#obikin fic wip

[to-proudly-go]

WIP SNIP (Obikin)

Mygosh it's been a hot second since I've had a free day 😭 I wanted to share this before I disappear again behind uni stuff

***

“Your hair is almost long enough for a braid,” Obi-Wan murmurs into the air between them as he tucks away an errant curl behind Anakin’s right ear. He stares at Obi-Wan with wide eyes, the thin skin on his ear burning as gentle fingertips brush against its shell. Anakin’s heart pounds away in his chest, and his tongue suddenly feels three sizes too big for his mouth.

“Will you?” Anakin blurts out against the lump in his throat, voice thin. “Braid it for me, I mean.”

Obi-Wan’s lips part from each other in surprise, his hand still in the air beside Anakin’s face. If he turns his face to his right, he’d be nuzzling into the cup of warmth he is sure to find in Obi-Wan’s palm. But he just continues to stare at the man, riveted by the tongue that came out to wet chapped but soft-looking lips.

Anakin’s lungs ache with the breath he is holding in as he waits for Obi-Wan’s response. Just as he silently curses himself for not stopping his stupid mouth from running, Obi-Wan smiles, and it is a small, sweet thing. “For old time's sake?”

His chest shudders from the strength of his relieved exhale. “Yeah. Yeah, sure, Master.”

[mayhemspreadingguy]

@magnusbae, not expecting I'd follow through, suggested to sketch Anakin but with cat fangs... Things got out of hand.

Also, look! Magnusbae gifted me with a most lovely fic inspired by my art (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) (fic under the cut, 3,800+ words).

That’s it. Anakin had resisted long enough. 

All through morning, noon and even dinner. He had done his Katas, had finished his chores, even went through his studies, all without so much as a single comment. He deserves to be commended personally by Master Yoda for being an exemplary Jedi. He deserves to be knighted right this moment seeing how he never even mentioned just how force karked awful his Master’s hair looked like for the past week. Sticking in all directions, it grows in uneven patches, the addition of a beard is somehow making his elegant Master look like a beggar from the streets and that, that is intolerable. 

Anakin growls quietly, muscles tense. He knows his Master most likely can feel him staring holes through him, and yet he simply continues reading his datapad, not asking nor looking, radiating calm in the force. Anakin wonders if he could tidy that mess with the power of thought alone. Would that be considered a frivolous use of the force? Even if done in the service of the republic? After all, his Master’s good looks are the cornerstone of the… 

Obi-Wan scratches at the back of his head, clearly bothered and Anakin can’t tolerate this anymore, cannot accept this anymore. His tongue is itching something fierce, his hands are sweating, he cannot sit still like there’s fire ants filling his pants and crawling up his spine. He cannot tolerate this. If not for himself, he must do this for his Master. If not for his Master, then for the order. If not for the order, then for the Galaxy. If not for the Galaxy, then for the Force itself. For he can swear by all that he holds dear that the Force itself is embarrassed by his Master being so unkempt, so ungroomed. 

Unacceptable. This is absolutely unacceptable. His Master has to always look neat and nice and put together, smelling fresh and looking proper. That’s the only right way for his Master to be. Anakin will not stand for it being any other way. He will not. He will make it right. 

His Master ignores the first lick. He often does that, pretends to not notice in the hopes of Anakin stopping after catching himself at his instincts. Oftentimes it works. Oftentimes it is an accident. But not this time. This time it’s very much on purpose and very much intended to continue until Anakin is satisfied with the results. All Anakin needs is for his Master to continue pretending to not notice long enough for him to fix this mess. 

Two more licks, lower neck up the scratchy beard and—

“Anakin—” his Master stops pretending so suddenly that Anakin’s tongue moves over his jawline and across the beard in a way that tickles funny. Anakin likes how it feels, rough and interesting, makes him curious about how it’ll feel like to lick across the jawline, where the beard is the thickest.

Knowing he does not have much time before his Master attempts to stop him altogether, Anakin leans in with renewed urgency, tongue ready, mouth starting to water— “Anakin, stop!” a strong hand pushes against his shoulder, moving him a distance away without being as rough as to push. 

“Mrrphh!” Anakin protests, pushing against the hand but not fighting it actively. His Master can be so bossy when he gets like this, so unreasonable. The only way to win is to use his words, otherwise his Master might just walk off and hide in his rooms instead. Or worse, go meditate in the halls, where everyone will see this shameful disaster.

“You need the grooming, Master!” Anakin starts with the foundation and heart of his objection. His Master always teaches that it’s important to be able to pinpoint the problem early on and address it quickly so as to not let it fester and become bigger than it must be. Granted his Master spoke of interpersonal disputes however it absolutely does apply here. His Master simply cannot deny this reasoning, ergo, will not be able to dispute it as untrue. “So just let me!” Anakin adds, before his Master could somehow find a way to object.

Can’t his Master see that Anakin is offering him a service? Out of the kindness of his heart, no less. Him enjoying the way his Master’s flavor sits on his tongue, the way it makes all the small hairs on his body stand on end, how it fills him with excitement— His Master’s scent, rich and spiced and safe— how he favors it above all else even when the exotic teas make him sneeze and sneeze— the way a single point of contact would narrow his senses into a single point of focus, clear his mind of all worries— the way his vision relaxes, the way his nostrils flare and he inhales and inhales and inhales— the way his heartbeat peaks and then slows, the way his mouth goes dry and he feels thirsty, hungry even— all that, all that has nothing to do with his altruistic motivations. He’s just looking out for his Master. Obviously, duh. 

