#and together realizing how much they miss the jedi

[weregonnabecoolbeans]

BARRISS! BARRISS OFFEE MY LOVE!!!

[luv-lock]

⸻ ꜰ ᴏ ʀ ᴇ ᴠ ᴇ ʀ ⸻

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

Notes: English is not my first language. Reader is not human. Hope you enjoy!

It all starts with one simple thing: your beauty. The moment Anakin lays eyes on you, his heart stops. He doesn’t understand why. His gaze lingers on you, and for the first time in his life, he feels as if he’s been struck by something deeper than admiration—a hunger. You’re different from anyone he’s known. There’s something about the way you move, the way your hair catches the light, the way your presence fills a room.

It’s not just physical attraction, though—there’s a deeper longing in him. He feels as though you’re the answer to something he’s been searching for his entire life, a missing piece of the puzzle that is his very existence. You aren’t just a princess or an alien; to him, you’re perfect, destined for him, his only salvation.

Your first conversation is a blur for him. He remembers your voice, gentle and confident, as if it was made to soothe the burning ache in his soul. But everything else is secondary. You were polite, kind even, maybe even curious about him, but Anakin is too consumed by his thoughts. All he can do is watch you, those eyes of his never leaving your form. Every word you say, every movement you make, it burrows itself into his mind like an anchor, tethering him to you.

In his mind, he’s already begun constructing a future. You’re together, always. He doesn’t care that you’re not human, doesn’t care about your status, your race, or the hundreds of things that should stand between the two of you. All he sees is that you’re meant to be with him, and that’s it.

Anakin’s obsession is not the quiet, lurking kind. It’s a burning desire that overwhelms him at all hours. It starts innocently—he asks about you, seeks you out in crowds, follows you to wherever you go. His intentions aren’t always malicious, but he is always watching. You don’t realize it at first. He’s subtle, yet persistent. A few glances here and there, a brief touch on your shoulder as he brushes past. The way he smiles at you—distracting, but also all-consuming.

When you’re not near him, he grows restless. His thoughts spiral. He can’t stop thinking about you. He dreams of you—what it would be like to have you all to himself, to keep you close, never letting you go. He begins to see you as a symbol of everything he wants. But this isn’t the kind of love that should be cherished. This love is possessive, as though your existence is only meaningful if it’s entwined with his.

As time passes, Anakin begins to pull you closer to him in ways you may not even recognize at first. He’s protective of you, sure, but it goes beyond that. He doesn’t just want to keep you safe—he wants to control your every move, your every decision. Slowly, he manipulates situations to make himself the center of your world. The Jedi Council, the Republic—none of it matters to him. You do.

There are moments when he’ll corner you, his fingers lingering a bit too long on your arm, his breath too close to your ear. You can feel his eyes on you, his gaze full of an emotion you can’t place. But something about it makes you uneasy.

Anakin’s feelings for you only grew as time went on. He began to believe that you were the one he was meant to be with. He saw you as the perfect balance to his chaotic life, the one person who could calm the storm raging inside of him. But his obsession took on a darker tone when he began to think of you as his salvation. If you just realized how much he needed you—how much he couldn’t live without you—then everything would make sense.

But the problem was, you didn’t see it the same way. You weren’t sure what he wanted, what he expected from you. Sometimes, you found his intensity overwhelming, even frightening. He was possessive in a way that felt almost suffocating. The way he would stare at you, always lingering just a little too long… the way he would touch you, his fingers grazing your arm in passing, his hand resting a little too possessively on your shoulder, making it hard to pull away.

It all came to a head one night. You were alone in the Jedi Temple, finishing up some work. You didn’t hear him approach, but you felt his presence before you saw him. When you looked up, Anakin stood before you, his face a mixture of longing and something darker—something dangerous.

“Don’t,” you said softly, as he took a step forward. You had already felt his eyes on you too many times, felt the weight of his unspoken desire hanging in the air.

“Don’t what?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. His gaze never wavered from you. “Don’t come closer? Don’t want me?”

Your heart beat faster. You could feel the tension in the air, the electricity between you. He was dangerously close now, his breath warm against your face. You backed up instinctively, but the wall stopped you. He was too close, and there was nowhere to run.

“I don’t want this, Anakin,” you whispered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to stay calm.

“You don’t understand,” he said, a manic edge creeping into his voice. “I need you. You’re the only one who can save me. Please… Please don’t leave me.” His hand reached out, cupping your face, and for a moment, he looked like a child, desperate for approval, for love. It was a stark contrast to the man he’d become—someone willing to do anything to make you see that he was all you needed

"I can’t live without you," he whispered, his breath coming faster. "I’ll never let you go. Not now. Not ever."

You can feel the weight of his obsession pressing down on you. He pins you to the wall, his body flush against yours, his hands desperately tugging at your clothes, eager to reveal more of your skin. His lips are everywhere, claiming you like you’re his, and you can’t deny the pull—can’t deny the fire that burns between you.

He undresses you slowly, savoring every inch of you like a man starving. His lips trail down your neck, teeth scraping against your skin, and you feel your breath catch. But he’s not content with just tasting. He wants all of you. He wants you to feel him in every part of you. He wants to possess you completely.

The way he looks at you, the way his hands move over your body, it’s overwhelming. "You’re mine," he mutters against your skin, and the words send a thrill through you, mixing fear with desire. "You always have been." His tone is possessive, dark—like he’s trying to claim every part of you.

And when his lips crash back onto yours, there’s nothing gentle about it. It’s hot, hungry, urgent. His tongue slides into your mouth, taking control, and you’re powerless to resist. His hands travel down your body, pulling you closer to him, his hard chest pressing against your softness. His lips trail down your jawline, down to your neck, where he bites down softly, marking you, claiming you as his own.

Every inch of your body feels consumed by him, as though he’s burning away every other thought, every other desire, until you belong to him, body and soul.

Anakin’s obsession turns darker as his fear of losing you begins to eclipse his love for you. He sees threats everywhere—anyone who speaks to you, who looks at you, is an enemy in his eyes. His jealousy consumes him. He begins to sabotage interactions between you and others, always casting a shadow over your every move.

He tries to protect you, but it’s a suffocating kind of protection. It’s not enough for him that you’re safe; he needs you to be dependent on him, to need him as he needs you. When you pull away, when you resist, the anger inside him grows. He doesn’t understand why you don’t see that he’s doing this for both of you, that he’s only trying to keep you close, keep you alive.

There’s a moment where he’s standing outside your door, his hands trembling, his chest tight. He feels like he’s about to lose you, and the panic surges. His mind races—he needs you. He has to keep you safe. When you finally open the door, you see the raw desperation in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything at first, just pulls you into him, crushing you with his embrace. You can’t breathe, can’t move, but that’s the least of your worries. You realize in that moment that there’s no escaping him—not now, not ever.

Anakin’s obsession peaks during a moment of vulnerability. Maybe you’re hurt, maybe you’ve distanced yourself from him too much. Regardless of the cause, when you’re weak, when you need him most, he will be there. But not as the savior you might expect.

He’s there to claim you. To make you his. And he doesn’t care if it’s right. He doesn’t care about the galaxy, the Jedi, or anything other than you. Your resistance only fuels him more. Every time you push him away, every time you scream, it sends him deeper into the darkness.

He’s lost, and he knows it. But he’s also convinced that this is the only way to keep you safe, to keep you with him. The anger and the pain twist together in his mind, creating a vortex of obsession so intense it threatens to destroy everything around him. You can see it in his eyes: “I will do anything for you, even if it means destroying myself.”

The obsession only spiraled further from there. Anakin couldn’t focus on anything but you. His feelings for you became an anchor, dragging him down into darkness. Every rejection, every attempt to distance yourself, pushed him further into madness. He wanted to protect you, to keep you safe from the galaxy’s chaos, but all he did was drag you deeper into his madness.

He would never be able to let you go. Even as his world crumbled around him—his friendships, his sense of duty, his place in the Jedi Order—his obsession with you remained constant. You were the only thing that kept him tethered, and in his mind, you were the only thing worth saving.

But in the end, it wasn’t enough. His obsession, his need to possess you, would be his undoing. He couldn’t see how to balance the love he thought he felt for you with the darkness that had taken root in his soul. The harder he tried to keep you close, the further you pulled away. And as the galaxy descended into war, Anakin would find himself standing on the edge of something darker than even he could have imagined.

But no matter where the darkness took him, he would always be haunted by you—the one who slipped through his fingers, the one who could have saved him, if only he hadn’t loved you so much.

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[jetii]

By Your Name

Part One

Pairing: Wrecker x fem!Reader / Wrecker x Jedi!Reader

Words: 7,998/19,226

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, good-natured brotherly teasing, smut, this is mostly just smut actually, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), size kink, aftercare, dirty talk, Wrecker being a sweetheart that is a given

Summary: You and Wrecker are still figuring out exactly what your relationship means, and a month apart hasn't helped. Now that you're reunited again, nothing is going to stand in the way of the two of you getting what you want.

A/N: Greetings from horny jail! I didn't proofread this one that much so if you see any mistakes no you didn't.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

Keeping your relationship with Wrecker a secret is easier said than done. There's no denying the spark between the two of you, and it only seemed to grow stronger in the days following your confession. To you, Wrecker is the sun, and you're a planet caught in his orbit, drawn in by his warmth and light. 

It's become increasingly difficult to keep things professional when all you want to do is pull him into a kiss, or spend every waking moment touching him in some way. Every time his fingers brush yours, or his hand finds the small of your back, the desire to kiss him, to hold him, to simply be with him is nearly overwhelming. And it's a feeling that only grows stronger the longer you're away from him.

Saying goodbye to Wrecker at the end of your tour with the Batch had been almost unbearable, and the distance has been agonizing. The weeks apart had dragged on, and the only solace you had was in the late-night calls and the occasional text. The longing had been a constant companion, and it had left you irritable and on edge.

But now, finally, the two of you will be reunited, and the excitement building in your chest is impossible to ignore. Even though it's been weeks since the two of you were last together, it feels like a lifetime, and you can't wait to be near him again. To feel his arms around you, his hands on your skin, his lips on yours.

The two of you had barely had enough time to figure out what exactly you are to each other before you left, and with the others around, there was little else you could do beyond a few stolen moments. But now, after weeks of anticipation and separation, you're finally getting the chance to explore things further.

And you know Wrecker is intent on making the most of the opportunity.

It was no secret that the man is incredibly tactile, and the fact that he'd been unable to touch you the way he wanted to, the way you both needed him to, had clearly taken a toll. His texts had grown progressively bolder, and the calls had lasted well into the night, and you'd spent hours on the comm with him, trying to keep your voice down while he told you everything he planned on doing to you once you were alone.

And now, you're on the same planet, finally, and the thought is enough to drive you crazy. You're already waiting in the hangar bay when the Marauder arrives, and the sight of it, the sight of him, sends a thrill of anticipation through you. The moment the ship touches down, the ramp lowers, and Wrecker comes barreling down, his arms outstretched.

"Hey, General!" he shouts. "Get ready, 'cause I'm gonna—"

You don't wait for him to finish. Instead, you throw yourself into his arms, and he catches you with ease, his arms wrapping around you, lifting you up off the ground. He spins you around, the two of you laughing and grinning like fools, and you're so happy you can barely breathe.

"Miss me?" you ask, breathless, your arms around his neck.

"Kriff, yeah," he says. "Wasn't the same without you."

"It wasn't the same for me, either," you murmur. "I didn't realize how much I would miss having you around."

"Me, neither," he replies.

He sets you down, but his arms stay locked around your waist, holding you close. The urge to kiss him is a physical ache, and the closeness is almost unbearable. But you can't, not here, not now, and so you settle for the feel of his arms around you, his hands stroking your back.

"I'm glad to see you," he says, his voice soft.

"I missed you, too," you reply, smiling up at him.

"I can't wait to show you how much I missed you," he whispers. The look in his eyes, the heat in his voice, sends a rush of desire through you, and you shiver. "Been thinkin' about it every day."

"Have you?"

"Yeah," he breathes. "And I've got a few ideas."

"Oh?" you ask, unable to keep the smile off your face. He's practically radiating energy, the excitement rolling off him in waves, and it's infectious.

Before he can respond, the sound of someone clearing their throat snaps you back to reality. The two of you turn, and you spot the others standing a short distance away at the end of the ramp. Crosshair and Tech look mildly amused, while Hunter looks vaguely uncomfortable, and Echo's expression is one of long-suffering annoyance.

"Uh, Wrecker," Hunter says, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "You mind putting her down so we can go?"

"What?" Wrecker asks. "Oh. Yeah, yeah. Sorry."

He lets go of you, his hands trailing over your waist as he steps back. You brush your hands across your tunic, trying to quell the butterflies in your stomach, and Wrecker grins down at you.

"Sorry," you say, unable to keep the smile off your face. "It's been a while."

"Just save it for the ship,” Crosshair drawls as he passes by.

"Don’t worry, we will," Wrecker fires back, throwing an entirely unnecessary wink in his direction. Crosshair rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth quirks up. Tech follows, shaking his head with a small smile.

"I am glad that the two of you have reconciled your differences," he says, his eyes flicking to yours. "But please keep such displays of affection to a minimum in our presence.”

"Sorry, Tech.”

"We'll behave," Wrecker adds, but his tone is teasing.

"I doubt that," Echo mutters, but his eyes are crinkled at the corners. You flush, but can't help but return the smile. He's not wrong, after all.

"We'll try," you amend, and the others chuckle as they follow Crosshair out of the hangar toward the barracks. You and Wrecker walk a short distance behind them, keeping pace, and the silence is comfortable, the two of you walking shoulder to shoulder. He leans over and nudges your arm, and you glance up at him, catching the grin on his face.

You smile back, unable to hide your excitement, and the look in his eyes is almost enough to make your knees give out. You have no idea how you're going to get through the rest of the day, knowing that he's within arm's reach. Knowing that tonight, when the others have gone to sleep, the two of you will have the ship to yourselves. And the thoughts running through your mind are enough to have you squirming in place, eager for the day to end.

"Welcome back, by the way," you say, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach.

"Glad to be back," Wrecker says. "And ready to start celebrating."

"Oh, is that what we're doing?" you tease.

"Mhm," he replies, his voice low and rough. "Gonna celebrate the kriff outta you."

You bite back a gasp, and your face heats up. You'd known Wrecker was forward, but the way he talks about wanting you, the way he openly stares at you, is still startling. No one has ever been so open with their feelings before, and while you're still getting used to the idea, it's nice. Reassuring. It's a reminder that this is real, that he wants you, and it's all you can do not to melt on the spot.

"Sounds like a good plan," you reply, your voice hoarse, and you resist the urge to fan yourself.

"Knew you'd see it my way," he says, and the look he gives you is enough to send a jolt of heat straight to your core.

The two of you continue on in comfortable silence, and you can't help but glance at him, taking in the sight of Wrecker finally back by your side. You can't deny that the past few weeks have been...frustrating. Being unable to be near him, or touch him, or even speak openly about how you feel has been agonizing. And the constant teasing and flirting via holo hasn't helped.

There are so many things you've wanted to say, to do, but haven't had the chance. Now, with the privacy and space, the temptation is nearly overwhelming. And the look on Wrecker's face tells you that he's thinking the same thing. You just need to get through the next couple hours without drawing too much attention, and then...

As expected, the celebration is a simple affair, a meal and a round or two of drinks at 79s. You've gotten used to the squad's traditions over the past year, and it's a relief to know that the evening won't drag on for hours. As it is, your patience is wearing thin, and you can tell that Wrecker feels the same.

"So," Hunter starts, his eyes fixed on the two of you. "Did you have a chance to talk about things while we were away?"

"Yeah, a bit," Wrecker says, shifting in his seat. His leg brushes against yours, and the contact sends a jolt of electricity up your spine. "Still workin' things out."

"I see," Hunter says. He takes a sip of his drink, his gaze flicking between the two of you, and he raises an eyebrow. "Just try not to make it too obvious, okay?"

"I'm not making any promises," Wrecker smirks, and the words are directed at his brother, but the way his eyes burn into you is unmistakable. You bite your lip, the heat on your cheeks nearly unbearable. The fact that he's so brazen, so shameless, is doing nothing to help your growing desire, and it's all you can do to keep a straight face.

"Wrecker, please," Echo groans, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Sorry, sorry," Wrecker chuckles, and his hand finds your thigh beneath the table, his fingers squeezing gently. You resist the urge to jump, trying to ignore the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of your pants. You can tell he's teasing, testing the boundaries, and the look on his face is almost smug. "I'll behave."

"No, you won't," Tech says, his eyes locked on his datapad. "But I suppose we will simply have to accept that this is your current reality."

"Guess so," Wrecker says, and the smile he gives you is blinding.

The rest of the meal is relatively uneventful, and the conversation is light, mostly centered around the mission, and what's to come. The Republic is preparing for another offensive, and you and the Batch have been assigned to gather intel on a possible Separatist stronghold in the Outer Rim. It's not an ideal mission, but it's better than sitting around doing nothing. And with Wrecker by your side, it will certainly be more bearable.

You listen as the others share stories, laughing and talking like they always do. Wrecker's hand stays on your thigh, his fingers tracing absentminded circles on your leg, and it's enough to keep you distracted, the anticipation growing with every passing minute. By the time the meal is finished, you're all but squirming in your seat, and you're desperate to get out of the crowded room.

"What about you?" Crosshair asks, and the sound of his voice pulls you back to the present. "Did you sit around doing nothing this whole time?"

"No," you reply. "I was training, mostly."

"Boring," Crosshair sneers, but his eyes are soft, and the look he gives you is teasing.

"I did manage to get a new scar, if that counts," you say, pointing to the healing cut above your eyebrow. "Had a run-in with a particularly unpleasant bounty hunter. She was faster than she looked."

"Ooh, lemme see," Wrecker says, and his hand finds your chin, tilting your face up. The gesture is casual, but the way his fingers stroke your cheek is not, and you shiver at the touch. He turns your face, his thumb brushing the healing skin, and the heat of his palm sears into your cheek. "Pretty nasty. You gonna live?"

"I think so," you manage, and his eyes sparkle with amusement.

"Good," he says. "Don't want anything happenin' to that pretty face of yours."

Someone makes a noise of protest, but you're too busy trying not to melt under Wrecker's gaze to notice who it was. His eyes flick over your features, his expression intense, and his fingers trail down the line of your jaw, coming to rest on your shoulder.

"Alright," Hunter cuts in. He slaps his hands on the table and stands, giving the two of you a pointed look. "Let's call it a night."

"But—"

"No buts," he says. "I can't watch this any longer."

Wrecker grumbles something under his breath, but he pulls his hand away, and the absence is nearly enough to make you whine.

"Fine," he huffs, rising from his seat. "See you all tomorrow."

You stand as well, your legs shaking. You're not sure how you're going to make it back to the ship, and the smirk on Wrecker's face tells you that he knows exactly what he's doing.

"Later," Crosshair says, his tone bored.

"Have a good night," Echo calls after you, his voice tight with discomfort. You glance back at him and offer an apologetic shrug, but he just waves you off. Tech is still buried in his datapad, oblivious, and Hunter gives you a long-suffering sigh as the two of you leave.

The walk back to the ship is agony. The sun has long since set, and the streets are dark, but the lights of the city are bright enough that it's not difficult to navigate. Still, the journey feels like an eternity, and every step sends a thrill of anticipation through your veins. You can feel Wrecker's presence behind you, his hand occasionally brushing against your back, his body close enough to touch.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" you ask as the two of you round the corner, putting some distance between yourselves and the others.

"Enjoying what?" he asks innocently.

"Teasing me," you reply, elbowing him in the side.

"Maybe a little," he grins, and the heat in his gaze makes you blush. "You know, it's hard not to be when you react like that."

"React like what?

"Like this," he murmurs, his hand sliding down your spine, coming to rest on the curve of your ass. His palm is hot and heavy, and the pressure is enough to make you gasp.

"I can't help it," you mutter, trying to ignore the desire that's pooling in your core.

"I know," he says, and his fingers squeeze, pulling you into his side. "And it's kriffing adorable."

"Shut up," you say, pushing against him. He laughs, the sound low and husky, and the way his eyes gleam in the dim light is more than a little distracting.

"Make me," he says, and his voice is teasing, but there's a note of challenge in it, and the implication sends a shiver down your spine. 

You turn to face him, and before you can second guess yourself, you reach out, taking hold of his armor and pulling him towards you.

Wrecker's lips meet yours in a searing kiss, and the force of it knocks the wind out of you. He backs you up against the wall, caging you in with his body, and his hands find your hips, lifting you up onto the tips of your toes. You moan against his mouth, and his tongue slips past your lips, his fingers digging into your flesh. The kiss is bruising, full of heat and want, and the way he moves against you, his body hard and solid, leaves you gasping for air.

He breaks the kiss, and his teeth nip at your lower lip, his hands wandering down, squeezing the swell of your ass. His breath is hot on your skin, his chest heaving, and the desire in his eyes is all-consuming.

"That shut you up," you whisper as his lips move down the column of your throat.

"Mhm," he mumbles. His tongue drags over the delicate skin, and you tilt your head back, giving him better access. "Keep doin' that, and I'll be quiet the rest of the night."

You laugh, the sound turning into a groan as his teeth sink into your flesh, biting down. His hands slide around to your back, pulling you flush against him, and his knee slips between your legs. The pressure against your core is enough to make you moan, and he chuckles against your skin.

"That's a dangerous game you're playing," you whisper, trying to catch your breath.

"Not the only one," he murmurs, his eyes finding yours. The hunger in his gaze makes your blood sing, and you swallow, trying to steady your pulse.

"True," you say, reaching up to cup his cheek. "But I'm not sure we should keep playing it. At least not until we get back to the ship."

He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your lips, his tongue teasing the seam of your mouth. You open for him, and his hand comes up to cup the back of your head, holding you steady.

"Good point," he whispers as he pulls away, his nose brushing against yours.

"Come on," you say, and you nudge him backwards. Wrecker goes willingly, stumbling back a step, his eyes never leaving yours. "Let's go."

The two of you pick up the pace, and it's not long before you're making your way through the hangar bay towards the Marauder. There are a few people milling about the hangar, and a group of technicians working on a nearby ship, but none of them pay the two of you any attention as you approach the ramp.

The moment the door closes behind you, Wrecker pounces, pinning you against the wall, his mouth finding yours in a hungry kiss. You pull him closer, and he wraps his arms around you, lifting you up with ease. Your legs lock around his waist, and his hands slide down to grip the underside of your thighs, his fingers digging into the sensitive skin.

You break the kiss, your lungs screaming, and he moves down, pressing hot, wet kisses to the line of your throat. His mouth is warm and slick, his tongue leaving a burning trail along your collarbone. His hands find the hem of your shirt, and he pushes the fabric up, exposing your stomach.

"You really gonna keep quiet the rest of the night?" you ask, your voice hoarse.

"Do you want me to?" he murmurs, his nose brushing against the skin beneath your ear.

"Not particularly," you reply.

"Didn't think so," he says, and his teeth scrape against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "You wanna know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you like it," he growls. His hands slip beneath your shirt, his palms sliding up the curve of your waist. "I think you like it when I tell you how pretty you are, or how much I want you."

"Maybe," you whisper.

