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thegreatwicked · 9 months ago

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50 NSFW Questions: Bucky Barnes

It's been a minute since I've done one of these, so how about we answer some more questions! Bucky is a tricky one to write fairly, and I aimed less for his darker side, the Winder Soldier. So, I'm treating them like two separate entities. Enjoy!

Biggest turn-on?

Call him Sergeant. Wear his cover. Or, if you really don’t need to walk anywhere anytime soon, greet him at the end of the day wearing nothing but his old service jacket. Bonus points if you’ve got a nice set of heels to go with it. Take him back in time to when things were far simpler but with all the conveniences of modern day living. He doesn’t miss some things from the 40s like cold showers, poverty, and war, but he does miss those victory curls, pencil skirts, red lipstick, and those black seam stockings. Give your soldier a treat with a little taste of home.

Biggest turn-off?

Anything less than enthusiastic consent. Let’s be real here: there isn’t a thing about you that doesn’t turn this man on. But he cannot fathom anything that tiptoes into the realm of dubious consent. He won’t even read books or watch shows like that—he is not a Haunting Adeline fan. After everything he’s been through, consent is non-negotiable.

But he’s got an appetite and one hell of a sex drive. If he even senses that you’re going through the motions without really feeling it, it’ll send him to a dark place. He’ll cycle through emotions—anger, fear, guilt, horror, regret, self-hatred. He needs to know you want it as much as he does, and he never wants to feel he’s overstepping your boundaries. Just tell him if you need a break—he’d rather hear the truth than ever risk hurting you.

Quickest way to get horny?

He’s not always in the mood, but it doesn’t take much to get him there. If you’re after a fast-track ticket to Pound Town, be bold: tell him what you want in the most casual setting possible. Bonus points if you’re somewhere semi-public. Go in for a quick peck on the cheek—he loves those—but tell him you wore something under your leggings that he’s never seen before, and he’s going to love. Ask if he thinks red is your color, but don’t wear any red he can see. Let his mind do all the wandering.

Give him a kiss, tell him how handsome he looks, and then mention a position you’ve been dying to try. Sure, the other Avengers know what you’re doing; it’s impossible to hide how his jaw clenches or the way he swallows hard while eyeing the exits. Sure, it’s the fastest way to get your soldier primed—but just know, you’ll pay for it later.

Top 3 places to be touched?

You might think the joint where his vibranium arm connects to his shoulder—and while he does like a gentle caress over that scarred flesh, his right hand often gets neglected. A soft stroke down his arm, a massage for those overworked muscles... they could use the attention. And if you want to see your soldier absolutely melt, give him a hand massage.

Then, run your fingers through his hair—gently, though, no pulling. Bad memories, you know? That’s part of why he keeps it short these days. Let your fingers graze his earlobes, and drift down his neck. These are sweet, grounding touches that he appreciates.

But if you’re looking for something a little more intimate? Go for his lower back and hips. Teasing little touches, maybe starting with a hug from behind, and letting your fingers wander over his skin. Watch him dissolve into a puddle with every careful caress.

Do you like the idea of a threesome or a moresome?

Absolutely not. The man may have a drive to put Casanova to shame, but he’s an old-fashioned guy—and once it was just you and him, that door closed permanently. He won’t entertain the idea of anyone else in the safe, sensual space you’ve created. Does he fantasize about maybe another woman joining you? You’d be hard-pressed to get him to admit it, but the real issue here is that he needs to feel safe after everything he’s been through. A whole sexual revolution came and went while he was out doing HYDRA’s bidding, so the thought of bringing in another partner or two? That’s a bit much for him. Still, he does enjoy talking about—and maybe listening to—those fantasies where another lady joins you.

Sex or masturbation?

He likes both, but obviously, if he has a preference, then he’d rather have sex because it’s not just about the orgasm. It’s about the touch of a partner; it’s about more than him. He’s in it for your pleasure too.

Spit or swallow?

Come on now, ladies, don’t spit. They swallow. And while he’s not one to tell you to do it, consent and all, seeing you on your knees swallowing him down? Well, that just does something to him, and if you think it’s over after that, then you’d be wrong. That’s just the appetizer, and now you’re gonna see that super soldier stamina in action.

Rough or romantic sex?

Romance is Bucky’s default setting. He’ll bring you roses, shower you with compliments, take you dancing, and tell you that nothing shines brighter than the stars in your eyes and when you get behind closed doors? He’s as gentle a partner as they come. He’ll spend an ungodly amount of time focused on your pleasure until you can’t stand it—lots of kisses, lots of declarations of love, and of course, he’s going to call you his girl.

But if you think he has only one setting, you’d be wrong. While he has hard boundaries when it comes to consent and certain activities, he was a howling commando. If you manage to coax it out of him, you could be in for a wild ride. He can do rough as well as romantic. There will be kisses and declarations, but the kisses will bruise, and the declarations will have less to do with love and more to do with you being his. He’ll pick you up like you weigh nothing (because you don’t) and tell you, “Hold on, doll. You’re in for a ride.”

Loud or quiet partners?

Nothing lets a man know he’s doing it right, quite like a partner making some noise. While he appreciates the enthusiasm, if he wanted tickets to a show, he would have bought one. Don’t be loud just because you think he likes it; sometimes, the soft gasps, fragile whimpers, and unabashed moans are all he really wants. That said, don’t feel obligated to muffle those pretty sounds with a pillow!

How much foreplay?

One complaint Bucky has about living in modern times is that everything seems so rushed. It’s a culture of instant gratification—now, now, now. Don’t get the man wrong; it’s nice to be able to get whatever you want at the click of a button. But sometimes, it pays to slow down and smell the roses.

With him as a lover, it definitely pays to take your time because he’ll take his. There’s rarely an intimate moment between you where he doesn’t spend at least 45 minutes working you up. He gets a little bossy about it, too. If he tells you to lay still and be a good girl, well, you’d better! Or not—whatever. He knows exactly what to do with brats. Either way, he’s going to take his time with you, so you may as well clear your schedule. Quickies are not his style—or at least, that’s what he thinks.

How much teasing does he like?

Just enough to get you into a needy state. Unless you’ve been a brat, then a lesson must be taught, and as we’ve established, bucky knows how to take his time.

Hookups or only partners?

During the war, he might have occasionally had a hookup as a Howling Commando, but even those didn’t feel like hookups. Whoever those women were who happened to spend an evening with Sergeant Barnes likely never forgot it. These days, however, he wants stability and a partner that he feels safe with. He wants all the lovey-dovey stuff your grandparents talked about. After 70-odd years of being HYDRA’s murderous errand boy, he’s ready to settle down.

How much kissing during sex?

The only thing that might stop him from kissing you is the position you’re in. Even then, he’s still going to kiss you—just maybe not on the lips. So, expect lots of kisses! If he’s not busy whispering all the things he wants to make you feel, and how he plans to make you unravel, he’s definitely kissing you.

Favorite place to have sex?

He’s not picky, but he likes privacy. No place is better than the warmth and familiar comfort of your bed, where the sheets and pillows still smell like you. But the bed is far from the only place that sees action in your humble abode. Watching movies on the couch? It started out sweet until the movie got a little too boring. The shower is a favorite because he loves the sensation of water cascading down your bodies, although your water bill can get a little high with those two-hour-long showers.

There isn’t a room in your home that hasn’t witnessed a steamy rendezvous. The kitchen counter? Dinner wasn’t the only thing prepared there. And the garage, when he’s working on something that leaves him covered in grease? How could you walk away from that? It just means it’s time for another shower.

Would he have sex in public?

This one will give you trouble for a few reasons, beyond the simplest one—he can be a little shy. You might be surprised to find that out, but don’t forget the conservative world he grew up in; that sort of thing was saved for behind closed doors. Plus, he’s very security-conscious. Living the life he has, with the identity of the Winter Soldier on his back, has made him quite the target, and that concern extends to the people he loves. He’d never risk your safety for a little thrill—besides, you’re his to look at, and no one else’s.

Last place he had sex?

Probably bed; you can count on this man being the one to wake you up with an orgasm. Beats an alarm clock any day.

Where would he most like to have sex?

Someplace secluded. He wants you all to himself, with no chance of interruption. It’s less about the location and more about the privacy it provides. A fancy hotel with all the bells and whistles? Sure, that’s nice. But a cabin in the mountains or deep in the woods, with the nearest neighbor a mile away? Now that’s more his style—just you, him, and no one around to complain about the noise.

Spontaneous sex, or does he need to be in the mood?

For the most part, if you’re up for it, so is he. And he likes to keep you guessing—is that just a sweet, passionate kiss, or the gateway to a dining table tryst? His favorite reactions are the ones where he catches you off guard. Walking down the hall to put laundry away? Your shriek when he swoops in and throws you over his shoulder? Priceless. Did he plan it, or did the little devil on his shoulder just suddenly have a really good idea? You’ll never know.

Would he go for a hookup at a stranger's house?

Definitely not.

Biggest kink?

His uniform had always looked good on him, but since the war, it’s been long packed away, with no intention of seeing the light of day again. Why would it? It only brought pain, a reminder of what he lost and what he believes he betrayed. That was, until you stumbled across that vintage trunk in the closet while planning something special for his birthday. Inside, you found his uniforms—still in pristine condition—and a naughty little idea popped into your head. You didn’t exactly know what Victory Curls were, but you knew what a pinup was. So when he opened your bedroom door after calling out your name, only to find you perched on the bed in his old cover tilted to the side, red lipstick, his service jacket, and a pair of peep-toe heels, greeting him with a sultry “Hey, soldier”?

Let’s just say that uniform looks better on you than it ever did on him. But the floor wears it well, too. Suddenly, he’s not feeling so bitter about those old uniforms being out—and he might’ve asked you to pick up some dry cleaning for later. Coincidence?

Is he ok with name-calling?

You’d have better luck beating a dead horse, because the only names he’ll call you are “baby,” “sweetheart,” or “doll.” He’d never call you his “little slut” or anything like that—he’s pretty sure his mother would rise from the grave and beat the daylights out of him if he did. He might call you his “naughty girl,” but the really hard stuff? He just doesn’t have it in him.

Would he do BDSM?

While he knows BDSM is all about trust and respect, he just can’t bring himself to dive in. Deep down, he’s still afraid the restraints won’t unlock, the doors won’t open, and he’ll be trapped all over again. He does trust you, and his respect is rock-solid, but the past left its mark. So, yes, he’s a dom—but one who needs to be, in a way, protected.

Would he prefer to tie you up or be tied up?

This question took some broaching. As mentioned above, it doesn’t matter if the restraints are silk scarves—when he feels resistance in such a vulnerable position, his reaction is immediate. The softest silk feels as strong as vibranium. Tying him up? That’s a no-go.

But when you suggested he tie you up? He looked at you like you'd lost your mind. Yet, with a mental paintbrush in hand, you painted a portrait too enticing for him to ignore: scarves not to restrain, but to keep you laid out for him to enjoy. He knows just how sensitive you are, and while he’d never leave you in discomfort, the thought of you willingly being vulnerable to him… well, let’s just say safewords exist for a reason.

Tread carefully, though. The man was an Eagle Scout—and he knows all the knots. You’re not going anywhere until he hears the word.

Does he like orgasm denial?

It’s not the denial he likes; it’s the audacity. Where the hell did that come from? What happened to his sweet baby girl? Where’d she go, and who is this knockout pushing him into a chair, asking him if he’s going to be a good boy for her? He has no idea, and he can’t explain it. No one enjoys having an orgasm pulled away from them, but damn if he doesn’t want it even more now. Make no mistake, though—you’ve only got this power over him because he’s letting you. So don’t abuse the privilege, and don’t keep this poor guy in agony for too long, because payback is a bitch.

Does he like overstimulation?

After 70-plus years of captive service, where pain was his constant companion, the idea of being overwhelmed with pleasure is nothing short of a revelation. That first BJ was incredible, but seeing his features contort in overstimulation when you decided to spend a few extra minutes on him with that talented mouth of yours? Who needs drugs? That's an addiction all its own. And when you suggested he push you a little bit further, he didn’t need to be told twice. He quickly found he loves watching you fall to pieces, hearing you whine and cry out when it all becomes too much. You might beg and plead for a break, but he knows you don’t really want one—otherwise, you’d have used the safeword.

Does he like pain being involved?

No. Hard no. The most he’ll go for is a playful slap on the ass when you’ve been a brat, or your nails raking down his back. For him, sex is all about pleasure—he has zero tolerance for pain here.

Does he like dirty talk?

This is the kind of dirty talk you might expect to hear in a novel or movie. He doesn’t need vulgar words—hell, the man doesn’t even need to swear to make you squirm. But he knows you go absolutely unhinged when you hear the word “fuck” come out of that charming mouth of his. Truthfully, he doesn’t even need to say anything; he can make you blush from across the room without a word. It’s those eyes of his—when they start smoldering, you just know he’s got something on his mind and won’t hesitate to whisper it to you as soon as he’s finished with his conversation. He’ll tell you in such eloquent terms exactly what that dress you’re wearing is making him want to do and what it’s doing to him. That mouth of his is good for more than just kissing.

Does he own sex toys? How many?

What does he need toys for? He has a vibranium arm. The man is a living sex toy.

What does he masturbate to?

One part of modern living he loves is sexting—the ability to receive naughty pictures and dirty words in an instant. This guy is a sucker for a steamy photo, and the first time you sent him a video? He didn’t respond with anything but a casual, “That’s nice. Got anything else you want to show me, doll?” And he’s definitely not camera shy either, so just keep those particular messages to yourself.

Multiple rounds, or will he settle for one orgasm?

Super. Soldier. Of course, there will be multiple rounds. Don’t forget to take your B-12 and stay hydrated.

Does he enjoy giving oral?

Yes. He’s an enthusiastic giver and loves to have such control over your pleasure. He loves the way you taste and how needy you are after some teasing, and then there’s how sensitive you are after one orgasm. The man is a giver through and through. He can be a mance though if you let him.

Does he prefer giving or receiving oral?

He’s a fan of both. While he’s a dom and likes to dictate how things go, he’s a sucker for when you take control and tell him to lie back so you can take care of him. He never asks for it, but you can see it in his eyes when he wants you to take over for a bit. What guy doesn’t love that? And because you love seeing him like this, you make sure it’s more than just a BJ. It’s kissing down his neck and chest, telling him to lie back and close his eyes. It’s soft, teasing caresses that set him on edge. Just as he takes his time on you, leaving no part of you untouched or unsatisfied, you return the favor and then some. Bucky’s never had someone lavish him with attention the way you do, and seeing his chest heaving, his neck straining to look at you, and the way he moans your name? It wasn’t exactly hard to convince him that he should give you the reins more often.

What makes him orgasm the fastest?

Tell him how much you want it. Tell him how desperately you need him to cum for you. Let him know you’re hungry and want to taste him, swallowing every drop he gives you. Describe it in exquisite detail while he’s pounding into you—tell him how much you crave to feel his cum dripping down your legs. Watch as his steady, controlled rhythm descends into chaos; the mental image of you yearning for his orgasm will send him over the edge.

Does he like/do anal/pegging?

Nope! Not at all, it’s equal parts too vulnerable a thing for him and equal parts utter bewilderment. He does not get how a man could enjoy that.

Favorite position?

Nothing wrong with the good old-fashioned missionary, but he also loves it when you ride him. Just hike up your skirt or dress—he adores when you wear them. It doesn’t matter if he’s on the couch or a dining chair; he gets a thrill from your assertiveness. Walking up to him as casual as can be, unzipping his pants and stroking him to get him hard while slipping off your panties drives him wild. He loves being able to look you in the eye, watching you rock, sway, and bounce on him. He can’t get enough of how you embrace your dominance, gazing down at him with that sultry look in your eyes.

But you know what he loves even more? The way you think that just because you’re on top means you’re in charge the whole time. Not a chance, doll. Not all the time, anyway. Because even though you start on his lap, you can very quickly end up against the wall—and that’s another favorite.

Does he use protection?

Of course. The man is all about boundaries and knows just how awful a feeling it is to be trapped and he would never disregard your wishes if you asked him to wear a condom for whatever reason.