“Master.” He can hear his own voice, can hear how it takes a whiny note his Master often teases him for. It’s hard to care when he has a goal bigger than his own ego. “Just let me.” He demands, he can hear it and he still doesn’t stop himself from reaching for his Master’s flowing robes, claws catching on the material and making him shudder. Maybe he does need trimming just like his Master insists each time they spar. Maybe Anakin will allow it, if his Master is good and allows him this. Maybe he’d even let his Master groom him too.

The bewilderment in the force clues Anakin on the fact that yes, maybe he did forget to shield, again. He huffs through his nose, wrinkling it. He really doesn’t know what the big deal with this is, doesn’t understand the obsession everyone and especially his Master, has with hiding every single urge and instinct and thought they have. It’s not like he thinks anything he wouldn’t also say out loud. Maybe if the Jedi used less of those shields, it would have been much easier to communicate with them, to bond with them, and maybe then he’d feel less like an outsider, like an odd bird out of its cage.

“Oh Anakin..” Obi-Wan sighs, the tension loosening from his hold against his shoulder, rather than scolding, there’s the hints of the sadness his Master expresses each time Anakin feels alienated in this place. It is not his fault no one understands him, it is not his fault he is different than everyone. 

“Master.” Anakin chirps back, rolling his eyes. His Master has the oddest of tendencies to get hung up on the most particular of topics. Anakin not having enough friends, per his Master’s opinion, is one such topic. Nevermind the fact that Anakin had never seen his Master ever share a true conversation with a single person. Other than himself. Of course. His Master does talk to him.

His Master will get fixated on him instead of thinking about himself and nag him to half death. ‘Anakin get more friends’ and ‘Anakin don’t spread the droid parts all across the quarters’ and ‘Anakin I’m a grown man I can groom myself.’ And while some of those things might be true, obviously, the last one is not. “You look like a mess.” Anakin says it to his face, because he and his Master are real friends.

“Thank you Padawan.” His Master answer, no longer sounding sad, instead his voice is dripping with sarcasm. Anakin doesn’t like it, but he supposes it’s better than sadness. “I do not recall asking for your no doubt impeccable sense of— Ahnakin—!” his ranting stops mid warming up when Anakin uses the opening to dart forward and lick him again, from the lowest exposed spot of his neck, up the smooth skin, his rough tongue making a satisfying ‘shh’ sound as it catches at the hair of the beard and smooths it up with his lick. The flavor is… is… 

Obi-Wan had used some sort of balm… some sort of synthetic musk that makes Anakin’s brain swim funny and eyes to close and mouth to water even more. He has to swallow down the saliva lest he drool like a hungry Tooka. It’s hard not to, when his Master is so, so, so karkin yummy. He slams his shields up with a clumsy thud in the force, but maybe just a moment too late to cover up that last thought.

“Anakin!” his Master sounds properly scandalized, voice raising to a tone that always makes Anakin’s ears ring uncomfortably and the following lecturing tone is no better. “Cease this nonsense immediately, you must not—" 

Anakin licks again. The side of his neck and up to the point where skin meets ear. “Master.” He says there, voice dropping into a purr that morphs into a warning growl he didn’t even think of making, there’s no aggression, only the frustrated warning to not stop him in the middle of something so damn important. Grooming, is important. More than Katas or studies or meditations. Maybe even more than sparring. And Anakin loves sparring. 

All Anakin wants is for his Master to sit quietly and let him take care of him. The way he ought to, the way he was meant to do. It’s his job, after all, is it not? He is Obi-Wan’s Padawan, it’s only natural he would tend to his Master, that he would care for him, that he would help him. That just makes sense. That rings true in the force and that’s all Anakin needs to know.

"I will.” He declares, it is no longer a request nor a plea, it is a declaration of intentions. A declaration of intent. He presses his nose at the soft skin under his Master’s ear and inhales, deeply, the scent making him Master-stupid so he says what’s on his mind with no filters, with no thought. “Unless you hate me.” His voice drops softer, he can’t breath, having inhaled too much of the strongest drug known to him. “Then I won’t” he trembles, he waits, if his Master rejects him, if he does hate him for his care, he will, he

“Anakin, this is hardly related, I do not think that—”

The force between them sparks and Obi-Wan’s mouth snaps closed with an audible click of the jaw. There’s a tension and a heating of an eruption that is halted with the calming breeze of spring air, Obi-Wan’s Force Signature covering his own, soothing, embracing, calming. “Very well, Padawan.” Obi-Wan speaks with a voice of a man who’s been worn in battle, sighing out in exhaustion.b “Since you cannot resist your nature, I’ll allow it.“ He pauses, sounding not a little doubtful as he adds the obligatory “Just this once, Anakin.” A final form of giving in, one Anakin is familiar with. 

There’s an ‘You should be old enough to know better’ goes unsaid and so Anakin ignores it. It wouldn’t have mattered even if Obi-Wan did say it. He had before, many times, and it never mattered. Anakin somehow doubts it’ll matter even when he grows taller than Obi-Wan. And he will, he just knows it. He will grow tall and strong, and he will always take care of his Master, and Obi-Wan would not be able to argue with that. Because it’ll all make sense. It always does. Everything about them does. 

