#next chapter: to Obi or not to Obi? who knows!

[skyguytoast]

ALMOST HERS, ENTIRELY YOURS: AOTC!ANAKIN X PADMÉ'S YOUNGER SISTER!READER

CHAPTER ONE NEXT

SYNOPSIS: Anakin Skywalker has loved Padmé Amidala since he was ten years old — a crush that grew into something deeper over time. But everything shifts when he meets you, her younger sister.

WARNINGS: None yet. Anidala also here, don't if need a warning for them ;)

WORDS: 3.3k

A/N: hii, babes! sooo this little ideia I had while I was listening to “How Bad Do You Want It” by Lady Gaga. hope you enjoy! comments, reblogs & chaos always welcome — and requests are open as always! dividers by @/enchanthings

'𝑪𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒉, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒉 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒎𝒚 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆, '𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰'𝒎 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆

With attempts on Senator Amidala’s life becoming alarmingly routine, the Jedi Council had ruled that she remain under Jedi protection, not just for her safety, but to ensure the Separatists couldn’t silence her before she brought her motion before the Senate. Padmé Amidala was well-known across the galaxy for her unwavering principles. A fierce advocate for diplomacy, her voice carried weight and those who feared it knew it could shift the tides of war.

The growing tension with the Separatists had stirred chaos on Coruscant. It wouldn’t be long before that chaos would ripple outward, spreading like wildfire across the galaxy. Any hope for truce by democratic means was dwindling, but if there was one voice still strong enough to challenge the storm, it was hers.

Anakin Skywalker could hardly contain the anticipation of seeing her again.

His feelings for the senator hadn’t faded over the years. If anything, time apart had only made them sharper, more vivid, more impossible to ignore. From the moment he first saw her, he believed she was an angel, and nothing he’d learned about her since had proven him wrong. Whether it was in the holonews, Temple rumors, or stories exchanged in quiet corridors, Padmé Amidala’s compassion and courage only made her seem more unreal. More unreachable.

She wasn’t like the others. Not like the hollow politicians he’d overheard growing up. Padmé cared. She saw the galaxy not in star systems and senate seats, but in people, in those who suffered, those forgotten beneath the shining towers of Coruscant’s upper levels. She fought to pull justice upward from the shadows, to remind the Republic of its duty. And that, Anakin thought, made her the only kind of leader worth following.

“I’m sure Senator Amidala hasn’t forgotten about you,” Obi-Wan’s voice cut through the whirl of thoughts in his padawan’s head, calm and amused.

Anakin blinked, heat rushing to his face. He turned away from the elevator’s glass wall, willing the blush not to show. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Master,” he muttered, voice stiff and unconvincing.

Obi-Wan only shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching in a knowing smile. He didn’t need the Force to sense how Anakin practically came undone the second the elevator doors slid open. And there she was.

Senator Amidala stood before them, her presence as composed and radiant as ever. She smiled politely as her eyes landed on Obi-Wan.

“Master Kenobi,” she greeted warmly.

But then her gaze fell on Anakin. And it lingered.

Just long enough for his breath to catch and his pulse to roar in his ears.

“Ani,” she said softly, her eyes warming. “How you’ve grown…”

Anakin scratched the back of his neck, cheeks burning. “You haven’t changed at all,” he blurted, then stumbled on his words. “I mean—you’ve just gotten… prettier.”

Smooth, he thought, cursing himself silently.

But Padmé only smiled, gracious and unbothered by his awkwardness, and motioned for them to sit in the sunken living room of her Coruscant apartment. Captain Typho, the ever-watchful head of Naboo’s royal security, stood nearby with his arms crossed, his lone eye scanning the room with practiced precision. It was clear he was already running through contingency plans, ready to bend reality if that’s what it took to protect the senator.

The conversation was brief, or at least, it felt that way to Anakin. If he was honest, he barely registered the words being exchanged. His mind was far too busy spinning up fantasies where he and Senator Amidala were alone together, in a field of wildflowers, on Naboo, on Coruscant, anywhere she would allow him to exist in her orbit.

By the time it was over, he was already standing beside Obi-Wan, halfway into the elevator, still chasing the imaginary sound of her laugh in his head, when his master reminded him of the arrangement: He would be the one escorting Padmé back to Naboo, where she’d spend time with her family while the Separatist crisis was being contained.

And just like that, they were off, the two of them, together. Anakin felt like he was walking on air, grateful beyond measure that the Force had aligned to give him this opportunity. He could barely keep still. To have an excuse to be near her, speak to her, breathe the same air, it was more than he could bear. It was a dream, one he hoped wouldn’t end.

They traveled on a freighter, blending in with the other passengers, keeping a low profile to avoid tipping off anyone who might want to harm her. Even then, in worn robes and modest surroundings, she shone like starlight. The journey was a whirlwind of feelings. Every time she looked at him, spoke to him, asked him something, anything, his heart felt like it might burst from his chest.

Padmé asked him about his life. About his Jedi training. About the man he was becoming.

And gathering a courage he didn’t fully possess, Anakin answered, painting vivid pictures of daring missions and wild adventures. He spoke of triumphs, of narrow escapes, of battles fought alongside Obi-Wan. Of course, with Obi-Wan not there, Anakin took a little liberty with the storytelling. Maybe just slightly exaggerated his own role. Maybe omitted the times things hadn’t gone quite to plan.

But in her eyes, he wanted to be impressive. He wanted to be more than the boy she used to know. He wanted to be the man she could one day love.

When they landed on Naboo, a welcoming party from the Queen’s court was already waiting by the dock. Anakin stepped out first, helping Padmé into the little lake skiff. Her delicate hand lingered against his palm, warm and featherlight, and even after she’d taken her seat to speak with one of the guards, he couldn’t help but glance down at his hand, tracing the ghost of her touch with his thumb and smiling to himself like a fool.

Barely ten minutes later, the boat glided across the still water and docked along the curved wooden pier that wrapped around the Amidala family’s lake house. The soft creak of wood under his boots echoed as Anakin stepped off, stretching out his hand to help the senator once again. But before he could savor the feel of her fingers in his, Padmé was already swept into her parents’ arms, their reunion saturated with long-held emotion and relief.

“Sis!”

An unfamiliar voice called from the doorway of the house, light, melodic, and filled with giddy affection. Anakin’s gaze snapped up, instinctively alert, his stance shifting until he saw you.

Your smile was pure sunlight as you darted forward, lifting your long silk skirt to hurry toward your sister, arms already reaching out for a hug. But as Anakin had instinctively anticipated, your steps faltered, your foot catching on one of the many airy layers of your gown. You teetered forward, wide-eyed, arms flailing. You were a second from tumbling off the dock and into the water.

Until he caught you.

One strong arm wrapped around your back, the other gripping your forearm just before you went under. Your breath hitched, your chest pressed to his, your heart pounding as the world slowed for a moment too long.

You looked up, startled and slightly breathless, straight into the bluest eyes you'd ever seen. The kind of blue that made you forget what you were about to say.

“Oh,” you murmured, blinking. “Wait—are you that little boy Padmé said she met on Tatooine?”

Anakin blinked, like your words had snapped him out of a trance. He carefully set you back on your feet, stepping away as soon as he was sure you were steady.

“I’m a Jedi,” he said quickly, too quickly. “Anakin Skywalker.”

There was a quiet defiance in the way he said it, like he needed to cast off whatever image you’d just conjured. Not a boy from a desert planet. Not a slave. But a warrior. A protector. A Jedi.

Your smile only grew, excitement flaring in your expression. “I’ve never met a Jedi before,” you said, eyes bright with curiosity. “You can, like... move stuff with your mind? Or even better — do you actually carry one of those glowing laser swords?”

“Lightsaber,” Anakin corrected gently, but his lips tugged into a smile, soft and a little cocky, like he couldn’t quite help it. You made him feel seen. Not as a mission or an obligation. But as something... more.

He straightened slightly, his tone slipping into something halfway between duty and pride. “A Jedi’s lightsaber is his life. We’re taught to protect it, to never lose it.”

You leaned in a little closer, not missing the flicker of pride in his voice. “Can I see it?” you asked, like you were asking to see a hidden treasure. “Please? Just for a second?”

There was a sparkle in your eyes, like this was all a grand adventure. You weren't impressed by titles or legacy. You were just curious, joyful, and so effortlessly magnetic it almost made his chest ache.

Anakin hesitated, a quiet grin blooming at the edge of his lips. He knew he shouldn’t. But he also knew he wanted to.

And Force help him — he wanted to impress you.

“Y/N, Padawan Skywalker didn’t come here to play,” Padmé said gently, her tone laced with older-sister patience as she gave you a pointed look.

You pouted but obeyed, not without rolling your eyes like a bratty teenager who'd been caught mid-fun. Anakin noticed, catching the shift in your expression just as you stuck your tongue out at him. He blinked in surprise, clearly unsure whether he should be amused or annoyed. You, of course, took that as a win.

You and Padmé couldn’t have been more different.

Where she was graceful, composed, and precise, a woman who wielded diplomacy the way some wielded weapons, you were all impulse, confidence, and fire. Padmé had always been the one to weigh every word, to calculate every step. You, on the other hand, didn’t stop until you got what you wanted, no matter how messy the path there was. If she was the cool voice of reason, you were the one kicking down the door.

You both carried the same iron courage, the same unwavering hope in people, but yours showed up in sharper, more unpredictable ways. Maybe it was the age gap. Maybe it was her responsibilities as a senator. Or maybe it was simply the weight of her legacy, the fact that you’d spent your life under the shadow of the galaxy’s role model, and your only choice was to walk a different path entirely.

Anakin’s official duty was to protect Padmé, shadow her, guard her, ensure no further attempts on her life succeeded. But the reality was far more boring than it sounded. She spent long hours behind closed doors in tense meetings, writing briefs, and trading coded messages with other senators. And because he wasn’t allowed in the room when classified matters were discussed, he spent much of his time pacing the hallways like a restless hound.

Which meant you quickly became his favorite distraction.

You’d appear with a mischievous smile and a bounce in your step, tossing him a piece of fruit or a cupcake as you passed by, laughing when he fumbled the catch. Other times, you’d simply sit beside him, chattering about anything and everything, sometimes just to make him laugh. It became a rhythm, a quiet, unspoken habit. He found himself waiting for the sound of your footsteps. For that light in your eyes.

Once and only once he let you hold his lightsaber.

He’d meant it as a small gesture, maybe even a show of trust. A way to impress you. But within moments, you’d accidentally activated it, and before either of you could react, you’d sliced your mother’s antique vase clean in two.

You both stared at the destruction in stunned silence, the hum of the blade still vibrating in the air. Then you looked at him, wide-eyed but shameless.

“Oops.”

Anakin groaned, hand over his face. “I’m never hearing the end of this.”

You just grinned, handing the weapon back carefully like it was no big deal. “Relax, Skywalker. I’ll blame it on the wind.”

And in that moment, he knew exactly what kind of trouble you were, and that he liked it far more than he should.

On one of his nightly rounds, Anakin noticed a window left ajar, the curtains swaying lazily in the cool night breeze. He moved toward it cautiously, one hand already brushing the hilt of his lightsaber, prepared for danger, for disruption.

What he found instead was you.

You were perched in the open window, dressed in black pants and a jacket that blended into the night, your silhouette cut from the same cloth as the stars. Your legs dangled freely, swaying just over the edge, as if you were moments away from slipping into the moonlit air and vanishing.

His heart skipped, not from fear, but from the jolt of seeing you there, wild and untamed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice low and sharp, his brow furrowed as his hand closed firmly around your arm. The contact was meant to stop you, but his fingers lingered.

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “You don’t know how to have fun, do you, Anakin?” you teased, your smile pulling at the corner of your mouth, sly and impossible to ignore. “I suppose fun isn’t in the Jedi vocabulary.”

He didn’t answer. His jaw was set, his fingers tightening slightly on your arm.

“Y/N, go back to your room,” he said, trying to summon that disciplined tone Obi-Wan always used. “You’re going to get yourself hurt.”

“Then come with me,” you murmured, tilting your head. “Protect me, Jedi.”

There was something in your voice, a melody laced with danger, invitation, and the kind of rebellion Anakin recognized too well in himself. You weren’t just tempting him to leave his post, you were tempting him to abandon the safety of his walls. To choose want over duty.

He glanced at the hallway behind him, at the door to Padmé’s quarters, the room he was assigned to guard. That was where he should be. The Jedi Code echoed in the back of his mind like a warning bell. But the fire in your eyes drowned it out.

“Come on, Anakin,” you whispered, fingers sliding down his wrist and lacing with his. “Almost all of Naboo’s guard is stationed here. No one’s going to get past them tonight.”

His resolve crumbled the moment you pulled him closer.

“Fine,” he said, quiet and breathless.

You grinned, not a sweet smile, but something electric. And without another word, you leapt out of the window, tugging him with you. Anakin barely had time to react before he landed behind you on the back of a speeder bike, the one you have parked discreetly at the edge of the estate.

Your hands took the controls. The engine purred to life, and then you were flying, your hair whipping back into his face, your body warm and solid against his. He wrapped his arms around your waist, to keep balance, he told himself. But he didn’t let go.

You flew like you lived, fast, chaotic, alive. The speeder dove and climbed with reckless abandon, your laughter carried on the wind. More than once, he swore you were about to hit a tree, only for you to swerve with perfect, impossible timing.

The world blurred around you, stars above, lake below and still, all Anakin could think of was the warmth of your body beneath his hands, the rush of danger and desire tangling in his chest. You weren’t just a thrill. You were a spark. A question he’d never dared ask, what would it feel like to be free?

The lake shimmered below as you leaned them toward the water, close enough for him to dip his hand into the cool surface. His fingers broke through the glass-like stillness, trailing through glowing fish that darted away in flashes of silver and blue.

For once, there were no rules. No titles. No expectations. He isn't the choosen one. He was just Anakin.

Just you and him, flying too fast through the night, hearts pounding, hands tangled, somewhere between duty and something far more dangerous.

You smiled softly, glancing over your shoulder at him. That carefree grin on his face suited him, bright, unburdened, almost boyish. Anakin was too young to carry the weight of a galaxy on his shoulders. He shouldn’t have had to bear so much so soon. Tonight, you just wanted to give him something simple, a night with no duties, no burdens, no destiny waiting to devour him.

A moment of distraction, a curve too fast and you nearly clipped a tree. Anakin acted on instinct, grabbing the steering handles and forcing the speeder into a sharp turn. The vehicle skidded, tore through a field of wildflowers, and finally came to a halt in a shower of petals and torn grass. The two of you tumbled off the bench, landing in the tangled bloom of crushed blossoms and laughter.

You braced for a lecture. You’d nearly killed them both. He had every right to scold you, but instead, he laughed.

Anakin tipped his head back and let go, laughing so hard he clutched his stomach, his whole body shaking with it. And that was it, you cracked too, letting the tension dissolve into giggles and gasps for breath, tears of joy slipping down your cheeks as you collapsed into the flowers beside him.

“Thank you,” Anakin murmured when the laughter faded into silence. His palm found your back, warm and grounding as he pulled you closer. Your head came to rest on his chest, rising and falling with each quiet breath. “I needed that.”

You smiled softly, tracing the seams of his Jedi uniform with idle fingers. “A near-death experience?”

He chuckled. “Yeah… that too.”

His eyes drifted up to the sky endless and star-drenched. So different from Tatooine. On Naboo, the air wasn’t thick with fear or survival. Here, everything felt softer. Lighter. Free.

“I think,” he said slowly, “I needed to be happy… without feeling guilty about it.”

You looked up at him, gaze gentle, then reached for his hand. Your fingers found his and squeezed, grounding him again.

“Good,” you whispered, a grin tugging at your lips. “cause I don’t plan on letting you go until we’ve squeezed every bit of fun Naboo has to offer.”

“Oh?” he teased, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers grazing your skin just long enough to make your breath catch. The moonlight painted your features like something from a dream, soft, glowing, unreal. “And I don’t get a choice?”

You shook your head, playful but sincere. “You always have a choice, Anakin. You just have to remember that it’s yours to make.”

Your eyes turned skyward again, catching the shimmer of a shooting star as it cut through the dark. “Quick, quick, make a wish.”

He watched you close your eyes, the smallest smile curving your lips as you whispered your hope to the stars. You were radiant like this, not just beautiful, but whole, alive in a way that seemed untouched by everything that weighed on him.

He closed his eyes too.

He didn’t believe in those myths, in childish stories. But if a wish could keep you close, if it could carve out more nights like this, where he wasn’t a Jedi, or a soldier, or a ticking time bomb, then he would wish harder than he ever had.

Because this? This soft happiness? He hadn’t known how badly he needed it. And now that he had… he wasn’t sure he could live without it.

You reminded him that he had choices. That he was still human, still his own. That maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to walk the path that others carved for him.

He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But under that star-filled sky, your hand still wrapped in his, he decided he was ready to find out.

TAGLIST: @ihearthayden @anakinstwinklebunny @sometimescharlolette @awhhayden @dessxoxsworld @speaknow-sw @freudsweetlamb @devilslittlehelper

[dumbbbg]

FOR YOU 4

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Padawan!reader (Later will turn into Unburnt Vader x rebel! reader)

Full series

Previous chapter - 3

Next Chapter - 5 (Not published yet)

Warnings (For the whole series): noncon, dubcon, dom/sub dynamics (basically filth)

Warnings (for this chapter): Noncon touching + kissing. Anakin being scary. Anakin being possessive. Humiliation. Anakin also being kinda...nice? Calm?

. . .

For the millionth time, you couldn't believe you were in this position. You were placed on Anakin's lap, his one arm wrapped around your waist, his chin brushing the top of your head as he flew the ship. His large hand was resting on your waist, rubbing it up and down so casually like he was doing something he always did, something very ordinary.

Soon, the ship was in hyperspace, and Anakin relaxed on his seat, pulling you till you were forced to lay on his chest. You kept your eyes fixed on the beautiful hyperspace, trying to ignore the monster holding you captive.

"Little one," he murmured. "You look beautiful with the light of stars on your face." His mechanical hand cupped your face and pulled at it till you were forced to meet his eyes. His eyes were only slightly yellow, somehow gentle for the first time. His lips pressed against your forehead. "My love." His lips brushed your cheek gently.

He did that for a while. You held your breath. His lips brushed all over his face, kissing as if worshipping. For a few moments, he was the soft Anakin you sometimes watched from afar. When he was normal.

"We should be there in a few hours," he said. "You should get some sleep." He moved you till you were lying sideways on his lap, your head resting on his chest.

"I-I can go to the co-pilot seat-"

"No." Yellow flickered in his eyes. "Sit still."

You did.

Slowly, his steady breathing and the slight noise of the ship lulled you to sleep. The last thing you vaguely remembered was Anakin pressed his lips against you in a brief kiss, zooming through the stars.

. . .

"W-what are we doing on...Alderaan, master?"

He helped you down the ship, basically carrying you in his arms. "Some business with Senator Organa. Come on."

You both walked inside and were warmly welcomed. You smiled shyly, answering the questions that the senator and others asked during dinner, and before you knew it, you were in a guestroom, wondering what business Anakin had with the senator. But, no matter how curious you were, you would never ask.

You had to find a way to get out of being his apprentice. You didn't know how that could happen. He had even taken your lightsaber and your ass was bruised because of him. He had taken full control of your life in mere weeks.

Telling Obi-Wan always seemed like a good idea, but at the same time, Anakin was close to him. What if he didn't listen? What if you were just labelled as a liar by the whole Jedi order? People worshipped Anakin while they tolerated you. You might be beautiful but strength with the Force is power in the Jedi Order.

The door opened.

Your eyes fell upon Anakin as he entered and casually closed the door. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I-I couldn't, master. It's a new place."

He took off his robe, leaving himself in his trousers. He set his lightsaber down beside his neatly folded robe and walked towards you with unhurried, intimidating steps. You gulped at the showcase of strength his body was, his dark mechanical hand a contrast to his skin. His abs were easily defined, and a few scars littered his body. He was a general who was fighting in the Cole Wars; of course he was built to the bone.

It made you terrified. It made you nervous. In no aspect whatsoever could you ever overpower him. Force. Physical strength.

"A-are you going to sleep here?"

"Yes."

He got into the bed, pulling you to his side easily, his arm curled under your waist, dragging you to his chest.

"I-I can do to the other room if you l-like this one better-"

He chuckled. "I like my little Padawan sleeping on me." His large hand travelled down and grabbed your ass. You winced. Your ass was still tender from the punishment he had given you.

He didn't react, he just petted your ass, keeping his hand there. Slowly, he fell asleep while you lay tensed in his arms, biting a hole through your bottom lip in anxiety.

Only when the morning came did your exhausted eyes finally drop into a troubled sleep filled with flashing yellow eyes, dark smirks and, for some reason, a muscular, giant hand holding a red lightsaber.

. . .

Anakin was a shadow you could not shake. If he wasn't following you, R2D2 was. The little white and blue droid followed you everywhere, and sometimes both of them were there, watching over you.

The trip to Alderaan proved to be some preparation for a humanitarian mission the Jedi were to be given, to go around some Separatist blockade to apply food to a small planet. The mission was for your master and Master Kenobi. You would just tag along.

Soon, the plans were finalised, and before long, you and Anakin were back in his ship, with your sitting on his lap, and back in hyperspace. Now, he was tense. The yellow of his eyes was obvious, and now you knew enough to know that he was about to do something brutal.

"Are you tired?" Maker, even his voice had deepened. It rumbled through your body, making it tremble in fear.

"No, master-"

His giant hands landed on your thighs, and before you knew it, he had spread your legs, pulled your robes open, and somehow immobilized them in a way that you could only move your knees, not your feet.

"W-wait- what are you doing-"

"Spread."

"What-"

"Spread."

You spread your knees, trembling like a leaf. His large hands ripped your trousers and pulled your tunic up, exposing just your simple panties covering you.

"Do you know-" he began, his rough, large hands resting on your soft inner thighs, rubbing up and down, "- how many men were looking at you, little one? How many of them couldn't fucking tear their eyes away from my padawan? They wanted to fuck you. They wanted to bend you over and use all your holes." You whimpered at the words, shaking your head, small hands trembling with the effort to not grab his hands and try to tug them away.