Does he masturbate with clothes on?

Sometimes, depends how much time he has.

How does he prefer his partner's hair/grooming?

He’s not one to demand you wax or anything like that but you’ve noticed a difference in degrees of things like shaving or grooming. And he returns the favor too.

What does he wear to bed?

Most nights he’s a boxers kinda guy, generally he only falls asleep naked when he’s exhausted.

What does he like his partner to wear?

His shirts. Favorite. Nothing else, maybe acute pair of panties, sure, but nothing else. But he also loves those little tank top and shorts you wear and he’s no stranger to lingerie, red is his favorite color.

Does he like his balls played with?

Unequivocally, yes. Take your time mid BJ and jus watch him quiver.

What is his sexuality?

Straight.

Does he have extreme or unusual kinks?

If he does, he hasn’t let on yet.

How often does he masturbate?

Only whenever he can’t have you, so it depends on the missions he’s one. He’s not one to dip into the bathroom is job to jack off, it takes his focus away from the task at hand. But if you’re off on a job and he’s home alone, he may just take a nice and hot long shower.

Favorite toy?

He wasn’t really one for toys but doens’t mind when you ask him to use a small toy on you while he’s driving into you slow, he might even tell you to do it so he can watch.

Does he like roleplay?

Sparingly. He doesn’t like power imbalance scenarios so no teacher/student, boss/employee stuff. But he is a sucker for the ‘welcome home soldier’ scenario, because he never got that when he did get home.

Any festishes?

Probably not because a fetish is needed in order to achieve orgasm, and there are no common demoniators that fit that scenario.

Aftercare?

You couldn’t ask for a better partner in this department. Once the pleasure subsides and you’re boneless in your bed, he stays with you, offering soft kisses and telling you how beautiful you are and how good you are to him. He’ll draw a hot bath and sink into it with you, gently washing your hair. Does any part of your back or legs ache from a position or a cramp? He’s on it; he knows all the pressure points and exactly how to soothe those aches. Need a drink or a snack afterward? Yeah, he’s already thought of that too. Those little brownie muffins you like? Bedside table, Doll.

Does he ever go comando?

Only when he knows sex is on the horizon, he’s propriety and never caught offguard. Sometimes he’ll do it and tell you about it, he can be such a tease.

Phone sex?

Oh, he picked that up really quickly. All it took was your casual question about what he was thinking after you told him you’d just taken a shower and missed him. He didn’t miss a beat in telling you exactly what he’d do if he were there with you. He can be a bit bossy on the phone, guess those spicy pictures and videos you sent greased the wheels.

#head canon #bucky barnes headcanon #fictional men and their kinks #bucky barnes smut ideas #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes is a dom #sergeant barnes #james buchanan barnes #seriously i know to write something besides smut #this just aint it #anti heroes #who is next #soft dom

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thegreatwicked · 9 months ago

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50 nsfw questions for Joel Miller

Hey there, again ✨ Ok, I love this list and I want to write those for.. So many people now 🫠

Have fun with our dear survival man, he really needs some good time..

Also please excuse if there're mistakes, english is not my first language.

Gifs by @manny-jacinto

18+ MDI

1. Biggest Turn-On

Admiring you when you dress up in the morning, spooning you in the few lazy mornings you're both granted. Seeing you lingering in the house, just wearing one of his shirts, underwear or not.

2. Biggest Turn-off

Lies. Do not lie to him. He's a survivor and he doesn't need people who would abuse his trust in his life.

3. Quickest way to get horny

Lingering gazes as you walk into him through your kitchen, leaning your body into him while kissing him, and jumping on the countertop, wrapping your legs around his waist. That would certainly lead to a quickie, both keeping your clothes on, or a long torrid night.

4. Top 3 places to be touched

Joel is a sucker for gentle touches and tickling while he sleeps. He loves when you travel your fingers through his dark, grayish hair, helping him soothe and calm from what he has seen outside during the day. Number two would be the small of his back and his ass, grabbed when he pounds into you.. And number three would be his gorgeous thighs, more precisely the groin. No need to tell you how much he craves you for kisses down there.

5. Do you like the idea of a threesome or moresome ?

Probably not. Joel is possessive and intense at love. He would never share you, and you would never accept another woman to own him as he lets you claim him as yours, don't you Honey ?

6. Sex or Masturbation ?

Oh both. That man is a passionate god surviving through hell. He needs to indulge, and to fuck. He needs you. All the time. He needs those moments with you, either tenderness, comforting and listening. But gods he needs good sex. And he would absolutely pleasure himself thinking of you if you've been far away from for too long.. Even for a few days. The man would miss you as soon as you're not in his sight.

7. Spit or Swallow ?

Girl. He wouldn't ask you. You just gotta swallow, ‘til the last drop.

“Look at you.. Such a good girl for me, aren't you ? That's it.. Swallow it for me, all of it,”

8. Rough or Romantic sex ?

Both. Joel adores you when you take care of him. And you would pretty much be the only one in this scorched world he would return that care to. He loves your tender and soft nights, full of caresses and long, wet kissing, but he's is a wild man, seeking, and needing roughness and wilderness.

9. Loud or quiet partners ?

You better be loud and significant to how he makes you feel.. But Joel is anyway going to make you scream, whether you're loud or not.

10. How much foreplay ?

Sometimes there is no foreplay. If Joel needs you right away as he sees you, he will take what's his for sure, wasting no time. But he is also known to be an exceptional lover. Making love to you, amusing and pleasing you for hours, watching you coming over and over on his fingers, or on his lips, would absolutely content him and make him hard as hell too.. Let's be honest.

11. How much teasing does he like ?

He likes it very much, but to a certain point. You better manage the man or he will manage you, and ravage you. He's very fond of public teasing, like discreet side eyeing while Tommy or the others are around, stolen kisses at the back of house while no one is watching. That is good teasing to him, a promise that a great time is awaiting for him at night.

12. Hooks up or only partners ?

After Sarah's mother he had multiple hooks up, but since he's with you he wants to be only yours, and of course you should never betray him.

13. How much kissing during sex ?

He simply cannot resist your lips Honey. Most part of the time he could cum while kissing you actually.

14. Favorite place to have sex ?

Bedroom, kitchen (he loves to take you right before you have breakfast, still dizzy from sleep, not even dressed up, probably wearing one of his check shirts, barely covering your intimacy and your breasts)..

15. Would he have sex in public ?

That's something you could ask him, he would probably be turned-on by the getting-caught thing, but since Austin is not a very safe place anymore, he would prefer to make love to you where he feels the safest.

16. Last place he had sex?

His truck, both of you on the driver's seat..

17. Where would he most like to have sex?

His bedroom, or his living room, on the couch after enjoying a nice meal with you.

18. Spontaneous sex or does he need to be in the mood?

Joel is a busy man, worried about everything and everyone to be safe. So you probably will have to hold his face in your hands as he talks about what incautious move Tommy did again today, and crash your lips on his to stop him speaking. That would immediately soothe him and he would take you to his lap, letting you straddle him, a promise of, finally, a nice and intense moment.

19. Would he go for a hookup at a stranger's house?

Before you, yes. Surviving is hard, so he needed to indulge sometimes without any romance involved.

20. Biggest kink?

Don't ask to have mercy if you're wearing a mini-skirt, or a nice summer dress that stops above your knees. He loves those, and above all he loves to fuck you while you keep them on, from the back against a wall.. Pulling your hair back so he can kiss you, his other hand resting on your throat. He would also be likely to dive half of a finger or two too into your mouth while you both are coming. And on top of this.. He would become mad if you let him call you his Babygirl, looking at you sucking those thick digits as cum inside of you.

21. Is he ok with name-calling?

Sometimes. If you've been very taunting in public with him he shall give you what you deserve once at home, and call you once or two.

22. Would he do BDSM?

Probably not. That's not what he really is into..

23. Would he prefer to tie you up or be tied up?

It would grow as a kink for both you for Joel to take you while.. He has your wrists tied behind your back, naked and exposed before him on his bed, at his mercy to fuck as roughly he wants. And he would lose his mind knowing you couldn't do anything but.. Take him. On the other side, Joel would totally let you tie his wrists, also behind his back while you're sitting on his lap, or giving him a nice time. Joel would curl his chest, hovering your head busy to pleasure him, unable to grasp furiously at your hair, nor to guide you to take him deeper.. And that would frustrate him to the utmost, but excite and amuse him for sure.

"Do not dare to think I will let you do this every time, you naughty girl,"

24. Does he like orgasm denial?

He likes you to play with him, but be careful. The man is wild and probably will deny your orgasm at least twice the time you did for him.

25. Does he like overstimulation?

He won't let you play with him too long after he comes, but.. He would love to play with you and make you cum multiple times in a row, holding your thighs tight, curled on his shoulders while he plays unmercifully with you.

26. Does he like pain being involved?

There's enough suffering in his daily life for having painful moments in his bed. The maximum he would do to you would be spanking you.

27. Does he like dirty talk?

Goodness, YES he does. Joel is talker in bed, he just can't help whispering, moaning how much he likes you for being so good to him, so good to fuck and just for him to possess.

28. Does he own sex toys? How many?

He does own a cockring, the one you offered him.. And he loves it to a point that he maybe has used it alone, when thinking of you, desperately missing you.

29. What does he masturbate to?

Memories of you mostly. Of your body framed between the wall of the shower, and him, both naked. And oh, he's terribly demanding when things start to get spicy on the phone, even just through texting. He would even read again your spicy conversations if you're not available, shamefully watching those evocative pictures you have sent him.

30. Multiple rounds or will he settle for one orgasm ?

If his work has spared him some strength, he would probably ravage you so roughly and give in multiple times.. In a row.

31. Does he enjoy giving oral?

Sometimes he would spend an entire night just giving you pleasure Honey, that's what we would call Joel's special. He would switch between being tender, slow, loving and going fast and wild, unmercifully ravaging your bundle of nerves, admirative of the mess on the bed sheets he would be responsible for.

32. Does he prefer giving or receiving oral?

He likes both. Although, he likes his babygirl to take care of him after a long day..

33. What makes him orgasm the fastest ?

Either watching you sucking him, yours eyes dove in his or when you're crying his name as he fucks you ferociously into the matress..

34. Does he like/do anal/pegging?

Nope.

35. Favorite position?

The lazy dog, and missionary are equal tops to him. Being able to ravage you, pounding his hips against you, his burning body laying on your back, pulling your hair and your head back so he can kiss you roughly, desperate to fuck you as deeply as he can.. And of course just being on you, facing you, or both of your faces buried in each others’ neck, sweaty, undone, groaning and screaming your names when reaching the Stars.

36. Does he use protection?

Joel is a careful man and would always ask to use it. Although he would crave to feel you raw around him.. And just make one with you.

37. Does he masturbate with clothes on ?

Yes he does when he thinks of you and misses you so much when you're gone.

38. How does he prefer his partner's hair/grooming?

It's survival here in Austin, so he would absolutely not mind taking you roughly after both of your work days, bodies still sweaty and tired.

39. What does he wear to bed?

Nothing, so his Babygirl can enjoy his scared body right against her, hold him, tickle his hair and kissing him everywhere.

40. What does he like his partner to wear?

Sexy black lingerie would have him hard the second he sees you in it. He would never resist you if you would come to him dressed up like that. He either would back you up against a wall or immediately carry you to his bed, but he would have you right away, sometimes about to rip your underwear in parts.. But he would never do without asking you. He knows about much you like those.

41. Does he like his balls played with?

That's one of his favorite things his babygirl would do to him. That would absolutely drive him crazy if you do so.. While you're giving his manhood a great time.

42. What is his sexuality?

Joel loves women and their bodies. He would kill to be able to enjoy your's all the time Honey. Unless he already had..

43. Does he have extreme or unusual kinks?

Fucking you in the back of his truck, from the back while you're bending before him, on your knees between the seats and gripping at the dashboard. The risk to be seen while fucking you wild drives him mad, Honey. Be aware of this if he offers you a drive.

44. How often does he masturbate ?

As soon as he can, when or if he's not too exhausted. Though he might need a good time to help him fall asleep.

45. Favorite toy?

His.. Member. He's a proud man. Proud of the thickness and the length, and proud of how far it sends you every time.

46. Does he like roleplay?

Yes, God yes. You had dragged him down into this, and he discovered himself in a way he wouldn't have thought of.

47. Any fetishes?

Hair pulling. Oh Lord you better be ready when Joel's about to cum because his strong hands will grasp and pull your hair while his lips are on your mouth, groaning as he pounds furiously into you.. While being on you, or behind you..

48. Aftercare ?

Joel is a kind heart. So even after an exceptionally intense, savage moment with him, he would wait for your body to ease, for you to recover your breath, littering the sweaty skin of your neck with wet and sloppy kisses.

“You okay Babygirl ? Was it good ?”

49. Does he ever go comando ?

If he's alone only with you yes Honey he would, but you would have to be asked to be dressed the same as him, at least.

50. Phone sex?

Oh definitely if he is given some spare time to call you. He would firstly simply be sexting with you, but as time goes on and you get along with each other.. He would beg for you to scream his name on the phone and to not give a fuck about your neighbors. He wants (needs) to hear you crying and screaming to the world you are his.

"Say my name, Babygirl, scream it !"

Yes I was.. Inspired. He is to blame.. I really hope I got him right, feel free to tell me what you thought ! 🫶

Thank you so much for reading ! ✨

Tagging : @evolnoomym @thegreatwicked @crowandmousewritingco @the-mandawhor1an

#reblogging my friends stuff #supporting your friends by reblogging their stuff #damn we all hoes here

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thegreatwicked · 10 months ago

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Chapter Five rewrite! And also reblogging my stuff because I'm worth it, and so I can find more readers! Have a great day everyone!

Unbreakable Bonds:

Chapter Five

Unbreakable Bonds

A novella in the ‘How it Should Have Ended’ Universe.

TheGreatWicked

Summary: In a galaxy where Anakin Skywalker has resisted the dark side and fulfilled his destiny as the Chosen One, the Jedi Order faces a new dawn. With Palpatine's arrest reshaping the galaxy, Anakin steps into the role of a Jedi Master, guiding the Order into a transformative era where the nature of attachments is under scrutiny.

During an urgent council meeting, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi encounters an unexpected and enigmatic young boy waiting outside the chambers. This chance meeting stirs something deep within Obi-Wan, pulling him toward a revelation that threatens to upend the fragile peace the Jedi have fought to rebuild.

As the Jedi Council grapples with the implications of their evolving philosophies and the resurgence of past secrets, the balance of the Force teeters on the edge. The galaxy stands on the brink of profound change, and the shadows of Obi-Wan's concealed past loom large, with the potential to reshape the future of the Jedi and the Force itself.

Pairing: Obi-wan/OFC (Cressida Vox)

Rating: Explicit, depictions of violence and sexual encounters between consenting adults.

Chapter Five: Decisions and Distance

What is the distinction between a Sentinel and a statue?

The statue will crack long before the Sentinel does.

The anecdotal proverb was well known, though Obi-Wan couldn’t recall when he’d first heard it. When he was younger, he had thought it was merely an exaggeration; a caricature of the mysterious Sentinels that so many, knew so little about. However, with age and as his understanding of this secretive sect deepened, he began to see the comparison as less a jest and more a complex reflection of their true nature.

Sentinels were often seen as imposing shadows within the Jedi Order, their presence, when noticed at all, was commanding and their demeanor stoic. Many who stood before them felt a natural urge to shrink back or hurry past. Discovering that Cressida had joined their ranks all those years ago was hardly surprising, even if it had initially caught him off guard.

Yet, what he was looking at now, didn’t match the anecdote at all. The Council sat in their familiar formation, their solemn faces framed by the grand arches overhead, each line of the room drawing the eye inward. Across the polished floor their collective gaze centering on the space where Cressida Vox stood alone. She appeared the epitome of Jedi calm, but the longer Obi-Wan looked, the more he noticed.

Cressida had tells, like anyone else. Not even years of training could completely erase them; insecurities always ran deep. Anyone else looking at her would probably see a confident woman unaffected by the goings on around her.

Not Obi-Wan.

