent first month. 

     X    Obi-Wan Kenobi

Shock didn’t begin to cover how you were feeling. You pressed the sticky note to your racing heart. It was probably just to ensure your silence and cooperation. However, you knew he had no reason to do that. It was more likely...

Well, frankly, it was more likely that this was just an act of appreciation and kindness from a man who had the means to do so.

Those little voices in your head collectively sighed.

Maybe it's okay to fawn over a crime lord sometimes.

[the-new-fanfic-order]

A playlist dedicated to the Mobster! Obi-Wan AU, Buttercups and Bloodstains

Listen

Criminal - Scott Bradlee’s Postmodern Jukebox feat. Ariana Savalas // Dream Lover - Jarrod Spector // Witchcraft - Frank Sinatra // Bette Davis Eyes - Jazzystics feat. Karen Souza // They Can’t Take That Away From Me - Jose James // I've Got You Under My Skin - Frank Sinatra // I Want You To Want Me - Scott Bradlee’s Postmodern Jukebox feat. Sara Niemietz // Be My Man - Jill Barber // The Heart Wants What It Wants - Scott Bradlee’s Postmodern Jukebox feat. Lara Johnston // Fly Me To The Moon (In Other Words) - Frank Sinatra & Count Basie // Do You Really Want to Hurt Me - Karen Souza // The Look Of Love - Diana Krall // Baby I’m a Fool - Melody Gardot // I Put A Spell On You - Annie Lennox // Don’t Wait Too Long - Madeleine Peyroux // Should I Stay or Should I Go - The Cooltrane Quartet // Petite fleur - Jill Barber // Never Let Me Go - Stacey Kent

[the-new-fanfic-order]

Buttercups and Bloodstains {Part I}

Author: Zoe

(A/N: I’m back.)

Mobster! Obi-Wan x Reader

Plot Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi doesn’t consider himself a mob boss. More or less, the leader of a vigilante group against a ruthless political figure by the name of Dooku, and the rival group that didn’t take lightly to trespassing on their territory. He especially doesn’t understand why this mob seems to congregate around a certain flower shop owned by a pretty girl. An unsuspecting front for the most powerful woman in the territory.

There's a fine, fine line in between being a vigilante and being a criminal. In between due justice and committing the crime itself, and yet, Obi-Wan Kenobi has walked that line for years. 

He carried himself with an air of class, Most not cowering in fear, but bowing their heads in respect when he’s seen in public. He doesn’t steal or rob from innocents, but he’s still strategic. Some debate if his calm demeanor is because of his peaceful nature or his strong inclination to be a well-respected, sophisticated leader. 

Some debate if it's because he's killed people.

Both sides are correct. But he is a busy man. He doesn't waste time on social matters.

"Senator Amidala's requesting our protection again, boss." Anakin steps up to Obi-Wan's desk in his office, dimly-lit, save for a small lamp and the shades drawn to let in the bare minimum of sunlight.

"Our protection specifically? Or our people in general?" He asks, looking up from his checkbook as he shuts it.

"Ours. There's talk of an assassination attempt."

His brow raises as he stands up, moving to close the blinds fully. "...Any source?"

"None. But we both know she's a high profile target." Anakin steps closer to Obi-Wan. "I… I need to be there to protect her, boss."

"...Tell her she'll be granted her protection after she works out the details with the higher-ups. We can't go against them."

"Yes, boss." Anakin nods, before walking out of the office. Obi-Wan sighs, walking back and forth in his office, looking up at the clock, his pistol lightly tapping against his leg from his holster with each step.

You hum lightly as you clip another rose, placing it delicately into a vase, swaying your hips to the radio, almost pretending the clippers and the next rose in your hand is your partner. The music plays, the static only adding to the rhythm instead of taking it away from you.

A group of men burst in. "Hands up. Now."

"...May I finish my bouquet first?" You ask, as they furrow their brows, setting the flowers as if they aren't there.

"Hey." The leader brandishes his gun further. "Hey, lady! Hurry the hell up and give us the money in the drawer-"

"Roses are my favorite flower." You look over to them, a glint in your eye. "Do you know why?"

"Shut up with the riddles and unlock the register-"

"Every rose has its thorn. No matter how delicate it looks…" You go to a shelf under your counter. "It can still draw blood."

You aim a Smith & Wesson at the leader, as your men emerge from the back, leveling two rifles at them. "You chose the wrong girl to rob."

They drop their guns. "We… We didn't mean to cause this much trouble-"

"So what makes you think I'd let you leave to cause trouble elsewhere?"

You find it fascinating, how it only takes a little respect and influence to cause people to look the other way from your actions. It takes three gunshots, then silence as the smoke dissipates in the air. "Boys?"

"Yes, boss?"

"Please clean well. I don't want stains on the floor while customers shop." You request, pinning two daisies to their lapels. "I appreciate your loyalty."

You open the back door to let the smell air out. After all, this is a flower shop. The smell is the most important aspect of it.

They load the bodies into their trunk. "Where to?"

"Dump them over the docks by the Outlander Club, please." You answer back, watching them drive off as you return to your bouquets.

"Count Dooku."

He says nothing, simply turning around to face them.

"S-sir… The other Seperatist party representatives are here for the conference."

He quickly gets out of the way as Dooku walks past him, the door closing shut harshly as he walks down the hall to meet with the rest of his political supporters. He walks in, sitting at his chair with the rest of them.

"Welcome, everyone. I'm happy we could all meet on such short notice." He nods. "As I've promised, I've found the perfect man for the job."

A masked man follows behind Dooku, carrying a sniper rifle. "This is Jango Fett. He will be the one to aid us."

"With?" One asks as he smiles.

"Why, Senator Amidala's assassination, of course."