"W-wait- they weren't- t-they-"

"I could feel it," he said. "The Force tells me everything, little one. Their desire, your fear."

His finger brushed your pussy, and you flinched at the touch. His lips pressed against your ear, and he tugged a finger inside your panties, touching your bare hole.

"So small," he muttered. "Let's stretch this cunt out, yes?"

. . .

Lmk what you think of the story so far <3

[staarwalker]

SACCHARINE | anakin skywalker x reader

i. feel something !

full desc. — after the death of your master, you’re ordered to train under a new jedi master to finish the last several months of your training. anakin finds it useless to teach anything to a 19 year old on the cusp of knighthood, yet, the order forbade him from abandoning you. leaving you within the grasp of anakin skywalker.

summary: anakin finds himself loathing his new padawan

warnings: bit of an age gap, 5 or so years (you met him when you were 19 already), obsessive/possessive behavior, suggestive themes? mdni, i don’t rlly do smut but we’ll see. he may be a bit ooc but fuck it we ball

oh and swearing obvi

+ second pov, little to no use of y/n, fem implied reader idk how gn it’ll be sorry. no ocs added but background characters who don’t do shit, and no physical descriptions of you. slow burn, buckle in

other chapters: (updated later)

Was this some kind of sick joke? Anakin didn’t need any further distractions, especially with all his duties. And what did the Order decide to go and do? Drop some inexperienced, stubborn, utterly arrogant padawan such as yourself onto him. Anakin had just become a Jedi master — in what world was this a good idea?

He was never a caring or gentle person. The Order must’ve known that, for they knew him. They surely knew that this poor padawan was simply in for too much. Young and naïve, previously training under a (in Anakin’s opinion) overrated Jedi, someone with a reputation far exceeding his skill. What could you possibly know of value?

Hardly an adult, raised by the Order with the sole purpose of forming you into a knight. What could you know that Anakin did? He could already tell his superiority to you — which was unfair, considering his status and age, but nevertheless… he was livid.

When he’d met you, it was with disdain and contempt. You couldn’t even pick up on it, having no people skills. Was that another joke?

You greeted him with smiles, handshakes, and praise. You’d heard of him, you said, and you were proud to learn under him for the next several months to finish out your training and be knighted. As delighted as you were, he was only infuriated. He’d returned your kindness with scowls and muttered (fake) agreements. Though, the more you spoke, the more he could hear that arrogance. That pride that truly pissed him off.

He remembered Obi-Wan at that moment, there to introduce you to Anakin. The moment the older man noticed the pride in your voice… he laughed. You truly were just like Anakin. Perhaps that’s part of why he’d had a hand in choosing Anakin to be your master.

Obi-Wan believed Anakin’s arrogance could dull yours, and help you grow into the Jedi you were always slated to be. Either that, or make you worse — such as your master himself was soon becoming. Still, Obi-Wan decided to take the chance.

Along with that and his former padawan’s budding solitude, he figured Anakin needed… a friend. How could he have possibly known what was soon to become of you two?

The days following your new apprenticeship began early; far earlier than under your old master. You arose at 5 a.m. on the dot, to meet Master Skywalker in the meditation field outside. A place to connect with nature, to truly embrace the Force. You walked along the path to where he was sitting, hesitantly approaching him. He sat cross-legged, hands on his knees, with his eyes closed. You could see his scar clearly when admiring him, wondering how he got it before he spoke.

“You’re late.”

Frowning, you sat across from him, mimicking his posture, “I woke when you told me to. It’s a 4-minute walk to get here.” You said softly, not wanting to disturb his focus.

Yet, the attitude in your voice made his lip curl, “I said to arrive at 5, not wake.” He keeps his eyes closed to try and regain composure.

You sigh, “Yeah, okay, I get it. I’ll show up at exactly 5 tomorrow.” Exasperated, you look to the side annoyedly, finding your old master to be far more lenient. Though, you don’t complain, since you’re an adult now; it’s time to step up to challenge.

Anakin’s eyebrows furrow at your words, but he doesn’t speak. He simply meditates, as he does every morning. At his silence, you let out a breath and join him, clearing your mind and just… feeling. Feeling the Force around you, the sense of connection with the planet. You ground yourself in it, almost losing yourself in the sheer power of the Force encapsulating you, just as you’ve done many times before.

Your breathing slows as you get into the mindset, deep within yourself, finding yourself in your usual meditative state quickly, as you always do, when —

SLAP!

A palm slams against your back and you jut forward, eyes wide from the shock and pain, before turning to see your master squatting behind you with a scowl. When did he move? Your mouth hangs open in astonishment, offended, “What the hell — !”

He cuts you off, “Your posture is wrong and you aren’t waiting. What are you rushing for? We’re staying here for 3 hours.”

You groan, “3 hours?!”

Okay, perhaps you did rush into it, not taking the time to really connect. Maybe you did think it a race, wanting to be better than the arrogant master you’d been assigned, but hitting you? Weren’t Jedi all about peace and avoiding violence?

“Yes, 3 hours. Every day. Now do it again.” He reassures, standing and moving to sit back down where he was previously. You slouch, groaning in frustration as you close your eyes, brows tight with annoyance.

He scolds you again, “Sit properly.”

You frown and do as he says, sitting straight in the proper position, trying to forget all that happened and let the soothing breeze relax your features. You began your meditation again. But this time around, you’ll seriously take your time.

And you did.

3 hours later, you’re exhausted. Sitting in the same position for 180 minutes apparently makes your body sore, so you walk through the temple languidly. Anakin had sent you to fetch a training droid for the two of you and gave you 10 minutes to recover it. Seriously, what’s with his constant time constraints? Do all those seconds really count?

You sigh for the nth time today, discovering it to be your current default when idle — or, when anything is happening, really. You arrive at the training room, where other Jedi and padawans squabble, wondering why Anakin doesn’t want to just train here. You decide to ignore it, moving to an unused droid in the corner.

The one he’d wanted was a droid to shoot at the target consecutively, so you could practice deflecting shots from blasters. You grab the small droid and exit, back to the outside grounds of the temple where Anakin awaits your return.

Once you rejoin the man, you see him standing, arms crossed, with tense body language. Now, you weren’t great at reading social interaction, but you can tell he’s annoyed.

“6 minutes late.” He says, simply. Eyes narrow and unimpressed, mouth twisted in disdain. He looks down at you with disappointment, as if you’d killed his family.

You groan, “I’m sorry, Master, my legs are sore from sitting all morning.” Approaching him with the droid, he shakes his head, eyes closed.

“I don’t care for excuses. Activate the droid.”

Activating the droid with ease, as you’ve done this many times before, you wonder — why was he making you do this? You knew how to deflect blasters, you aren’t a youngling. Hell, you’re almost finished with your training!

You pull out your saber and light it, cracking your neck and ready to show off. You deflect the first shot when you feel a force from behind. Anakin.

He’s kicked you to the ground, his own saber drawn and ready. Another shot comes at you while you’re on the ground, and you deflect it as Anakin brings his lightsaber down on you. You block it, sabers locked against each other, the energy flickering where they meet.

You realize; he’s fighting you while you block the droid. What the hell? You sense another blast coming from the droid and duck, but when doing so, you’re force against his lightsaber falters and he parries, moving it towards your neck. You reel back, realizing just how close he is.

“You’d now be dead if this was real,” Anakin bristles, unamused by you.

You grimace, “I was caught off guard! It was unfair!”

Scoffing, he replies, “You think your enemy will announce themselves on the field? Please, I’m being realistic. Now quit whining.”

Before you can retort back, a blast from the droid hits you square in the temple. “Ow!” You scramble to regain your footing as Anakin charges forward, forcing you to block and parry, while defecting the droid and avoiding any surprises.

Needless to say, after hours of fighting, your robes are full of blast holes and torn by Anakin’s saber. You’re covered in cuts and bruises, utterly exhausted. Your brow lay thick with sweat as you pant on the ground, pushing your hair back. Is this guy for real?

Perhaps Obi-Wan was right when he said Master Mairean was too easy on you. He thought of you as a child of his own and never went too rough with you. Anakin on the other hand? It seemed to please him to cause you pain. You weren’t sure if he had trained this way too or if he just hated you. You were leaning toward the latter.

He stands before you, staring down at your pitiful form crumbled on the ground. Your face was covered in dirt, blaster ash, bruises and a bit of blood — you truly did embody the meaning of the word pitiful. Anakin looks just fine. Robes in perfect shape, not an ounce of wound upon his stupidly perfect face, not even a drop of sweat. Seriously, this must be some kind of joke.

Anakin puts his saber away. He sighs at the sight of you before turning, “Go eat,” he says simply. At his words, you notice you are hungry, as lunch time approaches. You push yourself to your feet and try to dust yourself off.

“And take the droid back.” With that, he leaves, leaving you watching his form retreat into the temple, you hunched over and panting. What was his deal?

As you stand in awe of his skill and sheer audacity, the droid fires another blast to your head.

One desperately needed shower and sandwich later, you hope you’ve escaped the ever-so-tightening grasp of your stick-in-the-ass master. And seemingly, you have. You walk throughout the temple peacefully, watching other Jedi masters and their padawans interact. Like normal people.

Why did your master have to be so… him? You find yourself missing your old master as you watch the younglings laughing with their elders, not a care in the world. You remember when life was like that… before that day. The day you’d watched your master die, the man who’d practically raised you. You were jealous of these young padawans; why couldn’t you have your master be there when you got knighted, and accepted to the Order as an equal?

Instead, you’d have Anakin, probably standing in the back of the crowd, arms crossed and frowning. He’d surely doubt you’d ever deserve it, you were positive he hates you. After all, what else could explain his behavior?

You decide to walk past the training Jedi and their apprentices, moving throughout the hall of the temple to the gardens that reside near enough. There you find a bench amidst the hedges, and you sit. You let out a sigh, hunched over with a posture your master would certainly scold. You were thankful he wasn’t here.

Gazing out at the beautiful flora and fauna alike, you wonder why the rest of Coruscant doesn’t look the same. The towering cities all look the same, and you grew weary of the sight. Isn’t the sense of nature far superior?

You place your palms against the rough wood of the bench, leaning back and looking up to the beautifully blue sky. You admire the scene, before frowning at the thought of how similar the color was to Anakin’s lightsaber. You huff, unable to rid yourself of the thoughts of that man. Geez, he was really starting to get on your nerves.

And you, on his.

He’d spent his afternoon ranting about you to Obi-Wan, criticizing his old master for what he viewed as a terrible decision. Complaining about your inexperience, upset at your arrogance, livid with your attitude — it all drove the man crazy, and Obi-Wan could see it. Yet, the older man stood before his friend, arms politely behind his back. A knowing smirk.

Anakin looked taken aback, “What’s that look supposed to mean?”

Obi-Wan shook his head and looked down, “Now you know I felt all those years.”

The brunette scowled, lip curling in irritation, “That padawan is nothing like me. I was happy to be a Jedi! That nuisance acts as if it’s a necessity, not an honor!”

With a chuckle, Obi-Wan waves his frustration off, “Both of your arrogance precedes you. It’s a shame — I was hoping you’d grow into great friends.”

Anakin looked bewildered. Friends?! He then voiced his thoughts, “Friends?!” A man of few words, truly. Yet, the mere suggestion of friendship was an affront to everything Anakin believed in, “What, like us?”

Obi-Wan nodded, “Just like us. Though, it seems you aren’t quite on board. Worry not, Anakin, I’m sure the future has much in store for the two of you. May the Force be with you, friend.” The older man walks past his old apprentice, before placing a hand on his shoulder.

“And good luck.”

With that, he’s gone, leaving Anakin in frustrated silence.

Really, was Obi-Wan that dense? Friends? Never.

( unedited. )

[speaknow-sw]

•| ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ |•

Content : angst (a lot), light fighting, slapping, mentions of pregnancy, weapons.

A/N : tbh filler chapter bcs I’m struggling to write guys 😭 I had a blank plot and I’m not really satisfied with this chapter. But I figured out a plot for the next chapter so it should be easier to write. Enjoy 🫶🏻

• | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴠɪ: ʀᴏᴍᴇ’ꜱ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ꜱᴀᴄʀɪꜰɪᴄᴇ |•

Anakin is falling.

The darkness wraps around him like the arms of the underworld, weightless and infinite. He cannot feel his body, cannot tell if he still has one. He does not know if he is breathing.

All he knows is the falling.

The air is thick with whispers. They slip through the void like snakes, curling around him, voices both familiar and foreign. They speak in tongues he does not recognize, in languages that have been buried beneath the dust of centuries. Some are cries, others are murmurs. Some speak his name.

But what is his name?

"Anakin."

A voice cuts through the noise.

"Anakin, wake up."

Yours.

It is faint—just a thread of sound in the vast blackness—but it is real. He reaches for it, desperate, straining, trying to hold on. But his fingers grasp at nothing. You are slipping away.

And then—

The world shifts.

The darkness shatters like glass, and suddenly, he is not falling. He is standing.

No—he is someone else.

Not Anakin. Remus.

The sun is bright, the air thick with the scent of earth and stone. His hands are calloused, dirt under his fingernails, sweat dripping down his back. He turns his head, and beside him stands his brother.

Romulus. Obi-Wan.

They are not wearing armor, nor are they warriors yet. They are young men with fire in their veins, standing before the land they have claimed. Before them, Rome is nothing but an idea—a dream made of stone and sweat and blood.

He knows this. He remembers it.

"We will build something eternal."

Romulus speaks with certainty, eyes alight with purpose.

Remus—Anakin—does not answer. His gaze drifts, searching, drawn toward something else.

Drawn toward you.

You are there, standing among the workers, the sun catching in your hair. His brother’s betrothed. You wear the marks of nobility, of the divine, and yet—you look at him as if he is the one who commands your heart.

The air is heavy between you. He does not know what he feels, not yet. But he knows he is drawn to you, and that it is dangerous.

The memory fractures. Time bends.

The scenes flash too fast—like a storm of moments he cannot control.

He sees you at night, in the gardens, when the moon is the only witness to your crime. Your hands touch his face, his chest, tracing him like he is something holy. He grips your wrists, voice low with warning. "You cannot keep coming to me."

"Then tell me to leave."

He does not.

He never does.

Your lips find his, and the world ceases to exist.

Another flash.

An argument.

"I am tired of hiding!" His voice is raw with frustration. "Why must I be your secret? Do you love him?"

"Do not ask me that."

"Why? Because you are afraid of the answer?"

"Because if I say it out loud, the gods will hear me."

“I don’t care !”

“Don’t tell me to say it out loud when every pulse of my heart scream it to the world, every pumps, every breaths in body screams that I belong to you and only you.”

He remembers the way you touched his face then, as if memorizing it—as if you knew you would not be able to touch it for much longer.

And then—

Romulus.

Watching.

He knew.

The memories slow, sharpen, become something unbearable.

Rome stands, its foundations laid, its people celebrating.

Remus stands before his brother, sword in hand. His heart is pounding, but he does not know if it is from anger or heartbreak.

"Why?" his voice is hoarse, pleading like a little boy. "Why do you seek to cast me aside?"

Romulus is calm. Too calm.

"Only one of us can rule."

"We built this together." He looked at his brother hurt, betrayal seeping through his veins like a venomous snake’s bite. His eyes widens and his heart breaks for his other half, for he has been poisoned at the root of their bond. The strand linking him to his brother breaks. 

"No. You built it on weakness. On your love for an impure."

The air turns cold. Remus grips his sword tighter. He should have seen this coming.

"She is not impure."

"She is not meant for mortals. And neither are you."

He sees it then, in his brother’s eyes—the decision has already been made.

The sword slashes through him.

The pain is instant, a fire in his chest. He gasps, staggers, the ground rushing up to meet him.

He falls into the mud, like a pig, his blood seeping into the soil that will become Rome.

He reaches out.

You are screaming.

He tries to hold on. Tries to touch you one last time.

But it is too late.

The world is gone.

There is only darkness again.

But this time, he does not fall.

He floats—somewhere beyond life, beyond death. He is Remus. He is Anakin. He is both and neither.

And then—

A voice.

Deep. Cold. Ancient.

"You have always been Remus."

The words coil around him, suffocating.

"You have always died, only to rise again."

The voice is not kind. It is not forgiving. It is a sentence, a curse.

"This is your destiny."

"No." He fights—he does not want this, he does not want to be a ghost of the past.

"You cannot escape what you are."

Blood. Betrayal. Death.

“The creator”

His skull split.

"You are Rome’s first king."

"And its first sacrifice."

The darkness pulls him under again.

He drowns.

And then—

Nothing.

The first thing Anakin feels is pain.

It is deep, aching, lodged in his very bones. His body is heavy, sluggish, as though he has been dragging it through centuries of time. His head throbs. His chest feels hollow, emptied of something vital.

And yet, he is awake.

His eyes blink open. The world is dim, flickering with candlelight. The scent of herbs lingers in the air, mixed with the faint trace of something familiar—you.

You are there, sitting beside him, carefully unwrapping the bloodied bandages from his wounds. Your fingers are gentle, precise, but there is something hesitant in your movements. As though you fear waking him.

Too late.

He exhales sharply. The sound makes you freeze.

Slowly, your eyes lift to his.

For a long moment, there is silence.

Then—

"How long ?" His voice is raw, deeper than before, filled with something old.

You blink. "You’ve been unconscious for six days."

"That’s not what I meant."

You look away. He watches your throat bob as you swallow, your fingers tightening around the bandages. You know exactly what he means.

"How long have you known?"

Silence again.

Anakin’s jaw clenches. The memories are there, burning behind his eyes like an open wound. The past. The truth. The betrayal.

"You should not be alive." His voice is low, edged with something dangerous. "I remember everything now."

His past life. His death. You.

You shift uncomfortably, resuming your work, carefully pressing fresh cloth against his wound. "I thought you might."

"You thought?" He laughs, but there is no humor in it. It is hollow. Bitter. "So it was only a matter of time before the great Remus remembered how his brother murdered him?"

Your hands still.

He watches you, gaze sharp despite the exhaustion dragging at his limbs. He sees you. Not just as the woman before him, but as something more. As something ancient.

"What are you?" His voice is quieter now, but no less intense. "You bled ichor. You are not mortal. Were you ever?"

You meet his gaze, and for the first time, you do not look away.

"Yes."

His stomach turns. He should have known. He should have realized it long ago. The way you moved, the way your presence wrapped around him like a force beyond human comprehension. He loved you before he even knew your name.

Just like before.

Just like always.

"So it was all a lie."

"No." Your voice sharpens, firm, but there is something fragile beneath it. "Nothing was a lie, Anakin."

He scoffs. "You let me fall for you. Again."

You flinch. Because it’s true.

His hands curl into fists. "Tell me, did you know from the beginning?"

"Yes."

He exhales sharply, chest rising and falling with the force of it. Anger coils in his veins, but beneath it—something else.

"And you said nothing?"

"Would you have believed me?"

He wants to say yes. But he cannot. Because he knows, deep down, that he wouldn’t have.

Because the truth is too cruel.

Because he was never meant to live.

"This is my curse," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "To die and rise again. To be nothing but a shadow of what should have been."

"No." Your hand is on his now, gripping his fingers tightly. "You are more than that."

He stares at your hands, at the way his calloused fingers fit between yours. His breathing is heavy, uneven. His heart pounds—too fast, too alive.

"Then tell me what I am."

The silence stretches between you like an open wound.

Anakin waits, his blue eyes sharp, unrelenting. His breath is uneven, chest rising and falling beneath your touch. He wants an answer—demands one.

You exhale softly, your fingers still gripping his. And then, finally, you tell him the truth.

"You are my love."

His expression shifts—something flickers in his eyes, something raw, something that nearly undoes him. But he does not recoil. He does not scoff, nor sneer, nor push you away.

Instead, he only stares.

"That’s what I am?" he murmurs, voice hoarse.

"Yes."

A shaky breath escapes him. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment as if the weight of your words is something he cannot yet bear.

When he looks at you again, his hands tighten around yours.

"Then tell me how to end it."

You frown. "End what?"

"This." His voice hardens. "This curse. This fate. How do I break free from it?"

You hesitate.

His fingers twitch—he notices your pause, your silence, the way your throat bobs as you struggle for words. He knows. He already knows.

"The only way out," you whisper, "is through the gods themselves."

His grip tightens.

"You’re saying I must confront them."

"Yes."

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. "And if I don’t?"

"Then you will die again, and again, and again." Your voice does not waver. "They will never let you rest, Anakin."

His jaw clenches. Anger flashes behind his eyes—not just at the gods, not just at you, but at the entire order of the world. At Rome, at fate, at history itself.

"So that’s it." His voice is low, edged with something dark. "The gods will never let me go unless I take the fight to them."

You nod.

Anakin exhales slowly. When he speaks again, his voice is steel.

"Then let them try to stop me."

Anakin’s breath is shallow, his body still weak, but his mind—his mind burns.

The truth unfurls inside him like a sword being unsheathed, like an altar stained with the blood of a slaughtered lamb. Except he was never the lamb. He was the sacrifice.

He grips the sheets beneath him, fingers curling into the fabric as the revelation strikes him—hard, merciless.

"I’m Rome’s first king," he whispers, half to himself, half to you. His voice is distant, as if speaking it aloud makes it real.

But then his expression darkens, his eyes shadowed by something deeper, something furious.

"But I am also her first offering."

He sees it now. How his blood was the foundation upon which Rome was built. How his name was torn from the mouths of men, how his brother stood over his broken body, sword dripping with the life they once shared.

"Rome was never his." His voice is hoarse, laced with something almost unbearable. "It was mine. It was always mine."

He exhales sharply, running a hand over his face, pressing his palm into his temple as if trying to silence the echoes of his past.

"And now I walk her streets like a ghost, wearing another man’s name."

His gaze finds yours. A terrible understanding settles between you.

You reach for him, your fingers gentle as they trace over his arm, over the bandages wrapped around his wounds. "You were never just a man, Anakin. You were a myth before you were even born."

He swallows, his throat working around the weight of his thoughts.

"I don’t want to be a myth," he mutters, voice low, almost resentful. "I just wanted—"

He stops himself.

You wait. But he does not finish.

Because he knows the truth: it does not matter what he wanted. It never did. The gods shaped his path long before he had the chance to carve his own.