If only his Master understood him better, he’d know that one doesn’t just grow out of wishing to groom those he cares and…loves. This is something that is forever and always. That is something that only grows and deepens, something to be shared and relished. Something he will always give to his Master freely, even if his Master maybe doesn’t…. Really share it in the same way as him. Which is fine. He had decided a long time ago. It is fine. 

It is enough that he gets to care for his Master. So he smiles instead and purrs out a sweet “Thank you, Master.” In that respectful manner he knows his Master enjoys hearing. He giggles when he feels his Master’s breath hitching, giggles more when nuzzling against the neck tickles his nose. “This is so horrible.” He complains, wanting his Master to know how strongly he objects to this change, and yet he cannot stop giggling. “Master!” he doesn’t even try to hide his joy from his voice, nevermind from the Force.

His Force Signature is a slow pulse of contentment, securely tucked beneath Obi-Wan’s still. When he licks small licks under Obi-Wan’s ear, he can feel his Master’s breath catching, can feel the way he stops breathing entirely and the soft gasp when Anakin licks at his ear directly, once, twice, a few more times just to test how committed his Master is to this session. Very, it seems. His Master doesn’t object even when Anakin grows bold and nibbles at his earlobe, tugging ever so gently. His Master is always so sensitive around this area, always so jumpy if Anakin stays too long at this spot. It always makes Anakin want to lick there until Obi-Wan loses his composure entirely.

He never does. 

At least not too much.

He does want to groom Obi-Wan after all, not only bully him into squirming because he is so damn ticklish there. That is not to say that he is above wanting to see his pristine Master squirming a little. So he licks there again, and when his tongue dips only a little into the ear, his Master finally jumps and moves away, breathing harshly and looking redder than his hair.

“Anakin I do believe that my hair is not located in that particular spot and—” his hands close on Anakin’s shoulders when he makes it to the ear again, wanting to nibble just one more time, just one last time… “Anakin.” His Master’s firm voice snaps him back into focus, tells him gently through the force to not overdo it. Fine, fine. He will not overdo it. This time.

"Just relax, Mastah.” Anakin pouts, the word slurring in the way his Master always corrects. Always, but not now. Anakin reaches for his Master’s wide shoulders and waits a moment until his Master’s grip loosens enough for him to actually move. It’s easy enough to shift to his Master’s lap. One knee over and sitting down in one smooth motion that has a practiced finesse to it. You either get to Obi-Wan’s lap swiftly, or you don’t at all. There is no room for hesitation for his Master will do enough hesitating for the both of them. So he sits down and nudges closer, right away. Inhaling, inhaling deeper.

Oh how he wants their scent to become one. They’re already nearly inseparable, living as closely as they do, using the same soaps, eating the same foods. Anakin wants more. Anakin wishes that they could smell and feel like one. United. Clearly bonded. Even more than they are through the force. He wants it so much that his fangs itch, itch, itch to bite and bite and bite. But no. No he is here to groom, to care. Not to bite, not to… mark. His cheeks are warm with it, knowing that he has, and is, constantly considering this. Wondering about this, curious about this. About marking his Master in a way that will be known, in a way that will be understood. He thinks about it, always. Luckily his Master has no clue. Luckily, Obi-Wan does not know. Or he wouldn’t let him sit here so carelessly, surely, he wouldn’t. 

“It’s part of it, duh.” Anakin says without truly knowing what he speaks of. The grooming, the licking, the biting, the sitting on the lap? He doesn’t know. He only knows of the happy, loud purr that fills his lungs when Obi-Wan doesn’t stop him from leaning back in, back to his neck, nuzzling, smelling, licking up that rough, funny tasting beard and to his hair, spiky and significantly softer than the beard. He giggles again, and purrs. It’s an odd combination of sounds he does try to stop but doesn’t manage. He is too preoccupied for dignity, or decorum, or class. He’s too karking pleased. 

When he licks at his Master’s neck again, the man tilts his head up and away, exposing his throat for him. Good. Good. Good, great, awesome.

His Master couldn’t have displayed his trust more plainly than this. No words could have conveyed the same level of commitment, of confidence and belief. Exposing one’s throat, Anakin thinks, is a universal sign. Even if his Master is less inclined to instincts as Anakin is, it still counts, it still matters a whole lot that he does it for him. His Master does it because he knows it matters to him and that— that matters more than all else.

His own purring is deafening, drumming in his eardrums and filling his chest with sound, he used to try to hide this in the past when he realized that most Padawans did not purr at every one of their Master’s compliments or gestures of kindness. He no longer bothers. He pulls and licks and purrs some more. He takes his time, licking small, measured licks, taking care to put that awful messy beard into something much neater, dignified.

“Maste-rrr.” He draws the ‘R’, nuzzling again under the ear and grinning when his Master shudders but doesn’t pull away, he always gives him a chance to be good. So he will be good. He does not nibble, instead he wraps his lips carefully around the bit of skin where no hair touches. Oh he wants to suck, to mark, to taste. Oh he does, so much. But he doesn’t. He will be good, because his Master believes him to be good, and proper, and nice. So he will be. 

His cheeks are fire hot when he thinks about what else he would have liked to be doing instead of the promised grooming. That is not something he should be thinking of, nor something his Master would ever permit, but…

Thinking is not illegal and he is not good at not thinking. 

