#rain is obi wans tears of desperation trying to get some peace for once in his miserable life

[fangirlforeversthings]

So this is what i think happened at force ghost heaven after they all died.

*Narrator voice*

Somewhere in force ghost heaven after his death a tired obi wan kenobi sat down and prepared a cup of tea, ready to drink it and enjoy his finally well deserved peace and rest for all eternity to come as suddenly an ear pinching, to him oh so well known, voice disrupted the harmonious silence and before he turned his head he already knew who it was and started silently praying: "oh my force no please, please no." But it was too late: "Oooh maaaasteeeer. Guess who felt so sorry that they let him iiiiin." And before he knew a pair of familiar arms one of them metal hugged him tightly, squishing him. Obi wan twists his face in an annoyed, desperate grimace a familiar headache crawling up his head. "oh force no."

"Obi wan i missed you sooo much and also i an so sorry for what happened i know this makes it not better but: my bad. Yoou, are not angry anymore? R..Right? *traumatisedly remembering the pain after his master beat him up twice after losing his pantience* I mean i love you so i wanted to tell you that back on mustafar that i love you and you are my brother aswell *dramatic sobs*. And i am back now. And i have to tell you soo many stuff soo many years of storys and adventures i have to tell you, and Luke and leia by the way you met them, knew them, tell me about them luke is as strong as his father isnt he? *muffled sobs* AND HOW IN THE WORLD YOU LET MY DAUGHTER HOOK UP WITH A SMUGGLER? also dang how did you got so old like what happened to you you old hermit fart? hahaha and....." and he kept on talking and talking and talking without a point or taking a breath once. Having missed his beloved master so dearly. Cause the moment obi wan was gone he stood there, not having a purpose anymore. shure he wanted to defeat him but he had never actually really thought he would get that far and now that he was gone he was lonely and lost. "Naur. iF OBi waN iS nOt hEre I dOn't LIkE iT. Bye b*tches i'm out. Imma follow him🥰 maybe if i say that i am very very sorry they'll let me in👉🏻👈🏻"

meanwhile obi wan asked himself what he ever did to deserve this. He didn't knew if he should be happy and cry because his beloved brother and best friend was finally back with him as back then in their best days, as if nothing had happened. Or if he should cry cause he was back with him. FoR aLl EteRnItY TO ComE. He ultimately decided to cry.

In the meanwhile a well known, now metal, hand grips the hilt of his purple lightsaber tightly, trying to calm his rage down and stares with a dead expression in his infamous glare with two words on his mind: "skywalker" and "motherf*cker".

Yoda: "oh heck. No, rid off you we thought we got. Mace: " it was MY FREAKING HAND. if you had more patience M*THERFUCKER WE SOME DAY WOULD HAVE GRANTED YOU YOUR STUPID ASS RANK. Like i can't believ you murdered us all just because you had a bad dream and didn't got a rank. Yoda Was about to teach you force healing:"ThE POwEr tO SavE HeR" IF YOU PSYCHOTIC ASS M*THERFUCKING M*THERFUCKER JUST WOULD HAVE HAD A LITTLE MORE PATIENCE. And mental stability." Yoda Petting his leg trying to calm him. Anakin, hiding behind obi wan who is yet done again: "really? Oh. My bad then i guess heh sorry." Mace: " *eye twitching aggressively, heavy breathing* Aaaaaaaah........*distant long scream*"

But obi wan was just about, to have his yelling moment, and that was when his former master stood infront of him a nervous smile on his face waving him hello: "obi wan my dear boy i'm so happy you made it here. I meant to tell you i was there obi wan *putting his hand to his own heart* the whole time you were never alone." A slap and sharp pain caused through gui gons cheeks as he realised that obi wan had slapped him. "what was that for??" Obi wan: "I CALLED FOR HELP AT LEAST 200 TIMES AND NOT EVEN A SINGLE WHAT DO YOU WANT WHAT DO YOU NEED NOTHING!" "Listen here i.." "NO YOU LISTEN HERE YOU OLD FART I WAS BASICALLY STILL A KID MYSELF AND YOU LEFT ME WITH THAT SACK OF CHAOS -*pointing on anakin who looks up at them and smiles, waves happily at qui gon*- no how to parent your padawan book left for instruction NOTHING!!! what were you even doing? I HOPE THE MILK TASTED GOOD!!" "Hey don't yell at your master!! I tell you.." qui gon tries to defend himself but obi wan just continues letting his feelings out:" you cant bring that up on me anymore i am a master myself now!" Qui gon:"AS LONG AS YOU LIVE IN THIS HOUSE..!" Obi wan:"THIS IS NOT THE TEMPLE AND I AM A COUNCIL MEMBER." Qui gon *gasp*: "i can't believe you are bringing this up to me" *shocked* obi wan:"Well i'm sorry but you forced me to. its your fault all of this IS YOUR FAULT." Anakin interrupting him: "so its not mine anymore?" Obi wan: "Sh*t up anakin. The council told you he was to old we should not train him, yoda told you his future was clouded, i told you it was a bad idea BUT YOU HAD TO INSIST and now LOOK WHERE THAT BROUGHT US!!"

Moment of silence. Yoda: "right you are maybe his fault it all was not skywalkers." Mace having finished yelling at anakin: "eh you know what? You're right obes. *pointing at qui gon* YOUR FAULT IT IS M*THERFUCKER" *loud dispute starting.*

I desperately dare someone to make a comic pretty pls

[glimmerglanger]

If you have time and inspiration, I would love to see your take on obikin + 48 from the 50 angsty questions prompt list.

Anonymous said:

“Can you promise me no one else has to get hurt?”

:D Mmmmm, yes, I loved this prompt. (#48 is: Can you promise me no one else has to get hurt?). Glad to know I am not alone. So, an AU with sith!Anakin and Jedi!Obi-Wan, set during the Clone Wars. Also a dyad bond, because it fit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Can you promise me no one else has to get hurt?” Obi-Wan asked, avoiding Ahsoka’s desperate grab as he stepped out into the thoroughfare of the town that was currently crumbling around them. He didn’t look back at her, but he could feel the expression on her face, could tell she wanted to jerk after him. She wouldn’t, though. Not with the children all clustered around her.