"It's okay," he murmurs, his fingers dancing across your skin. "I like it, too."

You moan, the sound soft and needy, and he laughs, the vibrations tickling the sensitive spot below your ear. Wrecker's mouth finds yours again, his tongue plunging past your lips. He tastes like the liquor the two of you were drinking earlier, and the heady mixture is enough to make your head spin.

He breaks the kiss, and the next thing you know, he's carrying you down the hall, his pace hurried. Within a few steps, the two of you are falling onto the bunk, a tangle of limbs.

You land on top of him, straddling his waist, and Wrecker groans, his hands coming to rest on your hips. You grind down against him, the movement sending a rush of heat through your body. The contact is dizzying, and you do it again, relishing the way his eyes flutter closed.

"Kriff, cyare," he breathes.

"I thought I was cyar'ika," you murmur.

"Both. Either. Doesn't matter," he says, his hands slipping beneath the hem of your shirt.

"I think it matters" you say, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips.

"You really wanna talk about Mando'a right now?" he asks, and the amusement in his voice makes you laugh. You pull back enough to let him pull the shirt up and over your head, leaving you bare save for your breast band.

"I guess not. I'd rather do something else," you whisper, and Wrecker's eyes darken, his pupils dilating. His gaze trails over your chest, and his hands follow suit, tracing the line of your ribs.

"Me too," he murmurs. His fingers ghost across the band of fabric covering your breasts, teasing the edges. You give a slight nod, and he hooks a finger underneath the material, pulling it up and over your head.

Your breasts bounce free, and his eyes lock on them, his gaze burning. His hands slide up your sides, cupping the swell of flesh, his palms hot and rough.

"Mesh'la," he murmurs. He leans forward, his lips finding the slope of your shoulder. "So kriffing beautiful."

The praise makes you blush, and he kisses his way down the length of your chest, his lips trailing over the curve of your breast. You tilt your head back, closing your eyes as he licks a circle around your nipple, his tongue leaving a hot, wet trail.

"Wrecker," you whimper, and the sound seems to spur him on. His mouth finds your breast, his lips closing around the tight bud, his tongue swirling. You moan, the feeling electric, and he hums in response, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

He sucks and bites at the stiff peak, his fingers rolling the other, and the twin sensations send a rush of heat through your body. It's almost too much, and you can't help but squirm, the desire pooling in your core. Wrecker’s armor presses against your thighs, the pressure almost painful, and the need to feel his skin on yours is overwhelming.

"Take it off," you pant, tugging at the shoulder plates.

"Bossy," he chuckles, and the sound sends a jolt of excitement through you.

"I think you like it," you say, throwing his own words back at him, and the wicked grin he gives you is all the answer you need.

"You're right," he replies. He reaches behind him, unclipping the pieces of his armor and setting them aside. The process is painstakingly slow, and you can't help but pout. But when you try to move his hands out of the way, he lifts you off his lap and sets you down on the mattress.

"Hey!"

"I'm going," he says, a grin on his face. "Don't worry."

Wrecker stands, and the sight of him towering above you, his broad frame blocking out the light, is enough to make you tremble. He strips off the pieces of armor with practiced efficiency, revealing the black undersuit beneath. You stare at him, your eyes roaming over the thickly corded muscles of his arms and chest, the taut fabric stretched across his abdomen.

"See somethin' you like?" he teases, and the sound of his voice draws you back to reality.

"Yes," you say, clearing your throat.

"Yeah?"

"Yes," you repeat with a smile.

"Good," he says. He kneels before you, his fingers finding the hem of your pants. He undoes the button, and you lift your hips, letting him slide the fabric down.

He takes a moment to admire you, his eyes trailing over the curves of your body. He hums in approval, his hand sliding up your leg, his fingers stroking the inside of your thigh.

"Beautiful," he murmurs.

You watch as his hand slips lower, and his thumb finds the edge of your underwear, the touch light and teasing. The sensation is enough to make you gasp, and he does it again, tracing a line along the seam. Your legs part instinctively, and his hand cups the apex of your thighs, his palm pressing against the damp fabric.

"You want more?" he asks, and the huskiness of his voice is enough to make you ache.

"Yes," you breathe.

He pulls the underwear off, and you lie back, spreading your legs, giving him a clear view of the most intimate parts of you. He groans at the sight, his eyes raking over the soft flesh, and his hands grip your knees, pushing them further apart. You feel exposed, but the look on his face is nothing short of reverent, and the desire in his eyes is enough to take your breath away.

"Mesh'la," he whispers, and then his head is between your legs, his tongue finding the sensitive flesh. The contact is electric, and you moan, the sound muffled by your fist. Wrecker chuckles, his eyes locking on yours as his mouth continues its work. His lips and tongue are soft and warm, and his fingers grip your hips, pulling you closer.

"Stars, Wrecker," you whimper, and he hums in response, the vibrations sending a jolt through your body. You gasp, and he smiles, his mouth never leaving the apex of your thighs. His tongue traces circles around the stiff bud, his fingers stroking the delicate skin.

You squirm under his ministrations, the sensation nearly overwhelming, and he holds you steady, his hands like steel. You grip the sheets, trying to ground yourself, but it's a futile effort. Wrecker is relentless, his mouth devouring every inch of flesh, his tongue probing, his teeth scraping, and the heat pooling in your belly threatens to consume you.

"Wrecker, I can't—"

He stops, pulling away with a wet smack. His face is glistening, his eyes burning, and the sight of him is enough to steal the words from your lips.

"Tell me," he growls, his hands tightening on your thighs.

"I can't—"

"Can't what, cyar’ika?" he murmurs, leaning in, his breath warm on the skin of your neck.

"Can't wait," you manage. "Please."

He laughs, his fingers stroking the sensitive flesh of your thighs. He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, and his hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding the apex of your folds. You groan, the contact almost too much to bear, and his fingers tease the edge, sliding along the slick skin.

"I'm gonna take my time with you," he says, his voice rough. "Gonna learn every inch of your body, every place that makes you feel good. And I'm gonna do it until you're a kriffing mess."

The words send a rush of heat through your body, and you can't help but arch into his touch, your hips rising off the bed. He grins, his fingers parting the slick folds, and you bite back a moan as he slides the digits along the length of the slit.

"So wet," he says, and the pride in his voice is obvious. "Mesh'la."

He leans down, his tongue darting out, tracing the same path his fingers had just followed. Wrecker takes his time, his mouth exploring every inch of the exposed flesh. By the time his tongue reaches the sensitive bud, you're trembling, the pleasure almost unbearable. His fingers press against your entrance, and you nod, giving him the go-ahead.

He slips a finger inside, and you clench around him, the feeling almost foreign. It’s been so long since you've done anything like this, and the stretch is unfamiliar, the sensation a strange combination of pleasure and discomfort. He moves slowly, his lips and tongue distracting you from the intrusion, and the discomfort fades, the pressure turning into a delicious fullness.

"You okay?" he asks, looking up at you, his lips still pressed against the apex of your thighs.

"Mhm," you reply, and you roll your hips, letting him know you're ready for more. He grins, and he presses another finger in, his tongue swirling around the stiff bud. The stretch is almost too much, and you gasp, the pleasure making your head spin.

Wrecker moves slowly, his fingers curling, probing, searching for that spot inside you. When he finds it, he rubs the tips against it, and the jolt of pleasure is enough to take your breath away.

"Fuck," you gasp.

"Yeah?" he asks, his eyes glinting with mischief.

"Yes," you whimper.

"More?"

"Yes, please," you beg. "Please."

He complies, his fingers pressing deeper, and you groan, the pleasure almost too much to bear. Your thighs shake, and he hooks his free arm around one of them, pulling you closer, his lips closing around the bud.

It doesn't take long before the heat coiling in your belly becomes too much to bear, and you can't hold back the moans spilling from your lips. Wrecker keeps up the pace, his fingers pumping, his mouth devouring, and it's only a few moments before the tension snaps.

You cry out, the sound swallowed by the bulkhead, and your thighs clamp around his head, trapping him. The air seems to ripple around you, the Force flowing through you, and the room fades, replaced by blinding white light. You're weightless, drifting in the current, the pleasure rippling through your body.

When you finally come down, the room has returned to normal, and the pressure of Wrecker's mouth is nearly too much. You push him away, and he looks up at you, a smirk on his face. His lips are wet and swollen, and his eyes are bright with lust.

"That was somethin' else," he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

"What did I do?" you ask, your voice shaking.

"Not sure," he replies. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, his tongue darting out, licking away the remnants of your climax. "But I liked it."

"Oh," you manage.

"You good?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "Really good. Stars, Wrecker, that was...”

"Just the beginning," he says, his hands finding your waist and flipping you onto your stomach. He pulls you up onto your knees, and the next thing you know, his tongue is on your folds again, the sensation making your legs tremble.

"Wrecker, what—"

"Told you I'd take my time," he murmurs, and his fingers slip inside you again, the pace agonizing. You groan, burying your face in the pillow, trying to muffle the sounds spilling from your lips. His hand slides up your spine, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back. "I wanna hear you."

"I can't," you whimper.

"I'll stop if you don't," he threatens. "Wanna hear how good I'm makin' you feel."

"Fine," you groan. "Don't stop. Please."

"Good girl," he says, and the words send a rush of heat straight to your core. You feel yourself clamp down around his fingers, and his other hand grips the curve of your ass, squeezing hard. "Fuck, that's hot."

You moan, the sound loud and needy, and he rewards you by sliding another finger inside. The stretch is almost painful, but the pleasure is worth it, and the thought of him inside you, filling you, sends a thrill of excitement through your body. You can't help but push back against him, grinding your hips against his face.

"Look at you," he says, and the awe in his voice is enough to bring tears to your eyes. "Fuck, you're perfect. So fuckin' perfect."

His mouth returns to its work, his tongue licking and sucking and teasing. Your legs tremble, and his arm wraps around your waist, holding you up as his fingers plunge deeper. The pleasure is overwhelming, and the room seems to fade around you, the only thing remaining the feeling of his mouth on your sex.

You can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything except take whatever he gives you. And the thought, the knowledge that you're completely at his mercy, is intoxicating. You surrender to the feeling, allowing yourself to let go, and the release is almost instantaneous.

You cry out, the sound torn from your throat, and the force of it threatens to knock you over. But Wrecker is there, his arms steadying you, his mouth coaxing every last ounce of pleasure from you. When the waves of bliss finally subside, you slump forward, the mattress soft against your cheek.

"Holy shit," you mutter, unable to form a coherent thought.

"Yeah," Wrecker says, his hand stroking the length of your spine. He leans over you, his mouth finding the soft skin behind your ear. His tongue darts out, licking the shell, and his breath is hot on your neck. "Still with me?"

"Barely," you whisper, and the sound of his laugh sends a shiver through you. You roll over slowly to find his face inches from yours, his smile wide and wicked. You reach up, cupping his cheek, and the softness in his eyes is enough to melt your heart.

"Hi," he murmurs.

"Hey."

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. The tenderness is unexpected, and the taste of yourself on his mouth is more arousing than it has any right to be.

"I'm glad we're finally alone," he whispers, his nose brushing against yours. "Was about to explode."

"Mm," you reply. "Well, let's fix that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you say, pushing him back. He sits up, and you move with him, swinging your leg over his waist. He watches you with hungry eyes, and the desire in his expression is enough to stoke the embers of your own. You can feel his cock straining against the fabric of his suit, the thickness hard and insistent, and the realization of just how badly he wants you is almost too much to bear.

You lean in, your mouth finding the side of his neck, and he groans, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. You nip and bite at the exposed flesh as your hands slip underneath the hem of his shirt, and you peel the fabric up, revealing his chest. He lifts his arms, and the two of you work together to pull the garment over his head, tossing it aside.

You run your hands over his broad chest, your fingers tracing the line of his muscles, his scars, his tattoos. The expanse of his skin is a map, a landscape, and you want to explore every inch. He sighs, his eyes closing, and the contentment in his expression is beautiful. You kiss him again, and he groans, his hand reaching up to cup the back of your head.

"I could kiss you forever," he murmurs.

"That would be nice," you reply, your lips moving down his throat.

"Mhm," he hums. "But right now, I really, really wanna fuck you."

The words send a shiver of desire through you, and you pull back, giving him a smirk. You slide back, and his hands move to the closure of his suit, undoing the catches with ease. The fabric parts, revealing the thick shaft beneath. The head is dark and swollen, and a drop of precome glistens at the tip.

"Kriff," you breathe. "You're—"

"Big?" he says, grinning.

You swallow, nodding. You've felt him through his clothes, the evidence of his desire more than clear, but the reality is something else entirely. He's larger than any partner you've ever had, and the thought of taking him, of feeling him inside you, is both terrifying and exhilarating.

"That's putting it mildly."

"We can wait," he offers, his hands finding your hips, his fingers stroking the sensitive skin. "Or take things slow. We don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

"I appreciate that," you say. "But I really, really want this."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

He smiles, and his hand slips between your thighs, his fingers finding the slick skin. You gasp at the touch, rising up on your knees to pull his blacks down further. His cock springs free, the length curving up against his belly. He helps you pull the rest of the suit off, leaving the two of you bare before each other.

He sits up, his eyes raking over the planes of your body, his gaze hungry and possessive. He pulls you towards him, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, his mouth finding yours. His hands slide down your spine, cupping the swell of your ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.

"You sure about this?" he asks, his lips moving against yours.

"Very," you reply. You reach between the two of you, your fingers wrapping around his length. He groans, his head falling back, and his hips twitch, pushing into your grasp. Your fingers don't quite meet, the thickness impossible to fully encircle, and the size of him is daunting.

"You can change your mind," he says, and the words are choked, strained. "Just say the word."

"I won't," you say. "Trust me."

"Okay," he breathes, and the faith in his voice is enough to take your breath away. He leans back, and you raise yourself up on your knees, positioning him at your entrance. You take a deep breath, and then begin to lower yourself onto him. The head presses against the tight ring of muscle the sensation almost foreign. You press down, and the tip slips inside, the thickness stretching you.

"Shit," he mutters, his fingers gripping your hips. "Fuck, cyar'ika, you're so—"

The words turn into a loud, unrestrained groan as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. It takes time, the fullness overwhelming, but you persevere, the feeling of him inside you more intense than anything you've ever felt. The way his length fills you, stretching and stretching, the slight pain, the ache, the feeling of being whole, it's enough to drive all thoughts from your mind.

By the time Wrecker is nearly fully seated inside you, the both of you are trembling. He's panting, his eyes squeezed shut, his chest rising and falling in rapid breaths. You watch him, the sight of his reaction sending a rush of excitement through your body. It's the first time you've seen him lose control, and the knowledge that it's you, that you're the cause, is exhilarating.

You shift in his lap, grinding down on his cock, and he hisses, his teeth clenched. The pressure against the walls of your cunt is almost too much to bear, and it takes everything you have not to collapse. You lift yourself up slightly, testing the limits, and his grip on your hips tightens.

“Stay still,” he growls, and the command in his voice sends a thrill through you. “Don’t move.”

"Or what?" you ask.

Wrecker opens his eyes, his gaze burning into you. There's a dangerous glint there, and the promise in his expression is almost too much to take. You swallow, unable to look away. He smirks, and his hand comes up, his fingers wrapping around the back of your neck, holding you steady.

"Or I'm gonna have to fuck you into the kriffing mattress," he says, his voice rough. "You think you can handle that?"

"Maybe," you reply, and the confidence in your voice is surprising.

"Really?" he says. He shifts, his hips lifting off the mattress, and the movement pushes him deeper. The stretch is almost too much, but the sensation is exquisite, and the moan that escapes your lips is unabashedly desperate. "Sounds like you can't."

"I'm not convinced," you say, and the words come out more as a whine than a statement. Wrecker laughs, his lips curling into a smug smile. The expression should annoy you, but instead, it only adds to the heat pooling in your core. You like seeing him like this, confident and commanding, and the thought of letting him have his way with you is more than a little arousing.

"You're adorable," he says, and he tilts his head forward, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss. You wrap your arms around him, and he pulls you closer, his other hand sliding down to the small of your back. The pressure is intoxicating, and you can't help but squirm, trying to find purchase. But he holds you steady, his mouth devouring yours.

He lifts you up, his hands gripping the curve of your ass, and his cock nearly slips out, the sudden emptiness jarring. But before you can complain, he's lowering you back down, sheathing himself inside you again.

"Oh," you whimper.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "You feel so good."

He lifts you again, and his pace is achingly slow, the movement careful, controlled. He's clearly holding back, and the knowledge that he's doing it for your benefit sends a rush of affection through you. You cup his face in your hands, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Wrecker," you say. "Please."

"You sure?"

"Yes," you hiss, your head tilting back as he slides home. "Please, I want—"

"Tell me what you want," he growls.

"You," you say, and the confession is more difficult than it should be. "All of you. Hard and fast and— Fuck!"

The breath leaves your lungs as he flips the two of you, his weight pinning you against the mattress. He slides a hand beneath your hips, tilting them up, and his lips find the curve of your neck, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin.

"Don't say I didn't warn ya," he growls, and then his hips snap, driving him into you. The movement is quick and powerful, and the impact reverberates through your entire body. The thrust is accompanied by a wave of pleasure, the feeling intense and all-consuming, and it takes everything you have to hold on.

"Holy shit," you mutter, your eyes squeezing shut.

"You good?" he murmurs, his hands finding yours, his fingers intertwining with your own.

"So good," you whimper. You wrap your legs around his waist, trying to anchor yourself, but the motion seems to have the opposite effect. The slight shift in position is all the invitation he needs, and he drives into you again, the force enough to push you up the bed. The pleasure is almost blinding, and the room blurs, the edges of your vision darkening.

"More," you beg, the word torn from your throat.

"Anything," he breathes, and then his mouth finds yours, swallowing the moan that spills from your lips. His hips set a relentless rhythm, his cock pounding into you, the friction delicious. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer, and his mouth never leaves yours, his tongue plunging past your teeth. The taste of him, the smell of him, it's enough to send you reeling, and the world around you fades, replaced by a single, searing point of pleasure.

You lose yourself in the moment, the feeling of his body pressed against yours, the warmth and strength and power of him. He surrounds you, engulfs you, consumes you, and the intimacy of the act, the connection between the two of you, it's unlike anything you've ever felt. The sensation is overwhelming, and you're powerless to do anything except take whatever he gives you. You let go, surrendering yourself completely, and the feeling is almost euphoric.

"You feel so fuckin' good," Wrecker pants, and the words seem to echo, his voice distant. "Can't believe you're—fuck, cyar'ika, you're perfect."

The praise spurs you on, and the next thing you know, Wrecker is kneeling before you, pulling you towards him. His hands grip your waist, his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh, and his cock plunges deeper. You cry out, the sound echoing around the room, and he groans in response, his movements becoming erratic.

"Fuck," he grunts. His hands slide down, cupping the curve of your ass, and he lifts you off the mattress, impaling you on his cock. The angle is intense, and you can feel the tension coiling in your belly, the pressure threatening to burst.

"I'm close," you gasp, and he nods, his face twisted with pleasure. He's lost control, the steady rhythm giving way to desperate, frantic thrusts, and the knowledge that he's close to coming undone is intoxicating.

"Touch yourself," he manages. "Come on, cyar'ika, wanna feel you come on my cock."

You do as he says, reaching down and sliding your fingers through the wetness between your legs. The contact is enough to push you over the edge, and you come hard, the orgasm tearing through you. The room goes dark, the pleasure nearly blinding, and the air seems to vibrate, the Force surging through you. You can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except let it wash over you.

You feel yourself clamp down around Wrecker's cock, the walls of your cunt spasming, and he gasps, the sound raw and primal. He thrusts once, twice, and then his hips stutter, and he drives himself deep, the force of his climax making the bed shake. You feel his cock pulse inside you, filling you, and the warmth of his seed sends another wave of pleasure rippling through your body.

It seems to go on forever, the two of you riding out the aftershocks. You're trembling, and tears are spilling down your cheeks, but you can't bring yourself to care. You pull him close, your mouth finding his, and the kiss is sloppy, needy, the two of you too far gone to do anything except cling to each other.

When it's over, Wrecker rolls the two of you over, pulling you into his arms. His chest is rising and falling in rapid breaths, and his heart is pounding, the beat so loud you can hear it. You rest your head on his shoulder, your arm draped across his chest, and he pulls you closer, his nose buried in the top of your head.

"Holy shit," he breathes.

"That good, huh?"

"Good doesn't even cover it," he says. "Stars, that was...fuck, cyar'ika, that was somethin' else."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should," he murmurs. "Fuck."

You laugh, the sound muffled by his skin. He chuckles in response, and his hand strokes your back, his fingers tracing circles on your spine. You sigh, the touch soothing, and you close your eyes, letting the tension leave your body. You're exhausted, and the thought of moving is nearly unbearable. You’re more content than you can remember being in a long, long time.

"Don't fall asleep," he says. "Not yet."

"Too late," you murmur, the words slurred.

"Hey," he says, and his tone is gentle, teasing. "At least let me get a towel or something."

"Fine," you grumble.

He laughs, and the bed shifts as he gets up, the loss of his body heat jarring. You shiver, curling into yourself, and the next thing you know, he's pressing a damp cloth between your legs. The contact is enough to wake you up, and the realization of what's happening is both embarrassing and endearing.

"Wrecker," you say, pushing his hand away. "I can do that."

"Sorry," he mutters. "Should've asked."

"It's okay," you say, and the sincerity in your voice seems to reassure him. "I just don't want you doing all the work."

"I don't mind," he says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I like takin' care of you."

"And I like taking care of you," you reply. "Which is why I want you to come back to bed."

"Okay, okay," he says, smiling. He tosses the towel aside, and the bed dips as he climbs in next to you, his body pressed flush against yours. The feel of his skin on yours is soothing, and you can't help but melt into his touch. He's solid and warm and real, and the knowledge that he's here, that he wants you, is more comforting than anything else.

"Mesh'la," he whispers.

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

You turn, burying your face in the crook of his neck. His arms wrap around you, his body enveloping yours, and the words come easily.

"I love you, too."

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

@marchingviolist @deerspringdreams @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino @silly-starfish

@floofyroro @veralii @chubbyhedgehog @meshlajetii @heaven1207

@808tsuika @aanncummings @lugiastark @maniacalbooper @sensitive-shark

@kashasenpai @kkdrawsdecently @isaidonyourknees

[fen-luciel]

The mistakes of a acolyte

3

Chapters

Summary: You are pregnant with Qimir's child and the universe is not big enough to hide you from him.

I cleared my throat before carefully deciding what to say to him.

"I wanted to abort." The silence that followed this statement was deafening. It was clear that Yord did not expect it.

"I lied. Qimir always wanted bonds. A family, but I had other plans, I wanted..." I looked at his clothes for a moment, a lump in my throat stopped me from saying something compromising.

"I wanted to earn more, travel the world. When I found out the news, I took my things and left to get rid of it... but... I couldn't do it."

I took a deep breath as my lip started to tremble. "That little time alone made me appreciate-" *that freedom* "that moment of peace from my work. And I realized that I really wanted it."

I took the opportunity to eat another huge piece of cake and gain a few seconds to regain my composure.

"But when I was about to go back... I didn't have the courage to face him."