Like all great deceptions, the truth was found in the tiniest things, starting from the ground up. Her feet were shoulder-width apart, creating a strong foundation that appeared unshakable. But as he focused in on her scuffed boots, he saw it: A rolling bump that disappeared and reappeared with no real pattern or timing. She was curling her toes. Like discovering a broken link in armor, he began seeing more signs that belied her anxiousness.

Her hands seemed to rest at her sides, but there was an unnatural rigidity in her fingers that suggested anything but ease. They were locked into a position that only mimicked casualness, and it was her thumbs that gave it away. The way they tucked inward rubbing and tapping against her palms at odd repetitive intervals—a habit she hadn’t outgrown.

Then there was her breathing. The rise and fall of her chest was… off. There was a pause after each inhale. She was holding her breath, and each time she did, it took longer for her to exhale steadily. He wondered if she even knew she was doing it.

Everything about what he was looking at screamed of a facade held together by fraying threads.

He shifted in his seat, redirecting his attention back at Mace, who had been speaking the whole time. Fortunately, Obi-Wan had something of a knack for keeping track of multiple conversations at once, so he hadn’t missed much.

“Sentinel Vox, we recognize that these past few weeks have no doubt been challenging for you and your son, filled with uncertainty and difficult questions. We regret that our decision regarding your son’s future has taken longer than expected. For that, you have this council’s apologies.”

Cressida gave a simple nod, her expression impassive, but once again her nerves were given away by another tell: a tick in her jaw. He didn’t blame her. Most individuals who found themselves standing before the High Council were not there for a positive reason. The Jedi were staunch with praise, and grand gestures were not really in line with the image of humble warrior monks they projected. If not praise or commendation, then the only other reason to be where Cressida stood was they were either waiting for a decision or, worse, to face consequences.

The room felt charged, and the stillness was unbearable. He found himself gripping the armrests of his seat just a little too tightly in a vain attempt to steady his racing thoughts. His absence from the previous meetings meant that he was just in the dark as Cressida was, and it was awful.

“Now, to the matter at hand,” Mace said, with little in the way of emotion. “This has not been an easy decision. Council’s of the past would have denied your son’s admittance to the Order, for several reasons. His age is much older than what is deemed suitable for initiates, we lack the structure to accommodate him. And his attachment to you, his mother, presents challenges. These factors have given us reason for pause.” His voice carried his authoritative hard edge but he wasn’t unsympathetic and that hardness softened for his next query. “If the Council were to deny your son a place here at the temple, what exactly would your plan be?”

“We would leave,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “Solan has a desire to learn and it’s his right. I would continue his training elsewhere to the best of my abilities.”

Obi-Wan’s pulse quickened. The idea of Solan and Cressida walking away from the Order just as he’d discovered their connection was just as devastating as Solan being refused a place there.

“An understandable response.” Mace replied, it was difficult to make any sense of where his thoughts were. “The Clone Wars have weakened our ranks; with disasters like Geonosis still fresh in our minds, we cannot afford to lose even a single Jedi. We must be at all times vigilant and ready for the next threat. If the Order is to survive, we must adapt.”

Cressida stood perfectly still, but her thumbs pressed into her palms, and her breaths grew longer, more deliberate. Obi-Wan’s unease deepened at the sight. He hoped she wasn’t so nervous as to lock her knees, the last thing he wanted was to see her pass out, surely she had more sense than that.

“We have spoken with those who know you well, and confirmed what we can—”

Was Mace drawing this out on purpose? Stars! Just get on with it! Obi-Wan was ready to rip his own hair out and he was fairly certain his fingerprints would be permanently seared into his armrests.

“—and with considerable and insistent input from Master Skywalker—”

Obi-Wan shot a glance at Anakin, who offered a confident nod and his well-worn smirk. He felt his pulse racing, he hated this dreadful suspense. Things like this was exactly the reason he despised politics.

“—It is the decision of this Council that there is no reason that two such exemplary Jedi should not see their son granted the same opportunity as any other youngling.”

The air rushed from the room and though no one spoke or cheered, the atmosphere softened, as if everyone had been hoping for this outcome all along. The approval was more felt than seen, though the varied reactions of several Masters made it quietly clear.

Anakin made no effort to hide his delight. A wide grin split his face, and he sat up straighter, nodding along as if he had never doubted the outcome for a moment.

Master Yoda didn’t smile, but a quiet warmth radiated from him as his hand rested lightly on his walking stick, fingers curling just a little tighter.

Master Ki-Adi-Mundi remained reserved, his expression neutral. As a strict adherent to the rules, if anyone were to push back, Obi-Wan expected it to be him. Yet there was no visible sign of objection.

Obi-Wan released his grip, his fingers had practically been sticking to the metal from perspiration. There was little change in Cressida’s posture aside from a controlled breath she blew out and an almost unnoticeable drop in her shoulders.

“Force-sensitive children have come to the Temple at all ages to hone their connection to the Force, and Solan Cael will be no exception. But,” Mace paused.

And there it was, Obi-Wan thought, the inevitable caveat.

“Just because a favorable outcome has been achieved does not mean the hard work is over. Solan’s path will be a difficult one. At this time, he has no formal training, and his abilities, while evident, remain largely unrefined. His training must be a tailored approach to ensure that he has every advantage and opportunity that can be afforded to him so that he might reach his full potential. That being said, we must speak on how exactly this arrangement will work.”

A surge of defensiveness rose in Obi-Wan at the mention of Solan’s lack of training— though he wasn’t sure if it was for Solan or Cressida’s sake. But deep down, he knew Mace wasn’t wrong. As it faded, it gave way to curiosity. He had to admit that he’d wondered himself how they might navigate such an unusual situation. Solan couldn’t be placed with a clan like other younglings, would he stay with his mother? Would they all cohabitate together?

“Solan will have to prove that he’s capable. Therefore, he will be required to pass the Initiate Trials just as any other youngling would.”

Well, now, that wasn’t so unreasonable, and Obi-Wan nodded in agreement. It had been a while since the Trials had taken place, postponed by the needs of the war.

“Cressida, it is unreasonable to expect you to remove yourself from Solan’s life; such an abrupt change would cause more harm than good. Therefore, he will remain under your guardianship and stay with you. However, I want to make one thing clear–” He leaned forward, his finger raised in emphasis. “you are not, and will never be, your son’s Master.”

Her composed demeanor faltered for a fraction of a second, as if grappling with a change she hadn’t fully embraced. It was in that small retreat, that soft exhale, the beginning of a new distance forming between her and Solan. She offered Mace a singular nod in lieu of any words that might betray her feelings.

“As a Jedi and a mother, no role is of greater importance than the other, but your duties must remain a priority, and you will continue to serve the Council of First Knowledge, ” Mace continued. “You cannot be in two places at once and Solan will need more than your guidance alone as he steps into this new chapter. His training, his development, will require both strength and balance. You’ll need a partner in this—someone to support Solan in your absence, and you as well.” Mace paused, allowing the weight of his words to linger before his gaze shifted past her, landing on Obi-Wan. “Master Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan rose to his feet, surprised to find his legs steady beneath him. His hands found each other behind his back, the dampness of his palms hidden beneath the fabric of his robes. He stepped forward, positioning himself beside Cressida, acutely aware of the gap between them. Outwardly, he was composed—standing tall, shoulders squared—but beneath that facade, an uneasy tremor rippled through him.

Mace looked from Cressida to Obi-Wan. “Obi-Wan, no one would begrudge you if you chose to step away from this situation.” Cressida stiffened, her eyes darting around the room like a panicked creature seeking an escape. Was she honestly afraid of such a reaction? “One does not simply wake up one morning to a ten-year-old son and adapt to such a change overnight. But the Council hopes you will embrace this new role as any other. What say you?”

All eyes turned to Obi-Wan, and the quiet in the room felt fragile. He barely registered the stillness as he locked eyes with Mace and cleared his throat. Drawing on the poise that earned him the nickname ‘the Great Negotiator,’ he spoke with the confidence he hoped would reassure them both.

“There was a time during the chaos of war when I told Anakin that teaching is a privilege. While I never expected to find myself in such a position, I would be remiss to decline the chance to grow as both a Jedi and an individual.” Obi-Wan paused and drew in a deep breath so that his words were firm and steady. “I accept my duty and responsibility as Solan’s father, and I will, of course, offer my unwavering support to Cressida from this moment forward.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of emotion in Cressida’s expression—a blend of relief and quiet happiness. It was his first true acknowledgment of his role as Solan’s father. As if drawn by an invisible thread, she turned her head just slightly to meet his gaze. The corners of her lips tugged upward into a small smile.

Mace, seemingly pleased enough with the response, looked to the doors, and with a soft hiss, they slid open. Obi-Wan felt his breath hitch in his chest. He hadn’t seen his son since the first meeting three and a half weeks ago, and in that time, the boy had consumed his thoughts. Then suddenly, there he was.

Solan hesitated at the threshold, glancing between the imposing temple guards flanking the Council Chamber. They loomed like silent statues, their watchful eyes fixed on him. He moved slowly as he edged past them, his shoulders curling inward as if trying to make himself so small that they wouldn’t notice him. But such a thing was an impossibility; nothing escaped their vigilant gaze.

The moment he stepped beyond their reach, his pace quickened—not a run, not quite a jog, but the hurried movement of someone eager to escape the shadow of a dark corner. Obi-Wan didn’t blame him; he’d seen that same quiet nervousness in countless others. The guards simply had that effect.

Solan’s eyes found his mother, a sense of refuge seemed to wash over him. He didn’t break into a smile, but his shoulders dropped, and his gait relaxed as he approached. It was then that he finally registered Obi-Wan’s presence beside Cressida.

Their gazes locked, and Obi-Wan found himself drawn into the most mesmerizing pair of eyes he’d ever seen. One glimmered a vivid oceanic blue, reminiscent of his own, while the other softened in a soft grey that mirrored the clouds in his mother’s eyes—so different yet so closely related, creating a unique harmony that was both striking and beautiful.

Solan’s posture tensed again, and his steps slowed so much that it reminded Obi-Wan of a cat assessing something unfamiliar and dangerous in its path. The way their bodies slunk closer to the ground, they never took their eyes off the possible predator, and they moved cautiously. That was how Solan was looking at him.

It was different between them now.

Now that they both knew the truth, the resemblance between them stood out more than ever. The subtle details he hadn’t noticed before, sharper and more clear. Solan’s hair was worn a little longer than Obi-Wans but undeniably similar in texture and color. Anakin’s voice echoed in his mind; ‘he definitely has your nose’—and indeed, Obi-Wan saw it now. That familiar narrow curve, though Solan’s lacked the small bump on the bridge that Obi-Wan had from a long healed break. It was hard to tell but it looked like Solan even had a small cleft in his chin like Obi-Wan.

It was something of an awkward standoff, to say the least, so Obi-Wan did the only thing he could do—he smiled at Solan. Its effect was almost instantaneous, and the boy’s lips curled into a smile in return as he came to stand by Cressida’s side. His shoulders straightened, his chin lifted, as he mimicked his mother’s steady, composed mannerisms—like he’d watched her and learned to stand tall when it mattered most.

But like his mother, his attempts at an outwardly calm facade were not without their flaws; the boy’s fingers fidgeted subtly behind his back. And Obi-Wan caught the telltale curl of his toes in his boots—the same sign of nerves that Cressida herself betrayed when she was uneasy.

Solan was nervous, too.

“How are you, Solan?” Mace asked, his posture relaxing as he leaned forward elbows on his legs, putting Solan at ease, though whether he did it on purpose or was unconsciously was anyone’s guess. The Jedi Master could make grown men of many species and walks of life feel small, yet children seemed unbothered by his presence.

Solan shifted slightly as he looked around and shrugged. “I’ve been really bored, Master Windu," he confessed, his frankness causing a round of chuckles and amusement from the Council, Mace included. "It’s hard being patient, but Mom says I need to have grace and trust the Council because you only have my best interests at heart. I’m still really bored, though. I really want to start training.”

Mace nodded, perhaps remembering what it was to be so young and full of energy with nothing to do. "Your mother speaks from a place of wisdom, Solan. Patience is indeed a virtue for any Jedi. Though I admit, it is no small task for someone your age, especially given your circumstances. And I know it’s been difficult, and I apologize for keeping you waiting so long.”

“It’s ok, I understand.”

Obi-Wan and Mace shared a look of surprise. “You understand?” Mace echoed.

Solan rocked back and forth from his heels to his toes several times. “I’m not a normal youngling," he said, glancing at his mother. "My path… won’t be the same as others, no matter what the Council decides.”

There was a resignation in the way Solan spoke, like he had already made peace with the possibility that he might not have a place within the Temple walls. Obi-Wan flexed his hand; he struggled with the desire to reach out to place a reassuring hand on Solan’s shoulder, but he held back. Somehow it didn’t feel like it was his place to comfort him, not yet.

“So you understand why the Council had to take its time in our deliberations?” Mace asked.

Solan nodded, “Mom says the biggest decisions in life boil down to doing what’s right versus what’s easy, and sometimes it’s hard for people to know which is which.”

“What is right and what is easy…” Mace mused, nodding along with an admiration that very few were privy to. “What do you feel is the right course of action?”

Solan shrugged. “I dunno, Master Windu. I’ve thought about it a lot. What I would do if the Council decided I couldn’t be a Jedi, and I’m not really sure what I would do.” The brightness in his eyes dimmed a bit, and he looked up at his mother before continuing. “Mom says if the answer is no, then she’ll teach me herself, but I think it would be better for me to learn and grow with people like me.” Solan looked back at Mace and huffed out a heavy sigh. “I’m not sure what the right decision is, Master Windu, but we still have to make one.”

Mace straightened, his eyebrows arching in surprise. Obi-Wan looked down at Solan with a grin, pride swelling in his chest as he marveled at the boy’s maturity, struggling to reconcile the ten-year-old before him with the sage-like wisdom that flowed from his lips.

"You speak with an insight beyond your years, Solan." Mace’s index finger tapped on his armrest several times in contemplation. "Tell me, Solan, do you still wish to become a Jedi?"

"I’m ready to try, Master Windu."

“Try?” Mace echoed, a playful glint dancing in his eyes.

Solan shrugged again, biting the inside of his cheek before speaking. “Just because I have visions of futures that could be, doesn’t mean I know what’s going to happen for sure. But I do know that if I don’t try, then nothing will happen.”

This brought a full-fledged smile to Mace’s face, and a chuckle rumbled in his chest. It was hard not to be moved by Solan’s optimism.

“I understand you are quite fond of stories, Solan.” Solan nodded, and there was a little bounce of excitement in his toes. “Then I have one I think you’ll enjoy. This Council once saw another young boy like yourself standing before us many years back. He, too, was naturally very gifted with the force, and many saw great potential in him,” He looked past Solan for a moment before returning to the story. “Some hesitated to see him begin training because, like you, he too came from outside our Temple walls. He was very close to his mother. His life had not been easy—he had been born a slave— and some feared the consequences of training him."

Solan looked from Mace to his mother and back as if seeking confirmation that she, too, was hearing the same thing he was. She smiled and nodded forward back to Master Windu, gesturing for him to listen.

“He was deemed too old to start training, lacking the formal instruction typical of younger initiates. Known for his impulsive nature, he made no effort to conceal his feelings, which further set him apart from others. The Jedi who brought him before the Council was a wise man, and was deeply convinced of the boy's potential. But he had a penchant for interpreting things in his own way, which led to disagreements with the Council. Yet he believed the boy had a greater purpose than simply podracing in the desert. When this Master died, the boy’s fate was uncertain, he was directionless and vulnerable and some thought it might be best to return him to his mother in the desert.”

Solan’s fingers twitched with anticipation. His toes were permanently curled in his boots. He leaned forward as Mace spoke, hanging on every word.

“But there was one who was resolute that he should be trained. He was determined to see the boy as a Jedi, no matter the obstacles. Under this Jedi’s tutelage the boy grew to be a wise, compassionate Jedi Master. A brave and cunning warrior. Today he sits among this council, and it was your father who trained him.”