But maybe—just maybe—he can carve it now.

The months pass in a blur of steel and whispers, of restless nights and long days spent preparing for a war no mortal army has ever waged.

Anakin trains relentlessly, pushing himself to the edge of exhaustion. He sharpens his blade, over and over, as if he could carve his own fate into the steel. He learns everything he can—of the old gods, of their weaknesses, of the wars they have waged before. He gathers men, allies, those who have suffered under divine cruelty and wish to see the old order crumble.

And you—

You carry a secret heavier than any sword.

It was the Fates who told you. Three months ago, in the quiet of the night, when the world was caught between dusk and dawn. You had gone to them, seeking guidance, demanding to know if there was another way. A way to break Anakin free from his fate without waging war on the heavens.

They had given you no comfort.

"The threads are woven, child. But another now weaves beside them."

You had not understood—until they had placed a hand over your stomach, their touch like ice, like eternity itself.

"You carry the son of Remus."

The words had struck like lightning, burning through you with the weight of what they meant.

"His destiny is not yet fulfilled. But the one you bear—"

Their pale, lifeless eyes had stared into yours, unblinking.

"He is destined for great things. He will rise where others have fallen. He will reshape the world in ways even the gods cannot predict."

Your hands had trembled over your abdomen. You had not known—not yet. But now you did, and there was no undoing that knowledge.

The Fates had disappeared into the dark, leaving you alone with the truth.

You had told no one. Not yet.

Not even Anakin.

Because how could you? How could you look into his eyes, knowing that he had already been condemned by prophecy, and tell him that another fate had already been written in the blood of his unborn child?

So you said nothing.

Instead, you fought. You planned. You prepared. You stood at Anakin’s side as he gathered his strength, as he gathered his army. You watched him transform into something more than a man, into something both mortal and divine, a warrior who carried the weight of history on his back.

And all the while, life grew inside you. Silent. Waiting.

Anakin watches you more closely than ever.

At first, he doesn’t know what it is. There’s something in the way you move—your steps a little slower, your hand lingering over your stomach when you think no one is looking. He catches the flicker of hesitation in your eyes, the way you sometimes stare at him as if you want to say something, but never do.

He’s always been good at reading you. Too good.

And now, as the war drums beat in the distance, as the weight of destiny presses down on both of you, he finally speaks.

It happens in the dead of night, in the quiet of his chambers. He stands by the window, sharpening his gladius with slow, methodical strokes, but his gaze keeps flickering to you. You sit on the edge of the bed, your hands clasped together, shoulders tense.

“You’ve been hiding something from me.”

His voice is low, measured. But there is something beneath it—something sharp.

You stiffen but don’t look at him. “That’s ridiculous.”

“No, it’s not.” He sets the blade down, turning fully to face you. “You think I haven’t noticed? You’re different. You’re holding something back.” He steps closer, eyes narrowing. “What is it?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing, Anakin. You’re imagining things.”

He scoffs, unimpressed. “Don’t lie to me.”

His words slice through the air, cutting too close. You try to stand, to move away, but he catches your wrist before you can. His grip isn’t harsh, but it’s firm—demanding.

“Tell me.”

You meet his gaze, and for the first time in weeks, you see it—the storm in his eyes, the desperation hidden beneath the anger. He doesn’t just want to know. He needs to.

You swallow hard.

“It’s not important right now,” you whisper.

He exhales sharply, his jaw clenching. “Not important? We are preparing for war against the gods, and you’re keeping secrets from me?” He shakes his head. “No. I won’t allow it. I won’t let you carry something alone when it’s our battle to fight.”

Your chest tightens.

This is Anakin—stubborn, relentless, yours. And he will not let this go.

So you take a breath.

And you tell him.

Anakin stares at you, unblinking.

For a moment, the words don’t sink in. They hang in the air between you, heavy, unspoken truths finally given shape.

His son.

His hands tremble. His breath falters. He almost doesn’t dare to believe it.

And then—

“What did you just say?”

His voice is quiet, but it carries a terrible weight.

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening in your lap. “I saw the Fates,” you whisper. “They told me—I’m pregnant. With your child.”

Silence.

A moment stretched so thin it feels like it might snap.

But then his expression shifts. His brows furrow, his eyes darkening—not with shock, not with joy, but with rage.

“And his fate?” His voice is low, a dangerous edge creeping into it. “What did they say about his fate?”

Your hands shake. “They said he was destined for something great.”

His laugh is sharp, bitter. “Destined?” He paces away from you, hands in his hair. “Just like I was? Just like you were?” He turns on you, fury radiating from every inch of him. “You mean to tell me that the gods have already claimed him? That before he’s even taken his first breath, they’ve woven chains around his future?”

His fury is wildfire—hot, all-consuming.

“They have no right,” he growls, his fists clenched. “No right to condemn him the way they condemned me.”

You flinch at the storm in his voice, at the way his body trembles with barely restrained wrath.

“Anakin—”

“No.” He cuts you off, his chest heaving. His blue eyes burn with something primal, something feral. “I won’t let them do this. I won’t let them take my son the way they took me.”

You watch him, your own heart pounding.

You understand his fury. Because it is yours, too.

But fate is not so easily broken.

The words leave your lips before you can stop them. "You can’t defeat the gods, Anakin."

His head snaps toward you, eyes blazing, jaw tightening. The room feels too small, the air charged with something volatile.

His voice is sharp as a blade. "I can’t?"

You swallow, standing your ground. "No one can."

His expression twists into something dark, something wounded. "Is that what you think?" His voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "That I’ll fail? That I’ll kneel like every mortal before me and accept the chains they’ve forged?"

"Anakin—"

"No." His voice cracks like thunder, his anger unfurling like a storm. "You don’t believe in me. You never did."

"That’s not—"

"Then say it." He takes a step closer, his fury searing. "Say you believe I can end this. Say you believe I can kill the gods."

You can’t.

Because you know the truth. The gods are not men. They are not beasts of flesh and bone, bound by the same rules. They are eternal. Unyielding.

And yet—so are you.

He sees it in your silence. The flicker of doubt in your eyes. And then—

He laughs. A bitter, humorless thing. "You think I can’t win because you are one of them."

"Anakin—"

"You are a goddess." His voice is hoarse, seething. "And if I can beat you, then I can destroy all of them."

You barely see it coming. The moment his words strike, something inside you snaps.

Your hand flies before you can stop it—

A sharp crack echoes through the chamber as your palm connects with his cheek.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. Just stands there, breathing hard, his head slightly turned from the force of the blow.

You stare at him, your own hand trembling.

And then you run.

You don’t wait for him to call you back. You don’t look back. You just run, the lump in your throat unbearable, the world spinning around you.

Because you knew this day would come. The moment he realized plainly what you were.

You just didn’t think it would hurt this much.

Your feet pound against the earth, breath ragged as you push yourself forward. The wind whips through your hair, but you don’t feel it—you feel nothing but the burn in your lungs, the ache in your chest. You just run.

You don’t know where you’re going. You don’t care. You just need to be away. Away from the fury in his voice, the betrayal in his eyes, the terrible, undeniable truth that he will never stop fighting—not even for you.

But you hear him behind you.

"Wait!" Anakin’s voice is raw, desperate. "Damn it, stop!"

You don’t.

You don’t want to hear the remorse in his voice, don’t want to turn around and see him reaching for you like he always does—because you’ll let him. You always let him. And if you let him, you’ll forgive him. You’ll let yourself believe that this love is enough to stop the war that’s coming.

But it isn’t.

"I didn’t mean it!" he shouts, his voice breaking. "Please, just—just stop running!"

He’s gaining on you. Even weak from his wounds, even after all these months of healing, he is still Anakin. A warrior. A force of nature.

You push yourself harder, faster—your heartbeat a drum in your ears.

And then—

A hand grabs your wrist.

He yanks you back, and you collide into him with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs.

You struggle, twisting in his grip, but he won’t let go. His arms come around you, holding you close, holding you too tightly—like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

"Let me go!" you cry, voice hoarse, but his fingers only dig deeper into you.

"No!" he snaps, voice trembling. "No—I won’t. Not again."

You shove at him, but he won’t move. "Damn you, Anakin—"

"I know." His forehead drops against yours, breath ragged, uneven. "I know, I know, I know. Just—just stop running from me."

You shake your head, eyes burning. "You don’t understand—"

"Then make me understand." His voice is desperate, his hands trembling where they clutch you. "Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this. Tell me how to fight them without losing you in the process."

You close your eyes, the weight of his words pressing into you.

There is no answer.

And the worst part is—you think he knows that, too.

Anakin’s hands clench into fists at his sides. "You’re younger than me," he says, his voice rough, barely contained. "You don’t understand what you’re up against."

You glare at him, fury boiling under your skin. "Don’t patronize me, Anakin."

"It’s not patronizing—"

"Yes, it is!" You take a step closer, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. "I may look young, but I have lived for decades, for centuries! Do you think I don’t know war? That I don’t know suffering?"

His nostrils flare, his jaw tight as he stares you down. "You’re carrying our child," he grits out. "This fight is no longer just about us."

"And you think that makes me weak?" you snap. "That I should just sit back and watch you throw yourself at the gods alone?"

Anakin exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "It’s not about weakness. It’s about—"

"You think I can’t fight?" You step forward, shoving against his chest. "That I won’t fight?"

His breath is ragged, his shoulders heaving as he looks at you. "I think you shouldn’t have to."

That stop you.

Anakin grips your shoulders, his eyes wide with desperation. "You can’t fight," he pleads. "Not now. Not like this."

You shake your head, chest heaving, but he tightens his hold, forcing you to meet his gaze. "I won’t risk you. I won’t risk our child."

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your child. His child. A life caught between fate and war, a soul not yet born but already marked by the gods.

"Anakin—"

"They’ll come for you," he cuts in, voice thick with fear. "You know they will. If you fight them, they won’t just punish me—they’ll punish both of you. I won’t let that happen."

His hands lower, one sliding to press gently against your stomach. A protective touch, a silent promise. "If I fight, I fight alone."

A chill skates down your spine. "You can’t."

"I have to." His jaw tightens. "I’d burn the whole world down before I let them take you from me."

"And what about you?" Your voice cracks. "You think I can just stand back and watch them destroy you?"

His lips part, but before he can answer—

The world shifts.

A sudden sharpness in the air, as if the sky itself is gasping. The wind dies. The ground beneath you turns wrong, like something hollow and ancient is stirring beneath your feet.

Then—

Blackness.

It erupts around you, thick and endless. Not just darkness—something alive, something hungry. It curls around your legs, your arms, slithering up your body like living shadow.

"No—!" Anakin lunges for you, but the darkness surges between you like a tidal wave, throwing him back.

"Anakin!" You reach for him, but the shadows coil tighter, devouring you, dragging you into the abyss.

His scream is the last thing you hear before everything disappears.

Consciousness returns like a tide, slow and inexorable.

Your body is light, weightless, as if it does not belong to you. The air around you hums, thick with something ancient, something beyond mortal comprehension. The scent of aged parchment and burning incense fills your lungs as you slowly open your eyes.

You are no longer in the temple.

Before you, seated at a loom that stretches beyond sight, are the Moirae. The three sisters of fate, weavers of destiny, the arbiters of life and death.

Clotho, the Spinner, her delicate fingers guiding the spindle as she spins the raw essence of existence into form. Lachesis, the Measurer, gliding her hands over golden threads, feeling their weight, calculating their course. And Atropos, the Unavoidable, her shears gleaming in the dim light, poised over the fabric of eternity.

They are waiting for you to speak.

"Where am I?" Your voice is hoarse, as though you have not used it in years.

"Beyond the reach of men," Clotho answers without looking up, her hands never ceasing their delicate work.

"Beyond the reach of gods," Lachesis murmurs, running a finger along a silken thread.

"For now," Atropos finishes, lifting her gaze to meet yours.

You push yourself up, your limbs unsteady. "Why am I here?"

"Because you were dying," Clotho says simply. "And your child cannot be allowed to die with you."

Your breath catches. Instinctively, your hands fly to your stomach. "The child…"

"Lives," Lachesis confirms, her expression unreadable. "For now."

You swallow, trying to steady your pulse. "What happened?"

"The Cult of Romulus," Atropos states, as if the name itself is a blade. "They came for you. For him."

Memories slam into you like a tidal wave—the argument, Anakin’s voice raised in frustration, the blackness that swallowed you whole. But before that…

"Anakin—" You push to your feet, panic rising. "Where is he?"

Clotho’s gaze remains on her spinning. "Still fighting."

Lachesis watches you carefully. "Still breathing."

Atropos tilts her head. "For now."

Your heart pounds. "You saved me but left him there?"

"We did not save you," Clotho corrects. "We saved what grows within you."

Lachesis gestures to the loom, where a new thread glows faintly amidst the others. "A fate has been woven that must not be unraveled."

"Your child is more than a son," Atropos says, eyes gleaming. "He is an axis upon which the future turns."

A chill runs down your spine. "What does that mean?"

Lachesis leans forward. "It means we did not pull you from death out of kindness."

"We did it because your son must live," Atropos finishes. "No matter the cost."

The weight of their words settles on you like iron shackles. The fate of your unborn child is already written in their tapestry, and the gods themselves have taken notice.

But what of Anakin? What of the war that now rages in your absence?

You clench your fists. "Send me back."

The Moirae exchange glances.

Clotho sighs, as if already knowing the outcome.

"So eager to return to ruin," Lachesis muses.

"So desperate to fight what has already been decided," Atropos says.

But you do not care.

Anakin is still fighting. You will not leave him behind.

Whatever the Moirae’s plans are, whatever destiny they have carved into stone, you will not let them dictate your future.

Your child’s future.

"Send me back," you repeat, voice steady. "Now."

Clotho does not stop spinning. Lachesis does not stop measuring. Atropos does not lift her shears.

They do not budge.

"Send me back," you demand again, louder this time, stepping closer to them. "Now."

But the Moirae are as immovable as the fates they weave.

"You ask for what cannot be given," Clotho murmurs, her fingers never faltering as she spins another strand of silk into existence.

"What cannot be changed," Lachesis adds.

"What has already been decided," Atropos finishes.

Frustration claws at your throat. "I do not care what has been decided." You shake your head. "I will not let them take everything from me."

"They have already taken everything from you," Atropos says simply. "And still, you have not learned."

The words are a curse, a prophecy, a cruel truth.

But before you can argue, the loom shifts, the threads part, and suddenly—

You see him.

Anakin.

He stands at the heart of the battle, a storm of steel and fire, cutting through men like a force of nature. Blood splatters across his skin, his golden hair damp with sweat, his chest heaving.

He is wounded, but he does not stop.

You built this together—these three months of secrecy, of careful planning, of whispered oaths in the dark. And now it is all burning before your eyes.

The Cult of Romulus is relentless. They come in waves, clad in crimson and gold, their banners snapping in the wind. They are fighting for a god that was never theirs, for a history built on a lie.

And Anakin is alone against them.

Your hands shake as you reach toward the image, as if you could tear through the veil, as if you could touch him, help him.

But there is nothing.

You are stranded here, in the timeless void of the Moirae’s domain, forced to watch.

"Let me go," you whisper, voice breaking. "Please."

Lachesis watches you with something almost like pity. "You do not understand yet, do you?"

"What am I supposed to understand?" you snap, eyes still locked on the battle, on Anakin as he swings his blade in a deadly arc, his enemies falling at his feet. "That you have already decided how this ends?"

"That there is no victory in war," Clotho murmurs. "Only survival."

"And survival is never without a cost," Atropos finishes, her shears glinting.

You shake your head violently. "No."

Anakin stumbles. His left knee buckles, just for a second. The opening is small—but enough.

A spear is thrust forward.

"No!"

Your scream echoes in the endless chamber.

But the Moirae do not react.

They do not save him.

And neither can you.

For the first time in your long existence, something inside you shatters.

Power surges through your veins, raw and untamed, a force beyond your understanding. The Moirae’s loom trembles, the threads quivering as if they sense the shift in fate. The three sisters look up in unison, their expressions unreadable, but you do not stop to decipher their meaning.

Time slows. No—time stops.

The battlefield freezes before your eyes. Anakin is caught mid-motion, his muscles taut, the spear mere inches from his side. The Cult of Romulus is suspended like statues, their mouths open in silent war cries, blood droplets hanging in the air like shattered rubies. The wind itself has halted, the smoke of burning banners curling in unnatural stillness.

You do not hesitate.

The void collapses around you, and in the next breath, you are there.

The scent of iron and death fills your lungs. The air is thick with the remnants of war, and though the world remains frozen, you can still feel the heat of battle radiating from Anakin’s skin. He is alive—but only because you have bent the rules of existence to make it so.

Your hand clasps his wrist, fingers digging into his pulse point, anchoring him to you.

And then—

Time crashes back into motion.

The spear drives forward, but it finds only empty air. Anakin is no longer there. Neither are you.

In a blink, you are far from the battlefield, the two of you collapsing onto the cold marble of an abandoned temple. Your breath is ragged, your body trembling from the force of what you have done.

Anakin gasps, gripping his chest, his wide eyes darting around in confusion before locking onto you. His gaze is wild, furious, disoriented.

“What—” His voice is hoarse. “What just happened?”

You swallow, still struggling to catch your breath. “I saved you.”

His hands find your shoulders, shaking you, demanding answers. “How?” His eyes search yours, his fury barely contained. “What happened ?”

The power is still humming beneath your skin, a new force you do not fully understand.

But one thing is clear.

The Moirae were wrong. Fate can be changed.

The realization settles over you like a tidal wave, crashing into the very foundation of your existence.

You have always been powerful. You were born of myth, shaped by destiny itself. You are the goddess of legends—your words have breathed life into heroes, your whispers have shaped empires. But for centuries, your power has been shackled, caged by the will of the gods who feared what you could become.

Until now.

Your hands tremble as you press them against your stomach. The power that surged through you, that allowed you to stop time, to tear yourself from the Moirae’s grasp—it is not foreign. It is yours. But for the first time in your long, endless existence, it is unleashed. And it is because of him.

Anakin is watching you, his breathing still uneven from battle. “What is it?” His voice is gruff, but beneath it, there is something softer. Concern.

You look up at him, your lips parting, but the words take a moment to come. “My power,” you murmur. “It’s been locked away for so long. The gods—they sealed it.” You exhale shakily. “But now… I can feel it. Flowing through me. Through him.”

Anakin’s gaze flickers downward, toward your stomach. A shadow passes over his face. “You’re saying—”

“He’s letting me channel it,” you whisper. “I am powerful, but he makes me whole.”

The silence between you is thick, heavy with meaning.

Anakin takes a step closer, his eyes dark and stormy. “So this is their plan.” His jaw tightens. “They didn’t just curse me with this fate. They bound you. And now they’re trying to use our son as a vessel for something greater than us both.”

You shake your head. “No, Anakin. This is our power. Not theirs.”

His fingers twitch at his sides, as if restraining himself. “Then why does it feel like a trap?” His voice is low, dangerous. “They let you have your power back, but only because of him. Because they need him.” He swallows hard. “They want our son for something, don’t they?”

You hesitate.

And that hesitation is enough.

Anakin’s face twists in fury, in heartbreak. “They want to make him another sacrifice,” he growls. “Just like me.”

The words cut deep.

Because you know he is right.

The sobs wrack through you violently, your body trembling under the weight of your grief. It spills out in broken, rambling whispers—words of failure, of weakness, of the unbearable truth that no matter how powerful you are, you cannot even protect your own child.

"I'm a useless goddess," you choke out, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "I—I was meant to shape legends, to guide heroes, but I can't even keep my own child safe. What kind of mother am I? What kind of god am I?"

Anakin doesn't say anything at first.

But then, strong arms wrap around you, lifting you effortlessly off the ground, cradling you as if you weigh nothing at all. His warmth is overwhelming, his hold steady and unyielding. You bury your face against his chest, sobbing into the fabric of his tunic, gripping onto him like he is the only thing anchoring you to this world.

"Stop," he murmurs, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Don't say that."

His hands—those hands, rough and scarred from war, yet so heartbreakingly gentle with you—stroke the top of your head, fingers threading through your hair with surprising care. He holds you tighter, as if trying to press his strength into you, as if willing his own resolve into your trembling body.

"You’re not useless," he says. His voice is firm, almost stubborn. "You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. You’ve spent centuries defying the gods. You’ve built something real, something worth fighting for." He pulls back just enough to tip your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. "And you sure as hell aren’t weak because you’re scared for our son. That makes you his mother."

Your breath catches in your throat.

"I know I’m not good at—at this," he mutters, glancing away as if embarrassed. "Comforting people. Saying the right things. But I know one thing." His fingers tighten on your waist. "I won’t let them take him from us. I won’t let them take you from me."

His words settle deep in your chest, pushing back the crushing weight of helplessness. You sniffle, gripping his tunic tighter, pressing yourself against him.

"You promise?" you whisper, your voice small.

Anakin exhales, pressing his forehead against yours. "I swear it," he murmurs, his breath warm against your lips.

And for the first time since you learned the truth, you believe him.

Vesta appears before you, her presence like the steady warmth of a hearth in the dead of winter. She does not arrive with thunder or blinding light—there is no grand display of power, only the quiet radiance of something eternal, something that has never once flickered out.

You step back instinctively, still raw from your breakdown, from Anakin’s fierce promises and the lingering tremble in your hands. But Vesta merely watches you with knowing eyes, the firelight in them dancing like the embers of an ancient flame.

“I have something for you,” she says, and when she raises her hand, a gladius materializes in her grasp.

It is unlike any weapon you have ever seen. The blade is dark, forged from something older than Olympus itself, the hilt bound in leather that looks worn with age. It hums in her hands, as if alive, as if it recognizes you. As if it wants to be wielded by you.

You stare at it, then at her, suspicion creeping into your voice. “This can wound a god, can’t it?”

Vesta inclines her head. “It can do more than that.”

Your fingers twitch. You want to take it. You need to take it. But something holds you back—logic, or perhaps distrust. She is a goddess. She is one of them.

Your jaw tightens. “Why are you helping me?”

Vesta’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in her gaze. “Because I have no place in war,” she says, voice soft but steady. “I am the flame that warms, not the one that destroys. But my siblings—they are cruel, and they will not stop. They do not tolerate defiance.”