*A half lie*

*A half-truth*

The urge to get up and lock myself in the bedroom was strong, I felt judged, dirty...

Yord took my hand in his and I looked at him with my heart in my throat.

"It's your life, Sabrina. There's nothing wrong with anything you've done. You followed your heart."

I pressed my lips together holding back a smile, but my heart was pounding, deep down I had hidden from everyone and everything for five months, inventing lies, pretending to be fine to avoid as many questions as possible, after all, how many couples broke up every day in the galaxy? A single mother wanting a new life is common to see.

But I needed to vent. What friends did I have after I decided what to do with my life? I had been traveling from planet to planet for years, then I met Qimir and clung to him with my nails and teeth without realizing that he was much more dangerous than I thought.

What irony. Here. In the house where I had hidden. To be listened to by a Jedi.

"You tell me I did well to follow my heart? Ironic, don't you think?" I said with tearful eyes, but for the first time, my heart felt lighter in my chest.

He gave me a gentle smile, "A Jedi is not denied the possibility of feeling something. Only to... do it in a clear-headed manner."

I raised an eyebrow while continuing to smile. "Oh, really? From what I remember, it was the Sith who talked about love, passion..." "-hate. Fear." He gently squeezed my hand. "The Sith are at war with others and with themselves, Qimir is the proof of that."

The irritation hit me again. "What does a Jedi know about the Sith?" He looked at me confused. "Well, not much, Sol mentioned something to me, but what I saw with my own eyes was enough to understand that they are evil. Without honor. Or code."

I pulled my hand away from his, pretending to adjust my shirt to gain a few inches from him. "If we were to talk about honor, where is it in taking children from their families and putting them in danger?" My tone was neutral, but it was a blatant provocation.

"Well, they aren't forced, it's a choice-" "What choice? Aren't they taken as children? How much do they actually understand the consequence of their choice? Think about it. Maybe somewhere in the galaxy, you have an older sister or brother who has never forgotten you. Who would want to find you but can't. Parents who miss you." There was almost a wheeze in my tone. I was irritated. Was Yord the blind one, or was it only me who saw the problem?

He leaned back in his chair before giving me a nervous smile. "You talk as if you hate the Jedi. I understand your point, but the Order gives you knowledge, peace. It makes you better and teaches you to use the Force, having it means having a responsibility. Especially for those around you."

I mimicked his pose on the chair but with my arms crossed under my chest. "Peace? But if half of your team has been killed. Wasn't it the Order that sent you there?"

At that point, Yord gave me an irritated look. "I would like to remind you that it was your ex who killed them." At that point, the air was tense, and since the move had been made, it was worth throwing out the bait.

"I still haven't been told why, anyway. Now you chase smugglers? I thought that was the police's job." He rolled his eyes in response.

"Technically, we weren't expecting him. We were chasing a suspected Jedi assassin, it was obvious that someone had trained her. And when we were on the verge of arresting her, he showed up too."

The news surprised me, but I didn't let it show. Had he found a acolyte? Had he replaced me? It can't be, he told me he was looking for me... but also that he was continuing the plan.

"Ah... well, that doesn't change the subject" I said, trying to change the point.

"You say you are peacekeepers, but you train children and make them fight like some kind of religious police. They might as well join the army when they're old enough." He sighed before giving me an irritated smile. "As I said, the Order helps teach you to control the Force. Such great power requires discipline." I sighed in response. "I know terrible people without an ounce of power of any kind. It's not discipline that is needed. Sometimes people are just born evil."

The silence that followed wasn't embarrassing, more... tense. Neither of us seemed irritated as much as trying to be understood, and it was obvious that Yord was really thinking about what I had said.

"I don't deny it. But the dark side can corrupt the mind, those who follow this path know what they are getting into and must be stopped." I pressed my lips together slightly before replying quickly. "And what do you know about the dark side?"

He chuckled. "Because you know? Or about the Force in general?"

I exhaled deeply before opening my mouth to respond sharply, but the sound of the doorbell interrupted me. We both turned to the door, and Yord quickly got off the chair.

"It must be Master Sol, I told him I would bring you something for the trouble."

I took advantage of the moment to regain a normal heartbeat, the conversation had degenerated, and I had gotten heated. I couldn't do the same in front of Sol, it was obvious he had much more experience and would notice if I said something compromising or tried to extract some information from him.

I had wasted the opportunity.

Yord opened the door, but on the threshold, Sol was not alone, a young girl of an alien race I didn't recognize was behind him, with fair skin and particular marks on her face, she looked very young. The braid showed her role as a padawan.

"Master Sol... and..." I said, getting up from the chair to join them. "Dear, good morning, I hope you're better after yesterday." I nodded as he affectionately shook my hands with his usual gentle smile.

Then moving aside, he placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "This is my padawan, Jecki." We shook hands, and she gave me a small bow with her head and a smile. "Nice to meet you and... congratulations" she added, nodding to my belly.

I smiled at her. She reminded me a lot of myself at her age.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Sabrina. How young you are, may I ask how old you are?"

"Sixteen." I gave a light huff. "Really? I would have guessed thirteen, no offense, but you look very young." She shrugged. "I'll take it as a compliment."

"Well, I'd say let's go. If it's not a problem, Sabrina, we were thinking of taking you to our ship where we have some of Qimir's things that we brought here after searching his hideout." I looked at them confused, hideout? Which one of the many? Some surely still had my traces.

"Which one, if I may ask?" I said in the corridor while closing my front door behind me. "Which one? You know he has more than one?" Yord asked behind me, and I mentally slapped myself for the slip.

"Well, as I told you, we smuggled together. We had common places where we hid the goods or rested between one trip and another. Even if he had places where he didn't let me come" I tried to contain the mistake as best as I could, and it seemed to have convinced them.

In the corridor and then in the elevator, the discomfort of being surrounded by so many non-hostile Jedi was strange, bringing back old memories.

"A cave on a mostly uninhabited planet, his apprentice told us about it even though she didn't know much else, never having entered it." I held back the instinct to roll my eyes, she hadn't wasted time blabbering everything. Even if it was possible they had read her mind against her will. Which wouldn't have surprised me in the case.

"No, I've never even heard of it." We left the elevator to start walking along the city streets, people gave us not-so-subtle glances, it wasn't often to see Jedi around here, especially all together, it was obvious they attracted attention, on them as well as on me.

I had to end this story as soon as possible, I had to get out of here as soon as this mess was resolved, I would leave traces of my passage unconditionally now, but it was better to move.

"If I may ask, Sabrina, did you know this apprentice of Qimir? A certain Mae?"

Jecki asked, and I looked at her with a grimace on my face, "Never heard of her" and I was being honest. He must have met her in these months away, it didn't take him long to find another Force-sensitive person ready to join the dark side.

Sure, it was true that more and more members of the order felt discouraged by the council's actions and saw the consequences of these actions with their own eyes, but meeting after leaving the order and recognizing each other was another matter. Also because many preferred to keep a low profile and shut themselves off from the Force or live a life of solitude truly seeking peace.

"Let's hope she wasn't also a lover" I joked, making Yord beside me smile. "The two didn't seem to have that kind of intimacy, believe me, he tried to kill her in that forest." Forest? Perhaps like the one I had seen when I connected in the Force with him. He could still be hiding there, or maybe the Force was projecting the last place he used his power, in any case, for now, they didn't seem to know where he was hiding.

The walk to their ship wasn't particularly long, and luckily I was rested enough not to stress over the city's rocky terrain, which mostly maintained a natural environment rather than being lacquered with metal for those who preferred life on the outskirts, away from the chaos of big cities. The same reason why I decided to come here, both to stay away from big cities where people might recognize me and to be closer to a natural environment but not particularly dangerous.

The ship they arrived on wasn't a new model, in fact, it must have been at least a decade old, I had handled enough parts to recognize these things at a glance and... it brought back many memories.

Inside, the place was tidy but almost felt homey, strange considering who the owners were, I had seen more barren ones. "Nice place" I said casually, sitting around the table in a corner, followed by them. "Thanks, Jecki and I tried to make it more welcoming over time" Sol took a box and placed it on the table in front of me "Here are the items we recovered from his hideout, we hope you can recognize something and maybe give us the location of those places you mentioned. Honestly, you could be accused of several crimes, none we can prove or accuse you of here, but we hope this cooperation can also serve as a plea bargain if you ever want to return to the inner rim, I promise we will remove every trace from the databases. Even though you had a false photo in all recorded crimes"

There was a moment of silence as Sol and I looked each other in the eyes, obviously he had looked for me in the records, fortunately over the years I had changed my last name and put a false photo in the official databases. The best way to stay hidden was to be right under their nose but with some logical discrepancies in between. No one found it strange that I had a fake photo in the various registered documents and then saved, that I myself had placed under minor crimes was the trick. At that point, the Jedi were too arrogant to believe someone was pulling one over on them and saw such actions more as whims than real problems.

Arrogance would be their downfall.

"Well, it wouldn't be bad, even though I still prefer the outskirts" I joked, not showing intimidation. "Anyway, I already said I would cooperate, so it wouldn't change anything for me, even though it would be handy for some transports," I answered.

Opening the box, there weren't many things inside, well placed but at a glance, nothing compromising for me.

Rolled up was one of his robes, which I took after a moment of hesitation, the fabric was familiar under my fingers, my body remembered well the rough sensation, my memories full of soft and warm lights while being pressed against some surface, legs spread and his chest against my back, air struggling to fill my lungs as I begged him to-

"Is everything okay, Sabrina?" It was Jecki's voice that woke me from the flow of thoughts, she was giving me an attentive look, focused as if she was trying to read my mind. "Yes, sorry, it just reminded me of something silly" I grimaced apologetically and placed the robes on the table.

Another thing I found was a small pouch, when I opened it, I recognized some poisonous herbs "Since you smuggled together, we wondered if maybe you had some common contact we could call to lure him into a trap" Sol hypothesized, looking at me intently. I shook my head, "Impossible, contacts go one way only to avoid traps and even if for some reason you found someone in the ring, no one would ever tell you anything. I think you know better than I do that there are different levels of smuggling, Qimir and I always frequented the high end, i know for you our work is just illegal but I can assure you it's not just criminals moving valuable things. And they pay you enough to keep quiet, not to mention the ruined career if it were found out you're a spy. No one would risk a bounty on their head" I also placed the pouch down.

I immediately recognized the piece of stone placed to one side. "Cortosis" I picked it up to give it a confused look "What do you hope to learn from me about this?"

"Qimir had a bracelet and a helmet with this material, we found the cave full of it, so we know where he got it, but maybe you know who forged it for him, it could help us find him," Sol smiled.

"Actually... I made those for him" they all looked confused before signaling me to continue. "Well yes... I've always liked shaping things. Maybe that's how the passion for smuggling was born, rare materials and the ability to mold them, i made the bracelet as a gift, the helmet he asked for" then I slipped a hand under my shirt collar, "And he made me this," i showed a chain around my neck from which hung a piece of the roughly worked metal.

"He wanted to give me a gift, but he wasn't very good, he told me to always keep it for protection... I didn't have the heart to throw it away" I quickly showed the stone before tucking it back under my shirt, showing it was convenient, if they wondered why they couldn't read my mind, I could use it as an indirect excuse.

"Well, this path is also a dead end then. I guess he brought you the material the first time" Yord nodded "It was for a client technically, but he took more because he said it was useful."

"This stuff is useless, I figured it wouldn't lead anywhere," Yord sighed irritably before getting up and pacing the room "We still have the places Sabrina mentioned" Jecki intervened, looking at me.

"Yes well... there's only one problem. I had a map of those places. Hidden in the only hideout we actually used as a secondary home, we didn't record the positions or carry it for safety. It would be hard for me to describe where it is even telling you the planet or the best landing zone" it was useless to lie about it, they knew they existed, saying I didn't remember or couldn't take them there would have been ridiculous.

Sol looked at the others before slowly approaching the table in front of me "I realize we're asking a lot, but could you take us there? It would be so helpful" he said gently, pressing his lips into a tense line.

I looked at my hands, tense, a discomfort beginning to burn my insides again.

"And if he's there?" I asked in a faint voice. But above all, if they had the map, they would ambush him, we often used those hideouts, now more than ever since they knew who he was. I would betray him, I would betray the cause. But what could I do? Say I'd see them tomorrow and disappear? Could I do it? And where would I go anyway? Maybe I should take advantage of the map and get there before Qimir if he hadn't already passed through, sure I risked meeting him there alone or finding nothing and having Jedi hunting me.

But I could take other resources, when I escaped months ago I avoided going there precisely because I imagined it would be the first place he would follow me, but now I could find a clear path and maybe other credits to use to disappear definitively, maybe helped by a bounty hunter...

"We will never let him hurt you" Yord answered with a determined look. But I could only scoff at him, "But you said yourself he slaughtered you. No offense but I have a hard time trusting" he clearly didn't expect my answer and the irritated look from the other two towards Yord made me understand they weren't happy, I can't say if because I knew what had happened or just that he had a big mouth.

"I... need to think about it."

[earl-grey-teacake]

F1 Star Wars AU- Loscar and Brocedes

I’m rewatch The Clone Wars and this has been stuck in my head since this morning.

Mainly takes place post-war

**** If I write this, it would be a couple one-shot. If you want to write something based off this, feel free. Just let me know since I want to read it.

Loscar

Logan and Oscar grew up in the temple and were best friends. However, at 13 years old, Oscar was chosen as Webber’s padawan and secured his position in the Jedi temple. Meanwhile, Logan was left unchosen. Jedi Knight Jenson Button has wanted to take him in as a padawan but his request was denied by the council. Downtrodden and with only the Corp left as an option, Logan decides to leave the order and return home to his planet of Sabal.

Logan and Oscar lose contact until 5 years later when their paths cross in the midst of a war zone. A diplomatic envoy to provide relief aid to refugees is attacked and taken hostage. Oscar and his master come to the rescue, and Oscar ends up carrying Logan across a war zone to safety. After 2 months of providing security detail, they part ways again. Logan back to his home and Oscar to the front lines of the war. They never contact each other after that.

3 years later, now with the war ended, the Jedi are doing some soul searching of their own and coming to terms with the fact that their role as peacekeepers has been replaced with soldier and that they have moved too away from the light to the point they did not realize a Sith Lord was right under their nose. It is also at this time that Logan returns to Coruscant in 8 years, now as a junior representative under Senator Kirkwood.

Oscar-calm, collect, model Jedi Oscar- is desperate to see Logan again. The war had taught just how quick death could come and how much he missed Logan. Logan, however, is careful to avoid Oscar. He knows Jedi shouldn’t have emotional attachments and he’s not willing to put his heart on the line again, especially how it was crushed so many years ago. Oscar’s opposition however, is not himself, but rather the Jedi Code and the one Jedi Master who hadn’t learned a single thing and seems hell bent on enforcing the most traditionalist reading of it, James Vowles.

Logan, due to his works, is the target of many assassination attempts and requires a Jedi security detail. To avoid any attachment, the council refuses Oscar’s bid and sends Alex instead. Downside is Logan is charming and kind and Alex seems to have adopted him like the many Tookas he has in hidden in his room.

This attachment is obvious, and James being the hater that he is, has Alex is removed and replaced with George. George goes in with his game face on but quickly understands why Alex loved this kid so much and has also adopted him. He is then replaced with Fredrick Vesti, who is also removed and replaced with Jenson.

It also doesn't help that Logan has also bonded with his Jedi protectors and sends them stuff as thank you, mainly in the form of homemade baked goods. Alex comes with a case full of delicious strawberry tarts after a conference in Naboo. George receives a tray of brownies a week after accompanying Logan on a trade deal. Jenson receives muffins every week to accompany his morning cup of tea. Meanwhile, Oscar is gnawing at the bars of his enclosure as his attempts to meet Logan for a meal are rejected.

Brocedes

I know what you're thinking. Jedi Lewis and Senator Nico in a combination of hidden marriage and that one scene where Obi Wan is debating Satine about the necessity of war. To which I say, close but not quite.

Lewis and Nico grew up in the temple together and became padawans at the exact same time. Nico as the padawan of Jedi Master Schumacher and Lewis as the padawan of Jedi Master Lauda. They were best friends, but also something more.

However, once the war approached, Lewis quickly became disillusioned. He was a jedi to be a peacekeeper, a diplomat, yet here and now, he was a general. Nico, however, felt that fighting and leading this war was the responsibility of the Jedi. They are fighting to end this war.

Unable to take it anymore, Lewis sheds his status as a Jedi and enters politics as a representative and later a senator with the goal to end this war. Nico takes this as betrayal and in the year of Lewis's election, runs a smear campaign against him. During this time, Supreme Chancellor Helmut Marko is revealed to be a Sith lord and dies. Some say Lewis killed him, some say Max shoved him out a window, most believe his racist heart gave up and stopped and he fell off a loading platform. Either way he's dead and Lewis has been elected into the position of Supreme Chancellor.

With the war now ended, Nico is eager to repair their broken relationship and reignite the love they once had. Lewis would prefer the Jedi Council send him a different Jedi as security detail because he is very busy repairing the galaxy is the aftermath of a brutal war.

****

Lewis could feel that his headache-inducing day would not be ending anytime soon. It was bad enough the financial guilds wanted to raise the interest rates on loans but now he would have to deal with this mess.

Opening the door, he found the Jedi Master Nico Rosberg lying across his table with his head resting in his hand. "Hello, Chancellor."

"Hello, Jedi." With a wave of the force, Lewis sent Nico flying off the table.

"Aww, that's not nice. Especially since I'm here to protect you and all." Nico sauntered over to the couch as Lewis took a seat at his desk.

"I believe I requested Master Russel and Master Verstappen, even Master Albon will do." Lewis would much rather have his former padawans or the most calm and levelheaded Jedi of their generation over this.

"Well, George and Max are currently not on good terms and the council feared it would jeopardize your security." Of course they were. Training them together was tough, he still blames Kimi's refusal to have a padawan as the reason he was stuck with two. "Alex and Oscar are currently guarding Representative Sargeant and Senator Kirkwood so they're also unavailable."

"Was there no one else the order could spare? Surely the Council would not waste the time of a Jedi Master such as you on protecting someone as lowly as me. Especially since the only event this week is a charity gala." Lewis went through his calendar to see what he had next, avoiding the gentle tug on the force bond that neither of them had the heart to cut when it all fell apart.

"A charity gala is extremely risky. With all those important people there, someone has to watch your back Chancellor." Nico smiled like a loth-cat.

"Oh," Lewis raised an eyebrow. "And does this protection only extend to me or to my date as well?"

A twitch of the eyebrow and the forceful tug on the force bond, was all Lewis needed.

"I'm afraid it only extends to the Chancellor." Nico said through gritted teeth.

**** If you want more of these, just let me know.

[sendpseuds]

This [segment of a] comment that @underacalicosky left on Perfect Spiral has been on my mind since the moment I saw it and all I can think about is—

Anakin returns to the temple early from a long mission to find himself face to face with a man he doesn't recognize leaving the quarters he shares with Obi-Wan— tall, young, curls that almost touch his shoulders. Naturally, Anakin must confront this stranger who, to his horror, turns out to be a sex worker.

It’s not that Anakin has an issue with the profession, it’s just that—

"You’re here to see Obi-Wan? You were— with Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

"Look, man, I don't talk about my—“

"You will answer my questions."

"I will answer your questions."

Queue Anakin basically Force interrogating this poor man [over burgers and strong drinks because he’s not that cruel] learning things he’s definitely not ready to hear.

Obi-Wan first took him to bed almost a year ago.

He’s been tied up, spanked, made to hold what he describes as an ungodly cock in his mouth as the high Jedi general worked on battle plans and mission reports.

He describes Anakin’s master as his favorite client.

“What happens— after? You just— leave?”

“Not immediately. He’s sweet. Kind. He likes to make sure I’m okay.”

“Yeah. That sounds like—“

“But tonight— tonight was one of his sad nights. He wanted to hold me. Kept saying how much he missed me.”

Anakin is devastated. He feels like his hope is dying. Like he can’t breathe.

Until the man across the table huffs out a strange laugh.

“Well, no, not me. Obi-Wan misses him.”

“What? Who?”

“Anakin. When we’re together, he calls me Anakin.”

Obviously, chapter two is Obi-Wan’s POV, wondering why Anakin is acting so strangely until he realizes his former padawan is reenacting a scene he’s played out with his favorite sex worker, beat for beat.

[multi-fandoms-posts]

The Truth Part 1

Qimir x Jedi reader

Part 2

Your view:

My master and I are on a mission together. "Concentrate!" he calls, and I shake my head and attack the enemy again. But my thoughts wander back to my dead brother, and I am thrown to the ground. My master rushes to my aid and kills him. "What's wrong with you?" he asks, surprised, and I sit up. "Master, it's... I miss my brother," I say sadly.

"You have to learn to live with it and stop thinking about it. It affects your mind and you lose concentration during fights," he says, slightly annoyed. I look at him in surprise. He has never spoken to me like that before. My master has been acting strange lately, ever since he came back from the mission where my brother died. "What happened on the mission?" I ask, standing up. "I already told you," he says calmly. "You're lying," I say. "You call your master a liar?" he asks angrily. "I want to hear the truth," I say angrily. We started arguing until...

"It was an accident!" he shouts, and I look at him in shock. "You killed my brother," I say, stunned. "It was an accident," he says quietly. Anger and sadness mix and I use the Force. He grabs hold of his neck. "Y/N," he says, shocked.

I scowl at him and carry on, gripping my lightsaber so tightly that my knuckles turn white.

"I trusted you. You taught me everything and you took care of me and my brother. You lied to me and took my brother, the only family I had left. You just killed him," I say angrily and clench my fist. My master falls limply to the ground and I realize what I just did.

Suddenly a strange figure appears. He is wearing a mask and is coming closer. I activate my lightsaber. The once blue blade turns blood red. I am surprised that something like this is possible.

“I’ve been watching you,” the man says.

"I want to make you an offer," he begins and I watch him carefully. "Be my acolyte and let me train you," he says.

I look at the stranger and shake my head. "No, never," I say and grab my master's lightsaber and run to the ship.

Qimir’s view:

I take off my mask and watch her go. She has so much potential. I hope I see her again and can get her to be my acolyte.

I look at the dead man and am still impressed that she killed her master without a weapon.

Your view:

I returned to Coruscant and reported to the Council that my master died on the mission and I barely escaped. I asked the Council if they could station me in Olega for a while and they agreed.

I'm just packing my backpack when my lightsaber catches my eye. I lift it up and activate it. The red blade appears. "How is that possible?" I ask myself quietly.

I think again about the stranger who appeared. What was he doing there? And why didn't he kill me? He doesn't seem to be a Jedi. I shake my head and continue packing my backpack. Then I set off for Olega.

Olega

I put my things away and decided to go for a walk. I hid my lightsaber on the back of my Jedi robe and took my master's lightsaber with me.

The Jedi gave so much to me and my brother. Our home was attacked and our parents died. They felt the Force in both of us and took us with them. That's how I met my master.

I was so lost in thought that I ran into someone and lost my balance. Just before I hit the ground, someone grabbed me and pulled me towards him. I looked up and saw that a man was holding me. He looked at me and grinned. "Hey, beautiful," he said and I blushed. "H-Hey," I stammered and quickly pulled away from him. "Sorry," I apologized. "No need to apologize," he smiled and looked me up and down. "Are you a Jedi?" he asked and I nodded. "Could you help me with something?" he asked and I looked at him skeptically. Does he want to kill me?