Solan's mouth was now hanging completely open, and he looked to Obi-Wan; Obi-Wan looked as humble as any could, bowing his head. He was grateful for his beard because he was fairly certain he felt the warmth of a blush creeping up his ears. Whether it was from the praise, the way Solan looked at him with awe, or the fact that Cressida was looking at him too was anyone’s guess. Obi-Wan turned and looked behind him, and Solan followed his father’s line of sight to where Anakin Skywalker sat proudly. He offered a nod to Obi-Wan and a roguish wink to Solan.

With a mix of admiration and excitement coursing through him, Solan looked back at Obi-Wan, unable to contain his wonder.

“It wasn’t an easy journey for Master Skywalker. He proved himself through his dedication and his actions.” Mace paused, casting a glance at Anakin, and an unspoken understanding passed between them. “He proved this Council wrong.”

Obi-Wan felt a warmth spread through him as he recalled his and Anakin’s triumphs and struggles. It was gratifying to be vindicated in such a way; Anakin certainly deserved his moment in the sun and Obi-Wan was proud of the man his Padawan had grown into. As he looked at Solan, he could see a similar future taking shape.

“You mentioned when we first met that you worried for your mother’s well-being due to the circumstances of your birth.” Solan’s smile fell and he grabbed his mother’s hand tightly positioning himself more firmly in front of her, a small but determined shield. Mace held up a pacifying hand. “I promised you then that no punishment would fall on your mother, and I mean to keep my word. She did nothing wrong, nor did your father, and most certainly neither have you. Your mother will face no consequences. Her strength and dedication to your well-being is to be admired.”

Solan smiled at Mace and blew out a breath of relief. “We find ourselves in unique times, and as the galaxy changes, the Jedi must adapt. Therefore, it is the decision of this Council that you be permitted to begin training as a Jedi immediately under the supervision of your parents.”

Solan's face split into a wide smile as he took in Mace's words, still clutching his mother’s hand and shaking it with happiness. He looked back and smiled at her brightly before looking at Obi-Wan with the same excitement, all but hopping up and down like a grasshopper. The Council members remained largely unresponsive but several members smiled with Solan.

"When your parents believe you are ready, you will undertake the Initiate Trials. These trials will test your skills, your character, and your connection to the Force. Should you pass, you will be eligible for a Jedi to take you as their Padawan."

The air around Solan felt as though it was vibrating, and he nodded along with Mace’s words, overwhelmed into a sort of speechlessness.

"But know this, young one—the path of a Jedi is not easy. Yours will be harder than most. You will need to train twice as hard, remain steadfast, and avoid giving in to fear or anger. Are you prepared for this challenge?"

“Yes! I am! I’m ready! When do we start? Can we start now?” Solan asked eagerly, his answers and questions all tumbling out in one long sentence.

Mace tried to keep a straight face but it was proving difficult with Solan’s enthusiasm.“There may be times you will want to give up. Your journey will demand great strength and resilience from you. You have your parents to guide you, and the Council has faith in you."

Solan straightened his back and his arms snapped to his sides. "I won't let you down, I promise!”

Mace nodded approvingly. "Very well, Solan Cael. Good luck.” The relief in the room was palpable, but there was one more thing to be addressed. The Wampa in the room. “There remains one final matter to address before we conclude.”

Obi-Wan shifted his stance, glancing briefly at Cressida and to his surprise she was looking back at him. He wanted to take a step closer to her but he wasn’t sure if it was for his benefit or hers so he chose to stay where he was. What good was a pillar of strength if it swayed?

“Regarding the relationship between Master Kenobi and Cressida Vox.” Mace looked back and forth between Obi-Wan and Cressida as if assessing for something. “We cannot ignore the potential risks of attachments in complicated dynamics such as these, as they have long been a point of concern within the order. However, it’s also true that the Force often moves in ways we don’t expect. There are always paths forward. Master Skywalker has shown us that it’s possible to overcome such struggles when the stakes are high.”

Obi-Wan fought the urge to look back at Anakin.

“The Jedi Code does not forbid emotions, but it demands discipline over them. We do not pass judgment on how you choose to spend your time or how you approach your responsibilities regarding your son. Nor do we question the bond you both share as parents. What matters most now is your ability to work together for Solan’s benefit. To do this you must communicate and put whatever differences or indifferences you have aside. There is no reason to believe that both of you cannot navigate this challenge. We expect nothing less. ”

He paused, his gaze now focusing on Solan. “Change is an inevitable part of life, and only through adaptation can the Jedi Order endure for another thousand years. In times of great upheaval, it is not weakness to seek guidance when needed. No one expects you to face this alone. The Council remains a resource, should either of you find yourselves uncertain.” There was an unmistakable message beneath his words—a reminder that they would be watched carefully, but also that they had the Council’s trust. “We wish you three success in this endeavor. May the Force be with you. The Council’s business of this matter is concluded until further notice.”

As the Council members began to rise, the formality of the moment ended. The room shifted from solemn to something warmer, more human. Solan, unable to contain himself any longer, threw his arms around his mother, his excitement bubbling over in unrestrained laughter. Cressida staggered back a step, momentarily thrown back by the small force of their son, before wrapping him in a tight embrace. A radiant smile lit up her face—one that Obi-Wan hadn’t seen since… well, since a long time ago.

“What did I tell you, Starlight? Nothing to worry about.” She said, a far gentle version of ‘I told you so.’

“You were right mom! Now we can stay! I can’t believe it! I’m gonna be a Jedi!”

“All in due time, Solan. First things first,” The sight of it should have filled him with relief. With joy. But instead, a heavy weight settled in his chest as Solan's jumping calmed and Cressida looked him in the eye. "We should talk."

It was the first time she spoke to him, truly spoke to him. Solan stood beside them, brimming with happiness about the next chapter in his life about to unfold and the people he would spend it with.

The feeling of dread crept in, the same dread he had felt since the Council had first broached this matter. Their past—unresolved, complicated—could not simply be set aside.

“Yes, of course.” He replied with a tightness in his words.

He hadn’t known the decision of the Council until just now, but somehow, even if he did, he wasn’t sure it would have prepared for the moment. Now, it was upon him, time to discuss how this would work. He suddenly felt very ill-equipped for this conversation. Heat rose up in his chest, he felt his palms growing sweaty, he needed a way out. He needed space to breathe, to think.

"–Unfortunately, it will have to wait just a bit longer, I’m afraid. I have some matters I need to attend to first."

"Later then." Cressida agreed with an empty nod.

Obi-Wan placed a hand on Solan's shoulder, trying to comfort him, but the gesture felt somewhat robotic and distant. Solan managed to muster a faint smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. Obi-Wan was quick to excuse himself, his robes billowing behind him with each step. Leaving Cressida and Solan standing there in the empty chamber; the air of excitement gone. Solan looked utterly crestfallen as if the balloon of happiness in his chest had deflated.

"I'm sorry, Solan," Cressida said, brushing the hair out of his face.

“It's okay, Mom. I just thought that maybe he–” Solan shook his head and looked at the ground. “Never mind." His voice trailed off, but the disappointment lingered. "Can we go for a run?"

"Of course."

Master Kenobi wasn’t one to avoid challenges; he faced them head-on, armed with fearlessness and a wit sharp enough to put any blade to shame. But in the days following the latest council meeting Obi-Wan had become unusually elusive. For those who knew him well, this was most certainly out of character.

So what was different now?

Everything.

This wasn’t like anything he’d ever faced before. There were no battles to fight, no enemies to confront, in fact, there wasn’t even an enemy—only a ten-year-old boy and a conversation that was just as long in the making.

How was he even supposed to begin? Where was he supposed to begin? What could he say to Cressida? What would she say to him? He couldn’t imagine she’d be terribly happy with him after avoiding this for several days, his excuses to put this meeting off were shallow and transparent, at best. It wasn’t as if there was a war out there to win. He never thought he’d miss the chaos of battle…

He had a bit to explain and even more to make up for, of that much he was certain. He paused mid-step as a rather obscure thought entered his mind: Would she be angry with him for getting her pregnant in the first place? Though that wasn’t entirely his fault. Not that Solan was a negative consequence by any means, but it certainly took two to waltz, didn’t it?

Cressida would have taken precautions, wouldn’t she? Some sort of contraception? He was, admittedly, a bit ignorant on the subject. Though, it wasn’t as though he had asked… He had been preoccupied with… other things. Like the warmth of her skin against his. The taste of her lips. The way she whispered his name and trembled at his touch—

Stars.

How did he get himself into this mess? He was smarter than this—at least, he thought he was.

Would she be angry with him? He shuddered at the thought. He’d never been on the receiving end of Cressida’s temper; few people had. But if it was anything like he suspected, he might need to brace himself for a storm colder than the ice caves of Ilum.

He continued trying to navigate the labyrinth of thoughts in his head. At multiple points, he’d even taken notes—bullet points about things he wanted to discuss or questions he had. But in the end, he’d scrapped them all, realizing there was no real way to prepare for this conversation. It would have to begin by acknowledging that night.

How could they move forward without addressing it?

He didn’t know, but eventually Obi-Wan found himself walking through the halls toward one of the lecture rooms where younglings gathered for their lessons. His mind had been so preoccupied with the upcoming conversation that he barely registered his surroundings until it hit him all at once—he had arrived.

Stepping into the room, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. The familiar tapestries lined the walls, the ancient scrolls, the worn mats on the floors and the subtle scent of incense lingered in the air mixed with the aroma of… something else. Something foreign and sterile. He shook his head, perhaps the cleaning droids had just come through.

Fuzzy memories of his own time as a youngling flooded his mind—countless hours had been spent here. A low-powered training saber in his hands, honing his skills under the watchful gaze of Jedi Masters. There had always been comfort in the routine back then, a simplicity to those early lessons.

But nothing was simple anymore. Oh well, simplicity was for cowards, time to rip the bacta patch off.

In the center of the room, Cressida was waiting with her back to him, fixating on something in her hands. For a moment, his nerves flared. They hadn’t been alone together in any fashion since that night. In fact, he couldn’t even remember the last words they’d spoken, outside of that instance.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

As he stepped closer, Obi-Wan’s eyes fell on the object that had captured Cressida’s attention. She was holding a small metal object—one of the simple devices used to teach younglings basic control over the Force. A miniature speeder, designed to hover and move with the guidance of a child’s thoughts. It was such a small thing, yet so pivotal in their lives and he smiled when he saw it. He remembered the struggle well: the hours spent trying to move it even an inch, the frustration, all over something so seemingly insignificant but so monumental to a youngling’s progress.

The little speeder floated in Cressida’s palm, lazily making circles in the air. There was something so endearing about the sight. A Jedi Knight—playing with the very same device that had once reduced them both to tears.

And just like that, all the tension he had carried with him, the nerves that had knotted his stomach for days, seemed to melt away. In that moment, she wasn’t the woman whose anger he feared, or the mother of a son he’d never expected to have —she was simply Cressida. The person who, once upon a time, had been his safe place.

Warm. Steady. Familiar.

"It's been a while since I've seen one of these." She said, turning the little speeder over in her hands like she was making a study of it.

He clasped his hands firmly behind his back as was his habit when he didn’t know what to do with them.

"Indeed. It feels like a lifetime ago since we were younglings learning the ways of the Force in this very room. Nervous, excited, afraid." He wasn't sure if he was talking about the past or their present, though, he supposed it didn't matter. The emotions were still very much the same.

Cressida chuckled softly, her fingers gently tracing the contours of the speeder. "I made something like this for Solan once."

“Oh?” Obi-Wan asked.

She nodded, a fond smile tugging at her lips. “Clay was hard to come by; the planet was too dry, and we couldn't spare the water. But I managed to gather some runoff from one of the factories to make it. It turned out hard and brittle, staining my hands a bright orange for a week. It took hours, and to be honest, my skills were rather lacking.” She let out a laugh, a mix of breath and amusement. “The first time he tried to make it fly, it smashed right into a wall and shattered to pieces. He was three.”

The image of Solan’s cheeks stained in tears, so distraught over such a simple mishap, tugged at Obi-Wan's heart. He could just see Solan holding up the broken pieces for Cressida to fix sniffling in despair, and what she described–down to her Togruta-like orange hands. It made him smile.

“Poor babe cried rivers. It took me ages to console him. I promised we’d make another one together and try again.”

He looked at the ground, he wasn’t sure why. She was doing it again, curling her toes within her boots.

”May I?" he asked, holding out his hand expectantly. Cressida held the speeder out to him, and he felt a surge of excitement. Focusing his thoughts, the speeder lifted, hovering a few inches above their hands. It moved gently, responding to his guidance. “This room has seen many dramatic chases and desperately heroic dogfights.”

He remembered how heavy the little speeder had felt when all he could use to lift it was his mind; at the time, it seemed as impossible as raising a life-sized starship. It took a little bit to master the art of miniature flight and it wasn’t without its trials. He wondered if Solan was like him and if, in frustration after several failed attempts, he had ever hurled a toy at the ground in a fit of anger.

"Back when we all wanted to be fighter pilots and the galaxy seemed so large." Her insinuation that the galaxy was in fact, not so large, was comical. If anything the galaxy was larger now than it had been then.

“Did it take him very long to become proficient?”

“About four days. More than a few ships met rather destructive ends when they crashed into the floor,” She chuckled. “He hurled one at the ground when he got frustrated, but in his defense, he was quite tired. Little boys get rather cranky when they need a nap.”

Well, that answered that question.

”Once a nap was had though, he took to it quite well and we soon had a whole fleet of clay starships.” Obi-Wan could see it now; bright orange Destroyers, Assault ships, Gunships and Starfighters. What little boy didn’t love playing with ships and going on grand adventures? A quiet moment enveloped them, their thoughts drawing closer until it felt as if they almost touched. “He gets it from you, Obi-Wan. The ability to connect with the Force so effortlessly.”

Her words stirred a mix of emotions within him as the little speeder hovered between them. The warmth of the complement wrapped around him, filling the space with an ease he hadn’t felt in ages.

“I apologize for putting this off,” he began, the need to acknowledge his actions bubbling to the surface.

Cressida waved it off.. “No need to apologize. You have many responsibilities as a Council member. Solan understands, too.”

Her compassion was almost unbearable. She was being far too kind for his comfort—far too understanding. He had expected her to be upset, but instead, she seemed surprisingly accommodating. While he was grateful for her kindness, it felt like it was time to address the Wampa in the room: them.

Their connection dated back to when they were nearly Solan's age—bright-eyed and eager Padawans. Years of friendship, shared histories involving their Masters, and the heartache they both endured after losing their mentors had woven an intricate tapestry of familiarity between them. And then one night it all changed.

The memory was etched into his mind with a clarity that transcended time. Back then, he had been a young, newly knighted Jedi, suddenly overwhelmed by the responsibility of training a prodigious young Anakin Skywalker—a boy the same age as his son was now.

He had felt lost, sitting in his Master’s old quarters draped in Qui-Gon’s oversized robe, adrift in a sea of sorrow. So heavy with despair and hopelessness, but then, she had appeared. Despite having had no word from her in two years she pulled him from the depths of his heartache.

Their conversation had shifted from shared laughter over old stories, to shared disgust over the strange root stew Qui-Gon favoredm. Then, in a blink, Cressida had found her way into his arms, clinging to him as he had clung to her.

Her touch had been a balm against his wounded heart, a soothing salve for his pain. It had been a night of a hundred kisses—some hungry, some sad, some wildly passionate—each one imbued with need and longing. Cressida’s understanding of the pain of losing a Master had forged an unbreakable bond between them. For those precious hours, he had experienced a wholeness, a sense of being desired and needed like never before. It had been wonderful and overwhelming at the same time. They had fallen asleep, naked and exhausted in one another's arms, safe and warm.

For a brief moment, the world around them faded, and it felt as if time had stretched into eternity. But morning arrived too soon, and with it, she slipped away. Leaving behind only a lingering warmth and a memory that, somehow in the subsequent years, he managed to forget entirely.

Snapping out of his reverie, Obi-Wan returned to the present, where Cressida was maneuvering the speeder through intricate loops in the air. He didn’t even realize she called the speeder back to her. Performing acrobatics that none of them, as younglings, could have ever dreamed of achieving. He watched the speeder make a series of figure eights and then a barrel roll before hovering back over her palm. He could properly see her now that he wasn’t actively avoiding her. Time had etched its marks, yet her beauty remained as captivating as it had been when he last saw her.