Her eyes land on your stomach, where life stirs within you, fate woven into the very fabric of your unborn child’s existence.

“I have seen what is to come,” she continues. “The gods will not allow this child to live. They will see it as a threat. You must be ready.” She extends the gladius toward you. “And you must be willing to strike first.”

You hesitate. “You would betray them?”

“I would see the world change,” Vesta says simply. “I have watched mankind build and burn, rise and fall. I have kept my fires lit through it all. But you—he—” her gaze shifts briefly to Anakin, resting just beyond the threshold, unaware of the conversation unfolding “—are different. He was always meant to shape the world, but the gods never expected you to fight alongside him.”

She steps forward, pressing the gladius into your hands. “So fight.”

The weapon is cold, impossibly so, but as your fingers curl around the hilt, heat surges through your veins. The gladius hums again, this time in recognition, in acceptance. It is yours now.

Vesta watches you carefully. “The gods will not be merciful,” she warns. “Not even to one of their own.”

You lift the blade, feeling its weight, feeling the shift of destiny in your grip.

“Neither will I.”

Vesta watches as you test the weight of the gladius in your hand, but she does not look reassured. If anything, there is something grave in her expression, something unfinished.

"You will need more than a blade," she says at last.

You frown. "What do you mean?"

Her gaze drifts past you, toward where Anakin stands outside, arms crossed, his face hardened by war, by fate. By the inevitable battle that will come.

"He is mortal," Vesta murmurs. "And mortals break."

Your grip tightens around the hilt of the gladius. "I won’t let him die."

"Not by will alone," she counters. "The gods will strike at him first. He is their greatest threat. You may have the blade that can wound them, but he needs something that can withstand them."

She raises her hands, and suddenly the air crackles with something ancient, something powerful. The flames around her shift, dancing wildly, and in the flickering light, a vision forms—a shield, battered but unyielding, its surface marked with symbols older than Rome itself.

Your breath catches. "Where is it?"

Vesta’s eyes burn as she recites:

"Neither sky nor soil cradle its weight, Not in the hands of the just nor the grip of the damned.

Taken by shadows, bound by debt, Where the past weeps in silent lament,

And the future spills in crimson tides. The unbending shall not wield it,

The unworthy shall not find it. Only the forsaken, May call it by name and claim its fate."

The vision fades, the fire settling back into a quiet glow.

You stare at her. 

Vesta only offers a small, knowing smile. "I have given you what I can. The rest is yours to uncover."

You exhale sharply, mind racing. "And this shield—"

"—can withstand even the wrath of Olympus," she finishes. "If you can claim it. The Flectere"

Your heart pounds. A shield bathed in the blood of gods. A relic lost to time, waiting beneath the bones of the first wolf.

Anakin's only chance.

Vesta turns, already fading into the light.

"Find it," she says, her voice echoing in the quiet. "Before the gods find you."

Anakin grips the gladius, testing its weight in his palm. The blade hums with an eerie resonance, as if it knows it was forged for something greater—something beyond mortal hands. He swings it once, a sharp, clean arc through the air, and the edge glows faintly as it slices through the space before him.

You watch him, your arms wrapped around yourself, as if holding yourself together. The past days have been a storm, an unraveling of everything you once knew, yet here he stands—solid, unshaken, the only thing that feels real in this chaos.

He catches you staring and smirks, lowering the blade. "What?" His voice is softer than usual, teasing, but with an edge of something deeper.

You shake your head, stepping closer. "Nothing. Just... you."

His brow furrows, his expression unreadable for a moment before he exhales, setting the gladius down. "Come here," he murmurs, reaching for you.

You don’t hesitate. You step into his arms, pressing yourself against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. His hand comes up to tangle in your hair, cradling the back of your head as if you might slip away from him.

“I hate that they did this to you,” you whisper against his skin, your fingers curling into his tunic. "That they wrote your fate in blood before you even had a chance to live it."

His lips press against your temple, a lingering warmth. "They didn’t," he mutters. "Not really." He pulls back just enough to look at you, brushing his thumb across your cheek. "I’m still here. I still choose."

Your throat tightens, a storm of emotions rising in your chest. "And what do you choose?"

A pause. Then, his lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smirk, something softer. "This," he says simply, leaning down until his forehead rests against yours. "You."

You close your eyes, feeling his breath mingle with yours. For a moment, there is no war, no gods, no fate—just the two of you, caught in a fleeting, fragile moment of peace.

You can break a man's body, shatter his bones, steal his future—but the fire in his soul will burn through the darkness.

[five-oh-first]

putting anakin skywalker into situations is my bread and butter so you know what? today we’re doing wings.

now, this au isn’t an ‘all force-sensitives have wings’ au, this is literally just anakin has wings. but he doesn’t know it. lets say the force was like ‘you are old enough, fly my child’ when he turned 21. height of the clone wars and anakin is like ‘damn my back hurts’. he’s probably teased like ‘oh lol, are you that old???’ kind of thing and he laughs along, probably brushes it off. but the pain keeps getting worse. he sees kix, finds out he has two long rashes on his back, gets creams and exercises to relax the muscles and heal the skin. but it doesn’t work. the pain keeps getting worse. the rashes turn to sores. but, the 501st’s next campaign is coming up - a droid factory has cut off supplies to a small sentient village and is poisoning their water supply with the waste from the droids’ construction. so, what does anakin do? binds the sores and marches on. he has a battalion to lead, he isn’t hiding in the medbay and letting rex do his dirty work.

i’m thinking this is set post-season 5 of the clone wars, so ahsoka has already left the order. in this au, echo and fives are both fine and with the 501st too because i love them dearly.

badda bing badda boom, some drama occurs, anakin’s wings spurt out mid-operation and rex, my beautiful darling boy, would probably panic for all of 10 seconds, realise the general is panicking, then save the day. their asses do Not make it to the post-mission briefing with obi-wan and cody. instead, rex is like “whOA that’s a lotta blood” because i imagine it would be. sprouting wings, force-blessed or not, must be messy business. so, he goes to get kix. kix is definitely followed by jesse and appo who in turn is followed by echo and fives. so, what should’ve been just the captain and kix, turned into six clones and the general.

they clean anakin up (he’s fine) but now he got bald little wing stubs. Wings! this throws them through a loop for a second (“is it a jedi thing??” “????no???”) but it’s fine. they’re fine.

i really want to write this so we’ll see, but some more scenes for you under the cut:

the clones-who-know playing with the soft down once anakin starts to grow in his feathers

explaining to the rest of the 501st why their general has a hump-back all the sudden (the 501 love their general’s wings)

explaining it to kenobi. and cody. obi-wan takes it in stride, cody… does not.

explaining it to padmé. she loves them because anakin was a space-heater anyway but now he has fluffy pillows on his back too.

learning to fly. it is not as streamlined as one may think.

crack chapter where the 501st brainstorm which bird/mythical creature anakin’s wings look most alike. i’m thinking peregrine falcon, but some answers would be interesting. powerpoints galore, folks.

alright, there may be more later but i’m currently sick and i’m going to bed <3

[uyuartik]

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader)

tags: slightly sith coded obi wan, no use of y/n, my unhinged take on regency era, (blaming bridgerton and pride and prejudice), probably historical inaccuracies, SMUT, mentions of oral sex (fem and male receiving), mentions of fingering, piv sex, dom!obi?, i really don't know what to write here it is just filth and it is gonna get filthier

a/n: HII! so i became haunted by historical!obi au's and spent six months writing a short series... this is the first chapter out of three, so i hope you stay tuned for the upcoming one (it is FILTHIER than this and about 19k words)

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can't wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

enjoy!!!

part one | part two | part three | ao3

word count: 5.4K

chapter one: see you tonight?

“…Fuck, just like that-“

That voice. Yes, that’s how you ended up here, you think, as you roll your hips, feeling the exquisite contours of Obi Wan’s cock stretching your walls and pulling pleasure out of every cell in your body, and possibly from your soul too.

Ehem. Lord Kenobi.

And truth be told, that’s not exactly how things led here. Of course, his rich voice and the manner in which he used it were notable factors. The way he camouflaged his remarks under sweet quips never failed to make you giggle into the next day, and regardless of the topic (ashamedly, it was mostly about the other people in the room, and their rather obscene behaviors), the comments he made always reflected the intelligence behind it. He played the serious bit perfectly too, even though his reverent sentences carried some poetry, never pompous, yet deep enough to convey its origin and the realness of his sincerity… That’s why you started spending hours with him at balls in the first place. Ten minutes alone with him, undoing all the prejudice you had against the man. All the rumors about him were proven wrong, or at least, half true. And you liked that remaining part of the truth.

Only after that, came the subject of his charms. Not quite surprising, considering that there was no lack of handsome faces around, but a lack of brains in them. Or a true heart. You hated the hypocrisy of it all, and it was a blessing to find someone who shared that sentiment. Not to mention the benefit of him deflecting any unwanted company.

Likewise, he must've thought the same about you, thus your current position. It was obvious that both of you two had similar standards, even in these lewd matters. People didn’t call him a heartbreaker because he pursued a lot of women, but when he did and it came to an inevitable end, they were the shell of whom they used to be, like a person could be mummified by the absence of the joy he charmed people with it. And you, you weren’t the type to have somebody just because you could. No, you looked for a special connection, a click, and when you got lucky and found one among the countless candidates, you treasured it. Now, even the word click sounded wanting, there were sparks present between the two of you, a considerable, good dynamic you two had built, and that made everything just better.

You were almost sad thinking this was a one-time event, already knowing this is a moment you'll remember your entire life. (You weren't gonna push your luck on getting caught.) If there were such deals, two of you keeping it to each other forever in this aspect of life, you’d have signed that contract in a blink.

“Thought you said you were tired.” He breathes out, clearly an effort, yet the smug grin on his face leaves no room for doubt or pity.

“I’ve been sitting all day.” That’s how travel works in carriages, after all. “I think stretching my legs, is what I need.” You emphasize by raising yourself higher and slowly sink back down a few times, a motion that pulls moans from both of your mouths.

Travel. It took you half a day to reach your aunt’s estate, and you were fairly certain you wouldn’t attend the ball that is currently taking place. Then, you realized there was no way your gracious hostesses would see you tonight, you were forced to enter the saloon. It would be a quick in and out, maybe greeting a few more people, no dance, with the very valid excuse of I’ve been on the road all day and I am quite exhausted ready on your lips at any interaction. This was why you didn’t even bother to put much effort into your looks, opting for a change of dress, and nothing more. No jewelry, no retouches to your hair. After all, it would just add to your part if you seemed slightly off.

Somehow, it turned out to be a regrettable decision, when numerous eyes turned to you as you took a step into the room, and even longer after that. Maybe not every head turned or the music came to an abrupt stop, the sprouting silence broken by collective whispers, but it happened, subtle yet enough to make itself known. You were given the same treatment for years at this point, but there was no getting used to it. Color that had been settling in your cheeks seemed to be permanent, at least for the night, not leaving your side as you took your place among your relatives. The expensive fan you were gifted by- God knows who, you were in no mood to remember it now, did nothing to relieve your suffering. 

And, countless other greetings don't help either. You fastened the movement of your hand, curling your lips into a forced smile. You could truly get tired from all these repeated words and gestures.

"I'm afraid I forgot to bring my dance card." You said again, to the third man who came with the same offer, Duke Caldo, all true except the part "forgot". You left it, willingly, just in front of your vanity mirror. The mirror which you desperately wanted to see yourself in right now, away from the ball. 

"A great pity." The exclamation didn't come from him, though. 

Your fan dropped from your hand and closed itself when it hit your wrist, dangling from the loop around your forearm as you heard that voice, no introduction ever needed. Perhaps, not even his voice was required, for there was always that unexplainable change in the quality of air in the rooms he occupied, like he was casting a spell on those around him, trickling magic dust with every step, a rare perfume. You wouldn’t use such metaphors if it wasn’t for the simple fact that your body always figured out his presence before your mind, catching a sense of that hypnotic essence. You often realized all the hairs on your arm standing up, or a tingling sensation in the back of your neck, breathing getting a bit harder, only to quickly locate him in your eyesight. 

"Lord Kenobi." It is said in a contemptful respect, a greeting and a goodbye. “Goodnight, my Lady.”

You didn’t even bother to mutter a proper response, and frankly, the Duke didn’t wait for one either. So, all your focus can be reserved on the man in front of you. 

You raised your arm as if intending to extend it so he could complete his small tradition of placing a kiss on the back of your hand, like he has done every time your paths crossed, even multiple times a day (that’s exactly how you noticed it was more than a simple salutation), (honestly, you liked it, his daring movement revealing a lot about his nature), only to flick it to reopen your fan. The gentlest gust of it licking your skin was more than enough now, making it all too pleasing to watch him save himself with a deep bow of his head, the annoyance quickly turning into a satisfied grin, like he didn’t expect anything less from you. 

“That looks even more beautiful in your hand.” He pointed at it, but his eyes wandered all over your body. You did the same, though there was little notice, his usual beige suit far too familiar. Your focus was always on the fact that he looked so good in it, taking in the broadness of his shoulders, or his defined arms exquisitely pronounced over the fabric.

Right. So it was his gift. Why did you ever entertain other possibilities?

You weren’t going to disappoint him by mentioning it is only here because your panicked maid accidentally packed the first item she saw, for you never took anonymous gifts. You didn’t need the attention they brought.

"And I couldn't thank you enough for it. I can practically name it my savior tonight." You answered, making a show of lavishing yourself in the stream it creates.

"My only source of pride is the fact that it perfectly blends with the rest of your attire. Now, I can proudly say I know your taste."

Classic Obi Wan. Even his compliments, far from usual, borderline scandalous. He's been peppering you with them ever since the start of your friendship and you were never immune to them. You outright enjoyed them. Especially now, they didn’t help the simmering tingles forming at the depths of your belly, amplified by weeks of solitude. “Only a part of it I’m afraid, but you’ll learn the rest in no time, don’t worry.”

“Can’t wait.” He grinned and scanned the room for prying eyes. Finding none, he made himself more comfortable by your side, hoping to spend the rest of his night with you. 

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” You admitted, somehow managing not to sound like you’re overly joyous of that not happening.

“I could say the same about you.” Was that excitement, or disappointment in his voice? Was he planning of politely ravishing other women, when you were not present to entertain him? Something told you those were not among his intentions, the smile on his face too honest, his twinkling gaze focused solely on you. 

You tilted your head and curled your lips. Touché. “It is nice to attend the ball your acquaintances are throwing, even if you arrive late. But for you, sir, I'm afraid people will actually think you're looking for a wife."

He rolled his eyes. There was a hint of offense in them just at the mentioning of the subject, but the playful type, not the exasperated type he uses for others. 

"Curious. The diamond of the season is also here. Isn't it strange that she still hasn't found someone, it's nearly the end of the season?" You inhaled sharply, dramatizing further. "Do you have something to do with it, Lord Kenobi?"

He scoffed, the impossibility of it reflected in his voice. "The diamond of the season?-"

"I thought you deserve nothing less." You explained, but he interjected.

"I'm only interested in one diamond." He said, initiating intense eye contact.

It was your turn to scoff, and run away from his gaze. "I was never the diamond."

"Only because you saw how better you were than the rest, and fled just before the start of the season." His eyebrows were raised, begging for a denial.

"I had planned that trip months ago." You simply stated. "And I came back halfway through summer, didn't I?"

"Just like now."

"Do I need to remind you who you have been spending time with since June?" 

"And where were you coming from tonight, ending your visit of- how long was it?"

"I am fond of traveling. Balls and banquets can entertain someone so far. " You shrugged, "Lord Kenobi, are you trying to say that you missed me?" 

"I could never claim otherwise." 

That was true from your perspective as well. All these years of constant traveling, and this year was the first time you missed what you left behind at home, even during the buzzing, pretense-filled months. None of it seemed that intolerable, and somewhat fun, if you dare to admit. You knew this impression was his doing, and now after your while spent apart, the feeling came back tenfold, almost making you squirm over such loose confessions.

That was it. That was the turning point of the night.

“Truth be told, the night is going much better than I dreamed of, and I almost regret forgetting my dance card.” You raised your chin, and sent him a look. “Would you be so kind to help me find it?” 

You could basically see the gears turning, a fire behind his eyes, fueling the desire growing in the depths of your belly. His gaze was piercing, even after he’d long decided, the truth known to both of you. Your heartbeats must’ve been visible, you imagined, and felt it skip a beat as he licked his lip. “Lead the way.”

Now that’s, how you ended up here.

However, as you look down at his face, the story gets blurry, perhaps outright loses its importance, abandoning your mind. His hair is tousled, a rebel strand in front of his eyes, and moves with every bounce. Your hands are too busy to hold onto his sweaty chest, slightly tugging on the auburn fuzz. You wanted to do that ever since he took his shirt off.

(Then again, you’re not sorry for the amount of time you couldn’t, drowning in him. The moment you felt his expert lips on yours, all your will to protest anything had died. Later, as his fingers joined the show, you quickly realized you were fine with what he gave, but he, ever the gentleman, let you prevail.)

It is a sight. And the moans that fall from his lips surpass the delicate melody the musicians are playing downstairs in every way, which can still faintly be heard. (You never thought an orchestra would accompany you during this, but here you were. It is a detail you’ll remember with a smile while looking back at it, but now, you couldn’t care any less.)

“You’re taking me so well.”  He starts to thrust his hips up slightly, meeting your rhythm, but never overtaking it.

“I know.” You giggle, but the reaction he’s taken notice of is your fingertips digging in further, and your walls fluttering around his cock.

When you start to falter a bit, perhaps due to the fatigue settling on your muscles embarrassingly not long after his words, or his mere presence clouding your brain, his fingers that have been resting on your thighs slowly ascend to your hips. The fingers drenched in your juices, another element that has the coil in your belly tighter. The next few strokes, with his guiding hand, touch something deep inside you, and your jaw hangs open.

“Fuck…” is the only word you can mutter, and he chuckles at it.

“Is that so?” He mocks, but brushes your loose ringlets with a single hand, and caresses your nipple on its way down. The latter shows his true disposition, and that drives you to be more vocal, if you weren’t already.

“You feel… so… good.” You can hardly say, as your puffy clit drag against his skin all so deliciously like this.

He twitches inside you at the compliment, and you throw your head back with a whine. Despite the fact that he would kill to see your face, he doesn’t push, enjoying the state he’s putting you in with his voice. Every praise that falls from his lips earns him a melodic moan, along with the feeling of you tensing and relaxing, always responding to his call in one way or another.

You’re one step away from being a doll at his bend, though you couldn’t care any less, not when you are this close.

He likes it, very very much. Yet, not enough to silence his wishes of how to ruin you, in the best way.

In a blink, you find yourself on your back, and him on top of you. That’s not the first thing you see, though. It is his hand, lifted from wherever it fell, catching your chin to turn your head to him. Sounds of panting are all there is, no movement, no words, not even your rapid heartbeats drumming in your ears seconds ago as if the world stopped for a second.  

His thumb caresses your lower lip, and you let it slip in. God, you can still taste yourself. The revelation has your objections at the change dead, your face twisting, yet he tsks thrice, capturing your attention.

“Let me see those eyes.” Obi Wan commands, and you have no choice but to oblige. “You look so good beneath me.” 

Somehow, his words have you flushing and squirming as if that was the most inappropriate thing happening in this room. Funny, how he breaks your will, and you let it. Against all the talk of your friendship, until an hour ago, you’d have lashed out at an equivalent demeanor, even said in affectionate terms. (Any other way is simply impossible, anyway.)  But, that hour proved itself to be much precious, and now with that glossy gaze, snatched right from the brink of climax, you focus on the doting aspect, how he cannot get enough of the image of you.

You start to writhe, the new emptiness inside you unbearable. “Touch me, Obi Wan…”

He's not proud of the way your begging has his cock leaking, though that hardly stops him. He lives for mutual pleasure, even just yours at the moment, yet you look so pretty like this, grasping the sheets. 

"Like this?" He slides his thumb further into your mouth, relishing the feeling of your tongue swirling around it immediately. Or course he wasn't expecting you to suck him off if you didn't want to, nor would he ever ask for it, he can't help but imagine the feeling, his hips rolling in seek of stimulation.

You shake your head, and his finger is freed with a pop. You frown as the sole contact you have with him is lost. It is a warning sign for him, the fragility of your dream-like state, a reminder of how he has to do better, if he wants to take control. As a gentleman, he wanted to give you everything you desired, but since it was your first time together, a terra incognita, he had to be sure of your limits, so he followed your wishes gladly. The wishes which were masterfully balanced versions of both of your needs. The same problem troubled you too of course, but you were a quick learner, a connoisseur of his taste in no time. The fact that it was very similar to yours was an exciting discovery, certainly a pleasant one, and was a great help, so great that it almost felt like cheating. While he took no issue with your tricks; the urge to take you on his terms, the compulsion to show you how he wants to cherish you couldn’t be suppressed any longer. He had to let you know.

He leans in closer, his arms bend as yours find his shoulders like a habit, “Like this?” He murmurs, right before brushing his lips against yours, effectively swallowing your whine. Though it was a sound of protest, all complementary sentiments die when he nips at your lower lip, and you open your mouth, lost in the sensation of his tongue licking yours, and his sweet essence. In contrast to his other needs taken good care of, he hadn’t taken enough of the feeling of our mouths joining. God, he spent hours imagining your mouth, curling into every shape as smart words spilled from it, enhancing his fascination with you. It fires the flames of haze further, even if he’s not actually properly touching you. Your hand roams his neck, then etches itself into his silky hair. You’ve done that a few times now (and found his response most addicting), but it is hardly satisfactory compared to the amounts you dreamed of doing during these last couple of months. You saw him prim and proper mostly, not a strand out of place, making you marvel at its excellence, and the itch to mess it up growing stronger each instance, a stark contrast to your surroundings. Also, there were times the infamous piece fell in front of his eyes, and sometimes even more disheveled than that, riding a horse, enjoying sports with his friends, and once after a bath, when your family visit started a little earlier than planned. You were always admiring the way it reflected light, creating almost a halo around his head, especially in sunlight. It is the first thing your eye is drawn to whenever you’re in the same place, a beacon of sorts. You never thought you’d be this amazed by hair, yet the moans he produces when you tug on it, add to your astonishment, and you’re not sure if you can look at it again, without being reminded of this moment.