"Hey, I'm not planning to killing you," he laughs. "How did you know what I was thinking?" I ask cautiously. "I didn't know, but I'm good at reading people," he grins.

"My name is Qimir," he smiles and holds out his hand to me. I hesitantly take his hand. "Y/N," I say.

"What a beautiful name," he smiles and I blush again. "What do you need my help with?" I ask. "Come with me," he says and I carefully follow him. "Don't get me wrong, but you look pretty worn out. Did something go wrong with your Jedi thing?" he asks. "Jedi thing? That's what you call it?" I ask, amused. "In my defense, I don't really know what the Jedi do," he defends himself and I laugh.

We enter the pharmacy. "Are you the new pharmacist?" I ask. "Yes," he says.

Qimir puts a few things away. "Come here," he waves me over. "I need your help to make something. If I do it alone, it will take too long," he says.

"Tell me, have we met before? Because you look's familiar to me," I ask. "No, because I would remember such a beauty," he grins and I blush again. It's somehow nice to get compliments like that, especially from Qimir. But he still seems familiar to me.

“Do you want to help?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts.

Well, it might distract me from the fact that I killed my master and I don't mind and don't feel any remorse. "Yes," I smile.

Qimir gave me precise instructions on what to do.

"Done," I say and turn around. Qimir and I are standing very close to each other. "Thank you for your help," he smiles. "I was happy to help you," I smile.

We look at each other intensely. Qimir looks cute and it's very nice to talk to him. But I'm still a Jedi, more or less.

The shop door opens and we part ways. “Hey Mae,” Qimir greets the girl.

Mae looks at me skeptically. "Who is that?" she asks. "Oh, that's Y/N, she helped me," he says and suddenly puts an arm around me. I tense up a little because I'm not used to such touches.

"She's a Jedi," Mae says, shocked. "Are you crazy, Qimir? Do you know what you're doing? She can stop us," she growls, and Qimir raises his hands. "She's different from the others," he says. "How?" she asks, and Qimir looks at me. "I don't know, but... something is different from the others," he says. "I'm still here," I say. "Look, I don't want to cause any trouble or problems. I'm going," I say, and walk to the door.

I turn to Qimir. "Maybe we'll see each other again soon," I smile and make my way back to the temple.

Narrator’s point of view:

"Would you ever think before you do something?" Mae asks, annoyed. "I needed help, Mae," says Qimir. "And I have no idea where you've been again," he says. "I had something to do," she simply says.

In the evening

Your view:

I'm lying in my bed and my thoughts keep wandering to Qimir. I notice that I'm slowly falling in love with him. I just feel safe and secure around him.

I sigh and turn around. I'm torn between the Jedi Code and my feelings for him. I've lost my brother. Actually, nothing really keeps me with the Jedi anymore.

I close my eyes and slowly fall asleep.

I suddenly feel the dark aura and immediately turn around. "You," I say, shocked, and see the stranger in front of me.

"What do you want?" I ask, but get no answer. He comes closer to me and I back away. "Do you think the Jedi care about you?" he asks. "Do you think the Council didn't know what your master did to your brother?" he says. "Y-you're lying," I say. "What reason would I have to lie?" he asks me and I look at the floor.

He comes over to me and forces me to look at him. "You're still not a Jedi Knight. Haven't you ever wondered why?" he asks. "They're holding you back. They're afraid of your power. You have so much potential and they're keeping you small. The Jedi are afraid they won't be able to control you if you get stronger," he says. "Don't worry," he says, stroking my cheek with his thumb. "We'll see each other again soon," he says and everything goes dark.

I jump up and look around. The window has been opened. Wait, was he here?

The Council cannot possibly know that my master killed my brother. He would no longer be my master. But is he right? Are the Jedi keeping me down because they're afraid of me?

Qimir’s view:

When I notice that she is starting to wake up, I quickly disappear from her room and through the window and go back to the store.

Once there, I quickly put my other clothes back on. At first I wanted Y/N to be my acolyte, but now, what can I say? I've fallen in love with her and I hope I was able to help her see the truth. I feel this spark of darkness in her and I also feel that this spark is getting stronger.

Your view:

I was in my room all morning thinking about what he told me. I suddenly hear a familiar voice and look outside. I see Yord, Jecki and Master Sol and immediately go downstairs.

"Y/N," smiles Jecki. Yord and Sol also turn to me. "Hey," I smile. "I'm sorry about your master," says Yord. "He really was a very good master," says Sol.

Yes, if you only knew.

"Has something happened?" I ask and Jecki explains everything to me: Osha has a twin sister, she thought she was dead, she killed Master Torbin and this new pharmacist seems to be involved somehow.

I'm honestly pretty shocked, but I try to keep my composure. "Is everything okay? You look like you've seen a ghost," Yord says. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, it's just... it's all a bit much. I'm going to go back to my room," I say and leave without even waiting for an answer.

Later in the evening

I watched everything from my room, including Sol fighting Mae. I decided to help Qimir and Mae and sneak into the shop.

Qimir turns to me in surprise. "What are you doing here?" he asks and I cover his mouth. "Shh," I whisper. "I'll help you and Mae off the planet," I whisper and take my hand away from his mouth. "Well, first of all, the next time you want me to be quieter, use your mouth instead of your hand," he grins. "And secondly, why do you want to help us? Shouldn't you actually be stopping us? That's what the Jedi do," he says.

I sigh. "Believe me, I'm far from being a Jedi now," I say. "Then come with us," he says, coming closer. "I can't, Qimir," I say quietly. "Why?" he whispers.

We are standing very close to each other now. "I-I don't know. I'm just scared," I say quietly and look at the ground.

Qimir gently grabs my chin and forces me to look at him. "It's okay," he whispers, caressing my cheek with his thumb.

"I'll try to find Mae," I whisper and break away from Qimir.

It took me a while, but I was able to find Mae. "Hey," I say, and she turns around, startled. She immediately goes into fighting stance. "Wait," I say, raising my hands. "I want to help you and Qimir get off the planet."

"Why?" she asks skeptically. "Why should you help us? You're a Jedi," she says, and I sigh. "Can I tell you something?" I ask. She nods hesitantly, and I tell her everything that happened to my brother, that I killed my master, and the encounter with the stranger.

"You met him," she says, more to herself. "Do you know him?" I ask. "Yes. He's my master," she says, and I look at her in surprise. "I'm sorry about your brother," she says. "Thank you," I smile weakly. "Come, I know where we can hide," I say, and Mae follows me.

Mae and I sit opposite each other. "Can I tell you something too?" she asks after a while. "Of course," I say.

Mae tells everything that happened – from the death of her mother to the moment she met her master.

“I’m sorry, you’ve been through so much,” I say.

“We should sleep,” she says after a while and I agree.

the next day

"Mae, you have to get Qimir. I can't do that, the Jedi are watching him. You two come here and I'll take you to a ship," I say and Mae nods before she sets off.

What if the stranger is right and the council knew about it? I still can't really believe that my master killed my brother. My brother was always so cheerful. We often went on missions together. He always claimed he was better than me and we always bet. I smile when I think of how many times he said I cheated. I shake my head to regain my focus. I see Mae and Qimir coming running.

"Hey, beautiful woman," Qimir grins. "Hello, handsome," I grin and Qimir looks a little surprised, but smiles. "Okay, could you stop flirting? We have to get out of here," Mae says. "Right," I say. "Come on, we have to go this way," I say and walk ahead.

As I walk around the corner, I see two Jedi and immediately take a few steps back. I grab Qimir and Mae by the arm and push them against the wall. "What..." I cover Qimir's mouth and he raises an eyebrow questioningly. "Unfortunately, I didn't have time to use my mouth instead of my hand," I roll my eyes and take my hand away from his mouth.

“What’s going on between you two?” she asks, confused.

“Come on, we have to move on,” I say and run ahead again.

After a few minutes we reach the ship. "I have to go back to the temple now," I say and Qimir holds me tight. I'm about to ask him what's wrong, but he pulls me into a kiss.

I'm shocked at first and need a moment, but then I return the kiss.

I put my arms around his neck and pull him closer. After a few moments we break away from the kiss. "I promise you, we'll see each other again," he says and kisses me again.

“Hey, we have to hurry,” Mae interrupts.

"See you," smiles Qimir and climbs into the ship. I touch my lips and feel a tingling sensation and smile.

I'm just walking back to the temple. "Y/N," I hear Yord call and turn around. "Hey, what's up?" I ask. Yord tells me what happened and that they're going back to Coruscant because Master Sol wants to report to the council.

"Are you coming with us?" asks Yord. "Come on, Y/N, you can't leave me here alone with him," Jecki comes over to us. "Hey," complains Yord. "Master Sol wants to travel to Khofar to save Master Kelnacca, but the council has to agree to that," explains Jecki. "Why save him?" I ask. "Mae has a master and at the time there were four Jedi stationed on her home planet, including Master Kelnacca and Master Sol. She wants to kill them all. Mae will travel to Khofar next," explains Jecki.

“I'll come with you,” I say.

So I see Qimir again, but something makes me suspicious. He said we would see each other again. He was as sure of it as if he had seen it. Qimir says he can read people well, that may be true, but he could never see the future, not without being connected to the Force. I shake my head, maybe he just said that.

[tennessoui]

writing warm up that got away from me

It takes thirty-two more hours for the realization to come to Sidious, and he blames Skywalker wholly for the delay. The boy's own stupidity and black-and-white view of the galaxy must be rubbing off on him, that's the only reason Sidious can think of for not having thinking of this sooner.

Kenobi. 

And Skywalker.

The answer has been sitting right before him this entire time, but he had been too blinded by his own hatred of Kenobi to see it. And Skywalker's hero worship of the man hadn't helped, of course. The way Skywalker talked of his old Jedi master evoked images of untouchable saints, glowing angels, benevolent deities...the same way he talked of those sentients he fancied himself in love with at the height of his relationships with them. Gilded and perfect and infallible. It was the way Skywalker loved, to paint his paramours as idols placed upon a pedestal.

How had Sidious missed that Skywalker had already done the same thing with Kenobi? Years ago! For years, he has endured Skywalker's fanatical praise of his Jedi master. He has listened to him complain about the man, his fastidiousness, his devotion to the Jedi Order--but oh, those moments that Sidious had made the mistake of agreeing with Skywalker's own words! He has never felt closer to losing Skywalker's trust than those times he let a bad word about Kenobi slip past his lips, even though Skywalker himself had already said much more damning things.

And yet no matter the argument, no matter the disagreement between Kenobi and Skywalker, Skywalker's faith in his master did not waver. He never took his master down from that pedestal, no matter how many times Kenobi revealed himself to be just a man.

Sidious has spent years resenting that, resenting Skywalker's unshakeable devotion to his master. He has spent years trying to ingratiate himself to the boy, trying to replace Kenobi as the boy's mentor, his father. And every time he has failed because it seems that no matter how often Kenobi manages to break Skywalker's heart, Skywalker gives it to him again without hesitation.

But...but if Skywalker were to see Kenobi through the lens of a man in love, if they were to fall into bed together and strike up a romance, then surely...surely Kenobi would flinch at the force of Skywalker's naked devotion.

[martianbugsbunny]

Hour One (A Kalluzeb Fic)

*falling down the stairs* I did it! I finished my post-Zero Hour fic, it's so tasty to me <3 I'm not even gonna ramble about it I'm just gonna get right to the fic bc I love it!!! read on and enjoy!!!

When the ship was safely in hyperspace, Kanan quietly let Kallus into a room on the Ghost that was currently deserted. Judging by the half-made bunk beds against the wall, Kallus assumed it was living quarters, but he was too distracted by the growing pain in his shoulders and ribs to try and piece together whose room it was.

“I’ll give you a minute,” Kanan said. And then Kallus was alone again, with the forgiving, kind voice of the Jedi echoing in his brain. He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to be spoken to softly. He was lucky these people whom he’d hunted across the galaxy for years had even bothered to pick up his escape pod, rather than speeding away from the Imperial fleet and applying the rule of “serves him right.”

Something in him cracked. He began to sob, silently, terrified of what he had done in betraying the Empire, overwhelmed by a thousand different strident feelings he couldn’t even name. The heavy breaths hurt (every movement seemed to hurt, now that his adrenaline rush was wearing thin) and his head was pounding. Was the world really spinning, or was that just him?

At the first hiss of the door sliding open, Kallus dragged his sleeve hastily across his face to remove any tears or snot that might give away that he’d been crying—a bad decision, really, given his black eye, which stung at the rough contact.

It wasn’t Kanan who stepped into the room, slightly awkwardly and with bright green eyes that reflected back at Kallus those unnamable emotions.

It was Zeb.

Kallus took a step back, hands clenched at his sides. He knew his eyes were red and he could feel spots on his face where he had missed tears, and he hoped Zeb wouldn’t notice. He had no right to cry in front of this man, of all people.

Zeb stared at him for a moment, and Kallus could feel him mentally checking off all the things that were currently wrong on Kallus’s person. Hunched posture from his injured ribs; blotchy face; bloodstains on his uniform and dried blood on his lip.

“I brought you some clothes,” Zeb said. In the other hand he held a medkit, and Kallus realized with a sinking feeling that those supplies were for him. What a waste of resources that seemed. “They’re probably not your size, but they’re better than the Imperial things you’re wearing.”

Kallus took a breath before answering, surprised at how steady he was able to force his voice to be. “Thank you,” he said.

Then there was a horrible pause as Kallus realized he wouldn’t be able to remove his chest armor, much less his shirt, without help, and he could see the exact same knowledge dawning on Zeb’s face. “Karabast,” he said. “You’re going to be stubborn about this, aren’t you.”

Kallus shook his head after only a brief moment of thought. He didn’t have the strength to punish himself any further. Whether or not he was worthy of Zeb’s help would have to wait until he was healed. “If you don’t mind,” he said, taking another shaky breath as he once again met Zeb’s gaze.

He didn’t look angry. He almost seemed…proud? That wasn’t right. Kallus was seeing things; his brain had been shaken up by his escape and he was imagining things that weren’t there. “I don’t,” Zeb said. He crossed the room and set the clothes down on the lower bunk. “Sit,” he said, gesturing to the empty space next to them.

Kallus did as he was told, relieved to be off his feet. The leg he’d injured on Bahryn had been hurting horribly since his fight with Thrawn, particularly his knee. He might need to consider getting a brace, he realized, if he wanted to keep fighting—which he did.

Zeb unclasped the sides of Kallus’s ISB-issued armor, dumping it on the floor. “Sabine’ll get a kick out of painting that,” Zeb said. “You can wear our colors instead of Imperial ones.” “Give it to somebody else,” Kallus said. “I don’t want it.” Zeb gave him another strange look that he couldn’t parse. “Whatever you say.” He began to work at the clasps of Kallus’s uniform shirt. They definitely wasn't built for his large, clawed fingers. “So…you’re a Rebel now,” he said. “Still think you made the right decision?”

There weren’t words to describe how firmly Kallus was convinced of it. He was terrified, staring into the face of the unknown, but he knew he’d done the right thing—he just wasn’t sure how to live with the consequences. How to build a new life for himself out of the ruins of his old one…which had been built on the ruins of so many other people’s lives.

So Kallus simply nodded, trying to keep himself from spilling any more tears. The thing that made that impossible was the gentle way Zeb worked the unclasped shirt from his torso, pulling off one sleeve and then the other, grumbling angrily in that deep, rumbling voice when he saw the bruises on Kallus’s side.

“I apologize,” Kallus said immediately, his voice stiff and cracked like old, uncared-for leather. “This isn’t fair.” Zeb helped him get his arms into the new shirt he’d brought, leaving the clasps undone; the medics would only have to undo them again later to treat his injuries properly. Then he draped a quilted jacket across Kallus’s shoulders.

“You just uprooted your entire life, Kallus,” Zeb said, sighing and adjusting a non-existent crease in the jacket. “I would think it was weird if you didn’t cry.”

“Not in front of you. You shouldn’t comfort me.” Kallus moved backwards, further into the bunk, away from Zeb’s touch. He didn’t deserve empathy and he didn’t want pity. “This shouldn’t be your problem.”

Zeb got up from the floor where he’d been kneeling and sat on the edge of the bunk, staring at the opposite wall instead of at Kallus. “Maybe not,” he agreed. “Maybe I should say it’s none of my business. Maybe I should leave you to deal with it alone. But when you worked with me on that ice moon, and saved my friends from the Empire, and fed us all that intel as Fulcrum, I think you kind of made yourself my business.” He turned back towards Kallus, his face serious, his eyes soft. “Now let me check your other injuries.”

Kallus complied, shifting closer to Zeb. Even if it didn’t sit right with him, he didn’t think he could refuse Zeb anything. He would do whatever he was asked, whatever he was told—even allow Zeb to take on some of his burden—if it would make a fraction of a difference. If it would help him so much as an inch towards making amends.

With his broad hands carefully gentle, Zeb put a few stitches in Kallus’s broken lower lip. Kallus wondered where Zeb had learned those skills; if it was gained during his time in the Honor Guard of Lasan or in the Rebellion. For a moment, he was lost in wondering, searching Zeb’s face while he was intent on his task as though he could find an answer there. He only realized Zeb had paused and asked him a question when Zeb tilted his head to the side, staring at Kallus for an answer of his own.

“Could you repeat that?”

Zeb rolled his eyes. “I said, can you see alright? That black eye doesn’t look too good.”

His eyes were dry now, but there was still a blur in the left side of his vision. “Actually, I can’t,” he said, swallowing hard. “Everything to the left is hazy.”

“It'll probably need a while to heal,” Zeb said. “If it doesn’t, we’ll get you fitted with some visual aids.” He dabbed something cold and clear on the bruised skin. “There’s nothing more I can do until we land, but you should be fine.”

The pain in his side begged to argue, and he was pretty sure that something in there was broken, but Kallus nodded. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For everything."

How could he put that everything into words? Thank you for not killing me on Bahryn, thank you for telling me to look for the answers, thank you for believing me when I was Fulcrum, thank you for picking me up just now, thank you for tending my wounds.

He didn’t need to. The way Zeb was looking at him, he already knew.

“We have enough people on board to handle things,” Zeb said, his voice equally low. “I can stick around here for a while if you want the company.”

Kallus felt a smile tugging at the stitches on his lip. More everything to be grateful for. “Alright.”

They sat there together on the bunk for a while in silence. It was a comfortable silence, somehow, and Kallus finally began to relax, not breathing easily past the injuries to his ribs but certainly breathing more easily than before.

“You were limping,” Zeb said, breaking the quiet. “When you came on board you were limping.”

“Once you’re wounded, that body part becomes a target. It’s not so bad, now that my weight’s been off it.” Zeb leaned back against the wall. “That’s good.” He extended one arm to Kallus. “Come on, Kal. We’ve got time before we land anywhere, you can rest.”

There was a moment of hesitation, of doubt, and then Kallus allowed himself to settle next to Zeb, with a strong purple arm around his shoulders. As he started drifting off, safe for the first time in months and knowing his injuries would be cared for, Kallus thought he felt Zeb’s fingers gently rubbing across his arm, and there was a little pit of warmth in his chest that kept the cold of pain and guilt out.

[lightasthesun]

Happy Disability Pride fellow spoonies!

As always: mind the tags!!

Push through (until you break) by @guildofscribes

Oneshot | 1,6K | Obi-Wan, Anakin, Cody

Next to Anakin's ease and power within the Force, none of the clones realize just how far General Kenobi is pushing himself to keep up. It's war. And he'll do what he must. Until he can't.

Memories awash with colour by QuickSilverFox3

Chapters: 2 | 4,4K | Cody/Obi-Wan

There is a Spring Festival on Coruscant meant to remember when the city overtook everything and what they had all lost because of it. Obi-Wan and Cody never manage to see it, but they spend the time together regardless.

No words needed by jack_a_rose

Oneshot | 2,8K | Cody/Obi-Wan & the 212th Attack Battalion

“It really doesn’t bother me, my dear,” Obi-Wan lied through his teeth, struggling to sit upright on the bed in the medbay after his most recent injury. His arm was in a sling so he couldn’t sign, and Cody could see the frustration in his eyes with every instinctive move to lift his arm, “I have spent years not hearing, it is as much a part of me as my lightsaber is, it’s part of who I am. Yes, my implant allows me to hear and yes, sometimes I do miss the voices of my loved ones, but I am used to it.”

“But you shouldn’t have to be,” Cody signed as he spoke, letting out a sigh, “you chose to get the implant for a reason, to have the choice to hear. And that choice has been taken from you.” “You do not need to worry about me, dear,” Obi-Wan said, reaching out with his uninjured hand to place it on Cody’s knee.

Cody just shook his head and smiled sadly. “I always worry about you, cyare.”

a quiet tapestry by lux_arcana

Oneshot | 2,9K | Obi-Wan & Quinlan

The war had broken Obi-Wan, but he was alive.

Sometimes that was enough.

(Or: The impact of Obi-Wan's strained relationship with the Force after the end of the Clone Wars)

instead i took care of you by CallToMuster

Oneshot | 2K | Obi-Wan & Service Animal Boga & Ahsoka

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, he was on the ground and he couldn’t remember how he got there.

[Or: many decades after the successful ending of the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan is still struggling, in ways both old and new.]

heavy off a golden hue by catboydogma

Series | Cody/Obi-Wan (Rex & Qui-Gon)

“And there are some, like me,” Obi-Wan said, voice softening against his will, “who relapse. And relapse. And… and it never quite leaves. I’m afraid I’m rather susceptible to the kind of emotional distress that the flowers thrive in. There is so much love to be had in the galaxy, and I can’t help but… even when it hurts. Perhaps especially when it hurts. I let it get ahold and it’s chronic at this point. Even if I never loved again, I will always have… this.” He spread a hand over his own chest and already, he could feel the stuttering slip of petals and leaves threatening. He kept his breathing slow and shallow, and the threat passed—for now.

Heliotropism by wobblycompetencies

Oneshot | 15K | Poe/Luke (Rey & Wedge Antilles & Mace)

“Really,” he said, to underline the point, because Poe was looking a little doubtful. “I’m in no rush here. Whatever you want to do, or not do, is fine. I’m just...enjoying spending time with you.”

"I’m not in a rush, exactly, I just want – " Poe normally was able to state his mind with little angst or uncertainty; now, he looked faintly exasperated with himself. "I do want to find out what I still can do. Not all at once, though. And I don't know what it’ll look like, or – or how long it's gonna take for me to get there."

Luke reached for Poe's hand where it was drumming restlessly on the tabletop, and squeezed it reassuringly. "Find out together?"

Ni haa'taylir ner'st o'r gar (I see myself in you) by foreverchangingfandoms

Oneshot | 11K | Obi-Wan & Tholme (Qui-Gon, Quinlan, Bant, Vokara)

On a mission, Obi-Wan is seriously injured in a way that could change his life forever. Whilst healing, he finds help from his friend's Master and the one Jedi who understands how he feels.

look after you by piqu3d

Oneshot | 2.2K | Obi-Wan/Cody & Luke & Leia

He’s sitting in his chair, legs turned irreparably inwards leading to knobby knees covered by a loose blanket. The cannula in his nostrils is slightly crooked on its way to the tank attached to his chair. There are pale purple circles under his eyes, and wrinkles wear at his skin around his eyes and his nose. His hair, stringy with sweat, drapes against his pale forehead. His lopsided smile rests on chapped lips, and his hands are lightly trembling where they hover over his lap.