So he imagines it. Imagines how his Master’s hands would feel on his hips, imagines his Master yanking him down to sit properly on his lap, Imagines his Master wanting him to lick elsewhere and—

“Ahnakin—” Obi-Wan protests, so strongly it rings in the force with his words. He feels and looks scandalized, even more so than before. He looks like he is considering all his choices and decisions. He looks like he’s about to call quits. He looks like he’d push Anakin away, he— places his hands on Anakin’s hips and pulls him down, to sit properly. 

The whine that escapes Anakin’s lips is nothing short of mortifying. It’s a needy, surprised thing, he feels like a proper youngling, confused and shy. He seeks the refuge of his Master’s neck and hides there, nuzzling while whining again, complaining, scandalized too by his Master’s audacity to follow his dreams up like this. He can’t mean it, he simply can’t! It is a mere coincidence, his Master would never follow his fantasies, he didn’t even hear it, his shields are up and proper, he’s sure of it, he’s sure of it, he’s… 

“Sorry…” Anakin murmurs out, because if he’s honest, he is not sure if his shields are worth anything with how excited he had gotten. Maybe his Master did hear, maybe his Master did feel something. Maybe he did push a little too hard. He doesn’t want to push too hard, he knows that sometimes his Master gets nervous because of his thoughts. Not angry, never angry.

He doesn’t want to make his Master nervous, he can feel the tell-tales of it in the force. Despite his Master’s secure hold on him, despite his Master’s unmoving frame. He can feel the building up hesitation. He does not want his Master to feel that way with him. 

“I’ll stop.” He promises his Master, assures him. He’ll try to, anyway. For his Master he’d try to go against his nature, even if his nature does tell him to think and do all sorts of things. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night when he can’t sleep and he thinks of his Master and every word they had ever passed, he does wonder about this. Is this truly his nature, his instincts that drive him to act as he does, or is it simply how he is with his Master? He suspects he knows the answer to that, but it’s easier for the both of them to call it instincts and be over with it, so he never disputes it. “Really.”

There’s a charged silence and then, blessedly, his Master says the two words Anakin loves more than anything else in the world, the two words for which he, not jokingly, thinks he might be willing to die for. 

“Good boy.”

The Coruscanti accent is thick and rolling, he sounds almost distracted, he sounds… 

Anakin shuts his eyes and bites his tongue, fangs digging into the soft flesh. He must not think of exactly how he imagines his Master sounding. He should not think about how his hands feel warm and human on his hips. He should not think about the lingering flavor on his tongue nor how his lungs are full of Obi-Wan, of his Master. He should not, is not allowed to. Promised not to. Instead he wraps his arms around his Master’s neck and hugs him, pulling the larger man to himself, having his head against his chest for a few long moments in which he is sure Obi-Wan hears just how fast his heart goes. He surely can feel it through the bond, it’s going crazy, ba-dum, ba-dum. 

He can feel a distant echo of his own heartbeat, almost imperceptible to his senses, and yet there. An answer. Thoomp-thoomp.

When he leans back, he moves his hands to cup his Master’s cheeks and makes him tilt his head up, to face him. “You look good now,” His fangs stretch at his lips as he grins wide enough to hurt. “Master!” he adds, cheekily.

His Master’s eyes are a bright blue, the deepest, calmest pond. He rolls them shortly, then looks directly into Anakin’s own eyes and smiles at him, sarcasm dripping with fondness as he says “Thank you. Ah-nah-kin.” With the most accented tone Anakin had ever heard. There’s so much black in his Master’s eyes, a beautiful, wondrous thing that makes him itch all over and want to see more of that soft darkness no one else gets to see. 

No one else, but him. 

[magnusbae]

The first time they share a bed, actually share, not collapsed after a feverish fucking or exhausted into nothingness after an endless battle, but a real get ready for sleep, bedtime routine and all—Anakin cannot stop moving.

Restless and uncomfortable, he is hyper aware of every dent in the mattress, every ruffle of the sheets. His mind is not numbed by an orgasm or a complete fatigue, instead it's left to boil with awareness, with unrest.

"Anakin." Obi-Wan sounds only a little annoyed. The man is exhausted, Anakin doesn't need their bond to hear that. He is tired and in need for sleep. "What is the matter?" he still finds it within himself to ask, sounding genuine enough, concerned enough.

"Noth—" Anakin begins, and thinks better of it when Obi-Wan's silhouette tenses up, a barely there shift in the shoulders. Tonight is not the night in which he wishes to test his Master's patience, not when they both are so clearly not up for bickering.

Anakin sighs, admitting, with no small amount of embarrassment in his hushed voice "—I usually sleep on the right side…" It's close enough to the truth, he thinks, cheeks warming.

A moment of silence is broken by a muffled and genuinely amused snort. His Master doesn't even pretend it was a cough. He just laughs.

"Oh Anakin." Obi-Wan sighs once his shoulders stop shaking with his silent mirth, sounding painfully affectionate.

"Master! You—" Anakin's protests are cut short by a pair of strong hands, maneuvering him easily to the right side of the bed. Anakin can practically feel the huff of laughter against his neck when he is drawn closer, back pressing snugly against Obi-Wan's chest.

"Better?" his Master purrs against his ear.