Her eyes still possessed a mesmerizing quality, her smile could illuminate even the darkest corners of the galaxy. However, her smiles had become rarer, less vibrant than they had been before the loss of her Master. They never quite regained their full brilliance.

"Cressidal, I know that–”

She turned to face him so sharply that it startled him, the speeder falling to her hand like the engines had lost propulsion. Her fingers closed around it, grounding the little ship.

"–Solan struggles with communicating when he's frustrated." She cut in a little too quick. Was that a tremor in her voice? “The more he struggles, the less he talks,”

He could see the quick shift in her eyes as she focused intently on Solan’s training as if this was the only thing that mattered now. For the briefest moment, he wondered—was she as uncertain, as fearful of this conversation as he was?

“It’s important to keep encouraging him, especially when he retreats inward. He’s eager to impress you, more than you know. And that means he’s going to push himself too hard, overextend, become overly emotional, and make mistakes that he normally wouldn’t. It's not because he isn't disciplined or that he lacks focus. Far from it, when he sets his mind to something, he won’t rest until he perfects his craft or he slips into exhaustion, you have to all but drag him away from what he's doing. He can be a very stubborn boy.”

Where might he have gotten that trait from?

He pushed the joke aside, now wasn’t the time. This was serious. For a moment, he considered interrupting her. He’d intended to start with the beginning but perhaps that was too difficult for her, he certainly understood that. It wasn’t as if he knew what he had hoped to say about it anyway, or what could even be said after so long. Still, something about her avoidance gnawed at him.

Like something shimmering just out of sight, an absurdly self-conscious thought crossed his mind. What if she looked back on that night with regret or, worse, indifference? What if it hadn’t been as good for her as it had been for him? The idea struck him like a bolt out of nowhere, and the mild panic it stirred made him inwardly cringe. An odd thing for him to focus on right now…

Pay attention, Obi-Wan! He chastised himself as Cressida’s voice pulled him back.

“His meditation skills are strong—one of the few things we’ve been able to focus on extensively. He leans on it whenever he feels overwhelmed. It’s how he pulls himself back together after a difficult day, and I’ve found it helps him regulate his more… unique abilities.”

Of course. Solan had unique abilities, as he had demonstrated that day in the council chamber, and he’d been brimming with questions at the time.

“Yes, you mentioned something during the council meeting about dreams,” he said, eager to shift his mind to practical matters that he understood. “When did that start?”

Cressida nodded. “Yes. The dreams started when he was about six, and they’ve been unpredictable and intense but a fairly uncommon occurrence.” A critical look came over their face as the depths of her eyes darkened with shame, “At first, I dismissed them as simple bad dreams and a little boy’s imagination— I was wrong.” She looked disappointed with herself.

“You couldn’t have known-”

“–But I should have. How could they be only dreams with parents like us? Either way, it’s no excuse.” She cleared her throat and continued, “When he was nine, he started getting them when he was awake. Sometimes they’re visions, but more often, they’re fragmented and difficult to make sense of. When they’re especially vivid, they can leave him with headaches or feeling drained for hours after. His psychometry is more reliable, but since it’s tied to his emotions when he’s struggling and anxious, the simplest object can reach through to him. There have been times he’s picked up something as simple as a rock and immediately become overwhelmed, thrown up, and passed out, among other things. I’ve tried to help him manage them, but admittedly, I’m no expert, and I wasn’t able to do much to—”

“I have no doubts you did everything in your power to help him. Jedi with visions don’t grow out of them, they grow into them.” Obi-Wan insisted.

She paused for a moment, nodding appreciatively. "And there are gaps in his training, of course. We haven’t had the most consistent environment... but where there are holes, you’ll find he’s also quite adept at certain things for his age.”

Cressida's face lit up with a slight smile when she spoke about Solan's excitement for lightsaber combat. Obi-Wan was surprised to learn that Solan was familiar with all seven forms of lightsaber combat, though he was far from mastering any.

“It was all theoretical, of course. Lightsaber training was something we couldn’t really practice, so he’s eager to begin that. He’s very calculated and I think he has a disposition for form three-“

“Soresu?”

“Your specialty.” She confirmed. “When he’s comfortable, when he feels safe, he’s a quick learner. He just needs to know you’re there to help, not to judge him.”

“I would never presume to judge him—or you–”

"–Personal stories help him focus," Cressida added, cutting him off once again. What was this wall she was putting up? "He responds well to relatable experiences, especially when they’re relevant to what he’s trying to learn. It gives him a sense of connection and purpose but he can also get a little too wrapped up in stories and adventures so you’ll have to keep him on track."

Right, stories as teaching tools but don’t let him get carried away. Anakin hadn’t been so different. He filed away each detail she gave him; it would all be crucial to Solan’s training, but that was something Obi-Wan had already learned well with Anakin.

And like Anakin, It was clear that, despite the patchwork nature of his training, his son had immense potential. Cressida had done more than he could have expected and he’d been unprepared for the depth of information she was relaying to him. It all came so fast.

She talked with her hands and paced enough so that Obi-Wan was constantly turning to face her or to keep up with her, it felt like they made laps around the room. Each movement and gesture was fluid and animated, drawing him into her words. Occasionally, her speech would slow as if she were trying to remember something crucial, she’d snap her fingers trying to summon the thought before deciding to abandon it and move on. Other times, she would stare off into the horizon leaving Obi-Wan curious as to what caught her attention before she’d pick right back up again. Each word was like a thread, stitching together a tapestry of wisdom and it was all so much to take in but parts of it reminded him of his early days with Anakin. It left him almost feeling a bit dizzy.

A nagging thought lingered at the back of his mind, something screaming to be remembered. But it was drowned out until like sand slipping through his fingers.

As the conversation drew to a close, they had sorted out the basics of how things would proceed, times to meet, topics to discuss and a general understanding of how to work together. There would obviously room for improvements to be made, but some things could only be discovered through experience. Though he wished he’d brought a data pad with him, no matter, he would remember. He hoped.

“This has been most instructive. I appreciate your help with all of this," Obi-Wan said, trying to convey his gratitude as he looked to the little speeder which obediently returned back to his outstretched hand.

He had missed so much in his son's life and how he approached training would be almost as important as the training itself. For the first time, he felt ready.

“Tell me, what kind of pilot is our son?” He asked curiously as he held the toy in his hand. Making it fly by swinging it around in the air without the use of the Force.

Yet, no response came. He turned around, only to find that Cressida had vanished, her presence fleeting as a passing breeze. The warmth instantly vanished, and Obi-Wan’s chest fell as he stood alone in the training room, clutching the toy and grappling with the weight of a bittersweet memory.

Chapter Six

Alright, we got some Obi-wan/Cressida time! How do you guys think he's handling it so far? How about Cressida? Like that little preview of their night??? I'm working on their one shot right now what do you guys think are young Obi-wans kinks??? How about Cressida??? But more importantly I need your guys input on this one; should there be big drama in Obi-wan and Cressida getting through this next bit or should we give these poor kids a break and make it smooth sailing? Lord knows this guy needs a break but sometimes you need to learn hard lessons before things get better. And Cressida isn't innocent of all this, our poor girl has got some serious 'I don't need no man, I'll do it myself but holy hell that man is sex on a stick' issues... Let me know what you guys think, because this was my last prepared chapter! Updates from here on out will be written as I can so I need your input! Thanks for tuning in again guys, especially you @heyhawtdawgs @pickleprickle If you'd like to make my tag list then let me know! And keep those tags coming!

#reblogging my stuff so it finds more readers #reblogging my stuff because i'm worth it

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thegreatwicked · 10 months ago

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Please do!!! Please talk to me!!

Hey, can y’all rb this if it’s okay to send you messages asking about your ocs, cause on god I wanna interact with y’all but I am terrified of being annoying lol

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thegreatwicked · 10 months ago

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With me behind the wheel...

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thegreatwicked · 10 months ago

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Chapter four rewrite and if you liked the first version you should give this a re-read because I dropped some... NEW CONTENT!!!!

Umbreakable Bonds: Chapter Four

Unbreakable Bonds

A novella in the ‘How it Should Have Ended’ Universe.

TheGreatWicked

Summery: In a galaxy where Anakin Skywalker has resisted the dark side and fulfilled his destiny as the Chosen One, the Jedi Order faces a new dawn. With Palpatine's arrest reshaping the galaxy, Anakin steps into the role of a Jedi Master, guiding the Order into a transformative era where the nature of attachments is under scrutiny.

Pairing: Obi-wan/OFC (Cressida Vox)

Rating: Explicit, depictions of violence and sexual encounters between consenting adults.

Chapter Four: Battles Within

“Get up, we’re going to spar.”

Obi-Wan blinked, trying to focus his bleary eyes as though it might somehow help him process Anakin’s words as his former Padawan barged right in. It was too early for this. He hadn’t been expecting company, and he certainly wasn’t dressed for it. Still in his rumpled sleeping clothes, hair tousled and beard uncharacteristically scruffy, he felt decidedly un-Jedi-like.

“No, Anakin, please do come in… Because apparently, the concept of privacy is just a myth around here…” Obi-Wan muttered dryly, watching as Anakin plucked a shuura fruit from the small table.

With an exaggerated flourish, Anakin took a huge, messy bite, juice dribbling down his chin. Obi-Wan suppressed a wince.

“Help yourself,” he added, taking a seat, one leg crossed over the other at the knee, feigning disinterest.

“Thanks, I knew you wouldn’t mind,” Anakin replied, flashing a grin as he chewed obnoxiously.

A rational person might have knocked before entering, asked to sit, or at least started the conversation with a polite, “Good morning, Master Kenobi. Care for some breakfast and tea?” Or perhaps, “How are you faring today? I’ve come to check on your well-being.” But Anakin Skywalker was not ‘most people.’

Obi-Wan settled into his chair waiting for his former Padawan to explain himself. As Anakin finished his ridiculously large bite, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but wonder how Padmé found this charming. Perhaps Anakin behaved better around her. He could only hope for her sake.

For a moment, the only sound was Anakin chewing, quite loudly.

“Did you come to raid my breakfast, or was there something on your mind?” Obi-Wan asked, resting his head on his hand and raising an eyebrow.

“Both, actually,” Anakin replied, taking another sloppy bite of the fruit’s golden skin, slurping up more juice in a way that made Obi-Wan’s eye twitch. “But mostly sparring.”

Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Anakin or that he was bothered by his presence—far from it. After the last two and a half weeks, he craved some semblance of normalcy, and in his own way, Anakin provided that. Yet, despite knowing that Anakin’s antics were meant to rouse him from solitude—by any irritating means necessary—they were still driving him mad. He truly detested the sound of loud chewing and he knew Anakin was weaponizing it against him.

"Of course," Obi-Wan muttered. "Because what could be better than waking up to unsolicited company and a lightsaber duel?"

Anakin paused mid-chew, a grin spreading across his face. “You’ve always said I have impeccable timing.”

“Yes, well,” Obi-Wan sighed, rubbing his temples. “That was sarcasm, Anakin.”

“You’ve been hiding in here for days, Obi-Wan. It’s time to get up and do something. We’ll start with some lightsaber training,” Anakin said, his tone almost teasing.

“Sparring, Anakin?” Obi-Wan's voice was a low murmur, fatigue threading through it. His lips twitched. “Do you really believe that dueling is the solution to all of life’s problems?”

“Well,” Anakin replied, stretching his arms with a casual shrug, “it works for me.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever considered that might not be... normal?”

Anakin grinned. “It’s a start. Come on, give your mind a break. You’ve been in this room overthinking into oblivion.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t muster a witty retort because Anakin was right. His silence was all the ammunition Anakin needed to press on.

“So let’s get some exercise,” Anakin continued, leaning against the doorframe. “Maybe a bit of meditation afterward, then some more sparring—then we’ll see if you’re still in the mood for moping.”

“I am not moping,” Obi-Wan shot back, though his disheveled appearance and the state of his quarters suggested otherwise.

Anakin glanced around, making his point without words. “Well, whatever you call this, is it helping?”

There was no stopping his headstrong former Padawan when he set his mind to something. Master or not, some things would never change. He felt a mix of pride and exasperation. Why did Anakin always choose the most inconvenient moments to care? Yet when Obi-Wan offered such advice, it was merely “taken under consideration” and promptly forgotten.

“Padmé is worried about you,” Anakin said, crossing his arms.

“You told her, didn’t you?” Obi-Wan replied, a hint of accusation in his tone.

Anakin nodded, unapologetic.

Obi-Wan sighed, processing Anakin’s lack of specifics. “I seem to recall Master Yoda reminding you, rather recently, to not break any more rules…” He knew Anakin was right; he needed the push to confront the world outside his door, but finding the motivation was easier said than done. Defeated, he gave a reluctant nod. “Sparring?”

“Sparring.”

A silent staredown stretched on between them until Obi-Wan relented and stood, realizing that arguing with Anakin was futile.

"Of course. Why confront my inner turmoil when I can just face your overconfidence in a duel?" Obi-Wan mumbled to himself.

Many were often taken aback by Obi-Wan's dry remarks, but it was a good sign. If he were truly in a bad place, he wouldn’t be able to manage a response at all.

Anakin chuckled, clapping Obi-Wan on the shoulder. “See? You’re already getting into the spirit of things.” Anakin paused and scrunched his nose, “You might want to shower first. You smell like a rancor pit.”

Obi-Wan shot him a deadpan look. “Yes, well, forgive me if I wasn’t in the mood to indulge in aromatic luxuries while grappling with the existential mysteries of fatherhood and the Force.”

Anakin laughed, pushing him toward the refresher. “Alright, fair enough. But seriously, take a shower before we spar. I don't need the distraction of your stench clouding my focus.”

"Fine, I'll indulge you, Master of Fresh Air. Wouldn't want your delicate senses to suffer during our epic duel."

“You know, they say cleanliness is next to godliness,” Anakin quipped.

As Obi-Wan called back over his shoulder, a small smile crept onto his face. “And they also say pride comes before a fall. So, watch yourself in that duel, Anakin.”

Despite feeling irritated by his former Padawan’s tactics, he couldn’t help but appreciate that Anakin wasn’t actually kicking him in the backside. If the roles were reversed, he would likely have done the same—though he was sure Anakin wouldn’t shy away from being a father. In that regard, Anakin was a better Jedi than Obi-Wan was.

As the hot water streamed over his hard body, it woke his dull senses prickling his skin, Obi-Wan began to feel a bit better. He lingered under the spray, contemplating that perhaps some good-natured sparring was exactly what he needed to take his mind off things, at least for a while.

Lightsabers clashed in the training room, the sound echoing off the walls like an electrical storm, but the energy felt lopsided. Obi-Wan’s calculated precision, usually so sharp, had vanished; instead of a fluid and graceful dance, he fumbled like a novice. His mind was miles away and his combat prowess suffered for it.

Every time Anakin launched an attack, Obi-Wan found himself making constant mistakes. His defense, typically a fortress built on the principles of Soresu, now resembled a flimsy shield. A quick swipe to the left turned into an awkward stumble, and a failed parry left him open to Anakin's relentless strikes. He hesitated at critical moments, even when Anakin offered him clear openings. Instead of standing his ground, he stepped back, allowing Anakin to advance. Then, in an attempt to make up for his losses, Obi-Wan overextended his attacks, only to leave himself vulnerable to Anakin’s counters. Each misstep chipped away at his confidence, further clouding his focus and leaving him at the mercy of his former padawan.

Meanwhile, Anakin flowed with the grace of a seasoned warrior, his movements fluid and precise as he anticipated Obi-Wan's every strike as if they were written in the stars. He read the subtle shifts in his master’s posture and adjusted his own stance accordingly, exploiting every opening with a calculated ease that showcased his growth as a Jedi. Each of his victories felt like a carefully crafted masterpiece, each strike and parry executed with an artist's touch. Anakin's confidence radiated through the room, a stark contrast to Obi-Wan’s uncharacteristic faltering. In past duels, Anakin often found himself on the defensive, but today, he was the one orchestrating the flow of battle, forcing Obi-Wan to adapt to his rhythm. It was a performance that would normally make Obi-Wan swell with pride—if only he weren’t the one on the losing end.