He’s the most beautiful person Cody’s ever seen.

if it's quite alright by piqu3d

Oneshot | 2.2K | Obi-Wan & Leia (minor codywan)

“Obi-Wan,” Cody’s voice filters from the cracks between Leia’s fingers, and Obi-Wan wants to sob. His heart keens at the phantom touches on his shoulders and around his waist as he listens to Cody’s steady, low voice. “Obi-Wan, it’s alright.”

A forced chuckle rips its way from behind his teeth. “Alright, is it?”

Cody’s response is a buzz over the wireless connection: “It’s going to be. You have Leia. Fulcrum and her charge are alive. Just breathe, Kenobi.”

Not Her by dieFabuliererin

Chapters: 23 | 76k | Ahsoka-centric | Padmé/Anakin (Obi-Wan & Ahsoka & Anakin & Cast)

A white-hot warning flashes through the Force, and Ahsoka jumps to the rooftop without hesitating. Whatever Obi-Wan's reason for not defending himself, she can't allow the sniper to kill him. She wouldn't be able to live with herself.

Incapacitation by whitchry9

Oneshot | 3K | Obi-Wan & Stim (medic oc) & Cody

Neuromuscular incapacitation: the disruption of nerve and muscle function by a targeted electrical stimulus.

Or, Obi Wan gets shocked repeatedly, and the aftereffects are... many.

Speak No Word (Hear No Sound) by TemporaryUniverse

Oneshot | 6K | Obi-Wan & Ahsoka and Anakin and Boga

Ahsoka wasn't sure what she was getting into when she was assigned to Master Kenobi and sent to the front lines. She didn't even know he was deaf.

Being captured together gives them the chance to get to know each other a little more. For better or worse.

dancer in the dark by catboydogma

Chapters: 3 | 10K | Cody/Obi-Wan & Dooku & Anakin

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan said. “Anakin, what’s Bly’s last name?” Anakin blue-screened for a moment. “Uh…”

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan said again, sliding ungracefully off the boards with a thump and putting his back to the door. “Is that—tell me that’s not Bly’s father, Anakin.” Good God, he’d never live this down.

“No,” Anakin said after a moment squinting first at the door, then Obi-Wan. A tangled mess of sound was echoing through the room as the newcomers greeted Bly and vice versa, all deep voices with light accenting—Māori, Obi-Wan remembered, slightly giddy. It was a Māori accent, because—“That’s his brother,” Anakin told Obi-Wan. “Cody—”

“Cody Fett,” Obi-Wan said, clutching his cup a little tighter and steadfastly refusing to look over his shoulder. “He’s brothers with Cody Fett, former Olympic gold medalist and—oh, God.“

[david-talks-sw]

Since people were talking about it recently: is there any official reason given of why Padme forgave Anakin immediatly after the Tusken Raider massacre? I always see a lot of diferent reasons given on the internet, from long and deep analises of theirs characters to "the writers didn't think about it".

Okay, folks (or single person who messaged me three times) I'm finally talking about this XD !

I got no official answer.

That said, here's a few points that I do think merit consideration, and I haven't really seen them mentioned anywhere.

1. Anakin is more regretful in the script.

If you look at how the scene is portrayed in the Attack of the Clones July 2001 draft of the screenplay, in Scene 118, pages 83-84...

... he's sorry and ashamed. He is in absolute shock of what he did. We get a bit of this, in the film...

... but in the script it's much more explicit. It starts out with him lashing out at Obi-Wan, at his own lack of power, but it ends with him breaking down and just apologizing over and over.

He didn't just kill them, he went Wolverine-style berseker and murdered EVERYTHING in his path, and he's thinking back on it with a clear-ish head now and realizing the gravity of his monstrous act.

When it's on paper, it reads very differently, to me. He's more remorseful, so Padmé's reaction makes more sense.

But there's a big difference between what you write in a script and what comes out in the film. Once you're shooting, myriad other factors come into play. So Anakin's dialog changes as the delivery and the rhythm are narrowed down, the beats in the scene shift around... but Padmé's reaction stays the same.

And that's where you get the disconnect.

Because what sticks with the audience more is this moment, now.

The anger. Not the shock and remorse.

So why the change? Well, George Lucas had this to say:

"He's very unhappy about that. Very sad and depressed. There was some dialogue here before that I took out, because it seemed to get in the way of the emotional moment of this scene where she says, "To be angry is to be human," and he says, "But to control your anger is to be a Jedi." And so that issue was actually laid out in dialogue at one point, and I decided to pull back from it... because it seemed to me that it was pretty obvious that was what was there. And I didn't think I needed to state it quite as boldly as I did. And that issue will come up at a later time, and I just felt it took away from the moment of his sadness. And I thought the sadness pretty much said the same thing without words." - AotC, Commentary Track #2, 2002

The reasoning was: too much dialog takes away from emotion.

An audience member will have a stronger emotional reaction from Anakin crying than Anakin crying while screaming "woe is me!"

I get (and generally agree) with the reasoning. But, personally, I have mixed feelings about this particular artistic choice.

On the one hand... if the intent is to show that Anakin made a big mistake and is sorry and sad because of his actions, then I think it's safe to say that it's not what most people took away.

Which then leads to things like John Ostrander writing Anakin as thinking he'd kill them all over again.

Also, it makes the viewer question the wisdom of Padmé's judgment.

But on the other hand... whether Anakin was feeling apologetic or not, he still did it. He still effectively massacred a whole tribe, he made that choice.

And whether the intent in that specific scene is conveyed efficiently or not, Anakin's character flaws (which the Prequels are really about) aren't really impacted and still tie together perfectly.

The only real change to that scene is that Padmé goes from having a more understandable reaction to "missing a lot of red flags".

2. Padmé thinks she can fix Anakin.

Here's what Natalie Portman had to say on the scene, which I think is an interesting take.

"She's this very powerful woman, and I think Padmé is sort of intrigued by this darker side she sees to him, especially because she's such a person who tries to fix everything. She sees problems in the world and she still has that idealistic passion… to think she can change everything, and she can change people who have darkness to them. And she sees goodness in him. She sees this passion. And she sees that there's a lot of anger in that passion, that it's not just the goodness and purity of her passion. So I think that is definitely attractive for her- that there's something that she can try and help heal or mend. That might be a big surprise for her when she can't." - Natalie Portman, AotC, Commentary Track #2, 2002

A part of Padmé is intrigued by Anakin's darker side, the "handsome bad boy" part... but that's coming from a place of "I can change him".

But the only thing that can change Anakin... is Anakin himself. Unfortunately, he keeps:

indulging his darker selfish impulses because he lacks discipline, acting on emotion despite knowing better,

regretting it for a moment and acknowledging that it was wrong,

starting again, never learning from his mistakes.

Which is part of the reason why their relationship is sort of doomed from the get-go.

[edward-munson]

Embers of Affection - Part 2

Summary: Anakin has been trying to apologize for weeks now. He's in a moment of fragility as his marriage falls apart and he realizes he has to deal with new feelings.

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x f!Jedi Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, cursing. (Anakin calls you Lovey as a friendly pet name)

Word count: 3.1k

previous chapter | next chapter

Anakin Skywalker stood alone on the rocky, barren planet, his lightsaber ignited and casting a vibrant blue glow in the dim twilight. He had been sent on a mission to confront a dangerous group of rogue Sith, and his heart felt heavy with the absence of his usual partner.

The wind howled through the desolate landscape, carrying with it the eerie echoes of battle.

Anakin's senses were on high alert, every muscle in his body tense as he moved cautiously through the rocky terrain. He couldn't help but feel a profound sense of loneliness and vulnerability without you by his side.

As he engaged in skirmishes with the Sith, Anakin's mind drifted to memories of your past missions together. You had always been there, your calm and focused demeanor balancing his impulsive nature. You both had been an inseparable team, trusting each other implicitly in the heat of battle.

Anakin's lightsaber clashed with an opponent's crimson blade, snapping him back to the present. He fought with skill and determination, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of longing for your presence.

He missed your unwavering support, your quick thinking, and the way you and him had always been able to anticipate each other's moves.

As the battle raged on, he couldn't shake the feeling of being incomplete without you at his side. Your absence left a void, a gap in his defenses that he couldn't help but notice. He wished he could hear your calm voice guiding him through the chaos, providing the reassurance he so desperately needed.

His thoughts were interrupted as he found himself surrounded by Sith adversaries. The odds were against him, and he fought valiantly, but he couldn't help but yearn for your expertise. In that moment, he realized just how much he relied on you as a partner, not just in battle, but as a source of strength and companionship.

Despite the fierce struggle, Anakin couldn't shake the feeling of longing for your presence. He knew that he had to push forward, to complete the mission and prove himself, but the battle felt emptier without you by his side.

As he finally emerged victorious from the skirmish, Anakin couldn't help but send a silent plea to the Force, hoping that you would return safely and that you both could once again stand side by side in your shared battles against the darkness.

The mission had been a stark reminder of just how much he missed his partner, and he couldn't wait for the day when you could reunite and face the galaxy's challenges together once more.

Anakin Skywalker's determination to make amends with you had grown into an all-consuming obsession. He couldn't bear the weight of the unresolved tension between them any longer. Days turned into weeks, and he found himself trying to apologize at every opportunity, despite your clear reluctance to engage with him.

One evening, in the bustling corridors of the Jedi Temple, Anakin spotted you walking briskly ahead of him. He quickened his pace, catching up to her.

"Lovey," he began, his voice filled with earnestness, "Can we please talk? I've been trying to apologize, and I can't stand this distance between us."

You stopped in your tracks, but didn't turn to face him. Your voice was cool and guarded. "Anakin, I've told you before that words alone won't fix things. I need to see a genuine change in your actions."

His eyes pleaded with your back, though you couldn't see them. "I know," he admitted, "But I want to make it right. I've been practicing meditation, trying to control my anger, and working on my impulsiveness."

You finally turned to face him, your expression skeptical. "Ani, change takes time. You can't just rush it."

Anakin's desperation showed as he persisted, his words coming out in a hurried rush. "I can't stand feeling like this anymore, Lovey. I miss talking to you, training together, and laughing together. Please, give me a chance to prove that I can change."

You hesitated, your gaze softening just a fraction. You knew that Anakin's struggle was genuine, but you had to be cautious. "Look, I need to see consistent effort, not just empty promises."

He nodded vigorously, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "I promise, Lovey, I'll keep working on myself, every single day if I have to. Just give me a chance to show you."

Relenting you sighed. You couldn't stand being away from your closest friend, from your partner. You were still deeply hurt. "I still need some time to think, Ani".

He squinted his eyes shut and just nodded. His eyes followed you as you left him alone.

One evening, in the quiet corner of the Jedi Temple's meditation gardens, he finally mustered the courage to approach you, again. You were sitting on a stone, your gaze fixed on the distant stars above, lost in thought.

"Lovey," Anakin began, his voice tentative. You almost huffed.

You turned your head slowly to look at him, your expression guarded. "Anakin, words have consequences," you replied, your voice still tinged with a lingering hurt. "You can't just say hurtful things and expect them to be forgotten."

Anakin sighed, realizing the depth of his mistake. "You're right," he admitted, "I shouldn't have said those things. I was angry and frustrated, and I took it out on you. I'm truly sorry."

Your gaze remained fixed on him, your eyes searching his for sincerity. "Ani, it's not just about the words," you continued, your voice soft but resolute.

"It's about your impulsive nature, your inability to control your anger. You need to confront these weaknesses if you want to grow as a Jedi."

Anakin's shoulders slumped, and he nodded in acknowledgment. He knew that you were right, and he couldn't ignore his flaws any longer. "I've been trying," he admitted, "But it's not easy. I have a long way to go."

Your expression softened again, but you knew it wasn't easy for him to not be so impulsive and stubborn.

"Just give it time, Anakin" You asked.

As much as he knew he needed to remain calm, his biggest difficulty was seeing you leave him alone, not giving him a chance to be forgiven. And, deep inside, you wanted to forgive him more than anything.

As Anakin's ship landed in the Jedi Temple, battered and bruised from the battle, he disembarked with a storm of anger brewing within him.

He had been reprimanded by his superiors, and the scolding hurt his pride, as always. He felt misunderstood and underappreciated, and that anger burned hotter than ever.

As you sensed Anakin's tumultuous emotions through the Force, you rushed to the landing platform. You, above anything, weren't certain if helping him was the right thing to do, but Padmé wasn't there. You turned to face him, your lips pressed into a thin line.

"I heard about your mission, Anakin," you said with a cold voice. "You were reckless, as always."

Anakin's eyes met yours, and there was a moment of hesitation inside of him. Every time he felt guilty, his body would respond to it, making his muscles tighten, his heart rate would be alarmingly high, and his hands would tremble.

He didn't know why you offered to help, especially after what happened between the two of you. You made your way to a secluded chamber within the temple.

With gentle but firm hands, you began your work, using the Force he taught you to ease his physical suffering. As you worked, you couldn't help but let your emotions show through your eyes.

You were deeply hurt by his words that day, but now he seemed too vulnerable. It was his impulsiveness and defiance of authority that were driving a wedge between you both.

Anakin winced in pain as you set a broken bone, and he couldn't ignore the sorrow in your eyes, which you couldn't disguise. "I'm sorry, Lovey".

Anakin whispered, his anger slowly giving way to remorse. "I didn't mean for things to turn out like this".

You continued your work, your touch gentle but distant. "Anakin, you have incredible potential, but your actions... They terrify me. You can't keep disregarding orders, you can't think through your words. You don't even think before you speak".

Anakin swallowed hard, realizing the depth of the hurt he had caused you. "I know I fucked up, Lovey. I just... I don't want to lose you or the Order's trust."

You finished taking care of his injuries, your hands falling away as you sighed. "I don't want to lose you either, Anakin. But you need to learn restraint, and you need to show respect for those who have been on your side. I won't do that again."

Anakin nodded solemnly, a sense of guilt washing over him. "I'll do better, Lovey. I promise."

"I need your reassurance, Anakin. I can't think of how you're going to end up if you can't control yourself". Your eyes looked away from him as you heard him leaving a long and deep sigh.

He stood there for a moment, his eyes fixed on your profile, expression still distant.

"Why did you even think I wasn't doing a good job?" You forced yourself to ask. You wanted to understand what happened to the man in front of you.

It took him long seconds to finally say something and he stuttered. "I- I was mad at myself. I was mad because I haven't been doing my job the way it was supposed to be done. And I got carried away".

Sarcastically, you let out a gasp. "And you thought throwing that out at me would've helped you?".

His face was staring at the floor, eyes almost shut. The small wounds had stopped bleeding, but his knuckles were bruised. You wanted to hold his hand and take care of him.

"I'm a shit man. I know that. Fuck, whatever you want me to do to make up for you, I will". He was ashamed. In fact, he was too embarrassed to even look at you.

You didn't say anything else. You kept your gaze at him.

"Lovey," he began, his voice filled with vulnerability, "I can't thank you enough for helping me". You tried to reluctantly not look at his direction.

As he turned to leave the medical room, he glanced back at you, his eyes filled with gratitude and a silent promise to do better.

Watching him go, your own gaze starts softening after you realize that forgiveness and healing were indeed possible, even after harsh words and hurtful actions.

The tension between Anakin and Padmé Amidala had reached a breaking point. They were in their private quarters on Coruscant, the dimly lit room filled with an uncomfortable silence.

Padmé sat on the edge of their bed, her expression weary and conflicted, while Anakin stood near the window, his arms folded and his face etched with frustration.

"Padmé," Anakin began, his voice tight with emotion, "I can't believe you're accusing me of harboring feelings for Y/N. She's my partner, my friend, but that's it."

Padmé turned to face him, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and anger. "Anakin, I've seen the way you look at her. The way you talk about her. It's more than just friendship. It's love."

Anakin's brow furrowed in disbelief. "That's not true, Padmé. I love you. I married you. She is my friend, and nothing more."

Padmé stood, her resolve unwavering. "Anakin, I've tried to ignore it, but I can't any longer. Your feelings for her have become a wedge between us. It's tearing our marriage apart."

Anakin paced the room, his frustration mounting. "I can't believe you're doing this. I've dedicated my life to the Jedi Order, to serving the Republic".

Anakin's voice almost faltered. "My duty is to protect, and she is my partner in that. Nothing more."

Padmé took a deep breath, her voice quivering. "Anakin, I'm not blind. I've watched you two together. I've seen the longing in your eyes when she's around. You've become obsessed with her."

Anakin's anger flared, his words sharp. "Obsessed? That's ridiculous, Padmé. You're overreacting."

Padmé's resolve remained strong. "I can't live like this anymore, Anakin. I've decided to file for divorce. Our marriage has become untenable."

Anakin stared at her in disbelief, his heart breaking. "Padmé, don't do this. I love you. I can't lose you."

Padmé's eyes were filled with tears as she spoke softly, "Love should be enough, Anakin. But your feelings for her have overshadowed everything else. I can't compete with that."

As Padmé turned to leave the room, Anakin sank to his knees, feeling helpless and torn. He loved Padmé, but he couldn't deny the bond he felt with you.

You had always been a trusted ally and friend to Anakin. You and him had fought side by side on countless missions, your bond forged in the crucible of battle. But on this particular mission, everything changed.

In the heart of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, a tumultuous confrontation unfolded between Anakin and you. The simmering jealousy that had plagued him for days had finally boiled over.

Ttriggered by his sighting of you in the company of another Jedi, a confident and charismatic man named Valin. Unable to contain his anger and insecurity, Anakin approached you in a secluded alcove, his voice trembling with rage.

"Lovey," Anakin began, his voice seething with jealousy, "I can't believe you were with Valin like that. Laughing, touching, and acting like you're the best of friends!"

You turned to face him, your eyes narrowing with a mixture of confusion and irritation. "Anakin, Valin is just a fellow Jedi. What are you so worked up about? Besides, I just barely forgave you".

Anakin's anger flared, and he couldn't hold back the raw edge in his voice. "The problem is you looked so comfortable with him, Lovey. It made me feel like I'm not enough for you! And I know I haven't been the greatest partner lately".

Your expression shifted from irritation to disbelief. "Look, that's ridiculous. Valin and I were discussing a mission, and there's nothing more to it."

Anakin's jealousy was palpable, and he took an aggressive step closer to you, making you feel cornered. "I don't believe you, Y/N. I've seen the way he looks at you, the way you two were practically flirting. It's more than just a mission discussion."

Your patience wore thin, and you retorted sharply. "Anakin, you're letting your jealousy consume you. Valin and I are colleagues, and your accusations are baseless."

Anakin's anger flared even more, and he shouted, "I can't trust you around him, Y/N. I don't want him anywhere near you!"

You felt your own frustration reach its limit, and your voice quivered with intensity. "Anakin, trust is a fundamental part of any relationship. If you can't trust me, then what are we doing?"

Anakin's jaw clenched, and his face contorted with anger. "I just can't stand the thought of losing you to someone else!".

Your patience evaporated, and you shouted back, "Well, I can't stand being treated like a possession, Anakin! This jealousy is toxic, and it's driving us apart! Again! For fuck's sake".

Your voices had risen to a crescendo, echoing through the alcove as the argument reached its zenith. Anakin and you were both consumed by anger and insecurity, unable to see beyond the storm of emotions that had engulfed them.

The tension between you both was palpable, and the rift in your relationship had never felt wider. As the echoes of your screams began to fade, Anakin's anger gradually subsided, giving way to a crushing sense of vulnerability.

He turned away from you, his shoulders slumping as he realized the damage your argument had caused. You also felt the weight of the argument settle over you, and you took a step closer to him, your voice softening.

"Anakin, I didn't mean for it to escalate like this. I just-"

He interrupted you, his voice trembling with a mix of regret and sorrow. "No, Lovey, it's not your fault. It's me. I can't control this jealousy, and it's tearing us apart. Again."

Tears welled up in Anakin's eyes, and he turned to face you, his vulnerability laid bare. He felt like a raw nerve, exposed and defenseless, and it terrified him. Your expression softened as you saw the tears in his eyes, your anger melting away.

You stepped closer to him and gently reached out to touch his arm, a gesture of comfort and understanding. "Anakin, I know you're struggling with this. Jealousy can be a powerful and destructive emotion. But it's something we can work through together."

Anakin nodded, his voice choked with emotion. "I want to trust you, Lovey. I want us to be okay. I just don't know how to stop feeling like this."

"Anakin," You began, your voice soft and filled with empathy, "Please, we need to talk about this."

Anakin clenched his fists, his jaw trembling as he struggled to regain control of his emotions. He felt exposed and fragile, unable to bear the intensity of his own feelings.

Your hand was hovering his jaw, a silent plea for him to let you in. "Ani, you don't have to go through this alone. We can find a way to work through your jealousy and anger together."

Your heart ached as you saw his vulnerability. You reached out and gently placed your other hand on his shoulder, offering comfort and reassurance. "Hey, I love you, flaws and all. We'll figure this out, but you have to let me in."

Anakin's heart ached at the kindness and understanding in your voice. He knew he could trust you with his deepest fears and insecurities, but the risk of revealing his romantic feelings for you was too great. He struggled to keep his emotions in check, tears threatening to well up in his eyes.

Trying to shut down the conversation and distance himself from the vulnerability of the moment, Anakin replied, "I don't want to burden you with my problems, Lovey. You have your own life and responsibilities."

You gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, your eyes filled with compassion. "Anakin, you're not a burden. We've been through so much together. Let me in, let me help you."

Anakin's defenses began to crumble and he couldn't hold back the emotion any longer, and his voice quivered as he struggled to speak. You could sense the intensity of Anakin's emotions, but you were unaware of the true source of his pain.

As he finally allowed himself to break down, he buried his face in your shoulder, his sobs shaking his body. You held him close, whispering soothing words as you gently rocked him back and forth. "It's okay, Ani. You don't have to face this alone. I'm here for you."

[split-spectrum]

Water and Rock

Chapter 12

Pairings: Obi Wan/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: (please read updated tags for this chapter <3) explicit content, i.e. SMUT, 18+ only - minors DNI. sex, oral sex, cum play, dubious consent, drug use, hair pulling, very slight violence

Chapter Length: 8K

Description: There are only so many excuses a master and padawan can make to kiss under "extenuating circumstances" before circumstances stop arising and start being created. You are an expert at your craft - a Jedi knight in service as a spy for the Republic. When your former master Obi Wan joins you on a mission, it's clear things aren't the same as they once were. The trials you face together may break your bond, or turn it into something else entirely.

☆☆☆

Thirty-Second Hour

When you sink back into the vision, you let out a slow, albeit shaky breath, to steady yourself. The instant that you can see again, it's clear the effort was wasted. 

He's brought you right back to the spot you'd left - the sudden, choked noise in the back of his throat letting you know he's close- so close. Everything in his body language is telling you he's seconds from spilling into you. 

But no matter how much the drugs may have altered his mind, Obi Wan is still Obi Wan, and he is nothing if not brutally controlled. 