He kept his eyes forward as he left cover, dust from ruined buildings swirling around his legs. He could smell the fire and smoke on the air, though the smell wasn’t quite enough to overcome the stench of blood. So much destruction had rained down on this village, ruining lives. Ending lives.

The cause of it all stood across from him, not more than a block away, a dark shadow despite the position of the sun, almost directly overhead. The man was tall and familiar. He’d been dogging Obi-Wan’s steps for months. Following him from planet to planet, from battlefield to battlefield, from room to room.

Fixated, had been the term Yoda used, when Obi-Wan discussed his shadow with the Council. Yoda had looked gravely concerned when he’d said it, but had offered no solutions, no explanations, beyond the fact that sometimes such fixations occured.

The Sith were prone to them, he’d said, though Obi-Wan had never heard such things. Whether he had heard of it or not, Dooku’s newest apprentice had followed him across the galaxy. Had followed him, finally, to this village, and proceeded to tear it apart, looking for him.

The man - Anakin, he’d said his name was - cocked his head to the side. His hair fell around his face and his glinting golden eyes. He asked, “What?” It was not the first time Obi-Wan had heard his voice. They spoke… frequently, though Obi-Wan had not known how to explain that to the Council.

He’d never heard of being able to see someone, speak with them, through the Force. And yet… And yet, so often, he looked over while in his quarters on the Negotiator, and Anakin was there, watching him, eyes sharp and hungry.

Sometimes, he turned and he would be in a space he didn’t know, the only familiar thing Anakin’s form. They had spoken, so often, though Anakin would not reveal his location, and always, always, ended by trying to compel Obi-Wan to join him.

“If I agree to come with you,” Obi-Wan said, feeling the heat of the sun beating down on the back of his neck, tasting smoke and blood on the air, “can you promise me that no one else will be hurt?”

Anakin’s eyes widened, perceptibly. He sucked in a little breath, took a step forward. He had poor control, but Obi-Wan knew that already. He seemed to place no value on control, content to rage, to let everyone see exactly what he thought and felt at all times.

Obi-Wan was not sure how Count Dooku bore it, in all honesty. He had distant memories of the Count as a reserved and calm individual. Even when they met in battle after Dooku’s fall to the Dark Side, he’d been in control of himself. But that was neither here nor there, not important to the current situation.

“Yes,” Anakin said, taking another step forward. “If that’s what you want.”

Obi-Wan restrained the urge to laugh. Nothing about this was about what he wanted, not really. He knew that. After all, he’d told Anakin what he really wanted, during more than one of their little chats. He wanted the war to be over. He wanted to train his apprentice in peace. He wanted to be able to go to sleep without nightmares. He wanted--

None of that mattered. He couldn’t accomplish those things. But he could, perhaps, spare the lives of these people. He said, fighting to keep his voice calm, “It is.”

“And you’ll come with me?” Anakin asked, taking another step closer. His expression was all hunger and want, worn openly across his face. “Swear you won’t try to run. Swear you’ll stay with me.”

Obi-Wan swallowed. He ignored Ahsoka’s hissed, panicked comments. She’d understand, someday, why he was doing what he was doing. Someday, she would have a padawan, a life in her hands that needed protection. And she would make the same decision, he knew. She was a good padawan, a good Jedi, a good person.

He said, “I swear. Only spare these people and my apprentice.”

“Agreed,” Anakin said, voice getting thicker, eyes darkening with each step, until he stood directly in front of Obi-Wan. They’d been close before, through whatever strange connection bound them together, but never so close outside of that bond, never so close that Obi-Wan could feel the heat rising off of his skin.

“You will not regret this,” Anakin said, looking across Obi-Wan’s face, his expression hungry. He reached out, carefully, brushing rough fingertips across Obi-Wan’s cheek, breath catching at the first touch of skin to skin.

“Funny,” Obi-Wan said, almost against his mouth, Anakin had swayed towards him, “I was just about to tell you that you would.” He felt Anakin’s mouth quirk against his, and would have shifted back, but Anakin curled an arm around him and kissed him, boldly, right there in the middle of the street and--

And if this were required to keep these people safe, to keep Ahsoka safe, then Obi-Wan would allow it. He kept his eyes open, watching Anakin’s fall closed, hearing him make a soft, needy sound. Anakin pulled him closer, even as he lifted his mouth, and murmured, “I’m sorry about this, dear one,” and there was a sudden, sharp pain in the back of his head and then--

#

Obi-Wan woke up slowly, with a headache beating at his temples. His memories returned all in a rush, and he tensed, shifting, only to find himself suddenly restrained. An arm was curled around him, holding him, pulling him back against a familiar body.

He’d seen this space. Anakin’s quarters on some kind of ship. He’d seen the bed he lay in. Sometimes he’d woken up in it before, or, at least, some part of him had. Anakin flattened his hand across Obi-Wan’s chest, skin to skin, and nuzzled against the back of his neck. He said, “Good morning.”

“You knocked me out,” Obi-Wan complained, and felt Anakin smile against his skin.

“I did,” he said, nodding. “And I apologized for it. But I didn’t want you to change your mind on the way to my ship.” He brushed a kiss across Obi-Wan’s shoulder, soft, even as he shifted close enough for Obi-Wan to feel the state of his body.

Obi-Wan swallowed. He’d known what he was getting into when he made the decision that led him here. Anakin had never been shy or reserved about wanting him, never been anything but open in his belief that the bond they shared meant they were supposed to be with one another, in all ways imaginable.

Obi-Wan said, staring at the far wall, “My apprentice--”

“She’s fine,” Anakin said, pushing up onto an elbow, rolling Obi-Wan over to his back and leaning down once more, kissing his mouth, languid and slow. “I didn’t want to hurt her, anyway. I know hurting her would hurt you, Obi-Wan.”

“Hurting anyone hurts me,” he said, against Anakin’s mouth, because it was worth a try. He’d spent so long trying to explain his point of view to Anakin, hours upon hours where they discussed the galaxy and the philosophy of the Jedi. It was disappointing, really, that none of it seemed to take.

Anakin pulled back, just a little, enough for Obi-Wan to see his grin, wide and dangerous in the dimly lit room. “That’s not true,” he said, radiating smugness.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Anakin, I’m--”

“I know who’s behind the war,” Anakin cut in, that same grin on his face, his eyes bright as he stroked his thumb across Obi-Wan’s cheek and slid fingers back into Obi-Wan’s hair.