"You're off your game, Master," Anakin said, a smirk playing at his lips as he effortlessly dodged a clumsy lunge that nearly sent Obi-Wan sprawling.

"Clearly," Obi-Wan grumbled, narrowly avoiding another swing that would have knocked him to the ground.

Their lightsabers clashed in brilliant flashes of blue, thrusting and slicing until the blades locked in a familiar cross. Anakin’s strength bore down with an almost playful force, but Obi-Wan could feel the strain in his arms as he struggled to hold his ground. The pressure was mounting, and for a moment, it was clear who had the upper hand. Obi-Wan’s muscles burned as his blade was forced lower, the weight of the lock tipping the balance in Anakin's favor.

"Who are you thinking of, Master? Solan or Cressida?" Anakin asked as he pushed hard, sending Obi-Wan back several steps.

Obi-Wan grumbled in response. "Neither," he replied, his focus wavering as he felt the weight of his thoughts dragging him down.

"Ah, the classic non-answer," Anakin quipped, effortlessly parrying a half-hearted thrust that left Obi-Wan exposed. "You know, that only tells me I’m right.”

Finally, the inevitable occurred. Obi-Wan found himself on his back with a painful grunt, again, lightsaber deactivated beside him, staring up at the ceiling. He contemplated its mysteries for a moment before shifting his gaze to Anakin, who loomed above him, his expression somewhere between teasing and concern.

"Are you planning on getting up, or is the floor really that comfortable?" Anakin asked, unable to suppress a triumphant grin.

"No, I don't think so." Obi-Wan's voice was heavy with fatigue, a hint of resignation coloring his words. "Perhaps the floor has more to offer me today."

Anakin chuckled, extending a hand to help his Master to his feet. "Well, it seems lightsaber combat isn't favoring you. Perhaps you’ll be better suited for meditation.”

Obi-Wan accepted the hand and rose to his feet, a growing ache in his back.

"Ah, yes. The quieter battles. I suppose I should be grateful for the chance to change the battlefield. Meditation was never really your strong suit. Perhaps I’ll gain back some of my lost pride.”

Anakin’s grin widened a glint of mischief in his eyes. “What “was it you said about pride coming before the fall?” He clapped a hand on his Master’s shoulder, and for a moment, the weight of recent events lightened, if only slightly.

“Solan Cael is the son of Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

The sound of her voice echoed in Obi-Wan’s mind, the words ringing like a bell, loud and insistent. Each repetition reverberated in his thoughts, a stark reminder of the moment that had shifted everything. Time seemed to slow as her gaze locked with his, the weight of the revelation hanging in the air, drowning out all else.

“Hello, Obi-Wan.”

Her grey eyes had pierced through the haze of time, locking him in place within the Council chamber, just as they had ten years ago. He could still remember the way she'd looked at him from the warmth of his bed in the dark hours of the night—her gaze holding him captive, their limbs tangled in breathless stillness.

The meditation chamber exclusive to the High Council members should have been a cocoon of harmony, yet even there, he fared no better. He fidgeted endlessly, the serene atmosphere doing little to quell the storm within him. His mind felt like a chaotic battlefield, each breath echoing with unresolved tension.

Just as quickly, his eyes snapped open, pulling him back to the present. He found Anakin sitting beside him, a portrait of serenity, his expression peaceful.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, trying to regain control, but his thoughts spiraled out of reach. Another memory surfaced—Solan sitting on that bench, legs swinging with carefree innocence, their easy conversation now a distant echo. The transformation on Solan’s face upon learning the truth—the mixture of disbelief and hope dancing in his eyes—haunted him.

Anakin opened his eyes and turned to look at his troubled Master.

"You know, Anakin," he finally said, his voice tinged with vulnerability, "sometimes I wonder if the Force is playing some elaborate prank on us. It’s hard to find balance when everything feels so… uncertain."

“I don’t think the Force is as cruel or vindictive as you make it out to be.” Anakin replied.

“Perhaps not.” Obi-Wan conceded, looking at the ground. Meditation was a lost cause to him. “I’m struggling, Anakin, truly. It's like navigating a maze in the dark, underwater, upside down... Drunk.”

“That can’t be easy.” Anakin's voice carried an unusual blend of compassion. "Just imagine how Solan must feel."

Obi-Wan’s face fell.

Solan. He had, of course, thought about Solan’s perspective. For days, it had gnawed at him, but he pushed it away each time, yet it remained a persistent ache he couldn’t quite shake. But now, with Anakin mentioning it out loud, it was like a fresh jab to the ribs. Guilt surged through him, sharp and immediate. He barely had a moment to let it sink in before Anakin twisted the metaphorical knife.

“I mean, to find out that the legendary war hero you’ve admired your whole life is actually your father, and that everything you believed was just a protective lie,” Anakin continued, his voice laced with exaggerated seriousness. “Even speaking to him—sharing smiles and friendly conversation... only for it to end—” He snapped his fingers, his expression a mix of faux pity and disbelief. “Just like that. And then no one sees him for days, while the High Council drags its feet deciding your fate... It must be disheartening. I’d be left wondering what I did wrong, even questioning my place at the Temple.”

Obi-Wan felt the sting—not just from Anakin's words, but from the truth behind them. Anakin’s words weren’t meant to inflict anguish but to push Obi-Wan to acknowledge what he had been avoiding. And he knew Anakin would never let him hear the end of it.

He wanted to defend himself, to rationalize his distance, but deep down, he knew he had no excuse. Mace had cautioned him to approach the boy gently, now that the truth had been confirmed. That had been over a week ago, and he had done nothing. If guilt had been gnawing at him before, it was now eating him alive. He had let his fear paralyze him.

Every time he thought back to his conversation with Solan outside the Council chamber, a heavy weight of regret settled in his chest and it was only getting heavier. It didn’t get much worse than that. But Anakin wasn’t done yet.

“And Cressida, too,” Anakin pressed on, shaking his head in disbelief. “Having to raise a son in complete secrecy for ten years? Always in danger, constantly looking over her shoulder—I can’t imagine how she even managed such a thing. Probably many sleepless nights…” He blew out a heavy breath, emphasizing his apparent bewilderment. “No one she could truly count on, probably pushed to her limits, mentally and physically more times than she could count,” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “Then, when she finally returns to the place she should feel safe, she’s met with an endless barrage of questions and criticisms. It must be incredibly painful for her…”

Obi-Wan blew out an exasperated breath, frustration evident in his posture judging from the lines on his forehead. “Alright. You’ve made your point, Anakin.”

Anakin smirked. “Have I, now?”

“Painfully so.”

“You sure?” Anakin asked, he just couldn’t resist. “I thought I could bring up a few other points about how Solan must be feeling lost and out of place, and maybe how Cressida is feeling like a stranger among her people…”

“No, that’s quite enough. You paint an excruciating portrait.”

After a few minutes, Aankin reached into his pocket and produced something Obi-Wan hadn’t seen in many years. A small, smooth, rounded stone. He tossed it up into his hand catching it several times before holding it out to Obi-Wan.

For a moment, Obi-Wan simply stared, then he breathed out a sigh and accepted the simple object with the same fondness one might expect as if he was handling an ancient treasure. A warmth fluttered in his chest as he looked at the stone before finally accepting it.

He had given Anakin on his thirteenth birthday—the same way Qui-Gon had gifted it to Obi-Wan years before in an attempt to help him meditate. Its familiar texture anchored him, grounding him in a way that nothing else could, and it felt good to have it in his hand again.

It brought him a sense of peace as he levitated it up into the air, reflecting on all the times it had helped him find his way.

“I don’t know how to be a father, Anakin. It’s a role I never expected to have, and I wouldn’t even know where to start.” He admitted.

Anakin nodded, “You didn’t know how to be a Jedi either, remember? But you became one of the finest masters the Order has seen.”

“Those things are hardly the same.” Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes slightly, sarcasm creeping back in. “A pity there isn’t a compendium of Jedi who could teach me to be a father.” As he trailed off, he caught a mischievous glint in Anakin’s eyes, barely suppressing a laugh. “What’s so amusing, Anakin?” Anakin tilted his head suggestively, his grin widening as his unspoken suggestion dawned on Obi-Wan. “Oh no, absolutely not. If you think I’m taking your parenting advice, you’re out of your mind!”

“You never know, Obi-Wan, I could be a good master for you…”

“Ah, wise words indeed from the man who thought hiding a secret marriage with a sitting Senator he was sworn to protect was a good idea.” He shook his head. “Parenting advice from the Chosen One? What could possibly go wrong?”

“Hey, I’m just saying, I did pretty well with Ahsoka as my Padawan.”

“A Padawan is not the same as a child, Anakin. But you let me know how your parenting lectures go…” His sarcasm dripped from every word.

Anakin grinned, reveling in the banter. “Great! I’ll make sure to give you all the ‘Anakin’s Guide to Fatherhood’ tips upon its publication. I’m sure it’ll be a bestseller.”

“Oh dear Force, please spare us.” For the first time in days, tension eased. But then a somber note returned, the gravity of the situation settling in. “I don’t know how such a thing could happen. It’s all… unexpected.”

Anakin, ever the provocateur, pressed on. “Well, I believe it’s simple biology… You see, Obi-Wan when a man and a woman—”

Obi-Wan quickly cut him off, a pleading tone in his voice. “Anakin, I beg of you, do not finish that sentence. We both know I understand the mechanics of it all.”

Anakin smirked, leaning back with a satisfied air. “Just checking. It’s a topic that might need revisiting, considering your new role.”

Obi-Wan sighed, shaking his head. “This is not the conversation I thought I would be having when I woke up this morning...”

“But here we are!” Anakin chuckled, the levity hanging in the air as they both took a moment to absorb the absurdity of it all. Several seconds passed and Anakin shifted, turning to face Obi-Wan, regarding his master as though he was a puzzle to be solved. “So—”

Obi-Wan didn’t wait for him to finish, not even bothering to look up from the rock in his hands. “You want to know about Cressida.” It wasn’t a question.

“Can you blame me? You’ve never allowed yourself to get close to anyone, but the way you defended her in the council chamber? Well, it makes one wonder. I’m not the only one who noticed.”

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan replied, huffing out a breath of acceptance.

“She is beautiful. I mean, she’s no Padmé, but I have to say, Obi-Wan, I never knew you had it in you." Anakin smirked, he caught Obi-Wan's sharp gaze and realized he might have struck a sensitive nerve. “I don’t mean to cause you anguish, Obi-Wan. It just seems so out of character for you.”

Obi-Wan's expression softened as he looked down, collecting his thoughts. “Well, you must remember, that young Obi-Wan was a very different person, Anakin. And, as you pointed out, Cressida is undeniably beautiful." He turned a small rock over in his hands. “You should have seen her ten years ago—utterly fearless, able to make anyone smile, a wealth of compassion. It was a different time then. Before the war. Before everything.”

Anakin said nothing, his brow furrowing in thought.

“You still don’t understand,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin shook his head. Obi-Wan met Anakin's gaze, his eyes reflecting regret and introspection. “At the time, I didn’t think our paths would cross again. I let myself believe that with Cressida, it could be a fleeting connection—a physical intimacy without the emotional consequences.”

Anakin tilted his head, a more understanding tone in his voice. “So Cressida was the safest option for you?”

“That's part of it.”

“What's the other part?”

Obi-Wan paused as he wrestled with the question. He didn’t know what bothered him more: the question or the answer.

“Anakin, surely I don't need to explain the loneliness and desire for comfort that comes with loss and change, to you of all people.” He glanced at Anakin, checking to see if he might take offense, but his friend’s face held no trace of judgment. “I was struggling, and at first, it was a close friend reaching out to make sure I was alright. As I said in the council chamber, it evolved from there.” He couldn't quite bring himself to say aloud that he craved the kind of touch and comfort only a lover could offer, but Anakin seemed to understand.

"Yes, Anakin. She was the safest option, or so I believed. But life has a way of surprising us, doesn’t it?” His voice carried a hint of resignation. “I trusted myself with her; we’d been there for each other before, this was just another time we needed each other, it was logical, and nothing about what happened was reckless or without foresight. We both knew what we were doing and look where it’s brought us. Why do you think I never explored anything further with Satine?" Obi-Wan's voice was quiet, distant, as though the question had been weighing on him for years.

Anakin tilted his head slightly. "To be honest, I was never sure if you did."

Obi-Wan exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing as if trying to push away the memory. "I wanted to. Many times. But..." His voice faltered. "I couldn’t bring myself to do it, something inside me always stopped.”

He closed his eyes, the memory of Satine’s final moments rushing back with cruel clarity. It had been less than a year since Mandalore—since the day he held her in his arms, watching the light in her eyes fade. The grief still clung to him like a shadow he couldn’t shake.

Anakin’s voice softened. "Did you love her?"

Obi-Wan didn't answer right away. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came. In the past, the answer might have been simple: yes. But now... What was love? Could he still define it after years of denial, restraint, and loss? What was left of it after watching Satine slip away? A great sadness tightened his chest, a weight he'd carried since the moment she was gone, one he wasn’t sure he would ever lift.

Then he wondered if the ‘her’ Anakin spoke of was Satine or Cressida. And in either case, he didn’t know. He cared very much for both women in different ways, and he wasn’t sure which one meant what.

Anakin’s brow furrowed in thought. “We’re always warned that attachment is dangerous, that it leads to fear and suffering. But sometimes… sometimes the comfort of being close to someone, of letting them in, makes the risk worth it. An embrace. A kiss.” He paused for a beat, his voice softening as he searched Obi-Wan’s eyes. “It’s not always about following the rules, but finding something—someone—that gives you the strength to carry on. Even if it’s just for a moment.”

The two men fell into a comfortable silence, the ambient glow of the meditation chamber surrounding them like a soft embrace. Obi-Wan held out the river stone, offering it back to Anakin, but Anakin shook his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he gestured for Obi-Wan to keep it. Obi-Wan wouldn’t admit it, but he was grateful for the gesture, so much so he didn’t realize how tightly he was clutching the stone. He would hold onto it for a little bit.

"What do you want to do, Obi-Wan?" Anakin asked simply, leaning back against the cool stone wall, his arms crossed casually.

Obi-Wan sighed, looking out at nothing. "I don’t know, Anakin. I only know what feels right, and I believe it’s time for Solan to begin his training as a Jedi. It's his birthright, after all, and he belongs here.”

“Would you like to know him?” Anakin asked gently.

He didn’t need to squeeze the stone to know that no answers would come from it. He knew the answer and it frightened him. “Yes.”

Anakin nodded, his expression earnest. “Well, knowing what you want is at least a step.”

“Yes, but in what direction?” Obi-Wan replied, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Anakin.

Anakin shrugged. “That remains to be seen, but it’s definitely better than doing nothing.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I don’t expect an exception to be made for us. But surely, there must be a way forward that doesn’t involve denying Solan what he deserves. We can’t ignore his potential and the responsibility that comes with it."

“The Council makes exceptions every day, Obi-Wan.”

"Not like this," Obi-Wan countered.

“Only the Sith deal in absolutes.” Anakin winked. At that, Obi-Wan cracked a reluctant smile; Anakin had a point. “They made an exception for me and Padmé, didn’t they?"

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, fighting a smile. “Yes, well, we can't all be the Chosen One, Anakin."

Anakin's grin widened, the lightness of their conversation rekindling a familiar camaraderie. “The Old Republic saw a Jedi Order strengthened by family bonds; its numbers flourished. I see no reason we can't learn from our predecessors. In the end, individuals will do as their hearts and consciences dictate. How much stronger might our order become if we weren’t losing so many because we forbid the connections that give us purpose?”

Obi-Wan’s expression shifted, a shadow crossing his features. “The Old Republic also saw some of its greatest warriors fall to the dark side because of those attachments. Ulic Qel-Droma, Exar Kun, Darth Revan—any of those cautionary tales sound familiar?” His tone was teasingly serious, as though reciting an ingrained doctrine. "There’s a reason the Order banned attachments, Anakin.” He insisted.