He breaks the kiss as for you to catch your breath, for he has long kept you away from it. Still, he continues to pepper you with tons of them, scattered all across your jaw and neck, in search of that sweet spot that has you cursing. It is not a serious journey, in fact, he does more than press his lips against your skin properly, tease you with his open mouth, drag his tongue along the taut muscle, nip and outright bite, once.

“No marks-“ You protest. Futile. You should’ve warned before he started to nibble, way before he sank his teeth, but it has happened after all, and you can already feel blood settling on the sites of his attack. “What I am going to tell my maid now?”

“The truth.” He retorts. “Of how you led Lord Kenobi into our bed, and did dirty, unspeakable things with him.”

That earns him a harsh pull at his scalp, and a pat on his shoulder. He meets with your glaring gaze, and cheeks redder than a minute ago. So, he’s still on your good side. Barely.

“Apologies, my dear.” He takes the hand that smacked him, and places a peck onto your palm before placing it back. You can’t break the eye contact as he does so, something about his appearance, perhaps his position, or the charming contours of his face, or the way he deals with your anger keeps you from kicking him out. Caressing your open legs, he massages them ‘til they relax afresh, squeezing at the soft flesh. You hiss when his movement nears your inner thighs, thanks to his beard, and the climax it brought you. The gesture hints, still, there’s the matter of fire burning in your belly. “Couldn’t resist, you know me. Let me make it up to you.”

He wastes one more second to carve this image inside his head, then fulfills his promise. He likes the way you tremble while you wait, a whimper leaving your mouth at him taking his cock into his hand and stroking it a few times. God, how you wish that was your hand. Damn your stubbornness, and demand for compensation. You put extreme effort into staying still, releasing a shaky breath when he places the tip at your entrance.

Remember when he said “ruin”?

He doesn’t push it in, instead letting it slide up your slick folds, and tap against your clit. You nearly jolt at the touch, yet again tasting bliss, even if it is in mere drops. He repeats the action, and you sob, digging your nails into his shoulders. Maybe you’re the one leaving marks now, but you don’t care. Eye for an eye you can say, in retrospect.

“You’re so wet.” He can’t stop looking into your glistening core. He also can hear it, the squelching sounds echoing at his every movement. He knows you can too, that it calms your nerves, though they act up for different reasons. “All this for me?”

Unfortunately, you are late to realize he doesn’t take your moans for an answer. You can’t help it, you are unable to form words. Even if you gather the strength, they die out at your throat, especially under his piercing look. Fuck, he loves how cockdumb you’ve become for him.

He takes pity on you then, dropping his cock to briefly rest on your opening, and forces his fat tip in.

Your back arches, a throaty sound filling the room. He shushes right next to your ear, in an effort to calm you down as he slips the rest in. It is as if you’re taking him the first time, like you weren’t riding him moments ago.

“Fuck-“ That’s the only reaction, the only answer he needs. You fall back into the sheets, the first time he rolls his hips, and sets a new rhythm, a slow one to kindle the flame once more. Your hair probably getting tangled from the way it’s rubbing against the sheets, and your legs are split wide open. You feel every vein and ridge moving against your walls, the slight resistance disappearing in no time. His chest brushes against yours, and combined with the warmth of his breath, so close to yours, it’s easy to let go of your worries.

This is why you ended up here.

“Faster!” While he already feels great, it’s not the exact pattern to provide that sweet release, not in the timeframe you hoped.

“I want this to last, dear.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. A part of it due to irritation. Being subjected to that response before, he snickers to see you’re still you, even when you’re literally fucked out of your mind. As he does so, his lips skim yours. You take it, greedily, one hand first on his neck to ensure he stays, then to his unruly tress, aspiring to compel him into the middle ground. That earns you a few groans, yes, but his will doesn’t seem to falter even a little bit.

Perseverance, is a mutual quality, as you already know.

You slowly release the grip you have on his head, emphasis on slowly. It goes unnoticed, thanks to your timely bite, the same assault he once carried out. You don’t waste the access to his tongue, sucking on it. You’re not sure if his moans are increased in number, or if it feels more because you swallow every single one of them, but the fact that his beard starts to prick your cheeks harder gives you an idea.

Your free hand falls into sheets and slithers across the length of your body. Just a little more- you’re almost about to touch your –

His fingers wrap around your wrist instantly, dragging it up, a little further away from your face. You twist your neck, a wail coming out as you reject his kiss.

Only to be met by the sight of that said fingers running up your palm, and interlock themselves among yours.

Your breath hitches, for reasons unknown to you.

“Ah- ah -ah.” He tuts, though there’s not a hint of disappointment in his voice. “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I let you do all the work?”

You can’t believe one physical contact, and his words, are enough to carry you to that previous peak. Your pussy contracts around him, beyond your control, an indication of your closeness, nothing compared to before.

“Ngh- that’s it.” He encourages, “Just relax and take it.” That’s more sincerity than you’ve ever heard from him.

It goes on and on for a while, him doing exactly what he promised to do, and fulfilling his wishes in the process. He already knows this could go on ‘til morning, and he still wouldn’t be completely satisfied, longing for your presence the second he leaves the bed. Still, he continues, pushing himself to his limit, and that’s getting quite harder when you clamp on him that hard. He feels his cock leaking, begging for that sweet end.

When his arm that’s not supporting his weight travels down, caressing your hip before pressing his thumb to your clit, finally, you reward it with a whisper of his name, a sound he won’t dare to forget. Your back arches impossibly higher, and he has to lean back, abandoning his other hold.

Your limb stays in the spot he left it.

He curses at the realization, perhaps its effect mirroring yours when he first initiated the contact. Fuck, how are you so perfect? He snaps his hips harder, and circles his thumb, feeling it throb.

“Obi Wan-I’m c-“

He loves how your words are cut with the need to scream that you gulp down, only resigned to breathing as your face contorts with pleasure. “Cum for me, love.”

Your moans blend into each other, as he cannot stay still at the feeling of your walls squeezing him so tight. He holds your trembling thigh, fondling the soft flesh, adoring the way it spills from his grip. He doesn’t stop ‘til they settle again once more, and even a little longer than that, pulling out in the last minute to cover your belly with his spend. 

That act keeps you from turning to your side, and feeds the desire to hug the sheets, a soft but firm ground for your senses to return. You're not complainant of it anyways, you have a far better view in front of you, defined muscles undulating with each heavy breath, glistening due to the light coat of sweat covering them, lips puffy and slightly flushed with blood, as well as his cheeks. You always thought he was devilishly handsome, but this, this is something else. The world should consider itself lucky, or it would bend to his will just from his looks. Or unlucky, for the honor is bestowed upon a handful of people. 

He believes he's blessed with the sight upon him, too. Still holding onto your thigh, he delights in spontaneous tremors that possess it. If he looks closely, he's sure he can see the faint mark he left. Your hair is sprawled around, much in contrast to the delicate up-dos you and every noblewoman fashioned, its most natural form, and the intimacy of it definitely causes a small breakdown. You belong in a painting, depicting goddesses and nymphs, a grace outside the limits of time and culture. Your droopy lids and tired pull at the corners of your mouth fill his chest with pride and more adoration, like after his every successful attempt to elicit a reaction from you. It happens often, thanks to the understanding that grows between the two of you, but every example is still treasured in in his mind.

“Well, I don’t know any better way to spend the night.”

You giggle. “I agree.”

“We should’ve done this before.”

Your lifted brows are the perfect answer. Like it’s that easy.

But he has a point, too.

In the comfortable silence, he gets up from bed, a sigh at the roar coming from downstairs, drowning the music. That’s still going, huh? You watch as he wets the nearest towel, and returns, cleaning the mess with unexpected gentleness that it almost tickles. There’s no aim to steal one more touch at his movements, no personal gain except an easy conscience, and even that is a stretch because it’s most natural to him, his understanding of tenderness.

“Well, thank you, sir.” You sit up, with a yawn, and scooch backward to your pillows as he retreats to give himself the same treatment. “And my nightgown, please.” You point to it, and amusingly follow his subtle headshake, and efforts to hand it over. He hesitates for a second at the last minute, considering rebellion, a last joke. You see it, and snatch the fabric from his grip before he can tighten it. He can feel it sliding over his skin, the light material flying. You slip it on, aware of his voyeur. with a victorious smile cut too short as exhaustion creeps into your bones. You’re no different, in any case, settling into the fluffy pillows, curiously examining each piece of clothing he puts on from afar, the unwritten rule of his habits, his hidden glances at your mirror in a feeble pursuit to tame his messy hair. You’re willing to be charged guilty for that.

He stalls, though, you can feel it after a while, around the time sleep clouds your vision. How could anyone blame him for not wanting to leave, carve your picture to his mind, and calm his yet again straining cock at it?

“You should be going. Servants are going to be wandering these corridors for orders, soon.” Your heart winces at the warning, because he's not the type to need it, or disregard you to put you at any risk. But your cognation runs thin, and he needs to know the dangers he might face. 

"True. Right. You're correct." Is that a stutter? "Good night, my lady."

"Good night, Lord Kenobi.

"Glad to be of help in stretching your legs." 

The cushion falls short to exactly hit him, but the sentiment is clear. 

In the morning, you uncover the reasons behind his diversion. 

Bastard signed every slot in your dance card.

[obiwansito]

spineless in my tomb of silence

the great war - chapter one

playlist 𐐒𐐚 taglist ʚĭɞ fic masterlist

pairing- obi wan kenobi x f!reader

word count- 5,02k

summary- after a few days of feeling bad, you discover something that will change your life forever. how will you explain it to obi-wan, if he is thousands of light years away?

tags for this chapter- angst, fluff, unplanned pregnancy, discussions about pregnancy, anxiety, minor discusions, intrusive thoughts.

a/n- welcome to the first chapter of tgw. buckle up, this will be a wild journey. this fic has been on my mind since march, and i have planned great things for it. enjoy <3

“Kriff.” You whispered, getting up from the refresher mat, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. It was your second time vomiting so far this morning, and you had been like this for almost five days.

You had recently arrived from a long mission, and now you were on your break, stranded in the Jedi Temple teaching younglings.

Actually, you were grateful. You had spent nearly five months traveling across the Outer Rim to fight on the front lines, so finally getting back to your routine at home was a relief.

Of course, it had its cons. You had gotten used to seeing your partner, Obi-Wan, every day, as the council assigned you together on most missions because of your great teamwork. But unfortunately, he couldn't get a break, and was still in the Outer Rim with Anakin indefinitely.

Though deep down you were glad he wasn't here at the moment, as he constantly worried about you and you knew he would be worried if he knew you had caught an illness.

Or well, you wanted to think you were sick. But the timing of your period told you otherwise, and that had you quite worried. At first you thought you had eaten something bad, but you realized that your period was almost a month late. Maybe it was the stress of the war, or maybe....

You shook your head. No, it wasn't possible. That absolutely could not happen. It mustn't.

You decided to seek help from your closest friend outside the temple, the one you trusted the most and knew could help you with your little problem. Plus, as a bonus, she was the only one who knew about your relationship with Obi-wan.

The lift opened its doors, revealing a young woman sitting on the couch in her home. Her brown curls fell to the sides of her face, and a purple robe wrapped around her growing belly. It was Padme Amidala, senator of Naboo and your best friend.

Her face lit up when she saw you arrive, smiling at you and rising to give you a hug. “My dear! How have you been?”

“Padmé! Sorry for coming unannounced. To tell you the truth...I've been better. And you? How are you? And the baby?”

Your gaze lowered to your friend's baby bump.

When you arrived on Coruscant two weeks ago, you got the surprise of your life when you learned that your best friend was pregnant.

“ You're... what?!” Padmé laughed shyly, her hands caressing her swollen belly.

“It was a surprise to me, too. When I found out, I was alone and so scared. But now I'm more excited.”

“And Ani knows?”

Padmé exhaled, shaking her head. “No... How do you tell your secret Jedi husband that you're pregnant with his child by holo-call?”

You sighed. It was true, Anakin had also spent so much time away -even now- and hadn't seen his wife for nearly five months. Now you felt grateful that you had been able to spend so much time with Obi-wan. “If I've known Ani at all in the last thirteen years, I can assure you he'll go crazy. He loves you dearly, and I know he'll be very excited.”

Padmé looked at you with concern at what you said. “We're fine... But I'm beginning to wonder how much longer Ani will be out. I've had to live most of this pregnancy alone...” She complained, then looked at you, a little flushed. “Sorry, I'm just venting. Come, sit down. Would you like something to drink? I can tell Threepio to prepare something.”

You shook your head, sitting down next to her on the couch. “Oh no, dear, don't worry. I... well, I came to tell you something. Or rather, to ask you.”

“Sure, tell me.”

You gulped. Your heart was going a thousand miles a minute, this was about to become real. “How... how did you find out you're pregnant?”

She raised an eyebrow, hadn't expected that question. “Well... At first I was very queasy and throwing up, I also felt quite tired and my appetite had increased. I thought I was sick so I called a medical droid, and when he asked me the last date of my period I realized. Then he diagnosed me and well...here we are. why the question?”

You sighed, looking away. Apparently, your silence spoke for you, as Padmé gasped, bringing her hands to her mouth in surprise. “...You're joking, right?”

You shook your head, a knot in your throat. “I wish I was. But... I really don't know if I am... you know, or not.”

“What makes you think you are?

“For starters, I've been feeling exhausted these past few weeks. And a few days ago I started with nausea and throwing up. I thought I'd caught an illness or something, but today I checked my period calendar, and...”

“Kriff.”

“Yeah, kriff.’ You ran a hand through your hair, stressed. Now that you'd said it out loud, it was more real.

“All right, don't worry, I'm here to help you.” She rested her hand on your knee, with a reassuring look. “Here's what we'll do. I'll call a medical droid and he'll check you out. Don't worry, he's the one who attends to me, so none of this will leave from here.”

You nodded, your heart feeling warm from your friend's affection. “And whatever the result, you've got me. We're in this together, okay?”

You leaned in to hug her, whispering thanks. You felt tears threatening to come, you were so glad to have such an amazing friend like Padmé. Jedi were supposed to control their emotions, but right now you were failing a little bit at that. Maybe it was hormones... No. You had to think positive, it was probably something else, you weren't unlucky enough to get pregnant in the middle of a devastating war.

Half an hour later, you were lying on Padmé's bed, a medical droid examining you. “How long is your period overdue now?”

“Almost a month.” You mumbled. Padmé was sitting next to you, one hand on her belly and the other holding yours gently.

“Very well, I have your diagnosis.” Announced the droid after analyzing the results. “Miss... Naberrie?” you nodded. You had given Padmé's real last name so there would be no data of yours reaching the temple. “You are pregnant, approximately six weeks. Congratulations.”

Your heart dropped. You felt Padmé get up and escort the droid out, but your mind was elsewhere. This can't be happening. Your breathing was racing, your gaze fixed on one point in the room as your thoughts collapsed. What am I going to do? This is bad.

You were pale, an uncomfortable warmth running down your neck. Your eyes, wide open, couldn't focus on anything clearly. The air seemed to become thick, and it took you a second to breathe normally.

Padmé came back into the room and sat down across from you, but you didn't look at her. I'm going to be expelled from the Order... Obi-wan is going to leave me. I was so stupid. This can't be happening...

“Hey, hey. Look at me. It's going to be alright, okay?”

You didn't listen to her, you felt a storm in your head, messing up everything you had structured so perfectly. This isn't real. This can't be...

“Hey. Look at me, beautiful.” His hands were now on your cheeks, but you weren't reacting. You hadn't realized it, but you were crying.

Padmé called your name, and you finally snapped out of your thoughts. You looked at her, her eyes were wide and she was looking at you with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yes... yes. I'm fine.” You wiped your tears away with the back of your hand, taking a deep breath. You were a Jedi, you couldn't let yourself get carried away with emotions like that. You had been raised not to.

“Alright...Listen to me.” She took your hands in hers. “It's going to be okay. You're going to tell Obi-wan?”

“Well...yes. But, I guess we're in the same boat now.” You let out a chuckle, even though you weren't having fun. “How the kriff do I tell my Jedi boyfriend that I'm pregnant when he's thousands of light years away?”

“Tell me.” Padmé sighed. “How do you think he'll react?”

“I don't know. I mean, it's not like we never brought it up.” Your mind wandered to a conversation they'd had months ago, in their quarters at the Negotiator. “We talked about our lives if we weren't... you know, Jedi Generals in a war that seems to have no end.”

“And what did you say?”

“We'd get married.” You smiled sadly. “We'd go to Naboo -sorry to steal your idea- and we'd have a cabin in Lake Country. Just us and nature.”

“That's beautiful. And the kids?”

“One or two.” You sighed, wiping away tears. “It was...a particularly difficult day, and we'd still be fighting the next day. We thought maybe, you know, it would be the end of us.” You shrugged. “So that's why we set about planning our life in an alternate universe.”

“Hey.” You looked at her. “It's still possible, you know, I've been planning... Maybe I shouldn't say this, but... Some senators and I want to end the war diplomatically. No more invasions, no more sieges. No more death. So our happy ending is still possible. Obi-wan and you, Ani and me. We can be free. Our children could be friends.” You both laughed. “It will be all right, you'll see.”

You nodded. Maybe you were indeed being pessimistic. It wasn't all over.

“There's something else.”

“Yes?”

“That day, Obi-wan told me something. He said that... If I wanted him to leave the Order, I just had to say the word. And he would do it.”

“That's good, isn't it? You can do that. I'll help you in any way I can.”

“No, no. It's just... I know he said it, and I know he means it. But he knows I would never ask him to do that.” You swallowed hard. “The Order is his life, Padmé. I've never seen a Jedi as dedicated as he is. I know, I know we break a thousand rules every day to be together, but besides that, he just... It's what he's made for. And I don't want to be the one to take that away from him.”

“Listen to me. Obi-wan loves you too much, my dear. I know you guys think you're better at hiding your relationship than we are, but it's the little details that make me realize how much he loves you. The way he looks at you, how he talks about you... Kriff, he doesn't know that I know, but when we're talking and he mentions you... I can tell he's deeply in love.”

You smiled, your heart felt warm. “You are more important than anything, more important than the Order, than everything. And he knows that. So you don't have to worry about that, okay?” she stroked your cheek. “It's going to be all right, dear.”

You sniffled, trying to hold back your tears. “Thank you, Padmé. Really. You're wonderful. You know how to comfort me so well, even though you're in the same situation.”

“You don't have to thank me, darling. You know I'm here for you. And I know you're here for me. We'll work it out. We don't need men if we have each other.”

You laughed, nodding and leaned in to hug her. She was right. No matter what happened, at least you'd always have your best friend by your side.

You stayed for another hour in Padmé's apartment, chatting and making plans for when her baby was born. She only had one more month to go, so she told you how she wanted to paint the baby's room at the Naberrie residence on Naboo.

It was past noon when you arrived at the temple. You had one more hour before your class with the younglings, so you would take advantage of it to go to the dining hall. Usually you would prepare something in your quarters, but you were tired. Hopefully, they would serve something good... Or at least something that tasted okay.

As you walked through the halls, you came across a couple of kids running around. Among them, was Kyla, a togruta from your class.

“Slow down, little ones. You might get hurt.”

“Sorry, master!”

The little girl came up to you. She was ten years old and one of the best in the class. “Master, you will teach us today, won't you?”

“That's right, dear.” You crouched down to be on her level. “Lightsaber training. Are you ready?”

“Yes!”

You laughed at her enthusiasm. “Good. I'll see you in class, okay?”

She nodded, and you patted her back, standing up as you watched her go.

You had met Kyla when she was still a little kid, about five years ago. At that time, the temple was a better place. Now everything felt dark, empty. The aftermath of such a terrible war.

"Fond of the little one, you have grown, hmm?" you jumped as you heard those words behind you. You turned around, finding the grand master of the Jedi.

“Master Yoda, you frightened me.”

“Distracted you are. Otherwise, with the force you would have detected me.”

“I'm sorry, Master. I was just watching the younglings... It grieves me to know that they are growing up in the midst of a war.”

“Worry, you must not. Our best effort, we give, so future generations suffer, they will not."

“You are right.”

“To the dining room, you were going?” He pointed down the hall.

“That's right, I'm going to get something to eat before my next class.”

"Leave you, I will, then. Good luck, Master."

You nodded, and gave a little bow to leave. But his voice calling your name stopped you again. "A Padawan, good for you, it would be."

Your eyes widened. “What do you mean, master?”

“If you wanted, Kyla your padawan could be. Small she is still, but in a couple of years she'll be ready.”

You smiled. Your own apprentice. “I would love that, master.”

"Settled, it is, then."

He walked away, leaving you alone. You thought for a moment about what having a Padawan involved. Of course, you would love it, and a Jedi had to have one sometime, yes or yes. You had been lucky enough to be promoted to Master for your front-line achievements, but that didn't mean you shouldn't have one anymore. And you adored Kyla, she was a very smart and strong kid. You would make a great team.

Your chest hurt. Although you were trying to avoid thinking about it, it was inevitable. You were pregnant. There was no way out of it, no easy solution. You couldn't stay in the Order once the Council found out.

But that was hurting you, because you wanted to train her. She had so much potential and you could help her reach her maximum.

You were going to have to abandon her and all your children, whom you adored as if they were your own.

You shook your head, dispelling those thoughts. You had to focus on the present, then you would figure out the rest.

As it turned out, you might have been better off preparing something yourself in your quarters. The food at the Temple was, as always, terrible.

You were about to finish your... whatever it was they had served you, when you were approached by a pink twi'lek. It was Sammi, one of your oldest temple friends. You had met when you were barely younglings, and though you had drifted apart when you became padawans, the friendship was still there.

She called your name, coming to sit next to you. “How have you been? I haven't seen you in a while.”

“I got back a couple of weeks ago, I was sent to be a part of the sieges in the Outer Rim.”

The twi'lek raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Wow. What's it like to be on the front lines?”

Sammi was a Jedi healer, and worked in the temple's medical center, assisting Head Medical Officer Vokara Che. Therefore, she hadn't been sent to fight in the war like you.

“It's... difficult. I know we've been at war for almost four years, but I'm still not used to it.”