He's dragging it out, you realize. The obscene sound of him fucking you has slowed into a steadier rhythm and you hear the first half of a desperate moan escape you before it's cut off. You watch your own hand fly up to cover your mouth. Your jaw looks tight from this angle. 

Obi Wan doesn't slow down, doesn't miss a beat of rocking his hips, releasing his hand from your throat and deftly sweeping up to uncover your mouth. He pulls your hand away, dragging it down and pressing his grip over yours until you're holding your own throat. 

"No, no," he admonishes next to your ear. "If it feels good, young one, you mustn't be quiet about it."

You hear the whining groan that answers him. You nearly mirror it, in the here-and-now. 

It's beyond you, how he's able to keep his voice so composed while the rest of him is nearly snapping, at the obvious precipice of his orgasm. Every muscle is taut, glistening with sweat as he pumps diligently into your body. Your thighs clench around him, a sign that you're close, too, and he notices. 

The hand he'd been using to hold your hip slides between your legs and though you can't see it, you feel the movement in his thoughts when two of his fingers drag the wetness from where you're dripping around his cock, spreading it over your clit. Your desperate noises turn strangled. 

"There we are," he soothes. "Be a good girl and show your master. Let me feel-"

The vision blurs, the Obi Wan in the room with you breathing unsteadily. You feel him shake his head, dropping the tips of his fingers away from you. "Forgive me, I-"

But you're aching now, and you don't hold back your impulse, lifting your hand to his head, brushing your middle finger gently up from the hair at his ear over to his temple, and resting it there. "Oh, don't stop. Please."

His aura is so thick with desire that when you open your eyes to look into his, you're not sure if the air around you has turned hazy. He relents almost immediately. 

"Let me feel you come," the Obi Wan in the vision purrs, the sound of his voice filling your mind again. The honeyed rumble of his command burns through your bloodstream and coils up hot in your stomach. You're about to come in the vision. You might come now, just from watching. 

Your body shudders on top of him, doing as he's told you, tumbling over the edge hard and fast, and crumbling against him with a mess of moaning and finally a high, keening sound that could be his name. He turns it into a choked whine, tightening his grip around your larynx and fucking into you even harder when your climax starts to taper off. 

Your voice goes quiet, and when your movements begin to slow, he pulls his hand from between your legs and folds you onto your side. His other hand finally releases your throat as you roll, and his leg hooks behind your knee, opening you up for him to reach even deeper. 

"That's it," he pants roughly, your body spasming beneath him and your voice pitching upward again. His mouth is pressed into the nape of your neck, where the marks from his teeth are starting to turn dark. 

One of his thumbs hooks down to brush your nipple, his lips meet your neck in a kiss that you remember feeling, and all at once, you recognize what you're seeing. This is the scene he'd shown you, back on the ship, during your meditation. 

But he hadn't shown you all of it. 

You can see the dazed, glassy look in your own eyes as he bears down on you, his thrusts turning ragged, grinding you into the floor. 

"Obi Wan," your plea comes out guttural, wrecked, and the sound of it it makes your head swim. You realize it's his reaction you're feeling, and suddenly it's like you're floating out of your own body. It's overwhelming and at the same time, not enough. It's you; it's him. You can't tell whose feelings you're having anymore, or whether they're a part of the vision, or something happening right now, in the room you're sharing. You don't know where the line is. You don't know if there is a line. 

"Fuck-" he says, hard and clipped. He leans into his forearm, pinning you down, and you bite the inside of your lip to keep from becoming a whimpering mess while watching the man you'd always known as tender, who'd never accepted anything not freely offered, bury himself into you. Watching him take and take and take exactly what he wants, losing himself in cruelty; in pleasure... 

This time, when Obi Wan brings the vision to an end, it's a slow stop. Like breaking the surface of the water and coming up for air. It's not as definitive and sudden as before. You can still feel it while you're gazing into his eyes. His lips are bright, pink, and slightly parted. He closes them into a hard line, to swallow.

You're so wrapped in the vision and in wanting to feel more of him that your consciousness keeps pressing up against his, at first. To the point where Obi Wan not only cuts off the contact between you, but actually begins to push back. The walls of his mind are rigid once again, and his presence is firmly closed off. 

It takes an eternity for you to gather yourself. You're too afraid to speak. Your hand is still at his temple, resting against the warmth of his face, and you stay there. You're not ready to break your connection with his skin.

"Obi Wan..." His name leaves your mouth before you're ready to talk, and the rest of your mind catches up clumsily as you realize your tone is too breathy and far too intimate. His eyelids dip deliciously, and it nearly sends you over the edge. But you swallow, vehemently tamping down your desires, and force yourself to even out your voice. 

"Thank you," you tell him simply. "For showing me. Now I know."

You shift in the bedding, bringing your noses just a bit closer. 

"Now you know," he says back. There's a long, loaded silence hanging over you. He's trying to remain unreadable, as he always does, but you'd caught that first look he'd given when the vision ended, and it was enough to tell you why he's still lying next to you instead of moving away. 

The wind howls outside, and it's the first time in hours that you've thought about the rest of the world existing.

"Was it... as you thought it would be?" 

His question catches you completely by surprise, and you have no idea how to answer. 

The silence that envelops you is perilous. The kind of silence that threatens to make you into a fool. The kind of fool that would lean in and close your lips over his. And you can't allow that to happen.

Because even as you're coming down from the high of watching him take you in ways you'd never even let yourself imagine, you know - you know that if you were to press your lips against his, he would stop you. He would do it gently, but the disappointment and shame would tear you apart. 

So, you allow yourself to bask in the feeling of this moment for just a little longer before you pull away. You feel numb when you speak, forcing yourself to operate on auto pilot. 

"I don't think there's a good answer to that question," you murmur, almost lowering your voice to a whisper.

His eyes betray nothing, but he smiles softly, and you see the tightness in it. 

"Right," he says. "Of course not."

A thousand words go unsaid. You want to tell him that it was nothing like you'd imagined because you can't allow yourself those kinds of thoughts for even a moment - even a second - or they'd seep into you so deeply you'd never be able to think of anything else. 

"I'm... going to get some sleep," you tell him instead, flatly, breaking your gaze apart from his at last. 

You roll over, putting some distance between your bodies. You close your eyes. But you can't find sleep.

Thirty-Sixth Hour

 

"Fuck-" he says, hard and clipped. He leans into his forearm, pinning you down...

You've seen this before. 

Obi Wan cums, and it fills you, and he fucks you through it. He keeps fucking you until the air has left your lungs, and until the room is silent, and until his muscles drop him to the floor, cock still wrapped inside you. He looks down, watching himself drip down the backs of your thighs. He moves slightly, watching himself ease out of you and then disappear inside you again. He's dripping. And still hard. 

"You-" your voice beside him sounds far away, delirious, blissed-out. Like any words are an afterthought. You can hear yourself panting, and after a long time, you try speaking again. "You... finished inside me."

Obi Wan's gaze flicks up to your face, looking at your closed eyes, your face pressed sideways against the floor. He's still moving in long, unhurried strokes, and after a while, he brings his eyes back to where he's slow-fucking you. 

Your body is still so pliant, so willing, beneath him. The noises you make are warm and soft, inviting him to stay exactly where he is. "I wasn't aware," he drawls, "we were in the midst of making careful decisions."

The filthy sound of him entering you again and again ends when he bends down and presses his hands around your waist, pulling himself out of you with a soft groan. 

"Turn over," he tells you, settling back, pants still around his legs. 

You sit up slowly and your hand wraps around his cock, keeping your connection as you start to turn around. He stands up, looking down at you, and you come up to your knees, bobbing your head forward to spread your lips eagerly around him. The warmth makes him stop still, easing the lower half of his body into your welcome embrace. 

His knees unstiffen for a brief moment while you swallow his cum, cleaning him dutifully with eyes locked on his. It only lasts a moment before he's snaking a hand behind your head. It's not clear at first whether he's pulling you closer or stopping you, but when his fingers tighten in your hair, the message is clear. 

He jerks your head up, your mouth still full of him.

"Did I say, 'get on your knees'?" His hand follows your head as you shake it gently back and forth, gagging on him. "No, I didn't. I told you to turn over."

He releases your hair and drags his hand down to your chin, pressing into your jawbone. "You don't listen." 

He pulls you off, your face pinched between his thumb and his knuckle, shoving you backward and sinking down between your legs all in one fluid motion. He crowds you, aligning his hips with yours, your body half-pressed against the floor and the wall of the ship. You dimly wonder how he could still be hard, but decide to simply attribute it to the drugs, not particularly caring about the cause so much as the effect.

Slowly pressing inside you again, he rubs his thumb tenderly over the spot he'd squeezed on your jaw. "What was all that training for, hm?" 

He pulls back, dropping his other hand to the juncture of your hip, and shoves his cock into you so hard it draws out a yelp, even as his hand gently cups your face. "So disobedient."

Obi Wan ends the vision like slamming a book shut. This time, when your eyes open to meet his, they're stormy, dilated. Dark.

You aren't prepared to mask your feelings when you're suddenly awakened and blinking back into consciousness. You just gaze back at him, not hiding your hunger. Not keeping your energy hidden, but letting it bleed out so that he can feel what he's done to you. The fire is all but gone, dying embers lighting the corners of the room. The air is sharp and icy.

"I'm sorry. That was not-" He breaks off, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

"Don't-" you tell him, moving closer to his warmth. You try to calm your breathing, and into the cold silence you whisper, nerves raw, "Fuck." The obscenity escapes you before you can think to catch it.

He stares. Then he seems to gather himself and clears his throat. "In my sleep I... failed to guard my thoughts." You're silent, still reeling, and he lowers his voice. "Now you remember as much as I do. Or... nearly."

You're taking careful breaths, drinking in the way his mouth curves when he speaks. "Nearly?"

The muscles in his jaw tighten. "I would... prefer it if only I remember the rest."

Despite his somber tone, you can't help your body's reaction. You want to pull him to you. You want to beg him to take you further into this darkness. You're flushed with heat when you think about the things he did. Imagining him taking it further is driving you to the point of madness.

"I understand," you tell him instead, finding your voice weak. 

"I regret it," he says, more of a statement of fact than an apology. "Hurting you."

"And," you surprise yourself, speaking without thinking, "the rest?"

He doesn't say anything for several long heartbeats. 

"I wish none of it had happened," he says at last, with stark directness. Then his gaze softens. "But, if I could have chosen, it would not have been... like that."

Your heart thuds wildly. Your voice is barely audible. "No?"

His eyelashes dip once, then twice, as he seems to hold back his answer. He looks stunningly beautiful, pinning you under a deadly serious expression. "No."

It's a long time before you can bring yourself to say anything back.

"I should go." 

The spell over him suddenly seems to break, and he tilts a brow, watching you reach for the robe lying on the floor behind you. "Go? Where?"

It's late. Or it's early. But you've rested enough to call this morning, and though there's only darkness outside, you push your blankets to your waist and sit up. If you stay here even a few more seconds, you will try to have him. Looking at him like this - hair a mess, eyes wild - you stand absolutely no chance.

You wrap the robe around yourself, stepping carefully out of the makeshift bed you'd been half-sharing, and you back away slowly. "I think I should meditate," you tell him. "I think I should be... alone."

You can tell he's trying to read your expression in the dim light of the fire, and you turn away, after giving him a curt bow of your head to take your leave. It's so overly formal that your stomach turns in embarrassment. You don't know how else to behave. 

It's cold and dark inside your sleeping quarters, and as you turn the knob to close the door, you heave a sigh of relief. You won't be able to stay in here for long without any heat, but cold and dark is exactly what you need. You sit on your freezing sheets, pulling your legs up and crossing them with a shiver. 

But you know now that it doesn't matter how cold it is. He's burning through you, and it won't stop.

 

Thirty-Seventh Hour

 

When you emerge from your room, you find that Obi Wan hasn't gone back to sleep, either. He's lit another candle in the kitchen, and his hands are busy in the sink, washing one of the cups you'd used earlier. When he sees you walking up beside him, he finishes rinsing and sets it to the side. Then he turns to you, wiping his hands on a towel. His face holds some concern, but it's reserved.

"You don't need to do that," you tell him, nodding to the cup. 

"I thought it best to take advantage of the running water while we still can."

Sensible as always. 

He holds the towel, just looking at you, not making any move to come closer. He looks unbelievably handsome like this - wearing his bed clothes, a simple brown undershirt and pants, with his sleeves rolled up to keep from getting wet. 

"Are you alright?" He floats the question quietly to you. 

You nod, crossing the short distance between you and sitting down at the table to look up at him. "I'm sorry for leaving."  

"I understand. You needed time."

You nod again, not elaborating on his comment. "Can I ask you something?" you venture.

"Of course."

"Back on the ship, when we were... meditating," you begin haltingly. "You showed me such a... small part. Why didn't you tell me you remembered so much more?"

His features are contemplative for just a moment before the corner of his mouth turns up. "You didn't ask."

Your throat feels sticky as you try to push out your next words. "I wanted to tell you... Not that it matters now, but..." you sigh, then try again. "I'm on a contraceptive. I don't know if you worried about-"

"Yes, I know."

That catches you by surprise, and you stare at him for an explanation.

"You told me, later," he elaborates quietly. In your long silence, he adds, more seriously, "I would have spoken to you about it. All of it. I wanted to, for some time."

The pain his words cause you is unintentional, but you nearly wince anyway. While you'd been ignoring him, focused on dealing with your own feelings, you hadn't shown any concern for his. He'd wanted to be open and honest about everything. But you'd kept him alone, instead.

You open your mouth to say something - to apologize, or try to make it right. But he goes on, closing the subject. "But perhaps it was for the best. After all, what could it have changed?" He places the towel on the counter, looking down, then smiles back up at you. "Sometimes talking only complicates a simple matter."

You have no response. Just an aching feeling. Your chance to make this right is long gone, and anything you say would seem empty. Finally, dumbly, you glance over at the wood stove in the other room. "I should make us something to eat."

His smile softens, tapering off. A thousand thoughts seem to be playing behind his eyes, but he only answers what you've said. "Breakfast would be very nice. Thank you."

You stand up and busy yourself with the kettle, picking up the towel from the counter to dry it, and he begins washing another dish. You don't stop him this time.

--

"Would you mind if I borrow these?" He holds up a small pair of scissors, their golden shine twinkling in the dim light, pulling your attention from the simmering water you'd been checking.

You glance up from the fire, replacing the lid on the kettle. Then you look down at the table where he'd presumably found the scissors, sitting next to a plant. "Hm? Oh. Sure. What for?"

He brushes a hand over the edge of his beard. "I've been in need of a trim."

You turn to face him, quirking an eyebrow. "I use those to cut my plants. They might be dirty."

He gives you a smile. "Oh believe me, I've made due with worse." He turns toward the refresher. "Thank you. I'll give them a rinse."

You stand up from where you'd been crouching next to the fire, deciding to leave the water a little longer to come to a full boil, and go back to preparing the jogan fruit. 

As you finish cutting up the last of the fruit, you reach for a plate, and when your fingertips graze its edge, a cool, creeping sensation suddenly trickles down your spine. You stop, staring at the ceramic pattern in front of you. Stretching your mind into the Force, you try to capture the fleeting feeling, but it leaves as quickly as it came.

You stand there another moment, almost wondering whether you should ask Obi Wan if he'd felt it, too. But really, you aren't even sure it was anything in the Force you'd felt. You glance around one more time, and sensing nothing more, you place the fruit down on the plate and head back into the main room. 

Picking up the packet of polystarch portion bread and shaking it in one hand, you use your other hand to lift the lid on the kettle and check for a proper boil. Seeing the bubbles break on the surface, you reach down, using a cloth to move the kettle from the stove. 

...Bright red feathers. Scrabbling claws digging into the crevices of a rocky cliff face at a dizzying speed. A leap, and a blinding light...

Your hand slips, the kettle jolts forward-

...the teal of protective outer scales turn into the tan of a soft underbelly. The tan and brown of a Jedi's clothing isn't far behind. Hands grasp to reach leather reigns, a futile gesture as the creature and the Jedi are now falling, falling... His blue saber's light is extinguished and you can feel his pain and confusion as the explosion of rubble surrounds him, following him down into the endless abyss...

You bark out in pain and jerk your hand away, the boiling water splashing over your skin as the kettle crashes to the ground. Sucking air through your teeth, you instinctively grasp around your wrist and look down at your burned hand. 

Before you can get a good look at it, you hear the door of the refresher swing open and Obi Wan call your name with concern. 

You turn to face him, wincing. "Sorry, it was nothing, I-"

When you catch sight of him, you stop talking. The connection between your mind and your mouth has fizzled out. He crosses the room, trading looks between you and the overturned kettle, clearly trying to decipher what had happened, while you stand speechless, pain in your hand momentarily forgotten. He's bare-chested, presumably to keep his shirt clean while trimming his beard, and he's nothing but angled brows and perfect lines of hard muscle as he approaches you cautiously. 

You take a breath, embarrassed, and try again. "It's nothing, I just got distracted and I dropped the kettle."

His eyes slide to your hand, where you're still holding your own wrist. "Are you alright?"

You pull your hand up, inspecting it properly for the first time. It's a little red, just on the back of your thumb down to the start of your wrist, where the water had splashed. 

You shake your head dismissively. "I'm fine. I'll run it under cold water."

He gently reaches a hand out. "May I see it?"

Your heart is still racing from your... dream? Vision? Whatever it had been. But it doesn't slow down at all when he takes your hand in his, holding you still. He looks back up at you. "You should put something on this."

You make no effort to pull your hand back. "It's just a little burn."

"Burns can be deceiving," he tells you, then turns around, heading back to the refresher. A moment later, he emerges with some bacta gel and a gauze wrap. He's also carrying his shirt, but he doesn't put it on quite yet. 

His hand finds the small of your back and gently guides you into the kitchen, toward the sink. "Don't be difficult."

You try to ignore the way your mind turns immediately back to the same commanding tone he'd used in the earlier vision.

He turns the faucet on for you to run your hand under cold water while he twists off the cap. The cool relief does wonders for your hand, but it does nothing for the heat in your face as he stands in front of you like this, on display. 

His body has always been lithe, almost wiry, but it seems the war has made him a little bulkier. His shoulders are rounded, his ribs lined with lean muscle. You're doing your best to keep your eyes trained on the water pouring out of the sink, but when he turns around briefly to find a place on the counter to set down the cap, you drink him in from behind, trailing your gaze from the lines of his trim waist up to his shoulder blade, where the stark contrast of dark ink paints his skin. 

The symbol there has lived at the edge of your consciousness ever since you first saw it, back on Keoth. Watching his muscles move underneath the tattoo is making you weak in the knees, and your chest rises with a weighty breath when he turns back to face you. 

"Come now, it can't be that bad," he says with a half-smile. The way his eyes glitter in the candlelight sends a shiver through you, and you shake your head again, trying to remain in control of your thoughts, despite the way they're continually running away from you. 

"It isn't. Not that bad," you murmur. He puts his hand out for yours again, and you turn off the water and offer yourself over to him. He holds you carefully, tenderly turning your arm to the side and patting it dry with a dish towel. 

He pauses, holding your hand in his, drawing his eyes up to meet yours. For a moment neither of you speaks, and you both seem acutely aware of how close you're standing, how little clothing separates you, and how tenderly he's touching you. 

He lowers his gaze. "This will sting."

Normally, you'd make a sarcastic comment at that. You're both intimately familiar with using bacta to treat wounds. But he's filling the silence, and you know it, and since neither of you is going to comment on why this silence is so pervasive, you bite your tongue.

He swipes the gel onto his fingers, then gently dabs it across your skin. You try to concentrate on anything besides the feeling of his touch. Your eyes drift to his shoulder again, though you can't see the tattoo from this angle. He catches the glance and you lower your eyes quickly. 

He doesn't say anything for a moment, and you wonder if you've offended him by staring. But when he pulls back his hand to get more bacta gel, you find him looking more pensive than anything. He's using one hand to slick a finger over the top of the gel tube, and he's still holding your wrist with the other. "I've never told you what it means - that symbol of mine. Would you like to know?"

You flick your eyes up from his hand. You nod, half-opening your mouth to say "yes," but never quite getting the word out.

"It's an ancient dialect of Mando'a," he tells you, "When I was very young, Qui Gon and I spent some time on Mandalore. We were still finding our balance as master and padawan, and having some... difficulties."

He slides the cool gel across your skin again in a second layer, two fingers gliding flat over your wrist. "While we were staying with a small band of Mandalorians, I had decided to partake in their clan's tradition and get a tattoo. The design I'd chosen was the symbol of the Republic, as I felt there was nothing by which I could better define myself."

His finger traces along your thumb. "But when I told my master, he was not as enthusiastic as I had expected." He looks down, carefully using his own thumb to swipe away the excess gel from around your burn. "He told me to think carefully about the way I chose to define myself, and the ideals to which I committed. Of course, lacking any understanding of nuance at the time, I believed that he was disapproving what I'd chosen, and it led to a heated discussion."

He looks wistful for a moment, then melts into a smile with a shake of his head, and starts to unwind the gauze. "I said that I would never regret branding myself with the symbol of that which I held most dear. "

He finishes wrapping your wrist and uses the scissors to cut the gauze, tucking away the end, then draws his gaze up to meet yours. "And he, in turn, told me that the Force created living beings for a reason. That reason is simply to live. To experience all that the universe has to offer. Some experiences are worth a stain. Worth a scar." Obi Wan gently removes his hand from yours. "'We all carry scars in the end, but it's up to us to decide which ones are worth having.'"

You shift your arm back down to your side. "But, you got the tattoo anyway?"

He gives another smile. "Oh, yes. The next day, I returned to him with something I was very proud of. I'd gotten tattooed with their symbol for 'regret'."

You look at him in utter confusion and he goes on to explain. "You see, I thought I'd taken my master's words to heart. After our disagreement, I wanted to show him I understood. I now had a permanent reminder that any decisions I made about how to define myself would stay with me forever."

You raise your brows. "...and Qui Gon? What did he say to that?"

Obi Wan picks up his shirt from the countertop, then starts to pull it over his arms. Your eyes dart to his exposed stomach, then quickly dart away. "I believe it was the most disappointment he'd ever shown in me." He finishes pulling it over his head and down his stomach. "Which annoyed me to no end, of course. And we never spoke of it again."

You watch the candlelight play across his features, his thoughts seeming far away. Brushing your hand over your bandaged wrist, you lean your hip into the countertop and look down at the floor. 

His voice is very soft when he speaks again. "It wasn't until much later that I realized how I'd missed his point entirely." 

You look back up at him. "It's still a beautiful symbol."

He meets your eyes. "Yes, it is. And the lesson becomes clearer each day."

He holds your gaze a little longer, then picks up the bacta and the scissors, and leaves to put them away. You stare at the overturned kettle on the ground, and your thoughts linger on his words while you pick it up, and refill it, and while you finish preparing the food. You want to ask him what he'd meant, but you know. 

The way he'd looked at you - you know. 

Through breakfast, you talk about the war.

 

Thirty-Eighth Hour

You exhale, the Force rolling through you, and release your tension from your shoulders down to your fingertips. Your eyes are closed, the hum of your saber the only noise in the room. 