Yes. Yes, better.

"Thank you, Master."

The smile in his voice is so obvious, laid bare. He sounds like a besotted fool. With how easily a mere hug could easen all of his uncertainties, lighten all of his concerns— perhaps he is.

"Good." his Master takes it for the answer that it is, pressing his nose against Anakin's nape and exhaling a gentle: "Good night, Dear One".

The wrong side of the bed was the least of Anakin's worries and even that is forgotten in the sleep that soon follows. So easily. He smiles.

[samstree]

“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Anakin feels the razor trail down his pulse point, trimming away the day-old stubble, Obi-Wan’s steady breath ghosting over his skin.

“I know.”

Oh, no. His voice is trembling.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan’s eyes are very concerned, and so so close.

“You should tell your heart. It’s gone rather fast,” Obi-Wan says softly, placing a soothing hand on Anakin’s bandaged shoulder. “There—even faster now. You have nothing to fear, Anakin. I know how to shave you.”

The razor returns, cold against Anakin’s flushed skin.

“No, not fearing.” His heart hammers loudly. “Not at all.”

[nolouvreart]

Your artwork is genuinely stunning. I can't stop staring at your young Obi-Wan pieces. Not sure if you're an Obikin fan but do you have any fanfic recs? I just found the ship after rewatching the prequels for the first time in years and would love to read some more.

Thank you!!🤍 And well… I rather enjoy it!! Even have this WIP but there too much to clean up💀

There are few fics that I read about them and that I actually enjoyed: “Second Chances” by Lorixjake, “Needing/Getting” by chapstickaddict and “Streets of Gold” by BarmaDumet

[fishnamedsushi]

Sneak Peek 👀

Anakin risked a glance up, just for a moment. His eyes locked with Qui-Gon's, and he froze.

His Master's face was as serene as ever, blue eyes clear and unreadable. Anakin had spent years trying to decipher the subtle shifts in Qui-Gon's expression, the tiny tells that might hint at approval or disappointment.

Now, he found... nothing. Just that infuriating Jedi calm.

"Senator Kenobi." Palpatine's voice sent ice down Anakin's spine. "I apologize for the intrusion, but when we learned young Skywalker was here..."

"Of course," Obi-Wan said smoothly. "I'm sure you've been quite concerned."

Anakin's eyes darted between them, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Qui-Gon's gaze hadn't left him, and Anakin fought the urge to squirm under the scrutiny.

What is he thinking? Is he angry? Disappointed?

"Anakin." Qui-Gon's voice was gentle, but Anakin still flinched. "Are you alright?"

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. What could he possibly say?

Sorry, Master, I ran away and let a strange alpha fuck me through my heat. But it's fine, because I think I might be in love with him.

Yeah, that would go over well.

[tennessoui]

emerging from a fugue state just in time for wip wednesday

Vokara Che sits down across the desk from him with a pinched expression on her face. “I was under the impression that Master Kenobi called for this appointment, Master Skywalker.”

He did. Or, more precisely, his healing portal account did. Which Anakin accessed and then used to type out a missive in his master’s voice requesting to meet as soon as possible.

“Right, well,” Anakin says, shifting in his seat. “Something came up.”

Che does not look impressed. “Be that as it may,” she says delicately, “I am unable to discuss a patient’s medical history with a third party if the third party is neither present at the time nor has given me direct permission to do so.”

Anakin stares, feeling the first flickerings of real, dangerous fury well up in his gut. “But,” he says carefully. “He’s still sick. He, uh. Told me about it. And then we found a solution. To the problem.”

“The problem,” Che repeats, tilting her head and looking at Anakin as if she’s intent on studying him. 

“The hanahaki,” he spits. It’s a disgusting word. It’s one of the worst words he’s ever learned, and he can’t believe she’s making him say it. He can’t believe she’s being so—so cold when he’s telling her that Obi-Wan is still ill, that Obi-Wan is still dying, that Obi-Wan needs to be here to see her and he’s not. “Look,” he adds, leaning forward in his chair, “a few months ago a series of files were uploaded accidentally to my healing portal, but they were notes from one of Obi-Wan’s appointments. They were your notes from Obi-Wan’s visit. I know you know I know.”

Vokara Che looks at him and then looks down at the datapaad in front of her, lips thinned and lekku twitching. “I must apologize then,” she says, swiping through the files in front of her until she finds something that she lingers on. Her fingers dance across the screen of the datapaad, then it goes dark. “For the breach in ethicacy that you and Master Kenobi both experienced because of the Halls of Healing. Thank you for bringing it to my attention, Master Skywalker. All files that were incorrectly uploaded have been deleted from your healing portal.”

Anakin looks at her and bites his cheek hard enough to bleed so that he doesn’t start screaming instead.

[palfriendpatine66]

WIP Wednesday

Big Bang fic/Nursing Home au edition (working title: Say Anything)

Obi-Wan's seat is jolted forward and he hisses as his slowly healing, still battered body is pressed into the table. His spoon goes flying and his bowl tumbles over with a clatter and with a puddle of pea soup in his lap that is sure to stain his favorite cream colored trousers - because of course it's soup - he turns to find the smug sparkle of satisfaction in Anakin's shining blue eyes just inches from his own.

Asshole.

Anakin had acquired a power chair since Obi-Wan had last seen him and promptly driven it directly into Obi-Wan at the first opportunity.