Obi-Wan blinked up at him, and asked, “What?”

“Mm,” Anakin said, rolling to cover him, weight only partially supported on his elbows, hips settling between Obi-Wan’s thighs. “I know exactly who’s pulling all the strings, Obi-Wan. I found out, for you.” He ducked his head, nuzzling back against Obi-Wan’s neck, breath hot. “That Sith Lord the Council is worried about? The one they haven’t been able to find? I know who it is.”

Obi-Wan considered. Anakin could have been lying. But he didn’t, generally. Anakin seemed to see no point in lying. His heart beat faster, solely because of what Anakin had said, definitely not because Anakin was sucking kisses down his throat, hips rolling slowly, nothing but a press touch all down his body. He asked, “Who?”

“Will hurting him hurt you, Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, voice thick and gloating. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He followed the words by nipping at skin, hard, and Obi-Wan gasped, involuntarily. He felt Anakin’s smile, smug. “Much.”

“Please,” Obi-Wan said, not sure, from the thickness of his voice, exactly what he was asking for. “Anakin, if you know--”

Anakin sighed. He sounded put upon, even as he pushed up, Obi-Wan’s skin tingling where he’d been focusing his attention. “I knew you’d want to handle it right away,” he said, and there was fondness in his expression. “So don’t fret. We should be almost to Coruscant.”

He rolled from the bed, standing naked in the room for a moment before bending to grab his clothing. Obi-Wan sat up on the mattress. His clothing had been removed as well. He tried to manage surprise at that, and couldn’t. Anakin had never made any attempt to hide how much he wanted Obi-Wan, after all.

Obi-Wan caught the robes tossed his way, ignoring Anakin’s smirk when he caught Obi-Wan watching him dress. Obi-Wan focused on clearing his thoughts, and said, “And what is it you want, for sharing this information with me?”

Anakin shrugged his tunic on, leaned over, and curled his hand around the back of Obi-Wan’s neck. He asked, thickly, lips just brushing Obi-Wan’s mouth, “Can you not guess, dear one?”

Obi-Wan shivered down his spine. He asked, “Me, then?”

Anakin smiled against his mouth, pressed closer and took a kiss, deep and hard. “You, then,” he said, when he pulled back. He brushed his thumb across Obi-Wan’s lower lip, eyes dark and glinting with hungry promise. “Always you, Obi-Wan.”

[tessiete]

Armed With a Burning Patience Obi-Wan Kenobi may be back from the dead, but Satine isn’t sure she’s ready to forgive him.

The post-Hardeen reunion smut fic I had to get out.

She hears the truth from the mouth of some holostar.

Whom, in particular, she cannot say;  where  is unimportant, and even  when  blurs and shifts in her mind. She was in her rooms. No, she was in her court. She was sat upon her throne. She was among the masses. She was there, in the audience, when the interview occurred. 

 None of it is very important.

 The important thing is this: High General of the Grand Army of the Republic, and Jedi Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi...is not dead.

 She has been lied to.

  “Have you heard the news from Capital City?”

 The news of his death had been more kindly delivered than that of his survival, and  that , she feels, means something she hasn’t the wherewithal to parse. Not now. 

  Then , Ahsoka had commed her. Her slight shoulders hung heavily, the slope of them narrowed and hunched, streamlined, as though the eddies of anguish and upset might slip over her, like wings in a windstream.

 “I...I know you were close,” she said. “And I know Master Skywalker should to be the one to tell you this, but he’s...Master Kenobi has -”

  Now,  she hears it as the set up for a punchline.

  “Have you heard the news from Capital City? They say a Jedi has come back from the dead.”

  “Kriff! I wish I could say the same for my career!”

 There are so many Jedi, and so many deaths. But only one has come back. And it has to be hers.

 She waits for him to call. She keeps her commlink open to all signals, and on her person. She keeps it in her hand. But no such message comes through. 

 At night, she asks Maia if anything has been sent to her personal padd.

 “No, ma’am,” she says, her eyes so round and sad that Satine can see her own pitiful reflection in them, and she turns away in contempt.

 “No, of course,” she replies. “A silly question. I’m only very tired tonight.”

 And Maia peels away the layers of her gown until she is paper thin, and quite translucent as her satin nightdress. She sleeps. She wakes. She waits, and hates herself for it.

 Ahsoka calls, just once more. It’s short because she’s in the field, and her master needs her.

 “I just wanted to make sure you’d heard,” she says. “I should have called, but things - Master Skywalker...I don’t understand why he would lie to us.”

 She hangs her head, and Satine remembers how young she is. She thinks of Korkie, off at school, tucked safe and out of sight, and of the way he bowed his head and wept the day she told him he could not come home. 

 “It was his duty,” she tells the girl, smiling, her shoulders thrown back and her hands clasped so tight she can feel the bones grind together. “We all do what we must.”

 “Yes, Your Grace,” Ahsoka murmurs, but her voice is fraught with resignation, not acceptance, and resignation is something Satine cannot countenance.

 “You have a duty, as well,” she reminds the girl. “To your men. To your master. To your Order. Do not forget that. We  all  do what we must. This is the way. You are a  Jedi , Ahsoka Tano. You are a Jedi. Do not give up. ”

 “Yes, sir,” she says, and Satine sees some determination ratchet in the hinge of her jaw before she ends the call.

 That same determination buttresses the sagging arch of her own spine, lifting her bearing in proud defiance of gravity’s grief, and with this scaffolding in place, she is able to survive the day. And the next one, too. She thinks of him, but she is disciplined, and he is silent, and so she is able to put him somewhere out of sight. He is like a fleeting shadow in the corner of her eye, but she keeps herself facing forward. 

 Until, one day, sometime later - sometime, when she has become so practiced at denying him, his presence comes as a shock - she sees him standing outside her room, a pair of her Guard flanking him.

 She looks at Vi’Tolan, and though she doesn’t speak, her protector can hear her disquiet.

 “I granted his landing clearances,” she explains. “You said -”

 Satine shakes her head, exhaling to clear her muddied thoughts.

 “I did,” she confirms. “Thank you, Vi’Tolan. Please, if you would -”

 “Of course, my Lady,” she says, and with a curt nod of instruction, she, and the two guards leave her alone with Obi-Wan.

 The hall is empty, and their audience as private as anyone can expect, and he is standing there before her, alive, and well, and breathing, and she realises that she has nothing to say.