After breakfast you'd tried reading again in an attempt to distract yourself from the unbearable tension plucking at your mind, but had found yourself unable to sit still. After having pushed most of the furniture in the main room up against the walls, you're now standing in your makeshift dojo, practicing lightsaber techniques. 

You run repeatedly through your opening stance, then begin to move through more advanced forms, muscles glad for their use. As you bring your saber upright, you shift your body around it slowly and deliberately. It's a type of meditation you've practiced so much that it's second nature.

Sliding one foot backward, you glide into the next pose and you hear the door to the next room open, Obi Wan leaving the refresher, presumably finished with the trim that he'd started earlier. You can feel him watching you, saying nothing until he crosses the room.

"If that's meant to be 'circle of shelters', your left arm is a bit low."

Your eyelids open smoothly. "It's 'singing fortress'."

"Ah, well in that case, you would want to tighten your stance. Your knees should be aligned with your shoulders."

You drop your blade slightly, reforming your body around it and easing back into the same position, with an emphatically tighter stance. 

"Better. Now, your chin-" You look at him, and the rest of his sentence hangs in the air, then dissipates as he gives a slightly rueful smile. "I'm sorry. Old habits die hard, I'm afraid. I'll leave you to it."

Many years ago, when you hadn't known each other in the same way, you might have tensed under his scrutiny. But not now. For the first time since he'd arrived, his comments had made things between you feel almost... normal. He's always shown his affection, even what could be called compassion, through criticism. 

"Would you like to join me?" you ask suddenly, opening your stance back up, "Whatever guidance you have to offer, I'll gladly take."

It's meant as an olive branch to his intrusion. It is, just for a moment, like you're back in the temple, during one of the many times he'd found you running through exercises and stepped in. It's only courteous for you to invite him. It's courtesy that should keep him from accepting, now. But, surprisingly, it doesn't. 

He looks around. "There isn't much room."

You take that as your answer, tightly whipping your saber behind your shoulder with a bit of flourish. You face him. "Never been a problem before."

The tightness in his face sifts away, his eyes brightening. "True."

You had practiced in many a smaller space than this, although those spaces were designed for training in tight quarters and not surrounded by your personal belongings. Still, your blood is thrumming unexpectedly at the prospect of a spar after two days cramped inside, and you don't much mind if your walls get singed. 

Obi Wan reaches to his belt. Having changed out of his bed clothes, he has his lightsaber clipped back at the waist of his tunic. Unless asleep, even in this setting, he's still battle-ready. 

He illuminates his saber, then eases into a simple opening pose, arms raised, both hands on his hilt. "Perhaps this will do us both some good."

For a moment, you're silent, feeling one another's signatures.

You strike first. 

The burst of light and sound that erupts across the room is cathartic. Green and blue, groaning through the air, then exploding against the darkness. It makes your fingers tingle; your muscles tighten. 

You press in, then let him push you back, testing strengths, listening in the force for the hum of his aura. He winds his wrist casually around in a circle, grinning. "I see your hand has healed nicely."

Buzzing, you begin to circle him. "You'll go easy on me since I'm injured, won't you?"

He mirrors you, winding around the room in slow half-steps. "Have I done so in the past?"

You lunge, a quick swipe, and he crouches, hardly dodging. You'd anticipated the movement, using his shifted center to let you roll your blade in a semi-circle and drive back toward him. He meets it with a graceful side swipe, redirecting your attack to the ceiling. Whipping around, you stab at him and you feel a puff of air leave him as he cracks his blade against yours, pushing you back without so much ease as the first time. 

When you step back, his lightsaber comes crashing over you in ruthless, repetitive swipes. He knocks you back into yourself until your shoulders are tight and beginning to ache from the effort of rebuffing him. Relenting at last, he leaves you to catch your breath. His careful, slow steps around you are no longer playful. 

"Your speed has improved," he tells you. "I can feel you sensing my attempts as the thoughts form. Very good." As he finishes the word 'good', his blade crosses yours suddenly and he presses in until his face and the two blades are inches from your face. "You should be careful, though, when my thoughts are guarded."

He'd closed himself off and attacked so quickly, you'd barely had enough time to counter, let alone anticipate. Your eyes narrow. "You never tried that trick when I was a padawan."

He lets out a soft, breathy laugh. "There are many things I've learned since you were my padawan."

Shoving him back, you roll your shoulder and widen your stance. "I see. So this is new."

With a twinkle in his eye, he lets his shoulders drop into a deceptively relaxed pose. "You know me. I'm full of surprises."

You whirl on him again, and for a long time neither of you says another word, blades and muscles speaking for you. You're well-trained in defensive positions, so you make as many attempts as you can to bait him into attacking, but your few successes are hardly worth the effort. It's clear he's driving the fight from every angle. By the end, though, you're both panting. 

"You've practiced well, young one," he admits, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth as he straightens his back, ready for another round. 

You catch your breath, swallowing. "Not much else I could do with my time."

He slashes, you block. He slashes again. "That's not entirely true, though, is it?"

You take a step back, letting his next swipe pass, then raise a brow. "What do you mean?"

"You chose to come here. You speak as though the choice was someone else's."

You have to struggle to repel his next strike, caught off-guard by the remark. "I know. I know it was my choice."

"If you were bored by the assignment, you could have returned to duty."

"Yes," you say, your voice growing softer, but your returning thrusts becoming more ambitious, more intense. "I could have."

"Then why not come back?" He bats your attempts away with equal fervor. "After a year? Why not come back to Coruscant?"

Your wide eyes meet his. "What?"

He draws back from you, his arms spread, his saber to the side. Still on guard, but not locked into your aggression. "You heard the question."

You take one, then two breaths. Then you lunge at him wildly, pinning him against the wall. "You know the answer."

"Then tell me."

You're panicking, and you know he can feel it. You sink your blade downward in a futile attempt to rend his hilt away from him, but he blocks it easily. 

You force your expression to remain steady as you step away, pulling your shoulders back, hard. "The same reason you came here to tell me we can't work together."

His face drops, and he echoes your earlier heart-wrenched, "What?"

You shake your head slightly, confused at his reaction. When he stares at you, you raise your saber in defense, staring back. "Is that not the answer you expected?"

His saber is low at his side. "I... had thought it was fear that kept you here. I wanted to help you admit it. Face it."

"It was fear." You stand still for a moment, then remember your lightsaber and swing it. "What did you think I meant?"

He parries. Then he stabs at your side, forcing you to step left, where he pulls back his blade to meet your throat. "You told me you'd stayed because you could no longer trust in the Force."

He's won the round, in more ways than one. You've let too much slip. 

You raise your arms and concede the point to him. He backs off, but his gaze is still pinned on you, waiting for your answer. You admit as much as you can without admitting anything at all. "When you said we shouldn't work together - you were right." 

"Meaning?" He presses, and somehow you can still feel his blade at your throat. 

A long, slow, painful silence. You tighten your palm around your hilt until it hurts. "I think I've made my feelings clear." Anxiety ripples from you, the Force crashing around your aura erratically. You flick your wrist, swinging your saber down and behind your back, where you trade hands. Your left arm brings a surprise attack down on Obi Wan, who catches it at the last second. It isn't a particularly impressive move, but you know he wasn't expecting it from you, which made it useful in the moment. "Something I can't ask from you."

It isn't fair for you to turn things on him like this, but your goal isn't to be fair. It's too late to turn back. You can only redirect. He raises a brow, then spins to deflect your left-handed strikes backhanded. "And what does that mean?"

The words are pouring out of you now, thoughts half-formed as you jab and dodge, pulse pounding. "It means you can't expect me to talk about my feelings when you showed up at my door to tell me we'd never see each other again with hardly a goodbye."

He meets you blow for blow with ease, but the look on his face is disoriented. "I never said that."

You match his shocked expression. "You told me this was the last time we'd ever work together."

"The last time that I thought we should work together, yes, but certainly not the last time we should see one another."

It's as if you can actually hear the sound of your final shred of sanity being torn apart. Though your mind is racing in a thousand directions, you try to calm yourself enough to speak as your sabers meet. You hold still, and so does he. "And why did you say it?"

For the first time in your spar, his eyes are pleading for mercy. He says nothing. 

You grit your teeth, holding your blade against his, unable to pull away from the path you're set on. You need to know. "You told me not to pretend anymore. Please, Obi Wan. The truth."

"You already know the truth. Must I say the words?" He bends your arms back, putting more weight against you. 

You step back, put off-balance, and the back of your knee brushes against the chaise lounge. There's no room left for you to back away.

"Yes," you tell him, forcing yourself to keep looking into his eyes, and not to look away. 

He crushes his blade against yours, then relents, finally allowing you to push him back. He doesn't turn off his lightsaber yet, and neither do you. He stretches out his other hand toward you in the darkness. "For all of the reasons we work so well together." He lowers his hand, his body tense; frustrated. "Because you are... resilient, and remarkably clever. And passionate. Obstinate at times, and unpredictable. And because you are beautiful. Because I look at you, and I wonder what could be. Those are dangerous thoughts in the best of times. In battle, they're an unacceptable risk."

"Obi Wan..." you murmur, unable to come up with any other word but his name in reply. 

"But that is my burden to bear. And though I won't allow it to interfere with a mission, I cannot let it be the end of our friendship."

There's absolutely nothing you can say back. You're stunned speechless, but beyond that - to say anything truthful back to him would rip you apart.

Instead, you step toward him, leveling your blade in front of your chest. "You've been holding back."

The earnestness in his face drains away at your response. He drags his gaze down from your eyes to your lightsaber. His tone is guarded again. "Of course I have. Haven't we both?" 

It's obvious he isn't talking about the sparring. 

"Fight me." It's the only thing you can ask for that's real. "It's going to be the last time."

The silence bears down on you, and the room is so much darker, now. You let your emotions show on your face, and you let him feel you in the Force. But you can't bring yourself to say the words. When you meet his eyes, you know he can feel you burning. 

His shoulders come down, and his body takes a new shape. He seems almost more relaxed than before. It occurs to you, then, how much effort he was putting into keeping himself from dominating you. Then, all at once, he shows you why he's one of the most celebrated duelists of your generation. 

His speed is frightening when he lunges at you. It takes all your strength to keep from toppling over. Two of his brutal strikes rattle your arms bone-deep as you struggle to keep your lightsaber upright. You suck in a sudden gasp of air, letting him force you backward. You try to return a blow, but he catches you swiftly, knocking your saber wide and stabbing at you, making you hop back again. 

It's over before you can even fully register what's happened. He knocks you back with two more thrashes of his saber, and you lose your balance when your knees hit the furniture. You fall back onto the chaise in a seated position, legs splayed apart. You're panting and arching your back to get away from him, but he digs a knee into the cushion between your legs and reaches out with a hand to deactivate your lightsaber and pull it to him. He uses his other hand to bring his blade just below your chin. Yet again, he's caught you out. 

You tip your face up toward him, heart racing as much from his close proximity as it is from the duel you've lost. His chest rises and falls in front of you. He doesn't look triumphant. His eyes are penetrating. He's waiting for you to speak. 

You catch your breath. His hand is tightening around his hilt threateningly, but there isn't anywhere in the universe you feel safer than with his blade at your neck. You take your time, staring deeply into his eyes, and you finally find your words. 

"I said you were right that we shouldn't see each other, and I meant it. The boundaries between us are broken. Nothing can set that right. I don't want to set it right. But I can accept that. I can move on. I just can't do it with you." 

The light beneath your chin goes out. He holds your two hilts in each hand and simply looks at you. 

"I understand," he says then, quietly, and leans into you, setting down your two lightsabers on either side of your thighs. 

You inhale his scent, struggling to keep your eyes from closing. "Stars, Obi Wan..."

He knows he's too close. You both know it. He should have stepped back, and his knee shouldn't still be surrounded by the warmth of your body. You're half-lying down, one arm still spread over the top of the chaise, too afraid to shift a muscle. Too afraid for the moment to end. 

Instead of standing up, he stays close, eyes locked onto yours, and says softly, "What is it?"

The finality of it all truly sinks in, and you shake your head slightly, just drinking in every detail of him. There's no point anymore to lie. You'll never see him again. "Even now. I want to kiss you, so badly."

You watch the conflict on his face melt away, into something else. He whispers his reply against your mouth. "Then kiss me."

You blink. You close the gap between you, pressing your lips against his and opening up, giving yourself over to him. 

You don't care that he shouldn't have said it. You don't care that he might stop you. You want his mouth against yours. The feeling is as sweet as you'd imagined for over a year, while making every desperate effort to drive it from your mind. 

He tastes just as you remember, and as he lets you slip your tongue into his mouth, your body shudders with a mixture of desire and relief that leaves you dizzy. 

Please... Please... you silently beg him not to stop you. To let you feel as much of him as you can, and keep the memory of the softness of his lips, the feeling of his jaw working beneath your palm, and the gentleness of the sigh he lets escape when he opens for more of your tongue to slide in. 

He doesn't stop you. He tilts his head to the side, leaning in for more. When he presses his chest to yours, you finally regain enough of your sense to break your mouth away from his. Every part of you is screaming, but you claw back to sanity just for a moment, to breathe a weak, confused, "Why...?" against the corner of his mouth. 

He catches your lips in a searing kiss once more before answering, driving every last thought of stopping from your mind. 

"If this is truly the end..." he murmurs, then pulls back to look at you properly, and his eyes sparkle like sapphires in the dying light of the fire. "Let us be miserable for good reason."

--

A/N: Sorry for the missed promise of an update last week! Holidays really get crazy fast. Thank you, as per usual, for tolerating my schedule. Planning shorter chapters upcoming, in hopes of quicker updates. :) For anyone who has tagged me in recent posts, I appreciate it and I'll respond as soon as I can!

Tag List: @cosmicsierra @projectdreamwalker @guacam011y @thriving-n-jiving @reverieisaway @cursedfaechild @honeymoon7770 @hedvighedvig @cool-ontherun-world @ladytano420 @eddythewitch @immajustvibehere @iwanturkiwi @thegreatwicked

Masterlist // Next Chapter >>

[awritesthings1]

The Midas Effect (Part 2)

Anakin Skywalker x Royal Reader

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Royal Reader

Summary: After the King dies, the Dark Ones invade the Capital and burn your palace to the ground. You plan an escape, which ultimately fails and seemingly crash lands you back in time. Will the help of a familiar Jedi be able to save you from your fate?

Word Count: 2.8k+

Note: This is the final part! :)

AO3 link

Previous part

-

Sometime in the night, you lose yourself to the rhythm of the rain. Its presence swallowed your thoughts away into distant lands where the howl of the clouds drew tears from the sky. Where the valleys drowned themselves in waterfalls pouring down from mountain cliffs. Where mud swallowed earthly greens out of greed and where the creaking of floorboards disappeared under the roaring of the storm.

It was all the same.

Yet you still felt like a stranger in your own home.

The scar across Anakin’s eye remained as memorable as it did the day you last saw him. And the heat of the mug in your hands thawed your hands the same way. Because you couldn’t mistake any of this for anything but real. So it had to be true just the same way you were a girl and he was a Jedi.

For lack of a better term, you missed Anakin Skywalker.

You realize all of this after you position yourself in front of the fireplace. Anakin had gone to gather thicker blankets and fluffier cushions to make your spot on the floor comfier.

The universe had sent you a second chance. You just need to figure out why.

“Anakin.” His name sounds like a prayer on your lips.

Anakin, who was crossing the threshold of the room, stops still in his tracks. “Yes?”

You turn your face away from the fire, fighting away the wobble in your voice with a teary-eyed smile. “Come sit with me?”

He thinks you look like a precious vase on the verge of cracking. Without another word, he scrambles to your side, careful not to make too much noise with the weight of his boots. Anakin is afraid to make any sudden movements and cut the thinly disguised pain on your face.

The truth is, you hated being alone. When you were alone, your thoughts got too loud. It was like being stuffed in an overcrowded room with no door. And no matter how many people you elbowed out of the way, two more would rear their ugly heads. Sometimes you think you might be better off letting them grab your shoulders and press you into the crowd until you wilt away and become a dot among thousands of bodies. At least then you wouldn’t need to worry about where you place your hands.

Anakin must see the slouch in your shoulder when he brushes the back of his knuckles down your arm. You shiver because it’s the flesh hand. If only he knew his mistake before he touched you. Didn’t he know everything you touched turned to stone?

Your father once told you about a king named Midas. Everything he touched turned to gold. What a heavenly gift, you thought. You could have a gold hairbrush, gold slippers, and a large golden mirror. How could that be a curse? The ending never made sense. You would never be so dumb as to touch your family and make the mistake of turning them into gold.

You tense at your naivety. How stupid you had been. Because wasn’t that exactly what you had done? But instead of gold statues, you turned them into chiseled headstones perched in the meticulously groomed family graveyard.

The thoughts cluster together like a star ready to burst.

Bigger and bigger, they swell, burning your toes until it’s large enough that the fireplace disappears and then the room. It’s just you and the taunting ball of light.

“…in your head?” Anakin’s husky voice rasps like the burning sphere. It explodes then, pricking the soles of your feet with shards of debris.

“Huh?” You reply absentmindedly, albeit not all there.

He exhales through his nose slowly, fixing you with an intense stare. Or at least it felt that way. It was easy to feel small next to the Jedi. He was the kind of man your dad would approve of— someone strong and ambitious to rule the kingdom by your side one day. He’d give you one of those sly looks fathers gave their daughters after a joke they told fell flat. You scrunch your nose at that.

“You were fine before you went to bed. Did you have a nightmare?” Anakin asks.

You are almost certain that’s not what he said originally, but you don’t have an ounce left in your frail body to argue.

You shake your head, hoping he will let it go. How would you explain that you almost died in a crash and accidentally traveled back in time into your younger body? It wasn’t like Anakin had any reason to trust you. You had never been close, and you mostly avoided everyone after your father’s passing.

His lips part as if to say something, but he presses them closed shortly after to embrace the silence. You would thank him if you didn’t feel like a ghost trapped in a stranger’s place. What use are your hands when they tremble and cramp? Anakin would be wise to cut one off to replace his metal hand so at least then one of your hands would be able to save people.

He shuffles closer until you feel the tickle of his golden locks. “Did I ever tell you the story of how I lost my hand?”

Your teeth gnaw on the flesh of your bottom lip. You think if he opens his mouth one more time in that silky, soft rasp of his, you will burst into tears. Just one more sweet ounce of affection, and you would throw up at his feet and effectively soak his robes with your pathetic tears.

“Obi-Wan and I were on Genosis—”

It all comes out. All the muffled noise that had been prowling through your head comes crashing out.

“Come here,” Anakin abandons the story, shuffling closer until his whole body is pressed into your side.

The leather material of his glove combs through your head. You almost purr like a lothcat at the sensation. But instead, you just cry into the cusp of his neck where you can feel the pulse of an artery. His fingers brush loose strands out of your mouth and behind your ear. Anakin’s chin rests on your head, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath. It’s probably something like, you’re alright, or it’ll all be fine, that people say when they don’t know how to comfort anyone. You’ve heard them a million times, and it never makes you feel any better.

Intertwining your hand with Anakin’s leather one, you pull it to your lap where you fiddle with the notches.

“Can I see it?” You sniff.

His brows furrow as you watch the cogs turn in his head. After a moment, he lets out a sigh, releasing your hair to unlatch the leather glove. Before he removes it, you place your hand over his and tug away the glove yourself. What you see next makes you bite down hard on your tongue.

It’s gold. His metal arm is gold.

The Midas effect: everything you touch turns to gold.

Anakin mistakes your delirious laughter for tears, shushing you and trying to rock you gently. “The Midas effect! The Midas effect,” you babble mindlessly, batting his attentive touch away. When Anakin pauses to hold your shoulders, you continue. “The Midas effect, Anakin,” you laugh while a tear slips out.

“What’s that?” He questions.

“The King whose touch turns everything to gold. I’m cursed like him.”

Puzzled, he looks at his golden arm. Even through your weary-eyed mess, you catch the faintest smirk on his face. By now, your maniacal laughter had died down enough to hear a gentle chuckle from the Jedi. Maybe your state of mind has brushed off on him. If anyone saw the two of you, they would surely think you were both patients who escaped a ward.

Anakin smiles at you. “Who told you that?”

“You haven’t heard the story of King Midas?” You match his grin.

He bites his lip, shaking his head. “It’s not a story the Jedi have ever told me.”

You swallow a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. It would be too easy to shamelessly sink into the Jedi’s arms and bury your head in his chest forever. Of course, if he hugged you back, it would be out of pity because it was his job to look out for you. Regardless, you don’t really care at this point.

Anakin clears his throat. “You should get to bed; it’s late.”

It’s been late for the past couple of hours, you think wryly. “I don’t want to go to sleep.”

He ignores you, reaching for his glove to refasten it on his arm. “Let’s go; all princesses need their beauty sleep,” but you don’t budge from your spot. Quietly, he slips out to the kitchen to fetch a bucket of water. When he returns, you watch him douse the fire until it sizzles out.

“Can you show me a Force trick?” You lean back onto the floor, stretching out like a star.

He sighs, turning around as if to check to see if anyone was hiding nearby before turning back to you. “Is there a reason you don’t want to go to bed?”

You blink up at him lazily. “What if I don’t wake up?” The words slip past your lips without a thought. God, look at you. How could anyone ever trust you with being Queen? Not when the filter keeping your deepest fears broke in a matter of hours within the presence of a Jedi.

Anakin inhales sharply. Perhaps you misjudged him. Maybe that was his Jedi trick— bringing the most unsettling thoughts to the surface.

“I’ll keep watch over you,” he nods.

“You promise?”

“I’ll be right next to you when you wake.”

You watch him as if he were a shooting star, burning so bright but gone in the blink of an eye. Your eyes burn, afraid to close them and snuff the light out. You don’t know what waits for you on the other side. Death, perhaps. Would it be dark? Would it be cold? You had heard tales of kings who buried everything they would take to the afterlife with them: their favorite wine, lavish furs, cutlery and furniture. Yet all you have is the servant’s dress you had put on earlier. If you were wiser, you would have stopped pulling at the loose thread at the hem so you wouldn’t have to worry about having one rag to your name in the afterlife. Huh. How ironic, you think, a queen with only a rag to her name. There’s something awfully fitting about that.

“Will you hold my hand?” You don’t want to go into the end alone.

Wordlessly, he lies down next to you on the floor, mimicking your position. His cheek presses into the floor, watching you as he slides his leather hand closer. Anakin’s hand is much larger than yours when he encompasses it gently and rubs his thumb up and down your knuckles.

Your skin is dry and stiff from where your tears have dried, but you still find it in you to smile out of gratitude.

“Goodnight, Anakin.”

And how lucky you must be to know that the tender caress of skin feels the same as slipping into a dream.

-

You find that death isn’t as scary as you expected. Its shrill cry rings like a bell in your ear, awakening you from a deep slumber. Death’s arms are wound tight across your chest in an unwanted hug. Instinctively, you claw at your chest to pull it away. It tightens then, and you jump at the sound of your own scream.

Your eyes fly open, just as the harness of your seat digs into your skin.

You survived.

Relief floods over your head and you sink beneath it. The moment is brief, enough to steal a burning gulp of air. It isn’t fresh or clean, and your lungs protest at the smoke, but it’s the fuel you need to keep pushing.