“I understand. You're going to stay on Coruscant for a while?”

You sighed. “I hope so, but I wouldn't be surprised if the Council decides to send me back soon.” You glanced at the clock on the wall, you were already running late. “Kriff.”

You stood up, grabbing your tray. “I'd love to stay longer talking, but I have classes. We can meet some other time, catch up.”

She smiled at you, nodding. “Yes, please. We can hang out at 79s, I might run into that lieutenant from your battalion...what was his name, Bones?”

You laughed. Sammi had never been the type to follow the rules, but you couldn't judge her as you weren't innocent either. “Yes, Sams, it's Bones. I'll tell Forge to go with the boys. I heard around that he thought you were cute...”

You liked chatting with Sammi. You felt like a teenage Padawan again, not a Master Jedi General with a hidden pregnancy.

The temple was quiet when you left your last class. It was getting dark, the wind filtered through the wide windows and made you shiver. You had spent a good time with the younglings, those children were hungry for learning and you were more than happy to teach them everything you knew.

You were on your way to your room when you noticed someone approaching you. As you turned around, you found Plo Koon, your master. He called your name warmly.

“Master.”

“My dear. How have you been?”

“Very well, but a little busy. You know, teaching Younglings.”

He chuckled. “I can imagine. You have a gift with those little ones, you know?”

“I worry about them. And for their learning. I fear the war is diverting us from our beliefs as Jedi...”

“I understand why you think that. But don't torture yourself, it will all get better eventually.”

You smiled at him. You were grateful, you couldn't have had a better master. He had always supported you in everything, listened to you and gave you the best advice, even though you were no longer his apprentice.

“I was looking for you, actually.” You looked at him curiously. “I was sent to lead the battle in Cato Neimoidia. We leave in the morning.”

You nodded. In the last three years, you had grown used to farewells like that. “Give Wolffe my regards.”

“I will.” You had fought several times alongside your master and his battalion, so you had had the opportunity to get to know the commander. At first you didn't get along so well, but over time you had learned to deal with his strong personality.

You sighed. You could guess what would happen next. “Now, my child...” He took you by the shoulders affectionately. “As always, take care of yourself. Don't fight too much with the council, and be patient with the younglings.”

You felt like a Padawan again. “I will, Master.”

“And remember, don't let hard times detract from your peace. Emotions are part of you, but you must not let them control you.” You nodded, giving him a tight-lipped smile. He probably felt your stress in your bond. “I won't take up any more of your time, you must be tired.”

“You would never do that, master.” You both smiled at each other. “May the force be with you.”

“And with you, my old padawan.”

He watched you for a moment, his gaze transmitting a peace you had always admired. Then, with a final squeeze of your shoulders, he let you be on your way.

You closed the door to your quarters, you were finally home after a long day. After taking a long shower, and changing into your sleeping robes, you lay down on your bed with your datapad.

You had decided to do a few missing mission reports before going to sleep, but a message on your comlink distracted you. As you turned it on, Obi-wan's warm voice flooded your room.

“Hello, darling. Sorry I haven't checked in all day, I've been a little... busy. Anyway, I know it's already dark on Coruscant. If, hopefully, you're not asleep, give me a call. I have a lot to tell you.”

You smiled, dialing his contact. He answered immediately, looking very tired. His hair was slightly messy, he had dark circles under his eyes and a frown. But his gaze softened at the sight of you.

“Darling."

“Hey, love.” You nestled your holo-projector on top of some books. “Where are you?”

“In a utility closet on Yularen's ship.” You raised an eyebrow and he laughed a little. “ Apologies for making you call me so late. You must be busy.”

“Oh no, don't worry about it. I was going to try to report on some missions, but you know... it's really boring. I'd rather talk to you.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. You could tell something was bothering him.

“Are you okay, how did the battle go?”

“It was quite alright. Anakin ended up saving us with a crazy strategy, as usual.”

“Sounds like something he would do.”

“Oh, you would have loved it. The 501st has some new jetpacks that... Sorry, I am rambling.”

“No, that's okay. Tell me about it.”

“No, it's just that...” He sighed. “Something happened, darling.”

Your chest sank. Those words could mean so many things, good or bad. You were mentally preparing yourself when Obi-wan spoke again. “Ahsoka called.”

Your eyes grew wide, staring at him in surprise. You hadn't heard from her since she left the Order, months ago. “What?”

“That's right.”

“And Ani... how is he?”

“In shock.”

“Maker.” You sighed. “And- What happened? Is she okay? In trouble?”

“She's fine. It's just...” He ruffled his hair, an action he did when he was stressed. “'Maul's been found.”

You looked at him silently for a few seconds. You sure looked a little dumb, your mouth hanging open in shock. It took you a while to find your voice again, muttering, “You must go get him.”

“We don't have any information yet. Right now, Ahsoka and Bo-Katan are coming, they'll give us all the information...”

“Wait. Bo-Katan? ...Kryze?”

He nodded. He didn't need to say anything else, for you knew very well who she was.

“Well then wait for them to arrive, and go with them. It's time to finish him off once and for all.”

“It's not that simple, love. And you know it.”

You frowned. “Maul has been causing damage for years. You have a chance to finally defeat him and... what are you waiting for, the council's approval?”

“From what they said, Maul is probably back on Mandalore. You know that because of its neutrality, the Republic can't interfere in the affairs of...”

“That's crap, and you know it, Obi-wan.” He looked at you, a mixture of confusion and surprise in his gaze. “Since the start of the war, we've interfered quite a few times in Mandalore's affairs. You've done it several times. Why not now?”

“It's different. We're talking about a possible siege and...”

“Then do it. I'll go help you myself, love. We're talking about Maul, the thing that has done you nothing but harm. He killed Qui-Gon, he killed Satine...”

From the way his expression changed, and even how he felt in the force, you realized you had come a bit far. You hadn't mentioned Satine since months ago, when Obi-wan had arrived from Mandalore, crying in your arms, for she had died while he was holding her.

“I'm so sorry, I got carried away, I...”

“It's alright.” He interrupted you. “You're right. I'll talk to the Council tomorrow, I'm sure we'll come to a conclusion.” He gave you a smile with his lips pressed together. “Now... can we change the subject?”

“Of course.” You nodded, and his gaze softened.

“How have you been, how's life on Coruscant?”

Your hand automatically rested on your belly. Shit, with so much that had happened, you had forgotten the small detail of your pregnancy. You were thankful Obi-wan could only see your face, otherwise he definitely would have noticed your action.

“Well... They put me back to teaching the little ones. Kyla's gotten a lot better with her lightsaber.”

“Oh yeah?” You had told him about the little one a while back. It was obvious she was one of your favorites.

“Yep. And... I talked to Master Yoda.” He raised an eyebrow. “She can probably be my Padawan. When she's older, in a year or two.”

Obi-wan smiled at you at what he said. “That's amazing, darling. You'll see, having a padawan isn't all it's cracked up to be...”

“Oh well, you say that because you taught Anakin. That's just bad luck, darling.”

They both laughed. “You say that like you weren't his adventure partner growing up. I swear, Plo Koon and I were seriously done.”

“Isn't that a little weird?”

He tilted his head. “What is?”

“That...well, you and I are dating. I mean...you could have been my master. I grew up next to your Padawan. Isn't that weird?”

“It's very different, darling.”

“Why?”

"Well, first of all, you could never have been my Padawan. You're older than Anakin, and I agreed to train him because... you know." No need to bring up past traumas here. "The relationship between a Master and his Padawan is an incredibly sacred thing, and it's nothing like the bond we have. Besides, we barely spoke back then. You were with your friends, with Anakin or with your Master. And we noticed each other when the war started. So no, I wouldn't say it's that weird." He paused. "Darling? Are you listening to me?"

You shook your head, snapping out of your mind. You were distracted by his beauty. It sounds cliché, yes, but you could listen to this man talk for hours and never get tired of it. Shit, you missed him so much.

"Oh, yes. But not everything you say is true."

"What do you mean?

"Mmm, well, maybe, and just maybe, I had a crush on you when I was a teenager."

Obi-Wan let out a surprised chuckle. "Really?

"Yes... But it was a platonic crush. I never thought anything would actually happen."

You were both silent, just admiring each other for a few seconds. You had been through so much, but yout love only felt stronger.

"I miss you." Obi-Wan whispered, looking tenderly at you.

Your chest filled with warmth. You had been stressed all day and hadn't thought about how much you missed your dear. "I miss you too."

And it dawned on you, you could tell him. It was Obi-Wan after all. Maybe it wasn't the best news to deliver through a holocall, but you knew you could work it out together. You trusted him more than anything.

You were about to say something to him when voices came out of the hologram.

"Kark. It's Anakin." He whispered. "He's going to find me with the Force, I have to get out of here."

But before he hung up, he looked into your eyes again. "Rest, my love. I love you."

You smiled at him and replied, "I love you too," before the hologram disappeared.

The sun was just rising when you woke up. It was still early, so you took your time to shower, get ready, and even make a small breakfast before heading out.

The morning was quiet, some Jedi were walking around with their datapads, Padawans and Younglings were rushing to their first classes of the day. You considered going out into the courtyard to meditate, as it helped clear your mind.

What you enjoyed most about being in the temple was the peace. With every step you took, you felt a deep calm, something that was characteristic of the Order.

But as you walked, something changed. At first it was so slight that you hardly noticed it. You felt it in the Force, a slight pulse, a dark echo. It was cold, something that barely touched the edges of your mind, but there it was.

The further you went, the more the perfect silence was broken. The lights seemed to dim and there was something heavy in the atmosphere. You noticed that your footsteps slowed a little, and a tension began to form in the back of your mind. It was as if the air was charged with something you couldn't see, but was ready to burst forth.

And then you heard it. A buzzing sound that grew louder as the seconds passed. It became a thunderous and intense sound. You looked up at the sky, and your gaze was filled with horror as you discovered the source of the sound.

Ships. Dozens of ships invading the planet.

The temple was tense. Jedi and Padawans stopped and looked at each other, all as confused as you were.

The buzzing became a roar. More ships, closer and closer.

A tremor shook the ground as the first explosion was heard in the distance. In a second, screams broke the silence and sirens began to wail.

Without thinking, you began running toward the center of the temple. You had barely processed the chaos when you saw Mace Windu, walking steadily, his face really serious. More than it had been since you had known him.

"Master Windu." You approached. You had barely noticed that you were trembling. "What is going on?"

He looked at you, his dark eyes telling you the gravity of the situation. "Grievous is here." He announced. "Coruscant is under attack."

And in that moment, you knew everything would change.

next chapter 𖥔 ͙ࣳ ⸰ֺ⭑

© obiwansito, 2024. reposts, copies and translations are not allowed. my work cannot be used for training AI.

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-One: The Weight of Command

Chapter WC: 9,771

Chapter Tags/Warnings: it's a battle chapter what can i say

A/N: Welcome to part two! Much angst, fluff, smut and clone shenanigans ahead. Sadly no Rex in this part, but absence makes the heart grow fonder (and more desperate) and all that.

Mind the time skip from chapter 30, we're about 3? months in the future now.

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Nadiem, 20 BBY

No matter how many battlefields you walk away from, no matter how many lives you save, no matter how much glory you win for the Republic, the weight of your vision still rests heavy upon your shoulders.

No matter how much you try to silence the echo of Rex’s voice calling you back or the memory of his blaster pressed against your chest, it still lingers, like an unseen shadow at the edge of your sight. You had chosen to turn away from the darkness in that moment, a decision you've made time and time again, but it's a choice you've wondered if you would continue to have the strength to make again.

After all, every Jedi is tested at some point, and each must choose whether to give into their anger or their fear. Every Jedi must conquer the temptation to reach for the power that comes from the Dark Side in order to embrace the Light. Every Jedi struggles to understand the will of the Force and the part they are meant to play.

But not every Jedi has seen their own death.

You know what awaits you in the dark, and the temptation is always there, a constant nagging voice in the back of your mind, a whisper on the wind, a promise of power, of strength, of safety. You've learned to ignore it, but you can't ignore the burden of the knowledge, the weight of the responsibility. You can't ignore the certainty that, eventually, you will be faced with a choice, and that choice will define who you are, who you were always meant to be.

It's a terrible thing, knowing that you will never be able to save everyone. But you haven't stopped trying anyway.

In the months since you've left Coruscant and Rex behind, the 419th has been inundated with missions, battles, skirmishes. It seems as if there's always another fight waiting around the corner, and you have a sneaking suspicion that the Council is hoping to distract you, or perhaps even exhaust you. But there's no denying that the galaxy is changing, and the threat of the Separatists is ever present.

It's easy to lose track of time, the days and weeks blending together into a blur of movement, a cycle of action and reaction. It's easy to lose track of yourself. 

And through it all, you've been training your men. Teaching them.

You've drilled them relentlessly, not just in standard combat, but in one very specific skill. Nearly every morning begins with sparring exercises, teaching them how to counter a lightsaber, resist Force-assisted strikes, and fight without relying on the idea that a Jedi would always be their protector. After all, not all Jedi are as noble as Obi-Wan. Not all Jedi will be there to save them.

Some might even have their backs turned.

The irony isn't lost on you.

You've also spent much of your time on the field, honing their skills, encouraging their growth, and learning their strengths and weaknesses. You've seen their potential, and you've worked tirelessly to bring it out, to shape it, mold it. You've pushed them to their limit, and they've surpassed every expectation, refusing to fall. Refusing to give up. 

And most importantly, refusing to let you go.

They follow your lead, no matter where you go. No matter what you do. No matter what the mission is, no matter the risks, no matter the danger. They're always by your side, and they always have your back. And it helps. 

The more time you spend with Booker and the men, the more at ease you feel, the less afraid, the less lonely. They've become your family, and their support is invaluable. 

Without them, you know you wouldn't have been able to make it this far. Without them, you'd be lost.

It's the only reason why you're here now.

The view from your perch on the lone tree among miles of open fields is beautiful, the rolling hills and valleys stretching out before you. The sky is a vibrant mix of blue and pink, the sun just beginning to rise. In the distance, you can see the outlines of a nearby town, sunlight warming the small hovels and cobblestone streets.

The wind is blowing softly, rustling the leaves above, and the smell of fresh rain hangs in the air, filling your lungs. It's peaceful, quiet, and you can't help but appreciate the calm. But you know better than most that the peace never lasts. It's a fleeting thing, a fragile illusion, and the war will soon find its way here. It always does.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" you murmur, not turning your gaze from the landscape. "I could sit here all day."

Snap lowers his binocs from his visor and looks down at you. He sways dangerously on the branch above as he shifts his weight before his hand comes down to steady himself. The kama attached to his belt, covered in gold swirls and lines that remind you of a sun's rays, flaps in the breeze. 

"Not the best spot for a nap, if I'm being honest," he quips, adjusting his position, the branch creaking ominously beneath him. A bird takes flight in alarm, and he sighs. "And if you ask me, the sun's a little too bright. Hard to get a good look at things."

"Careful, Snap. Sounds like Wise is rubbing off on you," you retort, shooting him a smirk. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were becoming a bit of a grouch."

"If that isn't the quacta calling the stifling slimy," he mutters, and the branch creaks again.

You snort and shake your head, shifting your attention to the horizon. The smoke is beginning to dissipate, and the first rays of sunlight are peeking over the trees.

"I happen to like the sunlight. It's...refreshing."

"You're only saying that because you didn't have to run drills for two hours this morning," he mutters. He sighs and reaches for the binocs, bringing them back up to his visor. "So what's the plan? Do we wait here until the droids show up or what?"

"Patience, Captain. Patience," you reply. He gives you a look that translates through the helmet, and you laugh again, raising a hand in surrender. "I'm kidding. Mostly."

He lets out a huff and returns his attention to the binocs, scanning the area. You've been camped out on this ridge for hours, waiting for the Separatists to arrive. The village has already been cleared out, and the town hall is wired with explosives. All that's left is for the droids to show up. Then, it's game time.

"We'll give them an hour," you say, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. The scent of grass and flowers fills your nose, and you exhale slowly, allowing the Force to flow through you, reaching out and stretching. You can feel the faintest whispers of the enemy, the echoes of their approach. "Then we'll make our move."

Snap grunts, and the branches above rustle as he adjusts his position. He's impatient, and you can't blame him. The wait is maddening, but you can't afford to jump the gun again.

The last time you rushed the Separatists, things didn't end well. There were heavy casualties, and the 419th lost a lot of men. It was a hard lesson, but it was an important lesson, and you've taken it to heart.

You will be patient. You will be smart. And most importantly, you will protect your men.

"Hey, General," Snap finally says, his voice low. "Can I ask you something?"

"Always," you reply, your eyes still closed, the Force guiding your senses. 

You can feel the presence of the 419th tucked in the rolling hills behind you, the soldiers spread out along the perimeter, watching, waiting. Elsewhere on the planet, Master Luminara and her Padawan are preparing their own forces for an attack. If all goes according to plan, the droid army will be trapped between the two forces, unable to retreat or escape.

"It's about the training."

Your mouth twists. You've been expecting this conversation for a while now, and you're almost impressed that he managed to hold out this long. You're certain that the others have been whispering amongst themselves, wondering if they should bring it up. But Snap has always been the brave sort, and it seems that bravery extends to speaking his mind.

"I'm surprised it took you so long," you quip, and his breath catches, the branch creaking again.

"I..." he trails off, and the hesitation is thick, almost tangible. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath. "The men are...we're worried. About you."

Your connection to the Force snaps shut, and you open your eyes, the image of the landscape blurring before settling. You take a moment to gather yourself, the familiar pang of guilt tugging at your heart.

"Is that so?" you reply, forcing the emotion from your voice.

"Well, yeah. Of course we are," he continues. He lowers the binocs and looks down at you. "Look, I'm not trying to question your methods or anything. And I'm sure the Council has a good reason for doing whatever they're doing, but...we just don't understand why. We're fighting droids. Blasters will do the job just fine."

You let out a heavy sigh and shake your head, leaning forward and resting your forearms on your knees.

"Because the battle doesn't end the moment the droids drop," you reply, keeping your voice low. The wind is still blowing, and the last thing you need is for your words to carry back down to the camp. "The war is just beginning, and we can't afford to take any chances."

"With all due respect, General, that doesn't answer the question," he replies, his tone firm. "I don't know what kind of enemies we're facing, but I know how to fight, and I know how to win. And the men are capable of handling whatever comes at us."

"I'm not disputing that," you assure him. You keep your gaze fixed on the horizon, and you can't help but think of Rex. He would like it here. And he would be just as eager to charge into battle as the rest of them. "But this isn't about winning or losing. It's about surviving."

Snap falls silent, and the breeze picks up, ruffling your robes and tossing your hair. You close your eyes, reaching out once more, and the faint presence of the Separatist forces grows stronger, a steady trickle of droids flowing toward the village.

"I care about all of you," you continue, your voice strained. "And if the enemy ever wields the Force against you, I want you to have a chance to survive. To have a chance to fight back. I want you to have the tools to protect yourselves."

You open your eyes and look up at him, his expression hidden behind the visor. His shoulders are tense, his body stiff, and his hands clench and unclench at his sides. You can feel the emotions roiling beneath the surface, a storm of confusion and frustration.

You know it's selfish. You know it's foolish. But you can't help it. The idea of losing any of the men is unbearable, and the thought of losing Rex, the idea of him being forced to face the darkness within you, the idea of him having to kill you...it's a pain you can't even begin to comprehend.

You've already lost so much, and the future is a constant, looming threat, a shadow in the dark, a whisper on the wind. It's a burden that's always there, always lurking, and you can't shake the feeling that the worst is yet to come.

You will do everything in your power to prevent the future you've seen from coming to pass. You will not allow yourself to fall. You will not allow yourself to hurt him. Not again.

"General," Snap says, his voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to worry about that."

You can't help but huff a laugh, and you shake your head, your eyes stinging.

"But I do," you reply. You look away, unable to meet his gaze, and your fingers brush against the hilt of your lightsaber. "More than anything, I worry about that."

"General..."

Your comm beeps, and you raise a hand, cutting him off.

"We'll talk later," you promise. "For now, focus on the mission. Stay safe, and remember your orders. I want no heroics."

Snap hesitates for a moment, his hands flexing, and he sighs.

"Yes, sir."

You lift your vambrace up, and the holoimage of Master Luminara flickers to life. Her hands are clasped behind her back, her head tilted down, and her lips are pressed into a thin line. You immediately feel a sinking sensation in your gut.

"Master Luminara, I'm afraid you're a little early," you quip, trying to keep the anxiety from your voice. She doesn't respond, her expression unchanging, and you take a deep breath. "Okay, clearly, something's wrong. What is it?"

"We have a situation," she replies, her tone grim. She glances over her shoulder and turns back, a slight crease forming between her brows. "My scouts have reported movement to the north. A large group, and they appear to be heading in your direction."

You swallow and look up at Snap, who gives a nod. He's already moving, sliding from his perch and landing on the ground below. You watch as he hurries down the hill and back toward camp.

"How long until they arrive?" you ask.

"An hour, perhaps less," Luminara replies. Her frown deepens, and her hands clasp tighter. "But what troubles me is the makeup of their forces. They appear to be commando droids wielding blades. Cortosis blades."

"Fuck," you mutter, and her brow rises at the profanity. You sigh and shake your head. "Sorry, Master. It's just...I had a bad feeling about this."

Luminara lets out a small sigh and nods, the lines around her eyes softening.

"As did I," she murmurs, and she looks over her shoulder again before returning her attention to you. "The question is, what do we do now?"

You glance up at the sky, the first rays of sunlight piercing through the clouds.

"I'll take care of it," you say, looking back at her. Her expression shifts, concern etched on her face, and you raise a hand. "It's alright, Master. I have a plan."

"I do not doubt your capabilities," she replies, and the corners of her mouth curl upward. "However, I cannot help but notice that you tend to attract trouble."

"All the better for me to handle it," you say, smiling wryly. You're already moving, sliding down the hillside. "Don't wait for me. Attack on schedule."

"Very well," she says, and she reaches out, cutting the connection.

You pick up the pace, sprinting across the field, your boots kicking up the grass. The wind whips at your robes and sends your cloak billowing behind you. Your men are already moving, packing up the camp and waking the AT-TEs. Booker is barking orders, and the soldiers are falling into formation, their blasters at the ready.