 Nothing at all.

 And by his silence, it seems that he has nothing either.

 She sighs, and presses a hand to her face to cover her eyes. Perhaps, a moment out of sight will grant her the peace necessary for wisdom to come. She can still feel the weight of his gaze. His expectation has a near physical presence, as though he has manifested desire and restraint into some looming beast that stands just over her shoulder. It hunts her, and haunts him. Yet no solution comes in the privacy of her thoughts, and so, she straightens her shoulders and crosses into her room, knowing that, of course, he will follow.

 Maia waits.

 “My Lady Duchess -” she says, her shock at Satine being accompanied by such a man sending her to her feet at attention, but Satine dismisses her as easily as she had Vi’Tolan. Her mind is made up. Her voice is firm. Everything that happens from here on out is her decision.

 “I should appreciate a quick attendance tonight, Maia,” she says, setting herself down at the wide vanity.

 Maia’s mouth closes, and she hies swiftly to her mistress’ side. Deft fingers unclasp, and unpin, collecting the stiff rods into the palm of her hand. She works until the headpiece slips sideways over the Duchess’ brow, then catches it as it falls away. This done, Satine is free to pull off her rings, and remove her earrings, dropping them all with neither haste, nor care upon her table. They are heavy, and she is glad to be rid of them, though she doesn’t feel much lighter for their absence. Maia brushes her hair forward over one shoulder to undo the ribbon at the waist of her thick surcote, letting it hang forward, and as Satine pulls her arms free of this layer, Maia is quick to loosen the catches of the next. Her fine cherrinwork kirtle covers a loose smock but these are easy enough to doff on her own, so she shifts forward, away from Maia’s hands.

 “Thank you, Maia,” she says, leaving the girl bereft. “That shall be all for this evening.”

 She may be uncertain, but she is well trained, and demurs easily. “Yes, ma’am.” 

 Her shimmerflax train murmurs softly, following her out the door, and then they are alone.

 The mirror looks at what Satine cannot, and tells her that Obi-Wan remains just inside the door. He is tucked against the wall, his hands folded in his robes. He looks small. Diminished. Drowning in swaths of coarse fabric. This is not the glorious warrior she has seen on the holonet. This is not the shining ambassador of freedom. He wears none of the armour she has seen him in before - and why should he, when he is so inured to death as to be immune?

 She sighs, and he catches her eye in the glass. It isn’t in her to break first, so she waits until he does, the resumes her ablutions. A single claricloth is sufficient to remove her makeup, but the face that emerges from beneath the paint is sallow and haunted. It shows nothing of how she feels, and so she scrubs at her cheeks until they are pink once more. Her eyes are cold, and her lips stay bloodless no matter how she bites at them.

 Accepting that there is little she may improve upon, she rises to take off her dress. From the corner of her eye, she sees him step forward as well.

 “No,” she says, and her voice is the same as her eyes - as distant and as cold - and he freezes.

 The discarded pile of clothing is heaped upon the bench, out of sight of the mirror, and she walks to where he stands, shoulders back, and bare. She does not flinch, and at least he has the grace to meet her gaze and hold it. She stops when she is close enough to feel his breath upon her face. 

 And it does not matter, but she thinks it is she who moves first.

 Their mouths meet, open but empty of any thought, and her lip, already punished with her own worry, splits against his teeth. His hands are on her shoulders, then braced against the back of her head, while the other slides down the curve of her spine, falling like rain, coursing over the swell of her flesh. He grabs at her fiercely, and she yields to his grip, bending against him, swallowed by his robes, but the cloth tangles at his wrists, and he shakes them, as though desperate to be free of the web of some great terror.

 She pulls back to push the cloak over his shoulders, to fumble at his belt as he throws the robe aside. Together, they tear off his tabards, and she lifts the fitted sark over his head, while he stares up at her, dazed, his eyes starry and she looks away to see the tunic adequately tossed aside. She kisses him again, before he can speak, though he doesn’t seem inclined to. Instead, he leans in, his tongue slipping over hers to trace the roof of her mouth, even as he stumbles forward caught in the shackles of his trousers, and his boots. They, too, are eventually lost, and they are left trying to peel the skin from each others’ bones.

 She claws at his waist. Her fingers catch in his hair, and she surges forward, hungry, even as the weight of his desire drives her back, until at last, overcome, he lifts her from the ground, her legs flying up to cling at his hips, his cock hard and aching below her thigh.

 The bed is before them in an instant, and he staggers forward as his legs slam against it. His arms fly out to brace for a fall that cannot happen, but which his body fears, nonetheless, and seeks to save him from. But she does not let go.

 He comes down hard upon her. The softness of the bed gives way at her back, while his chest, stained with the heat of his desire, presses down on her. She pulls him closer, holds him tighter, eager, hopeful that he might crush her completely. He cannot be too close to her, and it does not take much to persuade him to relent. He is nothing if not obedient. 

 She gasps, and he - still devouring - moves to kiss her neck, nipping at the skin, and licking a wet stripe along the line of her jaw to the point where it meets at the lobe of her ear. His teeth are sharp, and his beard coarse. Together, they leave red marks against the pallor of her flesh, and they are blushing together. Then, he rises again. His hands frame her face, sweeping aside her hair as he seeks to touch the fragile arc of her cheeks with the tips of his fingers, and his palms. He presses a kiss to her brow, and it is almost tender. She desires no such reverence.

 And so, while his lips are still upon her, in an address far sweeter than she thinks he’s ever tendered in negotiations before, she reaches between them to take his length in hand. A rough sound is wrenched from his lips, and for a moment the heel of his chin digs in against her scalp. If she had thought him willing before, now he becomes absolutely pliant beneath her touch. His head falls to her shoulder, and his breath is loud in her ear. 

 “Hush,” she murmurs, and again he obeys.  So good , she thinks, and her praise is expressed in the glide of her hand over the length of his cock. His reward is in the pump of her fist, but for all that he is dutiful, he is also bold, and though he chokes back his cries in the curve of her neck, he brings his own hand up to cup her left breast, taking that pleasure for himself.

 And she gives it. She forces it upon him.  Take it  , she thinks, as she arcs up against his hand.  Take it,  she thinks, as she draws her hand down, then up, then down again. “Take me,” she says, low, in his ear. There is something feral in her voice. She feels savage, and wanton, and full of rage.