Shaking hands reach to undo your harness, and you think it’s a bit strange how one is concealed by a leather glove. Neither Vee nor the Alderaan pilot were wearing one when you boarded. You spare a look up.

“Getting yourself into more trouble, princess?”

I’ll be right next to you when you wake.

Anakin had never been a liar.

When the harness clicks open, you throw yourself at him despite, your legs giving out halfway there. He catches you in the rush, the hood of his robe falling back to reveal those tender curls you always loved. Anakin laughs a boyishly. It reminds you of timber crackling in the fireplace.

“Good to see you too,” he smiles, brushing away the dirt and sweat you felt sticking to your face.

You don’t even consider the repercussions of your actions as you sling both arms around his neck and pull him into a kiss. It must be the shock, you think, or perhaps part of you still thought you were dreaming. Either way, he doesn’t pull back and it makes your stomach twist into knots.

When you pull back, you push him away and scream joyously at the sky, stretching your arms as far as they will go. You forget about it all, letting the hairs on your arms stand tall and shiver in a satisfying way.

And then it hits you.

“Vee!” You cry, hissing at the throbbing sensation in your head as you must have whipped your head around too quickly.

She comes running around a large piece of debris from the ship with her hands gathered in her skirt. Behind her is the Alderaan pilot, who cradles his arm carefully across his chest. “Are you hurt?” She asks.

“I’m fine. How about you?” You answer, although your words are muffled into her shoulder as you embrace.

“I was lucky. Only a broken arm over there,” she says, looking back at the pilot, a small smile ghosting her lips before turning back. She stills.

You follow her gaze over your shoulder to Anakin. He looks just as unnerved. Your eyebrows furrow. “Vee, you remember Anakin. The Jedi that guarded me after my…” The words die on your tongue. After my father died.

She clears her throat. “Forgive me, Jedi Skywalker. I am just surprised, that is all. I thought the Jedi were a thing of the past.” Her words are curt.

You flinch at her formal address. It probably wasn’t appropriate for you to refer to Anakin by his first name, but it also couldn’t have been appropriate to kiss him either.

Anakin sneaks a glance at you, catching his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before looking back at Vee. “We may not have a temple anymore,” he says, holding your gaze, “but we do have our responsibilities.”

“What happened to you?” You don’t mean for it to come out so suddenly, but like most things in your life, it passed you by.

He swallows and forgets to blink. “Your ship won’t make it past their lines in the sky. I suggest we take mine; it should have landed just past that hill.” He gestures somewhere in the distance. “And then we will get that cut cleaned, my lady.”

Your mouth sours at the formality before reaching above your eyebrow. When you pull your fingers away, they are covered in fresh blood. Oh.

Anakin brushes past you, swiping the faintest touch across your arm as he does. You study Vee and the Alderaan pilot to see if they caught it, but they appear unphased. Quietly, you follow behind him.

After a minute of walking in silence, you speak up. “Why did you come back?”

“I heard about the invasion of Caridaan and figured a little princess may need my help.”

“Queen.”

“What?”

“I’m Queen now.”

Anakin grins, still focused on his ship in the distance. His smile hasn’t changed.

“You remember that story you told me? About the King who turned everything to gold?” Anakin begins. You nod, confused about where he was going with this. Regardless, you watch as he fumbles beneath his robe to reveal his silver lightsaber. He stops in his tracks, grabbing your arm gently to draw your attention closer. “Put your hand out.”

You gape at him. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he sighs, putting the metal hilt into your hand anyway. It’s heavier than you expected, larger too. You wonder how he is able to wrap his hand around the whole thing. “Press the button.” He shifts to your side to stay clear of the direction you are holding his weapon.

When you do, a single beam of blue light ignites. It hums beneath your grip. “I don’t understand,” you gulp. You never really knew much about the Jedi. Anakin had told you about the different colors briefly, how the good guys were blue and green, and the bad guys were red. Still, you failed to understand what point he was trying to prove.

By your side, Anakin inhales deeply before exhaling. “Doesn’t look cursed to me.”

The King whose touch turns everything to gold. I’m cursed like him.

You see a silly reflection of yourself in the silver hilt.

The silver metal feels just right in your hand.

[zoeykallus]

aloha zoey! i hope you're doing well :) i am wondering if you're still taking requests, could you write something a little angsty with a happy ending with crosshair. maybe the jedi!reader and him were in a relationship before he joined the empire and it completely broke after it was revealed his chip was never removed. and so now they're trying to reconcile now that he's back? thank you so much ❤️

Aloha Anon!

I cooked something up for you 😊

Crosshair x Jedi!Reader Oneshot - What Are You Afraid Of?

Warnings: Angst/Fluff

______________________

The moment you part ways is so surreal, so devastating. Crosshair has left the team, switched sides, and in your last encounter, you barely escaped with your life.

You look back once more from a safe distance, seeing him in the distance with the other troopers as they swarm out, looking for you. Your heart is heavy, heavier than you could have ever imagined.

It's hard to accept what has happened, hard to understand that Crosshair is no longer your Crosshair. The realization that he has succumbed to his programming hits you like a slap in the face. There is nothing you can do but turn your back on him, stay away from him, if only for your own safety.

The thought that you have lost him is crushing, the feeling overwhelming. But you have to move on, adapt, you can't just give up everything because of it.

With the Bad Batch, you've been around for a while now, and Crosshair's split from the team has hit you all hard. But you hold yourselves together, holding each other up in unsettled, dangerous times.

You've all made your peace with the situation, one way or another. You haven't heard from Crosshair in a long time, so it's all the more surprising when you receive a coded message from him.

"It's probably a trap," Echo says seriously.

Hunter sighs softly, crosses his arms in front of his chest and nods, "Probably."

You say quietly, "But he asked us for help. What if he really needs that help?"

Wrecker agreed with you, "We have little choice but to take the risk. We can't ignore Crosshair."

Tech frowns and says, "We could, but would surely regret it sooner or later"

You look from one to the other, sensing the mood in the room, feeling how torn your teammates are. Your own feelings are far too wild, erratic and intense for a Jedi, but you can't help yourself. You still miss him, your grumpy sniper.

No matter what the mood, you know you will answer this call for help.

It's a strange feeling as the Marauder lands, perhaps because Tech makes a soft landing for a change. Even his flying style seems thoughtful today.

Your heart is still racing, you can't really control your emotions, outwardly you can, but inside there is an excited, yet anxious restlessness.

Suddenly, you feel Hunter's hand on your shoulder and hear him say, "Take a deep breath. We don't know what to expect, we need to keep a clear head, just in case. I know how much it would mean to you if Crosshair were to come back, but you can't let that get to you, none of us can."

Of course, he had noticed your restlessness, his senses were actually not unlike that of a Jedi, perhaps even superior in some situations.

"I know," you say softly with a nod.

As the ramp opens, and you can already see the tall, slender figure of Crosshair approaching in the distance, you still can't help it, your pulse racing, tingling in your nerve endings. For a moment, a vibration seems to go through the ship, a few objects suddenly float up into the air.

The men look around, startled, then you hear Hunter's gently admonishing voice say your name. You pull yourself together, the floating objects fall down again, here and there you hear a soft clatter or rumble. The vibration in the ship's walls stops.

"Sorry," you say meekly.

The figure comes closer, and it's clear, the way he moves, the stature, the posture, and last but not least, the modified, unmistakable sniper rifle on his back. This is undeniably Crosshair.

You open your mind, looking for other people in the area, but all you sense is the unease, the caution, the uncertainty Crosshair feels. Then his gaze seems to fall on you, and you feel a strong pull, a longing coming from him that you didn't expect.

Hunter says softly, "I can't sense anything other than Crosshair so far."

Tech adds, "Scanners show nothing so far either, just a small shuttle, presumably the one Crosshair landed here with"

You nod and say, "I don't sense any presence other than his and ours so far either"

Finally, Crosshair stops at the end of the ramp and one by one of you, come out of the Marauder, you wait until the end. Your steps are slow, deliberate, and you watch for any reaction from him.

He slowly removes his helmet, you see the scar where the chip had been before, look at the unfamiliar short cropped gray hair.

"You look different," you say softly.

Crosshair blinks and says, "You haven't changed at all."

What you feel is so intense, so much so, that you let the men talk among themselves first, discuss and work through unresolved issues, waiting for your moment.

Hunter and the others go back into the Marauder, it's a done deal, for now Crosshair is to travel with you again. Crosshair and you remain standing outside, no one complains or asks questions, the men know you both have your own thing to work out.

"It's good to see you again," he says quietly.

"Likewise," you say, searching his gaze and your feelers for what's going on inside him.

He's unusually nervous, something you haven't seen from him before, at least not like this.

"What are you so afraid of?" you ask curiously in a calm voice.

He blinks, gritting his teeth, he still hates it when you look through him so easily. But after a sigh, he admits, "That maybe you can't forgive me".

You smile softly, perhaps a little mischievously.

"So you care what I think?"

He looks at you seriously and grumbles, "I always did, you should know that."

"I'm not angry at you, never have been. Sad and angry about the situation, yes, but not necessarily at you," you say honestly.

He takes a deep breath, takes another step towards you, stands so close to you that you almost touch each other.

You state in an almost whisper, "You're still attracted to me."

Crosshair nods, you know his heart is up to his neck, but he seems perfectly calm on the outside.

"Is it still mutual?" he asks quietly.

You nod.

"It is."

You flinch, almost startled, as his hand reaches for your chin quite unexpectedly, his lips descending on yours. He kisses you, intensely, and you feel the longing behind it, the relief, the affection, the intensity of his personality.

His free hand has clawed into the fabric of your tunic, as if he fears you might pull away. One hand on your chin, the other on the fabric of your clothes, he holds you tight. But what really holds you captive in the kiss is all the emotion he's radiating at this moment.

There is also something deeper, the will to be close to you, to have you all to himself, that winds around and through all the other sensations of his, like a bond that holds you both tight.

When his lips break away from yours, you are both quite breathless. Your knees are soft and almost buckle away, but he pulls you back up, his hand still on your tunic.

He smirks, "My kisses are still blowing your mind, it seems."

You grin cheekily and say, "Don't flatter yourself."

Crosshair laughs softly, "Still a little feisty, are we?"

"As you said, I haven't changed a bit"

With a relieved sigh, he pulls you closer to him with both hands and engages you in another kiss, this time much more tender.

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@antishadow2021

@starwarsnerd111

[strawberry6x6]

Midnight Sky

Anakin Skywalker x f!reader

Rating: explicit. 18+ only. Minors DNI

Word count: 2.6k

Content: angst? smut, virgin reader, porn with plot, female receiving, unprotected p in v

Summary: Y/N is afraid to face her feelings towards Anakin, he isn’t. A confession from him leads to a passionate night.

Disclaimer- This is my first post and first fanfic. Please enjoy. 

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

You were 8 when you met the blonde kid. He was probably a year older than you and always had a knack for trouble. He seemed odd to you and you could not understand why you were placed together. Time passed and you trained with the kid who was named Anakin Skywalker from Tatooine. Anakin eventually grew on you and it seemed everywhere you guys went, mischief followed. You thought yourself to be more collected but when Anakin was involved, rationality flew out the window. Time flew by when you spent it together. 

As you grew into a young teen, your feelings seemed to stray from the Jedi Code. Master Yoda, noting an inner turmoil within you, allocated your training under Master Windu. You were sad to part ways from Anakin but noted it was for the best. The force grew within you training under Master Windu guidance. The more you trained you saw less of Anakin. Childish meets had no room for your training. Only being together when necessary and even then barely exchanging glances. As time passed, you had long forgotten your feelings towards Anakin and his presence no longer affected you. 

But there were nights when you were exhausted that you couldn’t sleep. These nights especially got you thinking about Anakin.

Your thoughts circled back to that one night. When you stood at his door unable to knock but by chance he opened his door. That night you cried. That you hugged him tightly. That night he consoled you. That night you stayed in his room. That night he held you. That night was the last night. The following days you tried to avoid him, only because there was a recurring flutter in your chest you didn't like.

You were again unapproachable.  

Anakin noted your playful demeanor shift under the guidance of Master Windu. He missed you so much, his only way of seeing much of you was during training or when meditating. He tried his best to be near you but never being in front of you. Everywhere he went he searched for you and when he did he felt a fluttering sensation in his chest. His eyes would never leave you. Anakin didn’t know why you strayed from him. His only reason for keeping his distance from you was only because he was afraid of losing you more. So he settled with looking at you from afar. 

Images of your face haunted his mind. Your laughter, your touch, your voice… your very being. Anakin's heart ached. And only by looking at you from afar did Anakin realize his feelings for you and surprisingly it didn’t scare him. Of course he knew his feelings transgressed the Jedi Code. 

After acknowledging his feelings, his desire to be closer to you grew. He yearned to hold you close. He longed to reach out to you, to confess his deepest desires but fear of rejection bound his tongue, locking the truth in his heart. It tormented him, the fact that he couldn’t hold you. You occupied his thoughts relentlessly and a dark desire grew in Anakin, the desire to make you his. 

Anakin had lost count to the amount of times he had drained himself thinking of you. Staying awake late at night to relieve himself. 

If only you knew how much he craved your touch and attention but the thought only tormented him. He could never fully embrace you. 

But like a glass slowly filling, the water finally overflowed. Anakin sought you throughout the Jedi Temple. Finally catching you late at night in the training grounds.

You rested lying on the floor looking up at the night sky.  He took your sight in, how beautiful you looked.

“Y/N,” Anakin called out to you softly. You closed your eyes pretending he was not there.

“I know you can hear me and I can’t deny this any longer Y/N. This pretense and uncertainty of what I actually feel. ”

“Don’t,” you stopped him. You stood fast dreading where this conversation was going. The best you could do was walk away from him. “ Please Anakin. Not now.”

“Y/N.. I think I’m in love with you,” He continued.

“What?” you whispered causing your heart to hammer. It shouldn’t hammer, “An-Anakin you, we swore an oath to the Jedi Code!”

“The Jedi Code is absolute, and we must adhere to it,” looking at him disbelief, you whispering as you looked around, “whatever you think or feel will only bring nothing but suffering and pain.” 

You stated as you tried walking past him. Anakin stood in front of you. You avoided his gaze. Fearing the same desire he always looks at you with, would reflect in your eyes. Your resolve should be unwavering.

Anakin knew, he hoped what you were saying did not coincide with your feelings. He could feel it. “I know you are lying to yourself. I just know what I feel for you is not one-sided.l”

You took a step back, your gaze never straying from the ground as you crossed your arms annoyed. Anakin on the other hand, unafraid from his own feelings, reached towards you. His heart was hammering with a mix of fear and longing as he reached his fingertips to touch your cheek and you allowed him.

You gathered the strength to look him in the eyes, appearing composed,“ Anakin Skywalker, I don’t know where you got these erroneous assumptions. I-” you stopped yourself from saying something cruel, “I would- I am not stupid enough to betray the very vows I swore to the Order. Is that clear?”

Anakin’s eyes searched yours, he could not tell if you were lying, His only reasoning for your distance was your sworn duty to the Jedi Order. Seeing you walk away only made it clear. His shoulders slumped, the weight of your words hanging in the air, crashing down on him. 

You had distanced yourself from him. Denying your feelings that seemed to seep since his attempt to confess. Your resolve was wavering, but you couldn’t act upon your desires due to your dedication.

His longing only intensified.    

Anakin knew the risks, the potential consequences that would follow if he continued this path. The Jedi Code demanded complete detachment, he knew the consequences but he had to have you, he could not give up on you. Even when you seemed to avoid him. He always seemed to be where you went. The cat and mouse chase seemed to prolong between you both. 

One evening, in the temple's garden. Anakin caught sight of you. You seemed deep in thought looking at the sky and all he could do was stand and look at you from afar. The night was cool and the moon cast a soft glow that seemed to accentuate your body covered by your thin nightgown. You were unaware of his presence, he knew you weren’t and it seemed your present vulnerability gave him courage to walk up to you standing mere steps away. 

You turned around surprised to see him. You looked away as quickly as your eyes met. Without acknowledging him you started your departure from the garden. Anakin clasped your arm, “Please Y/N. Don’t- don’t leave. Please.”

You could feel his yearning and want for you and the realization scared you because you too wanted to be with him. Your heart quickened. You looked him in the eyes and he could see your distraught. He let go of you not wanting to make you uncomfortable, especially with him. 

You put space between you both, “ Ani…” you called out to him. The nickname sounded foreign but it felt right calling out to him. You don’t know what came over you. Maybe it was the calmness of the night, or maybe for a second you wanted to believe that it could be like before. You hugged yourself trying to comfort yourself, “the Jedi Order it- you must understand what it is expected from us.”

He slowly closed the gap and hugged you tightly, it caught you off guard but you didn’t fight it. “I understand what you’re saying but I can’t. I want you. I..I love you Y/N. More than you can imagine.”

His eyes darting from your eyes to your lips, “Y/N, you have no idea how much I want you. What  I want to do to you. They-... they are unspeakable. I’m afraid if I confess them to you, you’ll leave.”

The way he looked at you made your skin tingle. For the first time listening to your heart. You reach forward to kiss him. Your brain screamed, your present actions defied the Code but you continued ignoring anything else that wasn’t Anakin. He deepened the kiss grabbing hold of your waist wanting to just live in this moment. Your lips were soft, both of your tongues mingling. He had imagined kissing you many times but Maker, was it more delightful actually doing it. He trailed his kisses to the base of your neck and moved towards your bare shoulders.Your were trying to catch your breath while he continued to assault your neck. Your hand found their way to his hair pulling him closer towards yourself. The way you stroked his hair sent shivers down his spine. 

He groaned, pulling away. He set space between you both. Anakin saw how much of a trance you were in from his kisses. 

“Like I said Y/N. There is so much I want to do with you, “ he looked away, embarrassed by the burning desire he felt for you. 

You could see him troubled. Closing the gap, you held his hand leading his palm to your lips, you placed a soft kiss. “Ani, I trust you. Please…Continue,” placing the same hand you kissed over your left breast, “I will let you know my limits.”

Anakin’s eyes darkened, he slowly rubbed your nipple over the thin cloth causing it to perk. He continued by placing his hot mouth over your clothed breast. The sensation was foreign to you, arching forward you moaned. He continued his assault while fondling your right breast and pinching at the nipple. The sensation caused a weird discomfort between your legs. You tightly rubbed your legs together wanting some relief. 

He noted your actions and took off his robes, placing them in the ground for you to lay. You compiled while kissing his mouth again. Anakin slid his hands in between your soft thighs causing you to buck your hips. “Relax. I got you baby,” he whispered in your ear. You loosened up slowly, releasing the tension you had. He slowly spreads your legs, his eyes never leaving yours asking permission to continue. You nodded and he led his head between your legs. He could smell your arousal and it drove him crazy. Anakin buried his face between your thighs kissing his way towards your pussy, taking in your scent. 

You couldn’t breath from the sensation of his nose rubbing into you. His hot breath in your crotch sent you into a frenzy. You gripped his hair pulling him impossibly closer to your pussy, your hips shifting with impatience on his face for some relief. He placed his hand on your waist stopping your movement causing you to whimper from the lack of friction. 

His tongue slid between the furrow of your pussy. It made you jolt forward but his hands held you in place. You covered your mouth from releasing your moans.

He stopped the motion of his tongue looking up at you as you covered your face. You tried grinding your hips forward but was stopped again. 

“ Don’t hold back your moans Y/N. I want to hear you moan as I take you.” He placed a kiss on your pussy causing you to whimper, “ Is that clear?”

You moaned as you agreed for him to continue. He continued to eat your pussy, unable to get enough of your taste. Overwhelmed with pleasure from the vibration of his groans as he continued slurping and sucking, you tried moving forward trying to relieve the tight knot in your stomach. 

“Ani- wait,” your breath came out heavier as you rocked your hips forward,” feelin’- too much.” 

Anakin pulled you closer as he continued the motion of his tongue knowing you were close. 

“Come on baby, cum for me.”

Your eyes stained with tears unknown to the weird sensation, you moaned his name letting go as  you released into his mouth. He greedily took your juices like a staved man. Your thighs trembling as he continued. 

He slowly propped his hips to your entrance, taking his already hard cock in his hands causing him to hiss from the much needed attention. 

Your eyes fell to his hand movement, reaching your hand towards his thick dick. You move your hand in a slow rhythm causing pleasure shoots through Anakin as he bucked his hips forward. He stopped you hands wanting to be inside you.

“It’s gonna hurt baby, but bear with me,” he looked into your eyes for any sign that showed displeasure, “just let me know. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nodded looking him in the eyes. 

His dick pushed through the folds slowly entering your pussy. You tensed at the pain causing tears to swell in your eyes. Finally, fully inside you, he groaned, noting your tense demeanor as well as the tight grip your pussy held his dick making him almost come from the sensation. 

“Relax Y/N, I’m gonna move. Just try relaxing, “ Anakin whispered as he slowly thrust into you staying in place for you to adjust. You caught your breath feeling the need to continue.

As he continued to slowly thrust the pain dissolved into pleasure causing you to moan. Your moans encouraged Anakin to increase his pace. 

“Oh Maker, you feel so good Y/N,” he groaned as he thrust into you. Anakin held back from cumming too fast. He took your lips, kissing you deeply, your arms wrapped around his neck for support as he thrust deeper into you finding a steady rhythm. 

“Fuck,” the sight of you coming undone under him made him groan causing him to grip onto your hips tightly. “Y/N, tell me your mine,” he needed the confirmation. He needed to know you were his. He continued leaning forward kissing your shoulder before inhaling your sweet scent.

“Ani,” you whimpered, unable to process what he asked of you. 

“Please,” he continued, laying kisses on you and finally meeting your eyes, “tell me your mine. How good I make you feel.”

“I’m yours Ani-I feel so good,” you moaned. Reaching your hands forward to his face guiding his lips towards yours,“ it’s always been you.”

He increased his speed, slamming his hips towards you. He pulled his hair back from his face just to look at himself thrusting in and out of you as your pussy took his full dick. He loved the feeling when you would clench onto his dick.

Moaning and mewling freely from the pleasure as you locked eyes with Anakin, he placed two digits rubbing your clit in circular motions. The sensation and the sound of both yours and Anakin’s skin slapping against each other was too much causing you to cum immediately. Anakin loved the view. He watched as your face contoured with pleasure, he once again fell in love with you, how could anything be more beautiful than this moment. 

He fucked you harder through your orgasm overstimulating you. You clenched your walls around his dick feeling it throb inside you as his thrust became unsteady cumming inside you. He thrust once more into your sensitive pussy making you whimper as fell forward into your embrace. 

You both caught your breath, still in a trance while laying in your back facing the night sky. He admired you fully and up close. Something he hadn’t done in a long time. Anakin could see the marks he made forming in your skin. Maker, were you beautiful even more so with his marks. It just showed how much you were his.

You kissed him gently looking at him in the eyes, “Ani, is it... fine if you stay a little longer here.”

He smiled, nodding as reached to cress your skin. You could ask him to commit murder and he’d instantly do it. You just didn’t know the power you held over him but staying out in the garden was enough for you. Both of you looked at the night sky while catching up for all those years apart until dawn broke. You wished morning never came if it meant you could embrace him freely, forgetting the Jedi Code.