Intentionally, of course.

Petty prick.

Obi-Wan doesn't need to examine the circumstantial evidence (namely his table located in the far corner from the entryway and the wide berth that exists between each table to accommodate two lanes of traffic with extra room to allow for mobility aids and wobbly gaits already factored in) to know that it is exactly what Anakin had been going for. The lopsided smirk that sets his blood boiling tells him all he needs to know.

[lady-evelin]

wolf hybrid

Obi-Wan remembers the first time he met Anakin and Vader.

The little pup is the prince of the kingdom of Coruscant, his parents always spoiled him and gave him all the love Obi-Wan could wish for. The little boy was loved by everyone in the castle and even in the village.

One day his parents were busy with kingdom matters that left their young son alone with the royal guards, it was a small neglect, and Obi-Wan disappeared from everyone's sight.

Obi-Wan liked to explore the surroundings of the castle, which was surrounded by a huge forest; his parents always told him that he should not enter it without the supervision of the guards. But that day, Obi-Wan followed a beautiful butterfly that guided him deep into the forest.

The boy tried to catch it, but it was impossible. The butterfly flew higher and higher until it was lost in the branches of the trees, and that was when Obi-Wan tried to return to the castle but realized that he was completely lost.

Everything around him looked exactly the same, and he didn't know where to go.

Obi-Wan wanted to cry, it was about dusk and he was cold; he wanted to be in his room and with his parents.

The little prince walked and walked, trying to find something or someone to guide him to the castle, but he found nothing. He was about to give up and sit down to cry near a tree when he heard small whimpers of some animal.

Obi-Wan walked towards the sound and found himself in front of a large cave, carefully going inside it to find out what caused such whining. Shocked when he saw two puppies, they were huddled together as they cried from hunger and cold. Apparently they were abandoned by their parents, as there was nothing else in the cave, only those two cubs awaiting their cruel fate.

Obi-Wan couldn't let them die to their fate, so he carefully took the cubs, one in each arm, and walked out of that cave. Now he was more than determined to find the castle to help the little animals.

It wasn't long until the prince was found, the kings had gone in search of him along with a whole troop of soldiers. Obi-Wan didn't mind his parents punishing him, he needed to get the puppies to safety as soon as possible.

When they arrived at the castle, Obi-Wan was in charge of giving them milk on a plate and wrapping them very well in blankets. After pouting, the kings let the cubs stay in Obi-Wan's room, so the little boy could care for and supervise them at night.

Obi-Wan thought that the puppies belonged to some breed of dog, so he decided to train them both to be his guardian pets and always take care of him. The little prince was more than happy, as he finally had friends who would never leave him alone and lived next to him.

When he named the puppies, Obi-Wan didn't know how to name them, one had blonde fur with blue eyes and the other black fur with golden eyes.

So he named the one with blue eyes as Anakin and the one with golden eyes as Vader.

Obi-Wan was happy with his little puppies. He even let them sleep next to him in bed, and every night he read them a story to help them sleep.

Too bad he realized very late that they were wolf cubs.

Wolf hybrids.

This is a gift to my friend ❤️

[thegingerwrites]

A little sleepy warmup ficlet 😴 inspired by this adorable post

Obi-Wan stirs only briefly at the sound of the door sliding open. He has been trying to sleep for hours and has only just fallen into a sort of halfway state between wakefulness and sleep. His thoughts began to circle themselves and then slow as the only indication that his mind might finally have taken the hint his body was trying to send. 

He shifts a little in bed at the sound of Anakin toeing his boots off and stripping away some of his layers. A wave of something calm washes over him in the Force, clumsy enough to almost make him yawn. What soothes him more is knowing that Anakin is back again, safe and sound and ready for bed. 

The mattress dips with the weight of Anakin’s hand and Obi-Wan instinctively lifts his arm to make room. Anakin climbs into bed and folds himself against Obi-Wan’s chest. 

“Sorry to wake you,” he murmurs into Obi-Wan’s chest. 

Obi-Wan opens his eyes blearily to blink down at the top of Anakin’s head. 

“Nonsense, darling,” he says, pressing a kiss to his curls. “Go to sleep.”

The Force suggestion Obi-Wan sends is lighter, more skillful. He hears Anakin sigh and clutch his waist a little tighter. 

In the dark, Obi-Wan smiles to himself and finds it a little easier to go to sleep.

[sopherfly]

WIP Wednesday | Persistent and Unmanageable (snippet 3)

It’s still Wednesday for me and @temple-mistress, so here’s our snippet for this week!!!

~

Whatever they’ve been dosed with has clearly affected Obi-Wan more, or differently, and Anakin can’t shake his concern, not even with the incredible distraction of Obi-Wan in need. As he’s kissing and licking and biting everywhere he can, breathing in Obi-Wan’s scent, tasting his skin, Anakin murmurs, with surprising presence of mind, “The drug, is it… how much is it affecting you? I don’t want—if you’re not really in control, we shouldn’t—” 

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan grips at Anakin’s tunic, and Anakin pauses, pulling back to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes. “I may be distracted and”—a small, almost exasperated smile curves his lips—“rather desperately aroused, but I am still in control. I want this. I want you. Please, don’t deny me.”