 Whatever wildness is in her, he must hear it because he turns to look at her. His eyes glitter in the dark, his mouth swollen, his lips glisten with the sheen stolen from her own mouth, and she draws him closer to take it back. His lower lips catches between her teeth, and she tugs. She drags her thumb over the head of his cock, tracing the swell of sensitive skin, feeling her fingers slick with precome, hearing him keen and fight against his own voice while wanting more, and she bites down until she tastes blood. This time, it’s his, and with it spilled on either side, she thinks of war and fury, and how they are now bonded in battle. This is the way, and though it is not  her  way, she still owns the path. By title. By right. By blood.

 His hand tenses over her breast, and she will bruise, she knows, but that thought is almost as delicious as the bite of his fingers as he pinches her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and rolls. 

 “Stars!” she says, the word torn from her by force. She releases him only to clutch him close again, pressing his head to her collarbone, pressing him down. Soft strands of hair stick to her hands, wet with sweat, wet with him, clinging to the crevices of her body like she clings to him. 

 This whimsy, while sweet, dies swiftly upon the awn of the next moment as his tongue darts forth to tease at the rosy bud of her tit. His mouth, hot and wet, closes over her a moment later, and he suckles, while one hand drift low over her hips, and lower still to dip between the hot folds of her sex.

 He touches her. First, there are just gentle strokes, and he moves from the hood of her clit, outward to her thigh grazing his clever fingers just barely across the skin of her inner thigh. Closer, then further away, then returning again, and it teases her like the sunlight of a breaking dawn. He slips the tip of one finger into the velvet grip of her entrance, then withdraws, dancing away to compass her centre again, and she knows that his confidence comes from memory, not practice. This is  her  body he recalls. This is  her  desire he stokes, and there is a greedy, vengeful part of her that delights in the fact that he has thought of no other, for none of  their  preferences are painted on her skin with his hands. 

 She grins in triumph, and urges his head lower still. And so he goes.

 Her thighs fall open to greet his arrival, and his tongue replaces the rough ministrations of his fingers. Here, there is a feast to sate his hunger, and she welcomes him to take as much as he desires. With such a bounty laid bare before him, he does what all the wisest diplomats have done: first, he surveys the land, and then, with the guidance of an educated palate he tastes of every morsel that he might find the ripest fruits, and savour the richness of their flavour. He licks, and tastes, and as her breaths grow fast, and fall to frantic, he consumes her utterly. And as she feels the pinching crest of pleasure build, she looks down to admire the sight of this man, framed in the crescent of her legs.

 He is with her, and looks up to watch as he takes her over the edge. She never swore obedience, and she will not be silent, the guttural cry of release still clinging to her lips as he creeps up over her to silence her with a kiss. She can taste herself upon his tongue, and she wonders if he thinks she tastes as sweet - but he must, for he is just as covetous of her essence as she. 

 And then, her hand tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, she draws him back to issue her final command.

 “Fuck me,” she says.

 He slips into her in a single thrust, sensing her impatience. His next is more tentative, gauging depth as though afraid  he may have misjudged her readiness or his position. But she is certain. She slides herself downwards against his length before he can press again, meeting him halfway and breaking the rhythm of tempered consideration he’d intended before he can even commit. 

 “Hard,” she urges, driving him deeper. “Harder.”

 And once again, he obeys.

 “Harder,” she pants out with every thrust.  Hurt me , she thinks with every beat of her racing heart. 

 His pace increases, urged forward like an unbroken fathier, and she the bit and bridle which gives fashion to his lust. He wraps a hand over her hip, leaving marks, and beats his desire against the bones of her pelvis, and that too will leave her bruised and aching tomorrow. It is what she wants - to be stained purple with the evidence of his existence, to be rubbed raw by his hair against the rash of her skin, to mirror the blue of his thirsty eye, to taste his blood, to feel that once he wanted, and she was there to grant him all she could. She needs to know that this is real. She can’t simply  believe  it.

 So she pushes him to go faster, to take her harder, to drive deeper, until her arms are braced against the headboard, and he cries out, spilling hot and thoughtless inside of her.

 And then, when he is spent, she wraps him in her arms, and presses him to her chest, the salt of their sweat mingling with the salt of his tears, but she does not cry. Instead, she whispers cold comfort in his ear.

 “I missed you,” she says. “I mourned you. I think I always will.”

 And he, his eyes red and blue and black, his hair falling thick across his brow, lifts his head to look at her.

 “Please, don’t,” he says, an orison so soft it leaves a mark upon her skin.

 But that is only yet another proof for her to keep, and think on when he leaves. 

[beneathstarryskies]

quiet moments (Obi Wan Kenobi x Reader)

Summary: Three times Obi Wan almost says I love you, and the one time he finally does. 

Word Count: 2,558

Warnings: Mostly just fluffiness and a tinge of angst.

A/N: I hope this makes up for my complete lack of writing lately. On the plus side, I’m out of work so I have a lot of time to write now. So send those requests! 

The first time he almost tells you he loves you is right after the death of his master, Qui-Gon. The loss left a festering wound on his heart. Although Master Yoda advised him to rejoice for his master was now one with the force, he still struggled with his feelings as all humans (Jedi or not) do. No amount of training would ever help him to understand the complexity of grief or the load of extra emotions it often carries with it. When he closes his eyes, the moment of his master’s death replays behind his eyelids and he longs for peace. The longing for peace always seems to  make his mind wander to you. 

After getting Anakin settled for the night (and promising to come back to check on him later) he finds himself walking to your quarters. He’s not surprised when you open the door before he even knocks. It’s silent as he crosses the room to the window. 

It’s difficult for you to see Obi Wan like this. The pain of the last few days covers his features like a black veil, and you know he would hate it if you mentioned how apparent his feelings are. He’s always stayed so guarded, but the events of the last few days have left him feeling raw. He feels like a lost little boy: small, vulnerable, and lost. He was exhausted from putting on a strong facade for the council, and especially for Anakin. You were the only person he would allow to see him like this, and he needed to feel safe for a moment. 

“I heard they made Anakin your padawan,” your voice is soft as you carefully approach the subject. You knew he came here to talk about it, but even in times like this Obi Wan’s pride requires him to be guided towards revealing his thoughts. 