“Well, maybe it’s time to reconsider the rules. Yes, we’ve known great losses but also great triumphs. Satele Shan, Dace Diath—and need I remind you, Darth Revan may have fallen to the dark side, but he was redeemed and returned to the light."

“Redemption doesn’t change the fact that his attachments nearly led to his downfall,” Obi-Wan pointed out, his brow furrowed with concern.

“True," Anakin conceded, "but it also shows that the bonds we form can lead to growth and healing. Isn’t that worth considering?”

Obi-Wan sighed, his resolve faltering slightly. Anakin's argument was compelling, and somewhere deep down, Obi-Wan knew there was some truth in it. Still, he had spent years upholding the Jedi Code—breaking from that wasn't something he could do so easily.

"I understand your point, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, his voice softer now, almost contemplative. "But it's a dangerous line to walk. Not everyone comes back like Revan. For every redemption, there are countless more who fall and never return.”

He slipped the rock into his pocket, the weight of it as comforting as his lightsaber at his side. He smiled faintly at Anakin. "You know, in times like these, I find myself wondering what Qui-Gon would have done." His voice grew more distant, thoughtful.

He didn’t expect an answer from Anakin. How could he? Anakin had only known Qui-Gon for a few short weeks before his death. Countless times over the years, Obi-Wan found himself speaking to the quiet air, fingers wrapped around the smooth river stone Qui-Gon gave him, as if his master might somehow hear him.

“He loved someone within the Order once, long ago,” Obi-Wan continued. “Did you know that?”

Anakin shook his head, but Obi-Wan’s smile faded, shadowed by the recollection. "And then he watched her die."

Anakin straightened, alarm flickering in his gaze. “Who?”

“A Jedi Master named Tahl. She and Qui-Gon were... very close. As a padawan, I always wondered about the nature of their relationship, but I never asked. Now I wish I had. Maybe something he might have shared would give me more clarity now.”

“What happened to her?”

“She was sent to New Apsolon, caught in the political turmoil there, and taken captive by a warlord named Balog. He sought to use her as a pawn for his political schemes. He tortured her for weeks.” Obi-Wan swallowed hard, as if trying to swallow down the taste of bile. “The Council wanted to remain neutral on the issue and they didn’t intervene, but we defied their ruling, driven by Qui-Gon's feelings for her. But—“ His shoulder fell, "By the time we found her, she was... broken. The damage had been too great, and she died in his arms."

Obi-Wan paused, the memory weighing heavily in his voice. “I remember the look on his face, as if the world had shifted under his feet. He was always so composed, but that day... something in him cracked. I thought I might lose him to grief, or worse, to the dark side. For a while, it felt like the light inside him had dimmed.”

He looked at Anakin, the intensity of the memory still present, even after all these years. “There was a moment after her death, standing in that cell, when I saw him falter. He didn't say anything, but I could feel it—a battle waging inside him. He nearly slipped into darkness. He later admitted as much.”

Obi-Wan’s voice softened, turning inward. “He told me that it was the presence of our Jedi brothers and myself that kept him from falling. But I don’t know if he ever truly forgave himself for not reaching her sooner, or the Council for failing her.”

Anakin looked deeply disturbed. “I had no idea.”

“I think I was about thirteen when it happened. I was still learning what it meant to be a Jedi, and how to uphold the Order’s teachings. Seeing him so lost was... jarring. I didn’t know how to help him. If I’m being honest, watching the depths of his despair after her death put me off the idea of attachments altogether. Hearing the lessons is one thing, but seeing him like that—I never forgot it. It was... perhaps another reason nothing ever truly developed between myself and Satine.”

“He was a different master after that. He openly defied the Council more often and began to think of himself as more of a Wayfinder.”

“A Wayfinder?” Anakin asked, unfamiliar with the term.

“It was a path Jedi could take long ago. Those who followed the living Force weren’t always beholden to the Council. They had a looser relationship, focusing on the Force’s will above the Order’s dogma. It’s a path that’s closed to us now.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow, curious. “Did he love her?”

Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I believe he did.”

Anakin leaned back against the wall, contemplating. “If it were him in your boots, I think he’d face this challenge head-on. He wouldn’t care what the Order thought. In fact, if recent events have shown us anything, it’s that the Council is... a bit out of touch.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile. “If it were Master Qui-Gon, I feel certain he would’ve told the Council to Hell with their Code and trained Solan himself.”

“I agree,” Anakin said with a grin. “And I think if he were here now, he’d probably tell you not to be afraid.”

“But I am afraid, Anakin,” Obi-Wan confessed, his voice softening. “What if I take on this responsibility and grow to love that boy? What if something happens to him, and I can’t protect him? What if my attachment becomes too powerful? What if it leads me to darkness?”

Anakin’s expression grew serious, his gaze unwavering and he grabbed Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Attachments don’t lead to darkness. Fear of losing them does. Death is part of life, Obi-Wan. Once you accept that... The darkness can never take you.”

Obi-Wan looked at his former apprentice, surprised by the clarity and conviction in Anakin’s words. In that moment, he felt a swell of pride.

“And what if something happened to Padmé? Or your child? What would you do?” Obi-Wan countered,

Anakin’s face tightened the silence that followed, heavy and uncertain. Obi-Wan could see that, despite his wisdom, this was still a fear that plagued Anakin.

“That’s what I have you for, my friend,” Anakin finally said, his voice calm but steady. “My Jedi family. To help me through the darkness. Shadow can’t exist without light. If one exists, so to must the other. Maybe that’s where our Jedi ancestors placed their faith when it came to attachments.”

Obi-Wan smiled, his heart lighter than before. “Sometimes it surprises me, the things you say. I hear the wisdom of a great Jedi Master, and yet I still expect to see a ten-year-old boy in the sands of Tatooine, obsessed with podracing.”

Anakin grinned, the tension broken. “I still love podracing. But you’ve got another ten-year-old boy to focus on now. Hopefully, he listens better than I did.”

Obi-Wan chuckled softly. “One can hope, Anakin. One can hope.” Obi-Wan almost smiled, touched by his Padawan. "Thank you, Anakin." They sat in companionable silence for a moment before Obi-Wan decided to lighten the mood. "You know, it's a little unnerving for a Skywalker to be the voice of reason."

Anakin playfully nudged Obi-Wan. "Well, every once in a while, even Skywalkers have moments of enlightenment.” Anakin's counsel seemed to strike a chord within Obi-Wan, reminding him of the significance of embracing change and the depth of the connection he shared with his son. "What was she like?" Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan's face brightened with a fond smile as he delved into memories of the dynamic presence that was Cressida. "A force of nature," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Confident. A troublemaker who rarely knew when to back down, no matter how outmatched she was." His gaze softened. "We engaged in an enduring prank war that landed us in hot water with our masters and even Master Yoda on more than one occasion, he was less than amused. Yet, I recall Cressida had a knack for batting those lovely eyes and charming her way out of trouble. I wasn't so fortunate."

Anakin's surprise was impossible to conceal at Obi-Wan's revelation. "Obi-Wan Kenobi? A prankster?"

Obi-Wan met Anakin’s surprised gaze and nodded. “Believe it or not, the younger me wasn’t always so serious. When we first met, she seemed like such a small, pint-sized thing. I made a joke about her height, and her response was to kick me in the shin." As Obi-Wan spoke, a fleeting ease filled the air, memories of happier times.

"She was happy, warm, utterly fearless. It was impossible to be in a foul mood with her around. Master Qui-Gon even had quite the soft spot for her so much that sometimes I thought he preferred her to me.” Yet, as the memories lingered, a shadow veiled Obi-Wan's face, and the light in his eyes surrendered to a profound sadness.

"What changed?" Anakin asked.

Obi-Wan's reply hung in the air, each word carrying a weight that left Anakin shocked and speechless. "She killed her master."

Cressida slumped against the cool sink, the chill biting at her skin as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. The bitter, acidic taste of vomit clung stubbornly to her tongue. Each breath was a struggle—shaky and ragged—as she gripped the sink’s edge, her fingers digging into the metal, grounding her. Bone-white knuckles contrasted sharply with the chrome.

Gasping, she splashed icy water on her face, hoping the shock would clear her head and dispel the dizziness. It didn’t, but for a moment, the chill provided a brief distraction. She closed her eyes, letting the water run down her cheeks, pooling in the hollow of her throat. Gradually, her heartbeat slowed, the panic fading, if only for a few seconds.

She spat into the sink again, before reaching for a towel trying to erase any signs of what had just happened. The nausea had passed, but exhaustion gnawed at her insides.

Staring into the sink, she focused on the rhythmic drip of water before daring to look up. The mirror didn’t lie. Her reflection was hollow and pale, skin stretched too thin over sharp cheekbones, dark circles framing eyes that spoke of sleepless nights. This was the face of a woman battling something she didn't understand.

Maybe it was just fatigue—the stress of new surroundings, unfamiliar food, and disrupted routines. That’s what she told herself. But in the quiet of the refresher, with no one to fool, a deeper unease whispered that it was something more.

Was it a coincidence it had started that first day back in the council chamber? The moment he was there, when their worlds collided again.

Straightening up, she smoothed every wrinkle in her clothes with precise movements. Each action felt like an attempt to impose order on her crumbling world. Her armor was slipping, but she couldn't let anyone see.

She smiled, but it was thin, just enough to convince anyone who might not look too closely. But the woman in the mirror wasn’t deceived; she saw the tremor in Cressida’s hands and the weight pressing down on her chest.

Stepping out of the refresher, she moved quietly across the room, her gaze softening as it fell on Solan’s sleeping form. His chest rose and fell with steady breaths, sandy-brown hair tousled across the pillow. A bit of drool pooled beneath his cheek as he snored lightly, and despite everything, her lips curved into a smile.

He was so peaceful, so unaware—untouched by worries or burdens. Just a boy. Just her son.

But that smile faded, replaced by an unnameable ache.

Cautiously, she stepped back to avoid waking him and moved toward the small kitchen. Making sapir tea was a ritual, a steadying process. She filled the kettle and set it on the burner, watching the water come to a boil. The scent of sweet, floral leaves began to fill the air as she prepared the cup. Lifting it to her face, she inhaled deeply, letting the aroma calm her, though she didn’t drink.

The warmth of the cup in her hands and the familiar scent wrapped around her like a comforting blanket.

She sank into a chair, tension easing from her shoulders as she closed her eyes for a moment, the untouched cup resting beside her. Rubbing her face, she tried to massage away the weariness that clung to her bones.

Suddenly, the sharp buzz of her com shattered the fragile calm. Heart racing, she reached for the device as the message came through: the Council had made their decision.

Chapter Five

You guys like that little shower snippet? Eh? I see you fangirls there craving a sexy shower scene... Maybe I'll write one! Should Obi-wan have a little shower alone time after a confrontation with Cressida? What do you think? Don't forget I'm working on the Obi-wan/Cressida one shot. What kinks do you think our young jedi knights had/have??? Thanks for tuning in again, hope you guys liked a little Obi-wan/Anakin bonding time and lets not forget the appearance of Sassy-wan Kenobi. Let me know what you guys think and what you liked! See you in the next chapter and I'm am working on that spicy one shot! @pickleprickle @heyhawtdawgs Reblog and let me see those tags!

#reblogging my stuff so it finds more readers #reblog to save a stressed writer #rebloging my stories because i'm worth it #someone please read my stuff

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thegreatwicked · 10 months ago

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I. Am. Fucking. Feral. For. This. Story. This was AMAZING, so glad to see you writing again!! Chefs kiss! This was beautiful. I need more dom Obi-Wan in my life!!!

The Wizard of the Dunes: Part 2

Pairing: Sad Space WIzard Obi-Wan x reader

Summary: Follow up to this fic. After Ben - also known as the terrifying boogeyman called The Wizard of the Dunes - saw you through the effects of the sex pollen, things get awkward until there's a sandstorm that forces proximity in a small space with one bed. Because I love those tropes that's why. Also, HERE BE SMUT, Y'ALL.

Word count: 4.3K

Rating: 18+ (minors DNI!)

Warnings: angst, allusion to canon-typical violence, oral f!receiving, unprotected p in v, obi wan has ptsd

A/N: POV switches between Obi and reader. His parts are from his POV and refers to himself as Obi-Wan. Reader refers to him as Ben.

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After the pollen incident, the farmgirl avoided Obi-Wan as much as possible, communicating only in sentence fragments and nods, always her head looking away. At dinner time, she’d leave a box of rations and water outside his little hut and would disappear into the house. Every night, he trudged out to the southern ridge ate, staring out into the desert and rethinking every decision he’d ever made, trying to find the one that had steered Anakin down that dark path.

I should leave. My presence is distressing her.

But the farmgirl was in dire need of help; he’d be remiss if he left her here to wither away with the rest of this fading farm. And although one hadn’t hit yet, it was sandstorm season. Besides, there was an unobstructed view of the Lars farm and one of his few joys was watching Luke being an annoying little tooka to the frustration of Owen.

As always, Obi-Wan was the one who had to take action. He rushed through the day’s chores and met her at the door of the hut when she arrived to drop off the evening meal. She froze at the sight of him, hands clutching the box, eyes darting everywhere except for his. Finally, she held it out with one hand, head down and away. He took it and set it aside, noticing that her hand was still extended. She wanted this strained, shared existence to be over as well.

“Darling, is it alright if I take your hand?”

She nodded, still not looking up. Obi-Wan took her hand and she crumpled, allowing him to draw her into the safety in his robe where she could silently sob, unjudged.

“No one is at fault. It’s e flower,” he said. “I know the feelings during and those that come after. The feeling of wanting to forget and wanting to remember at the same time.”

“How do you know that?”

“Darling, it’s happened to me as well.” He kissed her forehead. “More than once.”

“More than once?” She shook, which he took to be another sob, but it continued until she pulled away just enough to remain touching and looked up, eyes trusting again. “You knew what I— and you didn’t— you could’ve taken adv—"

“Yes, I knew what was necessary to see you through it. As for the other, I would never do that.”

She fell back against him, and he held her, feeling her body relax into safety.

“More than once,” she chuckled, pulling away and heading back to the house, hand flicking to his dinner box, indicating that follow and bring it with him. “How did it happen more than once?”

“Too curious for my own good, I suppose.”

“Ben, you should never touch a flower ever again.”

When had Ben stopped calling you Miss and started calling you Darling?

There was no time to dwell on it until after the day and dinner were done and Ben retreated to the hands’ hut behind the house. But in your thoughts before sleep, you remembered the way he’d felt during the pollen ordeal, weight pressing you into the floor, and tried to melt that feeling into the gentleness you’d imagined so many times.

Each day, you both rose before sunrise and went about choring. Ben took lunch alone on the southern ridge, eating while observing something far away. It was hard to resist following, to see what so interested him. Eventually, you tried to skulk to catch a peek and he turned around and said no. It was a windy day and Ben’s robe rippled around him, face obscured by the deep hood and sand. For a moment, he was The Wizard of the Dunes again. You hurried away and ate lunch with Comet and Akkani.

“I appreciate privacy, darling,” he said at dinner that night.

“Of course,” you nodded.

Profoundly embarrassed, you went back to leaving his dinner in a box outside the hut.

Sand started swirling just before dinnertime. The suns, usually shining gold and copper, had dimmed. Wind teased your robe, flicking the hem high enough that it looked like wings. You clutched Ben’s box of food and water, intent that he wouldn’t go hungry during the incoming storm. Instead of leaving it outside and risking it getting blown away, you pushed the door open to leave it on the floor inside. Ben was already there, absently pushing his hair back as he stepped out of the ‘fresher.

Naked.

You took him in with a shudder, remembering the feel of his length sliding against your bud and for a short moment in your hand during the incident. In the nearly painful pleasure, you hadn’t actually seen what he had to offer, and it was. . . oh, stars. Your eyes slammed shut at the accidental invasion of his privacy.

“I’m sorry! I wanted to bring food before the storm hit!” you blurted. “I’m heading to the stable.”

“You won’t ma— oh, karabast—,” he cursed, stumbling and nearly falling over as he scrambled to pull on clothing. “It’s coming in too fast. Wait it out here.”