[to-proudly-go]

Obikin fic WIP snippet

(Deaged!Obi-Wan au)

*******

“He was reporting to us about a strange phenomenon that he experienced in Ilum while escorting the new Padawans for the choosing of their kyber crystals,” Master Plo Koon started, and Anakin turned to him at his words. Obi-Wan didn’t like that and smacked Anakin's cheeks with his chubby hands for attention. Incoherent babble accompanied the painless hits. Anakin gently guided the wayward limbs away from his face and kissed the palms of Obi-Wan’s hands, unable to help himself. Obi-Wan seemed appeased by that and settled down, smushing his face into the crook between Anakin’s shoulder and neck.

Anakin looked up again at Plo Koon and found the gathered Masters hiding smiles behind their hands, and in Windu’s case, trying to calm the pulsating vein at his temple down. Ahsoka was grinning at him knowingly from behind Plo Koon.

He felt his face burning. “What was the phenomenon, specifically?” he ground out, desperately hoping that they’d turn their attention away from the blatant display of affection.

******

Yeahhh so I know I said I don't write plot but inspiration struck and I wrote 2.3k words in a frenzy. It's far from finished and I'm still mulling over on what direction to take this but yeah I think I'm gonna enjoy writing 2-year-old baby shenanigans 🥹

[underacalicosky]

Last Line Tag Game

Thanks for the tag @magnusbae! ❤️

I have a confession. I have written words for another lifeguard AU that isn't my current WIP And We're Spinning With the Stars Above for the @obikinlifeguardau collection 🛟.

It's an idea that @grapenehifics and I were giggling about, but I couldn't stop thinking about it, and my usual solution is to write it down and get it out of my system. But it will. Not. Stop. So this is what I've been working on in the last few days.

It's still far from being finished, and def will not be done by the end of August. (As much as I want to cling to summer, school and fall sports start up in a week and my schedule's going to get very chaotic very quickly.)

And yes, this is not a line or even a paragraph. It's... ugh, it's under the cut...

“I apologize, but I’m… just a lifeguard,” Obi-Wan says, sliding his sunglasses to rest on the top of his head. The lenses are no longer muting the saturation of color around him, and his fingers itch to touch the errant bronze curl falling over the too-blue eyes that he can’t stop staring into. “I’m not really here to settle disputes among beachgoers.”

The man glances toward the water, sighing, and crosses his arms over his chest, popping his hip to the side. It’s impossible not to notice his biceps, a ghost of a tan line cutting across them, exposed by the white sleeveless shirt he’s wearing.

“And you’ve spoken to the adults or guardians with the children and they are of no help?” Obi-Wan asks.

“I could really use an authority figure to step in,” the man insists, turning back to Obi-Wan. “I’m at my wit’s end—”

“Dad!”

Obi-Wan startles when the little girl announces her arrival with her shrill yell and a firm stomp of her small foot in the sand. He takes in her pink and purple bathing suit, the angry expression on her face, and the even angrier little buns that her hair’s been twisted into behind each ear.

The man looks down at the girl, pure exasperation written on his features.

“Leia, I told you to wait by the blanket,” he says, pointing toward an area about twenty feet away with a beach umbrella and a large blanket holding an assortment of beach toys, towels, and sunscreen bottles.

“Are you tattling on us to the lifeguard?” the girl demands. She tips her chin up defiantly.

The man with the pretty hair and pretty eyes—and honestly, pretty everything—flinches a bit in response, but glowers back at her.

Obi-Wan looks between the two of them as a silent staring content ensues.

“The children who were kicking over your sand castle are your own children?” Obi-Wan asks carefully, narrowing his eyes.

Tagging: @grapenehifics, @somethingsteff, @wibzenadarksiderwithasoftheart, @piecesofeden11, @sky-kenobye, @kingdomvel, @evieswips, and anyone else who wants to share! ❤️

[omegaovaries]

[samstree]

I'm taking it slow (feeding my flame)

a little firefighter!obi-wan au. it's a finished fic so please do not tag as wip. ao3 link is here.

“What do we have today?”

Anakin turns towards the source of that warm, honeyed voice, and finds the familiar sight of his favorite uniform in the world—well, his favorite only because of the wearer.

Obi-Wan Kenobi walks through the front door of the robotics lab of Coruscant University in dark navy overall with reflective stripes, hands gloved, well-combed auburn hair covered in the safety helmet. All standard-issue for members of the city’s firefighters.

“Officer Kenobi.” Anakin nods to him, as properly and politely as he can with his prosthetic arm trapped between the stair rails. It’s an awkward position he has found himself in, having to twist his body to sit on the steps while waiting for his rescuer to arrive. “As you can see, I fell.”

He gestures to himself and the half-formed circle of bystanders around him, the grin on his face upon Obi-Wan growing, stretching from ear to ear.

“Uh-huh, I’m sure you have,” Obi-Wan replies, passing the crowd and laying down his toolkit on the step beneath Anakin’s feet. “Right into these rails that happen to be the perfect size for your arm to get stuck in. Just like last week on the bridge, and the month before when it got caught in one of your fancy machines. You are lucky it’s always the one made of metal.”

Obi-Wan sends a look of disbelief while pulling out a crowbar from his kit, eyes blue and piercing. Anakin’s face grows warm when they are so close, and Obi-Wan is kneeling by his feet. It’s inappropriate to get flustered simply being near his favorite firefighter in front of all his friends—he can hear Aayla laughing at him somewhere in the curious crowd—but it’s hard to help himself when Obi-Wan is so close.