“I promised Qui-Gon I would train the boy,” he crosses his arms over his chest. You can see his face change momentarily, an attempt to harden his face to hide his feelings.

You nudge him slightly, “Don’t hide from me, Obi Wan.” 

He lets out a sigh, hating to be called out but unable to deny it. 

“I’m worried I’m not ready,” he admits. 

 “Of course you’re ready and he’s lucky to have you. You’ve always been the most clever and skilled of all the padawans our age.” 

Now it’s your turn to hide, as your admiration for him begins to spill.  He simply lets out a small, slightly sarcastic chuckle. You fall into silence, watching the rain drops slide down the window. If there ever was a way for you to steal some of his pain away, to help him bear the burden of loss, you happily would do so. You assume being his friend is enough for now. 

“I know how much Qui-Gon meant to you,” you whisper. 

“I’m afraid he didn’t,” Obi Wan confesses. 

For the first time since his master’s death he allows himself to cry. You pull him into a tight embrace, and he’s convinced he might have fallen to pieces if you hadn’t. He is surprised to find himself gripping your waist to pull you closer. His face is buried in your soft hair, letting your warmth wash over him. He breathes you in, unable to pinpoint why it is he can’t seem to get close enough. He lifts his head from your shoulder, and cups your cheeks. His calloused thumb soothes across your cheek to wipe away a stray tear. Your eyes are filled with wonder at the sudden intimacy he’s showing you. He stares longingly at your parted lips, trying not to imagine the comfort he would get from tasting them. The words dance at the tip of his tongue. An ache he’s spent so long pushing away settles in the pit of his stomach. 

You reach up to touch his chest, “Obi Wan, what is it? You can talk to me.” 

His mind is a flurry of fears and wishes and fantasy. He knows if Qui-Gon were still alive, he would’ve been encouraged to explore his feelings. However, now he is under the scrutiny of the Jedi Council. One moment of weakness could cost him everything he worked for. He drops his hands to his side, and looked down at the small space between the two of you knowing he should broaden it. Instead he drops his hands to his sides. 

“Obi Wan, please. You can tell-” 

“I should go back to check on Anakin, it’s his first night here.” 

Your heart drops as he moves past you towards the door. 

“You know,” you begin causing him to pause in front of the door. “I was always a little envious that you got Qui-Gon as a master.” 

He tilts his head slightly in your direction, “Why is that?” 

“He never would expect you to hide your feelings.” 

“Thank you for seeing me,” he whispers before leaving you alone. 

-

The second time he almost confesses his love for you is the first time you successfully knocked him down during a sparring session. The two of you were constantly sparring when you were padawans, but you never were able to best him. Now you’re both Jedi Knights, and your skills are almost on par with one another. 

This time, you’d finally done it. Granted you fell with him when he reached to grab your arm, which wasn’t actually part of the plan. The two of you land on the rough sparring mat in a tangle of limbs and grunts. The neat braid you had your hair tied in brushes against Obi Wan’s face as the two of you wrestle until you’ve managed to pin him down. You hover above him, a devious smile playing on your lips as Obi Wan seems to give up. 

The way your fingers grip his robes and your eyes scan his face reawakens a desperate need he was once sure had been put to rest. In your moment of naivety, you blame his blushing on the embarrassment of being bested. 

“I win,” you declare. 

Obi Wan was suddenly aware of how warm you felt pressed against him. His hands rest on your calves, he toys with the idea of letting his hands make their way to your thighs just to see how you would react. 

“Yes, one time out of one hundred,” he teases you while trying to avoid looking at the plump curve of your lips.

“Don’t be a sore loser,” you tease him. 

“Let’s go again, and I’ll be easy on you this time,” you suggest with a smirk. 

“Ah, you’re unearned confidence is precious,” he teases. 

“You’re so smug,” you growl.  

You notice his green eyes filled with something you’d never seen in them before. You lean in, and decide to test the waters. You place a soft kiss on his cheek. His chest tightens as he waits in anticipation for your next move. Another kiss lands on the corner of his lips, his beard tickling your face. His hands move to grip your waist, subtly urging you not to stop. You plant a single soft kiss on his lips. He cups the back of your head, deepening the kiss. You only pull away to take a deep breath. Your lips are swollen from his kiss and a tinge of pink colors your cheeks. For the second time in his life, three little words threaten to slip from his lips. As he stares in awe at you, guilt seeps into your chest. You stand up abruptly, shaking your head. 

“I’m sorry, this shouldn’t have happened.” 

Without giving him a chance to say anything else, you leave him sitting on the floor of the training dojo. 

Anakin finally arrives with a getaway ship. It takes all of your strength  and no small amount of force manipulation to pull Obi Wan through the door without either of you getting hit by blaster fire.  You press the button to pull the door shut, and then yell at Anakin to fly away from the battle raging below.

-

 It was Anakin’s idea to go on an impromptu rescue mission when Obi Wan was taken by General Grievous. Three days of torture proved useless as Obi Wan still refused to give up any information. Anakin couldn’t stand the constant transmissions of Obi Wan being tortured any longer, and the two of you went against the council despite knowing Obi Wan wouldn’t want that. 

You learned through an informant that Obi Wan was injected with some type of truth serum right before you slipped in to save him. Grievous had taunted Obi Wan with the fact that the serum had been formulated with the help of Count Dooku, and therefore was sure to work on even the strongest of Jedi. You knew deep down it was only a taunt, yet upon seeing you Obi Wan seemed very...open. 

It takes a great deal of effort and no small amount of force manipulation to get Obi Wan onto the ship with the drones shooting at you. 

“Will Master Obi Wan be alright?” Anakin asks from the cockpit of the ship as you help Obi Wan lie down on the only bunk in the ship. 

“He’ll be fine, Ani,” you answer despite the nervousness building in your own chest. The last thing Anakin needed to hear was anything upsetting. You liked the apprentice well enough, but his volatile nature made you nervous, especially in times of distress. 

“Th-thank you,” Obi Wan stutters. “I would have died without you.” 

“Surely you would’ve found a way to escape.” 

He watches you with admiration filling those beautiful eyes of his. There was something oddly intimate about the whole situation. Anakin was busy flying the ship, so lost in his unnecessary panic he might as well have been in a different world from you and Obi Wan. Obi Wan laid his hand on your knee. He was weak and almost delirious from whatever Grievous pumped him full of. Yet his face changed when you brushed a strand of auburn hair out of his face. There was a sweetness in him you weren’t used to seeing. 