"Booker!" you shout, and his helmet snaps up, his body tensing. He rushes over to meet you, his rifle in his hands, and the rest of the 419th follow suit. "I need a squad, and I need them now."

"What's going on?" he asks. He motions to the soldiers closest to him, and they break ranks, forming a loose semi-circle around the two of you. "Who am I shooting?"

"Cortosis blades," you reply. The color drains from his face, and he stiffens, his mouth falling open. "There's a detachment of commandos heading this way, and they're packing. Luminara’s scouts spotted them. We have less than an hour."

A ripple of tension passes through the men, a shift in stance, an adjustment of grips on rifles. No one speaks, but you don’t need the Force to feel their unease. Cortosis is rare, and the material is difficult to work with, fragile against most armor. But it can block a lightsaber, and it can kill a Jedi. It is, in effect, the greatest weapon a droid could wield against a Force-user.

Booker curses under his breath. "Great. That’s just great. So, what’s the play, General?"

You scan the gathered soldiers, your mind already calculating the odds, the risks, the potential. You could wait for the 419th. The droids won't arrive for at least an hour, and Luminara will likely send her own troops to assist, but it's not worth the risk. If the enemy is armed with cortosis, it means they're coming for you. And that puts everyone else in danger.

"I'm going ahead," you finally say, and Booker goes rigid. "You have your orders, and I trust you to carry them out."

"That's not gonna happen," he counters, and his grip on the rifle tightens, his jaw clenched. "You're not going out there alone. If the droids are really packing, you're gonna need backup."

Snap pushes his way through the group and steps forward, his shoulders squared.

"I'm coming with you," he declares. His voice is firm, resolute, and he lifts his chin. "And so are they."

He gestures to the rest of Maelstrom Company, and a chorus of agreements rings out, a show of support. Dash and Screwball take their place beside Snap, and the others follow, standing at attention.

"It's too dangerous," you argue, and Booker rolls his eyes, stepping closer.

"No, what's dangerous is sending a lone Jedi into battle against a group of commando droids wielding a rare metal known for cutting through Force shields and blocking lightsabers," he says, and his voice is quiet, his gaze hard. "So unless you're planning on telling me that all this training has been a waste of time, I suggest you let them help."

You look up at the soldiers, each wearing a fierce expression, a set jaw, a raised chin. They're not backing down, and neither is Booker. And the sight warms your heart as much as it fills you with dread.

"Well, I can't exactly argue with the entire company," you reply, and Snap lets out a snort. You shake your head and take a deep breath. "Fine. Snap, you’re with me. I need a fast, mobile team—no more than ten. We intercept before they reach the village. Cut them off in the ravine."

"Ravine’s tight quarters," Booker points out. "Could work in our favor… or trap you with them."

"I’m counting on the terrain to funnel them, limit their mobility. If they can’t swarm, we can pick them off in controlled strikes." You glance at your men, weighing each of them. "We’ll need explosives to destabilize the cliffs. Set the charges right, we could bring half of them down before they get close."

"Risky," Snap says with a low whistle.

"Only if we hesitate." You meet his gaze. "Do you trust me?"

He doesn’t waver, not for a second. "Always, sir."

That should reassure you. It should fill you with confidence. But it only serves to twist the knot in your stomach tighter. You nod anyway. "Then gear up. We move in five."

As the squad disperses to prepare, Booker lingers, his fingers tapping against his rifle. He doesn’t speak, his silence more meaningful than anything he could say. You can feel the concern radiating from him, the uncertainty, the worry.

"I know what you're thinking," you say, your voice low. His brow furrows, and his gaze shifts toward the men, watching as they grab their equipment. "But they have a choice. And I trust them."

"I'm not worried about the men, I'm worried about you," he replies, and he looks back at you, the lines around his eyes deepening. "You're taking a lot of chances lately. Don't think I haven't noticed."

"It's the only way we win," you retort. Your voice is harsh, your words more biting than you intend, and he flinches, his shoulders slumping. You let out a heavy sigh and place a hand on his arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

"You better," he mutters, his hand coming up to cover yours. "If you get yourself killed, I'm gonna be really pissed. And don't think Rex won't be, either."

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of his name, and you pull your hand away, clearing your throat.

"You worry too much," you say, offering him a weak smile. "I'll be fine."

"Right," he replies. His expression softens, and his hand falls to his side. "Just...come back. All of you. Okay?"

"We will," you assure him. You turn and gesture for Snap to join you. "Come on, we're burning daylight."

The ravine is a jagged scar in the land, cutting deep through the valley, its steep cliffs lined with loose rock and vegetation. It's narrow, just wide enough for three men to traverse shoulder to shoulder, and the perfect place to bottleneck an enemy.

The plan is simple: let the droids enter, detonate the charges, and force the survivors into a close-quarters engagement. One they won’t walk away from.

You crouch behind a boulder at the ridge’s edge, peering down into the path below. The morning sun casts long shadows across the jagged rock walls, but it does little to ease the weight settling in your chest. You stretch your senses outward, brushing against the cold, mechanical signatures approaching from the north.

The droids are close.

Snap shifts beside you, his rifle braced against his shoulder. He's watching the ravine below, scanning the terrain, searching for any signs of movement. The others are waiting elsewhere out of sight, hidden in the shadows, ready to strike.

"I've got eyes on 'em," Snap murmurs. "Looks like... a full squad of commandos, maybe two. Moving in formation."

You exhale slowly, fingers curling around the hilts of your lightsabers. "Then we stick to the plan."

Screwball, perched on a ledge above, snorts.

"You say that like plans don’t go to hell the second we start shooting," he says, his voice barely audible through the comm. "We ready to light this thing up, or what?"

"Just hold your position," you reply. "Wait for my signal."

"Whatever you say, sir."

You glance back at him to see his posture is relaxed, his arms draped over his knees. The detonator is clutched loosely in his right hand, his thumb resting on the trigger. He seems calm, almost bored, and you can't help but envy his composure.

"Stay focused," you remind him, and he chuckles.

"Don't worry, General. I know how to handle myself."

You roll your eyes and turn back to the ravine. The droids march into view, moving with an unsettling precision. Unlike the standard B1s or even B2s, these commandos are sleek, built for agility. Their movements are eerily smooth, nearly silent, and in their hands are dual-bladed staffs made of a strange, dark metal.

Your pulse steadies. You can feel the moment hovering on the edge of action, that perfect, weightless second before a fight begins. The anticipation is always the worst, and the adrenaline is coursing through your veins, heightening your senses, sharpening your focus. Your heart is beating slow, your muscles coiled, ready to strike.

Then, with a wave of your hand, you give the signal.

The first blast rings out, echoing off the rock walls. It's followed by a second, a third, a fourth, the explosions rippling along the canyon walls in a cascade of rock and dust. The blast takes out the lead droids instantly, their metal forms crushed beneath tons of debris. The rest reel back, momentarily thrown into disarray.

"Go!"

Snap and the others move as one, blasters lighting up the smoke-filled canyon. You take a deep breath and ignite your blades, launching yourself over the ledge. You hit the ground hard, landing in the fray with a controlled burst of the Force, sending the nearest commando droid skidding backward.

Your lightsaber arcs through the air, slicing through the first droid, its body falling in two pieces. The second is already moving, its staff swinging down, and you move to block with your blade before remembering at the last moment that the cortosis will resist the plasma. You pivot, narrowly dodging the attack, and swing again, this time severing the droid's arm at the shoulder.

A bolt sizzles past you, slamming into the droid's chest, and it falls backward, collapsing to the ground. Another shot rings out, and the droid's head explodes, sending shrapnel flying. You duck, barely avoiding a piece of metal as it whizzes by.

Dash and Snap are beside you, their blasters trained on the remaining droids, their shots finding their targets with deadly accuracy. You spin, deflecting another bolt and bringing your blades down, carving a deep gash in the chest of a nearby droid. The commando falls back, its movements sluggish, and a second bolt pierces its head, causing it to fall limp.

A third and fourth droid approach, their blades swinging, and you deflect their attacks, pushing back against their onslaught. You're holding your own, but the enemy isn't faltering. The commandos regroup, adjusting, adapting. One of them moves with eerie precision, its blade slicing dangerously close to your ribs. You're forced to sidestep, throwing up a shield to block a second attack.

A warning flares in the Force.

You spin, deflecting a blaster bolt aimed at your head, and the commando is upon you, its blade sailing toward your left arm. The blade of Yaddle's lightsaber fizzles and dies as it connects with the metal, the shock nearly ripping the hilt from your hand. Your other lightsaber snaps up, cutting through the commando's arm, and the staff falls uselessly to the ground.

Your vision tunnels, your focus shifting, and the world slows to a standstill along with your heartbeat. You can hear the hum of your blade, the rasp of metal, the snap-hiss of Dash's blaster. The droids are closing in, and you're surrounded. A bolt grazes your thigh, and another glances off your shoulder. You're moving too slowly, and you can't block them all. You won't be able to keep up.

You can feel the stirrings of something whispering, calling out to you. It's there, just beyond the edge of your mind, a familiar, seductive power. You reach out, and it answers, filling you with a sense of strength, a sense of certainty. A sense of control.

It would be so easy.

So very, very easy.

You could crush the droids without a thought. You know you could. The Force is already singing, urging you forward, beckoning you, begging for release. Just a taste. Just a moment. That's all it would take. A snap of your fingers, a whisper on the wind, and the battle would be won. You could save the men, and no harm would come to them. Not if you did this. Not if you took matters into your own hands.

"General, look out!"

Snap pushes you out of the way, the butt of his rifle connecting with the side of a commando's head, sending it reeling. He ducks under the blade as you've seen him do a hundred times during training, bringing his rifle up and firing a single shot directly underneath the droid's chin. The commando goes still, its head jerking backwards before its body falls lifelessly to the ground.

He's panting, his helmet tilted, and his visor is locked onto you, his shoulders tense.

"You okay?" Snap asks, his voice tight, and you nod and swallow hard.

"Thanks."

"What the hell was that, sir? You stopped moving."

You shake your head and straighten, gripping your lightsabers tightly. Yaddle's blade hums to life again, and the hilt feels strangely cold, a chill creeping up your arm.

"Nothing," you reply. "Don't worry about it. Let's finish this."

"Copy that," he mutters. He lifts his blaster and fires, taking down a nearby commando, its head exploding in a shower of sparks. "Watch your six."

You glance to the side just in time to see a droid rushing toward you, its blade raised. You dodge, sidestepping and swinging your own blade, catching the staff as it sails past. The staff breaks in two, and both halves swipe toward you, striking your shoulder and knocking you back. The impact sends you staggering, your boots sliding on the loose dirt, and your feet slip from underneath you.

Dash is there before you can right yourself, stepping in front of you and ducking under the droid’s staff, his own vibroblade flashing in the sun. He slashes upward, severing the its arm at the elbow, and spins, his leg snapping out and catching the droid in the chest. It flies backward, crashing into the rock wall. Its body is mangled, the metal twisted and bent, and it crumples to the ground, unmoving.

Dash turns, his hand outstretched, and you can't help but smile.

“You’re still leaving your left side open,” you tease. You clasp his hand, and he pulls you to your feet, his helmet tilting to the side.

"What, that wasn't good?"

You can’t help but laugh before you wince, grabbing your injured shoulder. The blade failed to cut through your armor, but you can feel the bruise forming already.

"It was better," you concede.

Screwball lands on the ground behind you with a thud, his boots kicking up a cloud of dust. He raises his blaster, firing a series of shots, and a trio of droids collapse. They fall into a heap, and he lets out a whoop, spinning around and shooting another commando as it charges him.

"That's the last of 'em," he declares. He slings his rifle over his shoulder and gestures to the wreckage, a cocky tilt to his stance. "You should put me in charge of your training sessions, General. I could teach the men a thing or two."

You shake your head, still clutching your shoulder. "I'll consider it."

He lets out a bark of laughter and turns, surveying the destruction. You take a moment to catch your breath, the adrenaline starting to wear off, and your legs are shaking. You can feel the exhaustion settling in, the familiar ache spreading through your limbs, and the pain in your shoulder is worsening.

"That was easier than I expected," Screwball says. He nudges a nearby droid with his foot, his helmet tilting to the side. "Almost disappointingly easy."

Snap lets out a sigh. “Don’t jinx it, vod. We're not done yet."

The comm crackles, and a voice comes through, faint but distinct.

"Sir, this is Booker. We have a situation."

You and Snap share a look. Screwball snorts, and the captain shakes his head at him, pointing an accusatory finger. "Told you."

"Report," you say, tapping the commlink in your wrist gauntlet. "What's going on?"

“Our party guests never showed,” Booker answers grimly. "Looks like we got played."

"Shit," you breathe, and your gaze snaps up, scanning the area. The ravine is still, the morning sun casting long shadows across the rocky ground. Nothing stirs, and the only noise is the wind whistling through the narrow gap. But there's a heaviness in the air, an invisible presence, a cold sensation pressing down on your senses. “They could still be coming."

"I don't think so," Snap replies. His helmet tilts up, and he points to the sky, where a cloud of smoke is rising in the distance. "That's not a good sign."

The comm crackles, and a voice comes through. It's strained, distorted, and filled with static.

"—epeat, we—eing atta—"

"Luminara?" you ask, tapping the commlink. "Do you copy?"

"—eady?—an't—"

"Master, can you hear me?"

There's nothing but static, and you curse, tapping the link again. It's no use. The transmission has been cut off, and the heavy feeling in the air has only gotten worse. Your gaze shifts back to the sky, where the column of smoke is darkening, a thick cloud rising over the valley.

“Find a droid with its memory core intact,” you order, and the men scramble, searching the wreckage. "We need to know what we're up against."

You take a step forward, your gaze fixed on the smoke. The weight is almost unbearable, a pressure on your mind, an invisible fist squeezing. You can feel it trying to force you down, trying to make you bend. And it's only getting stronger.

“Booker," you murmur, your voice tight, and you can hear the unease in his response. "Tell me you're seeing this."

"I see it, General,” he answers. “Looks like it’s coming from the capitol. Whatever the hell this is, it's bad."

"Yeah, I got that," you reply, and the smoke continues to billow, a black plume against the blue sky. 

Your pulse is pounding, a lump in your throat. It's just like the visions. The smoke. The screaming. The bodies. It's all there. And it's happening right now.

"We need to get moving," you say. You turn and start walking, the men falling in behind you. Screwball props his foot on the chest of the droid he’s looming over and wrenches its head off, tossing it to Dash. "Now. Work fast. We need that data."

Snap catches up to you, his footsteps quick.

"Is everything okay, General?" he asks. He lowers his voice, glancing over his shoulder at the others. "You're not looking so hot."

"I'm fine," you snap, and he stiffens, his pace slowing. "Sorry. It's just...it's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," you reply. "I'm not hurt."

"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it," he counters. His voice is gentle, his tone cautious, and he matches your pace, his posture stiff. "You froze up out there. The last time I saw you like that, you…”

You turn away, avoiding his gaze. Snap is the only person who’s ever seen the extent of the ability you keep locked away, the only one to bear witness to the amount of destruction the blast of energy could cause. It was a mistake, a loss of control. He was the first person to see the true depth of the darkness in your heart. And you know he hasn’t forgotten.

"Don't worry," you mutter. You can feel the anger simmering in your chest, the frustration. "I have no intention of repeating that mistake."

He sighs. "It's not a mistake, it's just—"

"It is," you insist, turning back. Your eyes are stinging, and your hand curls into a fist, nails biting into the flesh of your palm. "It's not who I am. And it's not who I want to be."

He pauses, his shoulders slumping, and the silence between you is heavy. The wind blows, scattering the dust at your feet, and the smell of smoke fills your nose, the air thick with the scent of ash and burnt metal. You can't help but shudder, and you know Snap notices.

"It's just..." he says, and the words catch, his voice rough. "I've seen what that power can do. I've seen what you're capable of." He glances over his shoulder and looks back at you, his head tilted down, his voice dropping. "And if you're gonna go head-to-head with that thing, I want to make sure you're doing it on purpose."

"It's under control," you repeat. You take a deep breath, forcing your voice to remain even, your gaze focused. "I won't let it get the better of me."

"I trust you," he murmurs. He places a hand on your arm, his grip gentle, his fingers squeezing. "I trust you, but I also care about you, and I know how much you hate yourself for using that ability."

"Snap," you whisper, your heart aching. You don't deserve his concern. You don't deserve his kindness. But he gives it freely, and it only adds to the guilt twisting in your gut. "Please. I can't talk about this right now. We have a mission."

"Right," he agrees. He nods, his helmet bobbing, and his hand falls to his side. "Right. Sorry."

You give him a weak smile. "It's okay. We'll talk about it later."

"You always say that."

"Because we will," you assure him. "I promise."

The comm crackles, and Booker's voice rings out, cutting through the silence.

“General, just got word from Gree,” he says, and the knot in your stomach tightens. "They’re under heavy fire in the capitol."

You lift up your commlink, and the holoprojection of Booker flickers to life. He's pacing, his helmet tucked under his arm, and his expression is drawn, his jaw set.

"How heavy?"

"A full-on siege," he replies, stopping to turn toward you. He shakes his head, and the image stutters. "They've barricaded themselves in the central square. If we don't hurry, they won't last long."

You exhale slowly, steeling yourself. 

“Don't wait for us," you order. “Take the transports and get to the city now. Reinforce General Unduli and hold the line until we get there.”

Booker hesitates, his eyes searching yours. Then, with a nod, he replies, "Copy that, sir. See you soon."

The image flickers out, and you lower your arm, taking a deep breath. You stop walking and look over at the squad, where Screwball is holding the droid’s head out for Dash. The young trooper has jacked into the port on the back of its head, the other end tethered to his datapad. You can see the information scrolling across the screen, and you gesture for him to join you.

"Got something," he calls, and he jogs over, holding up the device. The data is streaming across the screen, and the map is flashing. You can see the layout of the town and the location of the main square. "Looks like they're moving on the capitol. They rerouted all of their forces."

"They knew we were waiting for them in the village," Snap mutters. He steps beside you, his helmet tilted. "But why still send a commando unit out here instead of using them for the siege?"

"That's a damn good question," Screwball agrees. "Maybe they figured the droids could handle us?"

"Unlikely," you reply, and the map is flashing again. It zooms in, revealing the path the droids took, a route directly toward the capitol. "They were leading us away from the main battle. Leading me away."

"Leading you away?" Dash asks. "Why would they want to do that? Seems like a waste of resources."

“Dooku had a shiny new toy he wanted to show off," Screwball suggests. He grins, his visor glinting. "Maybe he wants to play with our Jedi."

"He's playing with fire," you mutter. Your gaze shifts to the sky, where the smoke is rising, the plume dark and ominous. "We're going to have to move on foot. Send everything you have to Booker and Gree. Tell them what we're facing."

Dash nods, tapping the console before he looks up at the sky.

"You think Master Unduli and the 41st are gonna be okay?" he asks, his voice quiet, and his helmet turns, his visor gleaming in the light. "I mean, they're gonna have their hands full without us, right?"

You let out a slow breath and try to calm your mind. It's harder than usual. These past few months of constant battles have worn down your shields. You're struggling to find the stillness within, and your many attempts to draw the darkness into the light and transform it have been futile. Yaddle's teachings feel more and more like a memory of a bygone era, a dream half-remembered, a shadow of what could have been. A shadow of who you could have been.

You know that Luminara will succeed. She has a lifetime of training and discipline behind her, a lifetime of experience and wisdom. She's a beacon of light in the Force, a pillar of strength. She's everything you're not, and she's everything you should have been. And she has an entire legion of men to help her.

So, yes. You know she will succeed.

The question is at what cost.

"They’ll be fine," you say, the lie burning on your tongue. Dash relaxes slightly, and his helmet tilts back toward the sky, the clouds drifting lazily overhead. "Let's get moving. We've got a job to do."

By the time you reach the capitol, the city is already burning. Flames are consuming buildings, smoke billowing from shattered windows and crumbling walls. The defensive wall has been breached, and droid tanks are rolling through the streets, their guns firing incessantly into buildings with seemingly no pattern.

It's chaos.

You've fought for the Republic long and hard. You've bled for the Republic. And you've lost men. Too many.

But this...this is unlike anything you've seen.

Screwball's hand finds the back of your head, pushing you down behind the cover of the rubble as a squadron of vulture droids pass overhead, the whine of their engines echoing off the broken buildings. Two Republic fighters painted with the green of the 41st are in pursuit, but the droids are too fast, and they evade the blasts easily. They soar over the rooftops, and the fighters are forced to break off, looping around to regroup.

You take a deep breath and lean back against the broken concrete, the rough texture digging into your spine. The smell of ash is in the air, burning stone, metal, and something worse. Something organic.

“General Unduli’s position is—” Static erupts from your comm, and all ten of the troopers turn their heads toward you. “—east sector—cut off—heavy casualties—”

A sudden explosion racks the building beside you, and you throw up a shield to deflect the debris. Shards of rock and chunks of metal rain down around you, and a nearby AT-TE topples, its treads snapping as it crashes into the street.

You grit your teeth and close your eyes, reaching out through the Force, trying to locate Luminara and Barriss. You can sense them, but the connection is faint. Their signatures are distant, their presence shrouded by the fog of the battle.

"We need to get to the main square," you tell the men. "We're getting cut off. Luminara and Barriss are in danger."

"That's great and all, but how the hell are we gonna do that?" Screwball asks, his tone clipped. He glances over his shoulder and ducks down as another explosion rocks the city, sending a shower of dust and ash falling from the sky. "If those things spot us, we're toast."

He's right. The entire avenue leading toward General Unduli’s last known position is blocked by swaths of droids. Separatist reinforcements are pouring in faster than Republic forces can push them back. You can hear the clones fighting street by street, alley by alley, but the tide is shifting, and the droids are advancing.

You take a deep breath and center yourself, focusing on the task athand. It's not just about getting to Luminara and Barriss. There are civilians trapped in the crossfire. Families. Children. Innocents. You have a duty to protect them. And that means you need to find a way through.

Dash moves closer, crouching beside you. "I have an idea."

"Let's hear it."

"Well," he says, his voice low, and his visor gleams. "It's probably a really stupid idea, but I think it could work."

"Oh, boy," Screwball mutters.