“Well, you know me, officer. Ever the clumsy one.”

Anakin looks at Obi-Wan with wide, innocent eyes, and only gets a sigh in return.

“And you don’t need to call me ‘officer’, Anakin. You don’t call firefighters anything.” Obi-Wan has put the crowbar in place right beneath the metal railing as a lever, his grip shifting a few times before pushing on the other end to pry the thing apart. “Try pulling your arm out.”

Anakin shifts his prosthesis, but it won’t budge. His arm is actually trapped quite solidly, the pain sensors sending a tingling sensation to his real nerves.

“Can’t move yet,” he says, and then, “but what else should I call my valiant rescuer?”

“Obi-Wan, darling. As we’ve established many times, you can just call me Obi-Wan while I’m saving your limb.”

Obi-Wan grimaces while exerting more force on the crowbar, heaving out a labored breath, brow furrowed with concentration. Despite the loose-fitting uniform jacket, Anakin can vividly picture the way those biceps are bulging underneath the clothes.

The blush on Anakin’s face becomes warmer, his heart picking up pace. “Obi-Wan, then, answer me this. Are all the firefighters this sexy when they are on a rescue mission, or is it just—oh!”

Distracted by both the show of strength in front of him and his own poor attempt at flirting, Anakin doesn’t notice his arm being freed with a final push, and now he’s falling over with the sudden lack of constraint. He tips forward and slams right into Obi-Wan’s chest, landing his firefighter right on his back.

Their faces are a hand’s breadth away. Anakin meets the slight panic in blue eyes, morphing into indignation.

“Anakin!”

“Hello, there,” Anakin says smugly. “Told you I was clumsy.”

Despite the big eye roll, Obi-Wan still holds Anakin close, arms right around his waist protectively as he pushes both of them off the floor. His jacket smells like dust and petrol, and Anakin presses their bodies together to revel in the moment longer. They both regain their composures as the crowd dissipates now that the show is over.

“There, you’re all rescued,” Obi-Wan huffs, collecting everything and straightening his back. “This is not convincing me that you’re not doing all of this on purpose just to be around me.”

“Who says I was trying to convince you of anything?”

They walk slowly to the door side by side, somehow Obi-Wan’s hand ending up by the elbow of Anakin’s mechanic arm, the touch casual but lingering. He pushes open the door to guide Anakin away from the prying eye of the lingering students in the hallway, and takes off his helmet to tuck it underneath his arm.

With his free hand, Obi-Wan holds Anakin’s prosthesis, inspecting it carefully. When it’s just the two of them, he finally lets the worry show.

“Move your fingers for me, darling,” Obi-Wan asks gently, hand gliding down to hold Anakin’s mechanical hand in his palm. “Any pain on the interface?”

Anakin obliges, the motors in the digits whirling quietly, only a little stiff from the ordeal.

“It’s fine, Obi-Wan. I’m fine,” he adds for emphasis. “It’s nothing I can’t fix later. Artoo has been telling me to upgrade anyway.”

By the gods, Obi-Wan is beautiful like this. With the helmet gone, Anakin can see the streaks of silver by his temples, the few strands of auburn hair out of place. He’s never been able to resist the urge to smooth them down, so he does with his flesh hand. His firefighter needs to look perfect on the job.

And those laughing lines around Obi-Wan’s eyes… Anakin loves those lines. Especially when they deepen because Anakin has done something foolish yet endearing.

“Alright, I’ll see you at home,” Obi-Wan says, the lines around his eyes deepening beautifully from the indulgent smile on his face. “And be careful when you’re working. Don’t get hurt.”

“That should be my line!” Anakin protests.

Obi-Wan raises their linked hands and kisses the back of the metal fingers. “And yet, you are the one that needs my rescuing.”

Anakin’s breath hitches, his heart thrumming with happiness. The kiss is so light that the sensors are barely picking up any pressure, and yet his face is flaming hot.

Obi-Wan has too much power over him, the sight of him lighting up Anakin’s world, a single kiss filling it with technicolor without effort.

“Kenobi! You coming or is your boyfriend actually dying?” An annoyed voice shouts from the driver’s seat in the truck. “You know we have fires to put out, right?”

Obi-Wan answers without looking back, eyes still fixed on Anakin’s face. “One moment, Quin.”

Anakin sends Quinlan a wink, and receives a dirty look from Obi-Wan’s partner. “Hey, Vos.”

“Shut up, Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan fixes the strap of the helmet and turns to leave. “Don’t wait up if I’m late—”

“Wait!”

Anakin catches Obi-Wan’s hand and wraps a hand behind his back, pulling them close again. With their slight height difference and the helmet, he has to dip down to press a chaste kiss on Obi-Wan’s cheek, his fingers lingering on the soft beard that he loves to touch.

“A reward,” Anakin says softly, “for my knight in shining armor.”

He watches his firefighter walk away with pink dusting over his cheeks, turning back from time to time and nearly bumping right into the truck.

Maybe Anakin should flip the table more often.

[nolouvreart]

I need new muts so bad I’m gonna eat da wall cause I’m alone in my hyper hyper fixation 😭

Anyway, look at this Disney Princess !! I love his nose so bad I wanna cry