“You’re magnificent,” he whispers, “So-so beautiful.” 

“You’re delirious” you tease him. 

“You’re still beautiful,” he reaches over to touch your cheek softly. 

“Shut up, Obi Wan,” you take his hand away from your face.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for as long as I’ve known you, and now you silence me,” he says with a smirk. 

  “Perhaps when you’re less delirious we can talk about it. In the meantime get some rest.”

 “You really are magnificent,” he tells you again. 

You stand up, and nudge him to lie down completely. Whispering absently about him needing to rest in order to avoid the praise he was so determined to bestow. His green eyes stayed glued to your face, not missing a single thing. He sees how your eyes can’t help but take him in, and how your face softens when he brushes his hand against yours. You reach out to cover him up with a blanket. You touch his cheek and he leans into your touch. You wonder if he will later come to regret his current lack of judgement. Your fingertips trace their way down the side of his face, moving to caress his beard. Then Anakin announces a destination and you’re pulled into reality. You fold your hands in your lap. He misses your touch as soon as it recedes

“Being a hostage makes you affectionate” you tease him. 

“I’ve always felt affection towards you. This just makes me less inclined to hide it.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “I have to tell you…”

Only you placing a soft finger over his lips stops him from saying those sweet words he wanted to say. 

“Get some rest.” 

***

You took his breath away. The soft, blue gown you wore made your eyes stand out. The way your hair was pulled up showed off your shoulders and the delicate curve of your neck. The setting Naboo sun seems to highlight your cheekbones, and your bare shoulders. Obi Wan’s heart pounds as you walk towards him. When you said you were going undercover to help protect Padme, he never would have imagined you looking so ethereal doing it. 

“I feel like I’m naked,” you whisper as soon as he’s in earshot. He laughs. 

“You look...different.” 

“Padme thought I should blend in if I was to protect her.” 

“I wouldn’t call this blending in,” he comments. His fingers absently reach out for the soft chiffon fabric. 

“If it helps me stay close enough to thwart assasination attempts I’d wear this dress forever.”

“You sound like Anakin,” Obi Wan shakes his head. “He’s fighting a bout of jealousy because you’re here with her instead of him.” 

“She’s a good person, hence why someone wants her dead.” 

“She’s a politician.” 

“And you’re a Jedi, we all have our labels. They don’t define us.” 

He lets out a sigh. More and more he finds it harder to keep a grip on the reality of the situation. When the two of you speak like this, he can’t decide if he adores you or if you’re a risk to be around. Perhaps both somehow intertwined. The very things he adores about you are the same things that keep you from being part of the council. He can feel you’re frustrated with him, and he wonders if it should stay this way. 

“Why are you here, Obi Wan?” you ask him finally. 

He’s quiet for a long time. It wouldn’t be hard to confess now with seeing you this way and being on this lush beautiful planet together. Nobody would hear except you, and if all else fails he could simply leave if you don’t feel the same way. 

“I just wanted to check on you,” he lies. “I wanted to make sure you’re faring well here.” 

“I’m doing fine.” You look down at the ground, “I do miss you though.” 

His breath catches, and then he swallows softly. 

“Ani too!” you add to try to ease the awkwardness created by your confession. 

“Of course,” he sighs. 

You step closer to him, so close he can smell the sweet perfume you were wearing. He breathes in deeply. 

“But mostly you,” you whisper. 

He closes the remaining gap between the two of you, taking your mouth with his. Everything he struggled to put into words is slowly revealed in his kiss and his touch. He wraps his arms around you, and allows his fingertips to trace against your bare back. You sigh against his lips, and send his brain into a spiral of intrusively sinful thoughts. You pull away, and both of you giggle. 

“The council definitely wouldn’t approve,” you tease him.

“They don’t have to know,” he says. “Just like they don’t need to know that I love you.” 

“You love me?” 

He smiles, “I always have.” 

“I love you too,” you whisper. 

He pulls you back into a tight embrace, and peppers kisses along your cheeks. The two of you stay tangled as though trying to makeup for all the lost time. He may not know what will happen once he leaves Naboo, but he knows he wants to spend every second until then with you. 

[mostthingskenobi]

JEDI NIGHTMARES

SUMMARY: It's been about 3 months since Qui-Gon was killed. Obi-Wan is struggling with nightmares, desperately missing his Master, while Anakin is trying to conquer his own fear. An emotional, fluffy piece where Kenobi wakes in the middle of the night and hears his Padawan having a bad dream in the other room. Obi-Wan battles his emotions while helping Anakin navigate his own. Lots of fluff, angst, and love.

Jedi Temple

Obi-Wan was having a nightmare. He was screaming on the edge of a black precipice, looking down into a swirling storm. Qui-Gon had fallen down into the chaos and Obi-Wan knew there was no way for him to get his master back, no way to reach into the abyss and rescue him.

He thrashed awake, sobbing, his eyes wet with tears. He sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, his hands over his face while he held his breath, not wanting his crying to wake Anakin in the next room. He reflected on the depth of his grief, how desperately he missed Qui-Gon, how there was a dark empty place where his master’s Force signature used to be, how there was an empty place in the room that Qui-Gon’s large form used to fill. Nothing could have prepared Obi-Wan for the loss. There was no preparation, no warning; Qui-Gon was just gone. Obi-Wan meditated often trying to release his grief, but it would sneak up on him, ever present in the back of his mind, rising to the surface most especially when he was asleep.

Obi-Wan was overwhelmed by the questions his master would never be able to answer. If only he had fought better, cleaner, Qui-Gon may not have tired or let his guard down. Why were his last words only of Anakin? Didn’t Obi-Wan mean anything to him? Was his master dissatisfied with him? Is that why he was ready to push him aside for Anakin? How was he supposed to train The Chosen One when he was so consumed with sadness? He felt unworthy to be a Jedi much less to train a potential vergence.

Obi-Wan was unable to get his emotions under control. He sat in the dark while tears streamed down his cheeks. After a moment, he heard a sound from Anakin’s room. The boy cried out for his mother, then for Master Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan pushed up and walked into his Padawan’s bedroom. He knelt down next to Anakin’s bed and watched the little boy squirming in his sleep, sweaty and crying. Obi-Wan roughly wiped the tears from his own eyes and internally berated himself. He suddenly realized that this little boy was too young to carry demons, that Obi-Wan should be doing more to help him control his fears. Kenobi was also struck by the realization that Anakin must be picking up on Obi-Wan’s nightmares through their bond.