The wind was beginning its first wails which would become screams. The hut’s windows were already blurred by angry sand. You hazarded a peek out the door: a massive, opaque wall of sand was rolling and gobbling the low mountains on the edges of the farm, pale blue lightning simmered within. Granny had talked of a storm like this that had happened when she was a young newlywed.

The farm was in shambles after, but we rebuilt like we’ve always done. There was so little to do while it raged, though,” she’d said with a smile. “That storm was a blessing because it brought us your mother. Who brought me you. You’re born from a storm, young one. Never forget that.”

Granny always had a flair for drama.

You trudged out anyway, wincing at the rip of sand on your face. Although the stable was a sturdy and safe structure, Comet had always been afraid of storms and you’d waited it out with her as often as possible. Sand filled your nose and stung your eyes after only a few steps. Ben was right. You returned to the hut, closed the door and stood facing it, unsure what to do as long as Ben was naked.

“Alright. Thank you, Ben. I’ll just . . .,” just what? Keep your back to him until the storm passed?

“Feel free to stare at the walls, darling, but I wouldn’t recommend it. This will be a long one,” he said. “Also, I’m more decent now.”

You relaxed and turned around. Decent? Benwasn’t kriffing decent. He was standing there in nothing but a pair of snug thinskins that covered him from hips to mid-thigh and did little to conceal his bulge. It was a struggle not to gaze transfixed by the well-defined thighs and the tattoos covering his arm and shoulder. It was too embarrassing to make eye contact, so your eyes flicked around the space, frantically trying to avoid settling on the starburst tattoo on his chest.

“Sorry.” You fidgeted. “I don’t mean to make this weird.”

“Neither do I, but this is all that’s clean at the moment.” He also avoided eye contact. “Laundry day.”

“Right,” you nodded, scanning for the little table that each hands’ hut was meant to have, intending to put the food down and sit there for the duration of the storm. And not finding it. Now you remembered selling it. Selling all of them.

Ben had come close enough to gently pluck the box of rations from your hand, then settled cross-legged on the floor. He looked up as if to say don’t make me sit down here by myself. You followed suit, silently sharing the food and making sure to leave enough for another meager meal should the storm go on too long.

“It’s been a long day. We should finish it.” He gestured toward a short stack of boxes against the wall. “I’ve saved enough to get through something like this.”

After finishing off the food, he nodded at the bed. “I’ll take the floor. Don’t argue.”

You climbed into the narrow bed, snuggling into the pillow. The pillow. Ben had nothing on the floor. He barely even had clothes. You rolled over to offer him the pillow, but he was already asleep on his back, softly snoring.

Obi-Wan stood on the platform, lightsaber ignited, staring out at the fire, smoke, and blasts that stained Mandalore’s sky and everything the Duchess had worked so hard to achieve. Every red plate of the armor that constrained him was an abomination that burned to his bones. No time for reveries, though; there would be time for that later. Right now, there was work to do. He put the helmet back on and leapt from the platform. . . landing in the arena on Geonosis, facing Jango Fett as lightsabers and blaster fire exploded around them. Still entombed in the red armor, he had an opening to take down the bounty hunter. He reached for the blaster— Fett didn’t deserve the dignity of a lightsaber—and fired, but it was Cody who hit the ground.

A thunderclap shook the hut and Obi-Wan jerked awake, heaving and sweating, reminding himself that the war was over. There were no droids advancing. No more clones fighting. It was just thunder and another upsetting dream. He sat on the floor, head in his hands until this boom of thunder ceased.

“You fought in the war, didn’t you.” The farmgirl’s voice was soft but was enough to find a center. “Did they destroy your world? The Separatists?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Yes, they did.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m n— I didn’t mean to dist—"

“Ben. We’re safe.” Her hand grazed his shoulder, and he looked up. The farmgirl was a dark wraith in the dim of the hut, eyes glinting in the scant glow of lightning. “Come up here. There’s room.”

Reluctantly, Obi-Wan rose and stood staring at the door. He certainly preferred the comfort of the bed rather than the floor or the stone ledge in his cave but knew what would happen if he lay down in the bed. The hut which had been so roomy and cool suddenly felt impossibly close. There was nowhere else to go except to her.

Just this once. Just this storm.

So, he went to bed, settling on his side to face the room. It was a tight fit, crowding the farmgirl against the wall. She turned to her side as well, tucking her knees behind his; he allowed her arm to drape across his chest.

This was a mistake.

“Is this alright?”

“Yes,” he yawned and, surprisingly, went back to sleep.

Ben’s hands skated along your thighs and waist while you straddled him, hips rolling against his.

This had not been the plan.

The plan had been to hold him through the thunder and lightning that seemed to bother him so much. Just comfort and reassurance that the war was over and this was just a storm. He’d relaxed, then a series of violent thunderclaps shook the hut, the accompanying blinding blue lightning flaring through the windows. There might be glass in the sand when the storm was done. With every boom, you held him close, back against your chest, and said we’re okay, we’re safe.

Eventually, the storm calmed, but both knew that it was a mere lull, and it would become violent again. Citing your arm in pins and needles from laying on it, you rolled to your other side and Ben followed suit, tucking his knees behind yours, arm draping across your chest, hand settling on your shoulder.

He dozed off, but you couldn’t get there. It was too difficult with him being so close. In his slumber, his hand drifted down to cup your breast. A few moments later, he hardened and began absently, gently grinding against your ass. It was so tempting to let it go on.

“Ben?” Reluctantly, you nudged his shin, and he woke with a start, profusely apologizing. But he remained hard, and his hand remained on your breast. He kissed your nape.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

He continued, unfastening your shirt, fingers drifting up to circle your nipple. Flashes of that night flared: tongue on your pearl, fingers inside you, beard scraping against your inner thighs. The pollen had made you want so much more— no, that wasn’t entirely true. You’d wanted more of him from the beginning: more of his soothing voice, more of the contented light that occasionally peeked through his sad eyes, more of the stolen touches. And more than the fantasies that had plagued you since that first day at the market. That pollen night, he’d made you come over and over because you’d needed it, and you barely remembered. Tonight, he was grinding against your ass and biting your ear, wanting you.

You slid your pants down to mid-thigh and he nearly growled, then cursed as he frantically took off the thinskins and kicked them away, freeing himself. He pushed your thighs together and thrusted between them, cock sliding against your clit. Teeth sunk into your shoulder as the thrusts slowed and finally paused, head of his cock a breath away from your fluttering hole.

“What do you want, darling? And don’t say just me.”

Reluctantly, you pulled away, sitting up to shrug out of your shirt and kick off your pants then falling to your back on the bed, legs open. Ben settled between them, one hand cupping your cheek, the other wrapped around his cock, dragging the head along your folds.

“Do you truly want it like this, love?”

“I . . .I suppo—. I don’t know.”

“You do know.” His breath was hot in your ear. “Show me how you want it.”

You gently pushed his shoulder; he took the meaning and lay on his back, weeping cock glistening with slick. He took himself in hand and stroked, waiting. Lightning illuminated his pale skin in a stark contrast of the tattoos. Beautiful as a statue you’d seen once in Bestine. You straddled him and began slowly sinking onto his cock, taking time to adjust and relax into the force of it. When he finally bottomed out, you leaned forward, capturing him in a kiss. Ben grasped your hips and broke the kiss just enough for his lips to linger against yours.

“Let me see you,” he murmured, nudging your shoulders up so that you were fully on display. He shuddered at the sight of you in the lightning’s radiant shine. For the first time ever, you felt unencumbered by the daily struggle with the land. All that existed in this moment was you and Ben, pushed together by the storm. Needing each other.

You rose and sank down, setting a slow pace, savoring his furrowed brow and long gasps as his length slid against your walls. He began gently thrusting up, hips meeting yours. But impatient lust marred his lined face and he brought his hand to your bud, stroking it with his thumb. Hips rolled faster. Thrusts became demanding. Pleasure coiled at your apex, tightening, desperate to be set free. Ben pressed against your clit and that coil released, climax spiraling through your core, moans mingling with thunder.

He yanked you down again, holding you tight against him, cheek to cheek. Thrusts became frantic, breaths became short as he chased his release. Fingers dug into your shoulders as he came nearly silently, breath hitching.

You relaxed, melting into him, dreading the moment Ben decided to pull away and leave you empty. He held on long after his heartbeat slowed. Eventually, his grip loosened.

“Darling, this can only be— the storm. . . "

“I know.”

The farmgirl wriggled under his arm, laying her head on his shoulder, leg draped over his. Obi-Wan chose not to stop it. The hidden Jedi had avoided making connections of any kind all this time. He refused to have friends or lovers because his existence would put them in danger. For years he’d survived on odd jobs and seasonal work, frequently moving his residence from one cave to another. But there was a comfort in her even before the pollen and now this. Not one to last long if she were to remain safe; besides, he intended to leave at the end of the season anyway. Hopefully by then, he would have convinced her to abandon this place and join her Granny in Bestine: the only civilized place on this horrid planet. She deserved so much more than struggling to run this dying farm.

“Would you tell me about the places you’ve been? What you’ve seen?” she whispered. “Just the happy stuff?”

Obi-Wan gazed at her hopeful face, feeling her need to know there was something better. He also needed to tell someone about how things had once been so he could remember himself. So that someone might remember after he was gone.

“Darling, I will gladly tell you about the happy stuff.”

Every touch made Obi-Wan feel more like the man he’d once been: self-assured, a little cocky, and most importantly, worthy. Worthy of what, he wasn’t sure. He’d missed this. Not his own pleasure. It was satisfying to wield his skills again to make someone feel good. After all, Obi-Wan Kenobi had always been a man of service.

The storm continued to rage. Blue lightening piercing through the small windows. Thunder shaking the little hut. Ben had ceased gasping with every strike in favor of taking your hands and holding them to his face. You stroked his cheek with your thumb and he pushed into it, bringing a hand up to stroke your own cheek. He was hardening again.

“How do you want it?” You tossed his previous question back to him.

“Lay back,” he replied with zero hesitation.

You obeyed, legs loose. Ben hooked his arm under your knee and kissed up the thigh, lightly biting the plush just before your apex. His lips brushed your bundle of nerves, tip of his tongue flicked once.

“Do you remember me doing this?” he breathed.

“Not really,” you gasped. “Flashes in dreams.”

“Pity. Shall I give you something to remember?”

He didn’t wait for a response, pushing your other thigh back and squeezing, holding you immobilized. His tongue languidly circled and you could feel the curve of his grin along your folds as you tried to buck. A low, almost sinister chuckle emerged.

You glanced down and met his gaze. Lightning flickered through the hut, casting him in light and shadow, light and shadow. Each flicker changed him. Lightning’s silver glow illuminated Ben. It receded and the darkness revealed The Wizard. Always, the storm glinted in his eyes, which didn’t leave yours.

“Needy, naughty girl,” he chastised, each breath and movement of his lips a torture against your bud. “Be still, darling”

Every muscle tensed as you became as still as possible against his continued ministrations. Ben’s hands drifted up along your waist and beyond, teasing the sides of your breasts. Every touch as slow and featherlight as his tongue against your clit. Quaking, you moaned.

He stopped, pulling back to settle on his knees. You yelped at the sudden loss of contact. In light and darkness, he smiled wickedly.

“Be quiet for me.”

“But, B—” you protested only to be hushed by Ben’s finger on your mouth.

“Hush.” He shuddered as you licked his finger, maintaining eye contact as if to say I dare you. And you did dare him. You’d never dared anything, which was why you were still on the farm. Thunder crashed. Lightning flashed, its light and darkness illuminating both men who haunted your dreams. Ben. The Wizard. Ben. The Wizard. Over and over again.

He leant down for a quick nip at your breast and continued those little bites along your belly and hips until his beard scraped your inner thighs and he inhaled deeply. Ben kissed your pearl as if it were kissing him back. His lined eyes fell closed, so lost he was in his task. Slowly, so slowly, he circled his tongue and you struggled to remain silent, allowing only the barest whimper escape. Stillness was impossible; you quivered, muscles burning at the effort to obey.

Thunder struck. Blue light flickered. Electric pleasure stirred in your lower belly, flooding through your core until there was no obeying Ben’s order to remain still and silent. You arched your back, moans muffled by the cracking thunder . . . then he savagely sucked your clit, bringing you sharply close to that sweet space. Then he yanked away, hands gripping your thighs to hold them wide open, gazing at your desperate writhing.

“What are you doing? I was almost—!"

He leant down and settled on top of you and took a deep kiss.

“Savoring this. Don’t beg. You know I’ll take care of you.”

You continued to squirm, trying to feel the head of his cock against your hole while he remained unmoving. A couple times you managed to get the very tip just inside, but there was no moving him. No tantalizing or teasing him to where you wanted him to be. You breathed fast and hard. Please pleasepleaseplease danced on your lips and were bit back. Eventually, you calmed and breathed steadily although the desire still pulsed.

He’ll take care of me.

Ben lined up and pushed forward slowly, pressing his forehead to yours, moaning into your mouth as he bottomed out.

Obi-Wan entered her as slowly as his desire allowed, concentrating on the delicious feel of his cock exploring her velvet walls. It had been so long and there would never be another time with the farmgirl; possibly never again with anyone. Once fully seated inside her, he paused, waiting for her need to build. Waiting for her to desperately squirm and whimper beneath him. When she grasped his shoulders, fingernails digging red half-moons into the pale skin, he pulled back until only the head of his cock remained inside her then shoved forward hard.

The two of you moved together, clutching one another. He pulled back and pushed in again to meet your grinding hips, reigniting the rose gold bliss he’d already stoked. Ben fell into a lazy rhythm, lightly moaning against your ear with each thrust while you clutched his shoulders and wrapped your legs around to cage him close. Unlike earlier, the pleasure was a gentle ripple like sand in a warm breeze, caressing you into a gentle, breathy orgasm. Ben slightly increased his pace, joining your sweet ecstasy with a quiet, plaintive wail.

You remained in each other’s embrace; your hands brushing along his back, his cupping your cheek. The storm was nearing its end. Sunrise would be soon. He rolled away, pulling you over to rest your head on his shoulder.

“Ben?” you asked after some time. “Would you tell me some more of the happy stuff?”

“If that will make you happy, then of course.” Ben’s face went blank as if searching for such things then he softly chucked. “During the war, I had a friend who was a pirate. He could be very irritating and inconvenient, but there was a joyfulness about him that I admired. One time. . .”

Sand lay thick over the farm, bits of newly forged glass glinting in the harsh sunlight. Without workers, there would be no recovery from this. You rushed as well as possible through the sand to the stable to check on Comet.

You shoved the door open and stumbled through, finding Comet laying on her side, breathing belabouredly. Akkani knelt on the ground beside her, trunk kindly stroking the ancient dewback’s snout. You fell to your knees, leaning against the loyal beast who had seen do much, massaging that spot between her eye and nose the way she liked. Ben knelt behind, hand resting on your back.

“I’ll miss you so much, old girl,” you cooed. “Rest.”

Your best friend sighed long and tired then let out a contented huff. Her last.

Mr. and Mrs. Lars were on their way to escort you to Bestine.

After the storm, you’d reached out to take them up on their offer to help sell the farm. It didn’t take long. Even though it was drenched in sand, it was still good land and would be workable in short order with enough farmhands. As predicted, it sold fast and garnered what Mr. Lars assured was a very good profit. More credits than you’d ever seen. Granny was over the moons and could not wait for your arrival. She’d already secured leads for possible apprenticeships in the profession of animal health and wellness.

Ben held your hand until their speeder could be seen in the distance, after which he turned to take his leave. Owen would not be happy to see me, he’d said. Make no mention that I was here.

“Miss?” he called as he looked back, face inscrutable beyond the hood. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“Of what?”

“That despite the horrors of the war and the mistakes I’ve made, there were many happy moments in my life. I’d forgotten.”

Ben marched back out into the desert, tattered brown robe billowing in the wind. Once again, The Wizard of the Dunes.

@marierg @thegreatwicked @dystopicjumpsuit @bl00000g @firstofficerwiggles

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