His heart melted with regret and empathy. He reached out and placed a hand on Anakin’s back, bowing his head and closing his eyes. Using the Force Obi-Wan soothed the boy, taking hold of Anakin’s fear and replacing it with calm, quiet gentleness. He absorbed Anakin’s spikey, thrashing emotions, kicking up another wave of grief in the older Jedi. Obi-Wan quickly left the room to let the boy sleep, carrying both their agony in his heart.

He pushed open the window in the living room letting the cold night air in. He stood, stony-eyed while tears continued down his cheeks. All he wanted was for Qui-Gon to walk through the door.

“Master?” Anakin was sniffling in the doorway.

Obi-Wan only half turned to him, not wanting his Padawan to see him crying. He did not want to add to Anakin’s fears. He knew he needed to be stable and steady in order for Anakin to grow up safe and confident. “What is it, Padawan?” he asked gently, once he was certain his voice was under control.

“I had a bad dream…” Anakin was trying to be brave but was obviously upset.

“What did you dream?”

“About my mother and Master Qui-Gon. I lost them and I couldn’t find them anywhere.”

Obi-Wan nodded and looked back out the window.

Anakin came and stood next to him. The boy looked up at Obi-Wan’s face in the dark. “I climbed up on a high cliff to try and see them, but when I got to the top there was nothing but darkness. I was afraid I would slip and fall over the edge. The darkness seemed to go on forever and ever…” Anakin’s chest began to heave again as he tried to suppress another sob.

Obi-Wan was moved by how similar their dreams were. He reached down and took Anakin’s hand in his. He wanted to do more but he was struggling to control himself; Anakin had walked in on his most vulnerable moment. He could feel Anakin’s small hand shaking inside his large one. “It was only a dream, young one.”

“It felt so real…”

Obi-Wan felt his Padawan’s tears rain down on their intertwined fingers. Finally he looked down at the boy and saw the small blonde head bent forward as he cried. Obi-Wan immediately scooped Anakin up into his arms and held him tightly. The boy wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and rested his cheek on his master’s shoulder.

Kenobi finally understood that Anakin needed him, he needed structure and Obi-Wan needed to do better for the sake of this little innocent life. And he realized that he needed Anakin. The boy was all he had left now. Wishing Qui-Gon was alive would not bring him back. He only had one direction to live – forward. He must move forward.

“It’s alright, Padawan. I know you’re afraid.” His voice broke a little. “But when you’re feeling this way, I want you to slow down and think only about the moment you’re in. Try it with me now.” Anakin’s arms tightened around Obi-Wan’s neck. “Think only of this room. Think about how you and I are standing here together.” He felt Anakin’s sobs calm, felt him take a deep breath. “We’re in our home. There is no danger. We are safe right here and now.” Tears silently fell from Kenobi’s lashes as he tried to find comfort in his own words. “There is no sickness. There is no anger. There is just you and me.” Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut and rested his forehead against the little boy’s hair. He felt Qui-Gon slip away, as though he finally accepted that he had to let him go.

Anakin was perceptive. He pushed back and saw his master crying. “Master, are you alright?”

Obi-Wan looked right in his Padawan’s eyes. “I will not lie to you, Anakin. My heart… is broken.”

“Because of Master Qui-Gon?”

“Yes. I miss him very much.”

Anakin placed his hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders. “You had to watch him die.”

“Yes.” It came out in a whisper.

“I think my heart would break if I had to watch you die, Master.”

Obi-Wan’s chest heaved. “I hope that will never happen, Anakin.”

Anakin reached out and wiped Obi-Wan’s tears away with his little hand. It was the beginning of Kenobi’s healing. He had been looking in all the wrong places for relief. He was grateful to finally see that Anakin was the companion he needed. The Force had brought them together just as it had brought him and Qui-Gon together.

“You are safe with me, Padawan. I will do my best to care for you. I’m sorry that you’ve been having nightmares. I will teach you how to control your fear. You’re afraid for your mother, aren’t you?”

Anakin nodded, worry returning to his eyes.

“Do you think of her everyday?”

“Yes.”

“Every night before you fall asleep?”

“Yes.”

“Do you always feel afraid when you think of her?”

Anakin sniffed. “Almost always. I’m just afraid she’s lonely without me and that Watto is being mean to her.”

“There is no way to trick your mind into believing what your heart does not think is true. You would be foolish to pretend your mother is safe just as I would be foolish to tell myself Qui-Gon should still be alive. Telling ourselves lies is only going to do us a disservice. We will be living in a fantasy world. As Jedi, our job is to help people and bring peace. If our minds are lost in confusion, we cannot do our jobs.”

Anakin nodded. “I understand that. But I’m afraid of not thinking of her. I don’t want to forget her. I don’t want to pretend like she doesn’t exist just so I stop worrying about her.”

Obi-Wan was astounded by the depth of his Padawan’s emotional maturity. “That is very wise. I too have no wish to forget my master, but I cannot go on feeling this kind of pain. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes.”

“Together, we will learn to face our grief, and together we will honor our loved ones by using the Force to bring goodness to the galaxy.”

Anakin hugged Obi-Wan fiercely. “But you promise I don’t have to forget her?”

Obi-Wan pressed his cheek to the top of Anakin’s head. “I promise, Padawan.”

Eventually, Obi-Wan told Anakin to go back to bed. The boy turned and suddenly stopped in his tracks staring at the door to his bedroom. Kenobi saw a shiver run through Anakin. “Can I sleep with you, Master? Just for tonight?” he asked quietly.

Obi-Wan was fighting his own fear of being alone. “Yes, just for tonight.”

Anakin jumped into Obi-Wan’s bed and nestled down under the blankets. Obi-Wan sat across the narrow cot, his back against the wall, his legs crossed in front of him. Anakin snuggled up against him, tucking himself along his master’s side. He fell asleep quickly as Obi-Wan stroked his hair. Obi-Wan stayed that way all night, gently dozing, watching over the boy, calming him anytime he showed signs of fitful sleep.

READ IT ON AO3 - Kudos and comments welcome :-)

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