"What's your plan?"

He points toward a series of cables dangling from the side of a nearby building, and your eyes narrow. "You're not serious."

He huffs. "Got a better idea?"

You glance at the cables again and shake your head. "Fine. But we need to make this quick."

"Then follow my lead."

Before you can argue, Dash launches himself out of cover and begins sprinting toward the opposite side of the street. You curse and follow after him, the rest of the squad close behind. The droids are still occupied with the AT-TEs, their backs turned, and the distraction buys you a precious moment of time.

Scaling the side of the building is a challenge, but you're able to use the Force to pull yourself up. You reach the roof just as the droids notice your squad, their heads swiveling toward the men. The first bolt is already flying, and it narrowly misses Dash's helmet, slamming into the building behind him.

You and the squad race across the roof, dodging shots and leaping across the gaps between the buildings. Below, the droids are scrambling, their cannons swiveling up toward you, and the sky is filled with a hail of fire. Blasts streak past you, and you're forced to throw up a shield, deflecting the incoming projectiles. One bolt skims past your arm, slicing through the cloth between your shoulder plate and rerebrace. You bite back a yelp and push forward, urging the men onward.

The gap ahead is wider than the others, the distance too great to jump. Instead, you leap onto the edge and push off, using the Force to propel yourself across.

"Two at a time, I'll catch you!" you shout.

"Copy that," Dash calls. He slows and turns to the nearest clone, shoving him forward. "You're up, Screwball."

"Why do I have to go first?" Screwball grumbles. He glances over the edge of the building, his shoulders sagging. "Shit."

"Because you're the slowest," Dash replies, his tone matter-of-fact. "And I want to make sure we get there in time."

Screwball mutters something under his breath, and he braces himself, preparing for the jump. Another trooper, Fuse, nudges him as he lines up his jump, and the two of them leap across the gap. You catch them with a wave of the Force, carrying them safely to the other side.

The rest of the squad follows, leaping across in pairs. Each time, you catch them and lower them gently to the ground. 

It's exhausting work, and you're beginning to feel the strain of the battle. The constant fighting, the constant running, the constant use of the Force has left you drained. Your limbs are heavy, your lungs aching, and your injuries are only getting worse. You can barely lift the arm that was wounded by the cortosis blade, and your shoulder is throbbing, the pain pulsing in time with your heartbeat. You're running on pure adrenaline and willpower. It's the only thing keeping you going.

Your arm wavers as Snap and another trooper make the leap, and you let out a gasp as they drop. They fall halfway across, their bodies crashing into the side of the building. You reach out, catching them and pulling them up, but the effort leaves you breathless. The men scramble over the edge and roll onto the roof, their armor scratched and dented.

"That was a hell of a catch, sir," Snap wheezes. He pushes himself to his feet and gives the other man a hand up. "Thanks."

"Anytime," you mutter. You stand, taking a moment to steady yourself, and the world tilts. You lean heavily against Fuse, his arm steadying you. "I think we're almost there."

"You're wounded, sir," he says. His fingers brush the raw burn bisecting your arm, and you wince, hissing between your teeth. "I've got bacta gel, let me patch it up."

"It can wait," you insist, shaking your head. You straighten and take a deep breath, willing yourself to stay upright. "We're close. We can't afford to stop."

He grumbles, but you don't give him a chance to argue, and you lead the squad toward the edge of the building. The main square is in view, the plaza choked with smoke, the buildings surrounding it ablaze. The battle has spilled into the streets, a sea of white and green and gold fighting against an army of metal. It's chaos.

"We're nearly there," you call, and the men pick up the pace.

"General, I'm detecting movement," Snap calls. "Incoming!"

A Republic fighter streaks overhead, and the droids shift their attention, their guns tracking the ship. A blast connects, and the fighter spins out of control, the engines sputtering. The ship crashes into the rooftop on the opposite side of the square, sending debris and shrapnel raining down into the fray.

“We drop in hard and fast. Shock and break their ranks before they realize what’s happening," you command. You pause, taking a moment to steel yourself, and your fingers curl around the hilt of Yaddle's lightsaber. The hilt is warm beneath your touch, a comfort. "Be careful. There are civilians in the area."

"Yes, sir," the men chorus.

"Good. Move out!"

With that, the squad launches themselves off the building, their armored bodies plummeting toward the ground. The troopers land hard, their boots pounding against the ground, and they move quickly, falling into formation. They spread out, weapons raised, and begin firing on the droids.

You land a moment later, and you're moving before the shock wears off. Your lightsabers swing wide, cutting through a pair of droids, and the troopers press forward, their guns blazing. They fight like a well-oiled machine, each man knowing exactly where the other is, where he needs to be. They work in perfect synchronization, and the droids are overwhelmed, their ranks crumbling.

But the fighting isn't easy. The droids are relentless, and the clones are outnumbered. Fuse takes a hit to the chest and goes down, a scorch mark seared across his breastplate. Screwball dives, grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the line of fire, and a pair of troopers flank him, their blasters lighting up the air.

"Push through!" you order. You deflect a bolt aimed at a clone's head, your lightsaber flashing, and the droid explodes. "We need to reach General Unduli!"

Snap falls into step beside you, his rifle pressed against his shoulder. He fires a series of shots, taking down three droids in quick succession.

"She's holed up in the capitol building," he says. He points to a tower looming over the square, its walls crumbling, its windows shattered. A few troopers peek out of the upper windows every few seconds to fire on the droids before retreating, only to reappear a moment later. "That's where they're holding out."

You can sense Luminara's presence now. Her signature is unmistakable, her power rippling through the Force. She's still standing, but you can sense the pain radiating from her. It's like a physical weight pressing down on you, and it only adds to your exhaustion.

"We need to hurry," you say.

A pair of vulture droids scream overhead, their wings folding back as they dive toward the ground. A clone on a nearby rooftop fires a rocket, and the projectile connects, sending the fighter spiraling out of control.

You watch in horror as it spirals toward where Dash and several other troopers are engaged with a group of droids. The fighter crashes into the ground, and a wall of smoke and flame erupts, sending men and droids alike flying.

"Dash!" you shout. "Snap, find him! Go!"

"Yes, sir!"

Snap launches himself toward the crash site, his blaster held high. He ducks and rolls, firing a shot that blows apart a droid's chest, and he's up again, sprinting into the smoke. The rest of the men follow, and you force yourself to turn away toward the capitol building, where a line of droids has formed, blocking the entrance.

The battle rages around you, a blur of noise and fire and smoke. You can't tell the droids apart from the clones anymore. You just keep pushing, tears stinging your eyes as you slash and cut and slice. The droids fall around you, and you don't stop. You're not sure you even breath until you're inside the capitol building, the doors slamming shut behind you.

"Master," a voice says, and you turn to see Barriss, her expression drawn. Her robes are stained with blood, her head covering torn. "Thank the Force."

"Are you alright?" you ask, and she nods, her lips pressing together. "Where's Luminara?"

"She's resting," Barriss replies. She gestures for you to follow, and she leads you deeper into the building. "We were forced to retreat after our forces were pushed back. There's only a handful of our squad left."

You follow her up the stairs and into the main chamber. It's a functional room, plain and unadorned, a testament to Nadiem’s agricultural roots. Two troopers are positioned at the entrance, and a third is tending to a wounded comrade, wrapping bandages around his arm. Luminara is leaning on a pillar, her hand clutching her side and watching the scene. She straightens as you enter, her expression softening.

"You took your time," she teases, her smile faint. She looks weary, her eyes heavy, and there's a bruise blooming along her jaw. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten about us."

"Ah, well. You know me, always fashionably late," you reply. You return her smile and move toward her, your gaze shifting to her side. "How badly are you hurt?"

"Just a scratch," she says. She moves her hand, and you can see a deep gash in her side, the edges singed. But the bleeding has stopped, and the wound isn't as bad as it could be. "Barriss has handled the worst of it."

"Good work," you praise, and Barriss flushes, ducking her head. "I'm sorry we were delayed. The situation with the commandos was worse than expected."

Luminara sighs. "I should have known. Dooku is always full of tricks."

"We're just glad you made it," Barriss says. Her gaze shifts, and her brow furrows. "Are you alright? You look...unwell."

You try to hide your grimace at the question. It's one you've heard enough of today, and you feel a flash of irritation, though it's not directed at Barriss.

"I'm fine," you lie.

The wound on your arm throbs, and the smell of blood and smoke is everywhere. You can't tell the difference between the two anymore. It's all just death. All just pain. And you can't take it anymore. Your body is shaking, and you want to collapse, to curl up in a corner and cry, but you can't.

There's a voice in the back of your head that whispers to you, reminding you that you have the power to end this, to save the clones. It would be so easy. Just a snap of your fingers. A flick of your wrist. You could have the whole thing over in a matter of minutes.

You bite your cheek, tasting blood, and you squeeze your eyes shut. It's tempting. So, so tempting. But you know what will happen if you give in. The darkness will consume you. And what happened here on Nadiem will pale in comparison to what will happen elsewhere. To what you will become.

No.

You can't.

You won't.

But, Maker, you want to.

"It's been a hell of a day," you offer when the silence has dragged too long. You try to keep your voice light, but the words come out strained. "I'll be fine once I get a chance to sit down."

Luminara's eyes narrow.

"General!"

You whip around, your head snapping toward the entrance. Booker is standing in the doorway, his helmet tucked under his arm. He's out of breath, his hair disheveled, his uniform covered in dirt and soot. But he's alive. He's alive.

And he's smiling.

"You're not gonna believe this," he pants. "But they're retreating."

"What?" you gasp.

"I know," he says. He grins, and the rest of the men begin pouring in behind him. "Looks like they ran out of tricks. The reinforcements are pulling out."

The wave of relief that crashes over you is staggering, drowning out the pain and fatigue and worry. Your legs threaten to buckle, and you have to grab the wall for support, the stone rough beneath your fingers.

Booker pushes past the rest of the men and grabs you, his arms wrapping around your waist and lifting you off the ground. He spins you around, and the motion only adds to the dizziness.

"Put me down," you laugh. He obliges, setting you back on your feet, and you lean heavily against him, your eyes falling shut. "Kriff. I didn't think we'd make it."

He huffs. "Don't be so dramatic."

Your head lolls, and he steadies you, his hands on your shoulders. You force your eyes open, blinking away the black spots that swim in your vision.

"Dash?" you ask. "Snap? Is everyone...?"

"We're all fine, sir," Booker replies. His tone is soft, reassuring, and he holds up a finger. "Well, Fuse is a bit banged up, but he'll pull through. Wise is already reading him the riot act about not taking cover sooner."

Your shoulders sag. "Thank the Force."

"General!"

Your head snaps toward the door, and Snap is striding across the room, a smile on his face. You break away from Booker and launch yourself toward him, and he catches you, his arms encircling you.

"Snap, are you okay? Are the others—"

"They're fine," he promises. His voice is warm, and his hands rub circles on your back, his touch gentle. "We're all okay."

You relax, melting into his embrace. The world is spinning, but it doesn't matter. He's safe. Everyone is safe.

And you're so, so tired.

Your knees give out, and Snap's arms tighten around you, holding you up. "General."

"M'okay," you murmur, your forehead resting against his chest plate. His heart is pounding, his body trembling. "I'm okay."

He lets out a shaky laugh. "You're not."

He's right. But it doesn't matter.

You've won. You're alive.

And you're still holding on.

taglist: @baddest-batchers @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear

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[thegingerwrites]

The Cure for Everything by thegingerwrites

Obi-Wan Kenobi is a knight, a member of the High Council, and a merman. More than that, he is tired of hiding his existence from humans and pretending that they live in separate worlds. Anakin Skywalker is a widow, a father of two, and a marine ecologist. He has spent the last ten years trying to keep his head above water and has just been offered the job opportunity of a lifetime, only it means moving his small family to the other side of the world. After meeting a merman stranded in their pool the night of a storm, Luke and Leia believe that bringing Obi-Wan and their father together might solve everyone's problems.

Happy belated Mermay! Here is the first chapter of an Aquamarine AU I posted a snippet of here. This chapter sets up that snippet and everything else that's to come

Here's a bit of this chapter:

Luke rushes to the edge of the pool. His fingers grip the tiled edge as he peers down into the water and sees… nothing. A few bubbles, the slow current at the surface. Leia is nowhere to be found as long seconds stretch and build up one after the next. Why couldn’t it have been him?

He needs to do something but even in his panic, he knows that jumping in after her is a bad idea. A quick look around and—there. The pool skimmer tied to the deck railing with two loops of rope.

Luke hurries over and slides it out. He can give Leia something to grab onto, help pull her to the edge of the pool and out of the water.

When he gets back to the pool, there is some movement under the water but Luke still can’t see her. He reaches out with the net and prays for Leia to grab on.

Almost as soon as he does, the water erupts and Luke stumbles back. He falls flat on his rear with the pool skimmer drawn up in front of him defensively. His brain can’t quite understand what his eyes are telling him he sees.

First things first: Leia. Squirming but seemingly unharmed, coughing up salt water, being placed on the pool deck gently.

But second, and now that Leia is safe, more importantly: the man that rescued her.

“It’s alright, young one. You’re safe now,” the man says. He has a pretty voice, Luke thinks, in the midst of not being able to think much at all.

Then he gathers himself together and scrambles forward. “Hey!”

The pool skimmer in his hands makes scrambling forward on his knees a bit awkward but Luke fights his way to Leia’s side and inserts himself between her and this man.

The man backs away, slipping further into the pool with his hands raised to show that he means no harm. Luke spares a glance down at Leia to make sure that she is okay. She has stopped coughing. With a sniffle, she wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand and turns to look at the pool.

“Are you alright?” the strange man asks. “I promise, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I only wanted to help.”

He looks like he might be older than their dad, with a beard and hair that reaches his shoulders when it is wet. He treads water with what looks like no effort at all, his hands still raised and empty.

“What are you doing in the pool?” asks Luke. It’s the first thing he can think of.

“I find myself a little stuck here, as it happens.”

“Stuck?” Leia croaks.

The man shakes his head. “Where are my manners? My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. And who might you be?”

[tennessoui]

I love a bitchy and petty Obi-Wan, but what about a petty Padmé; (maybe is a bit OOC, but in fiction everything is possible).

On a universe where Anakin left her/divorced her to be with Obi-Wan and yeah she is sad bc she loved Anakin, but more than that she is angry bc Obi-Wan was the one who told her after Geonosis... "please leave Anakin alone so he can follow his path as a Jedi, he has a great future in the Order and a relationship with you is a distraction" (or something like that) but now he is ok with being the distraction, he is such a hipocrite.

honestly one of my favorite flavors of padme in obikin fics is when she’s angry that her husband is drifting away slash in love with someone else and she’s not willing to give him up without a fight - I don’t think that’s ooc at all. that’s pure vintage ‘ignore the red flags and the slaughtered tusken village cause of the love story’ padme and it’s ’you just betrayed the Jedi and killed them but instead of facing any sort of justice let’s just run away together so we can be in love with no consequences’ padme and I love her messy contrary self

like in my fic a more perfect union when she invites obi-wan over for The Dinner and immediately engages in verbal fight with him basically over who knows and loves Anakin more …. That’s my padme girl ❤️ and in the next chapter when she tells anakin to cut obi-wan out of his life and she gets upset and angry and makes him choose 🙏🥰 I don’t think that’s ooc, I think that’s a flavor of a woman in love who can’t give her husband up without fighting even when she knows it’s a lost cause

[cookybananas]

Do I Know You? Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker x Reader {Part. II}

author's note: here is part two aka the final chapter to my alternate universe/timeline!au fic. I wasn't expecting to release this chapter so late, but here it is!

summary: Where Darth Vader is sent on a mission and finds himself traveling through another timeline and meets another version of you were you aren't dead. part I: Do I Know You? I

Obi-Wan took his saber off his belt and held it firmly in his grasp now. "Let's try this one more time. You will leave at once and return to where you once came." Obi-Wan stated.

Vader's demeanor shifted. The dark side influencing him to become more angry by the moment. He grew impatient at this, other Obi-Wan, standing in his way between his wife once again. With a hiss of his helmet, Vader's helmet was back on his head again. His vision now giving him the advantage to see in the dark penthouse.

"You will not take her away from me, again." Darth Vader's mechanical voice boomed as he lit his red lightsaber. "You will surrender her over to me alas."

"Oh I don't think so." Obi-Wan lit up his blue lightsaber as he got into his fighting position.

-

I stirred around in my bed. Something felt off, I could feel it in my stomach. My eyes shot opened at the faint sound of what sounded like lightsaber clashing.

Artoo had awaken from his rest state and beeped quietly at me, telling me that there was something or someone was here.

I stuck my hand under my pillow to pull out my handy blaster. I haven't needed to use it yet, but it was a precaution in situations like this. I got out the bed and cracked the door open ajar.

"Someone's here Artoo." I whispered to him, to which he quietly beeped in response.

I opened the door wider, only to see Obi-Wan's blue lightsaber clashing with a red lightsaber.

"There is no need to resist me." A deep, mechanical voice spoke. "Search your feelings Obi-Wan, only then you will know that I was once your appreintience, Anakin Skywalker."

I raise up my blaster, trying to find the person Obi-Wan was fighting, but it didn't help that it was dark and I couldn't tell who was who and what I would be aiming at specifically.

After moments of locking on the person Obi-Wan was fighting, I took a shot at what looked like his torso. A booming mechanical cry was heard, but that wasn't enough to take him down. In fact, it made him angrier. He used the force and threw Obi-Wan across the room and into the wall.

"Don't move! I'll shoot you again." I spoke up, my breath shaking. My other hand searching to find the light switch on the wall next to me. I turned on the lights only to be met face to face with the tall masked figure that was couple of feet from me. I pointed the blaster at his head, my hands shaking.

His breathing was mechanical. He sounded like a droid, but seemed human at the same time.

"Angel..." The tall figure said. My eyes widen, my blood ran cold as I froze in place. A nickname I haven't been called over year, a name I haven't been called since...Since Anakin's death. I gripped my blaster tighter, only for him to use the force and pull it out of my grasp and fling it across the room. I looked over to where Obi-Wan was on the ground unconscious.

-

Artoo rolled into the living space with a scream, attacking Vader's leg, only for him to be forced kicked across the room by Vader. This gave you time to run over to your blaster where Vader had flung it, but you couldn't move. That bastard was holding you in place with the force.

"Do not be afraid. I will not harm you." Vader spoke up, pulling you closer to him with the force. You were trying to wiggle out of his grasp, but it was no use.

"You will not harm me? Then release me this instant!" You exclaimed, still wiggling around the air, as he pulled you closer to him. You felt your feet touch the ground as he released his grasp from you. You were now standing face to face with Vader. "What is it that you want from me?" You brush out your silk nightgown as he stared at you in awe. You were slowly becoming uncomfortable under his gaze, but you wouldn't let yourself fold.

"Hello? Did you not hear me?" You asked again as you crossed your arms, your patience growing thinner.

"Apologies...I just." Vader mustered out, unable to find the words.

"You just what?"

You couldn't tell, but Vader was panicking under his suit. He didn't think this through, or what he would say to you if he faced you. You were very much alive, at least since the last time he saw you. Your e/c gleamed under the living room lights. Your locks of h/c hair were longer now, cascading down to your hips. Your lips were plump and rosy, just taunting Vader to smash his lips against yours.

Without thinking, Vader's hands had found his way up helmet once again. Hoping that this time you would give him a chance, unlike Obi-Wan who was a bit apprehensive and combative toward him. You watched in bewilderment as the person who was after you revealed himself as a humanoid man? But your shock didn't end there. Your eyes scanned all over Vader's face, analyzing it. You didn't know what to expect what this man would look like, but you weren't expecting him to look like this.

Vader's eyes were no longer yellow, but were his original cerulean colored eyes. You took a step closer to him as you cupped his face, your eyes meeting his. You couldn't believe it, you didn't want to believe it. His eyes were just like Anakin's, if not the exact same. Though Vader was now hairless and heavily scarred, he still resembled Anakin. In fact, there were still remnants of Anakin within Vader that he believed he had rid of years ago.

"I-it can't be..." You whispered out. It had been over a year since Anakin's death. There have been many nights where you dreamed of the life that both you and Anakin could have had after the war. How you would have left your position as senator, Anakin leaving the Jedi, just so you both could have a family somewhere in the star system. But every morning as you woke, it was a constant reminder that it was only a dream, and that every waking hour you were awake, it was a nightmare for you.

"Angel.." Anakin said softly, cupping your cheek. Your eyes were glossy now, tears slowly forming in the corner of your eyes.

You had dreams and hopes, hopes that one day both you and Anakin would find each other again. You couldn't care if Anakin had been reincarnated into a Wookie or some hideous creature, but as long as there were remnants of Anakin, you would be happy and content. Perhaps it had been the lament you had over the loss of Anakin or the loneliness you've endured the past year, you did everything and anything in your power to be with him once again.

Now, here he was, standing in front of you. Though he didn't look like the same Anakin you once knew and loved, but you had gut feeling that he was like Anakin at least.

"Ani...Is it really you?" You were desperate, desperately hoping that this was the Maker giving you another chance to have your happy ending with Anakin.

Anakin nodded in response as you wiped away a tear that fell from his eyes. You let out a sob has you threw yourself into his strong arms, to which he engulfed your small frame. He held onto you tightly, afraid that you would slip away from him.

You pulled away from Anakin, your eyes meeting his once again. Smiling up at him, you stood on your tippy toes, inching closer to his face as you closed the gap between yourselves. Your lips were soft against Anakin's slightly chapped lips. The kiss soon turned passionate as Anakin's pressed you harder against him, his hands roaming up and down your body, desperate to touch every single inch of you.

You let out a small moan, however your passionate session came to an end when you heard someone clearing their throat. Both you and Anakin pulled away, turning your heads at Obi-Wan who shifted uncomfortably in his spot, clutching his elbow that had been injured.

"How long was I out for?" Obi-Wan spoke up, trying to shift the awkward mood between the three of you.

"A good 15 minutes I'd say?" You responded, your cheeks now tinted pink as you looked up at Anakin, before looking back at Obi-Wan.

"Well, I'm gonna go get some rest. If you need me, I will be in my chambers." With that, Obi-Wan swiftly made his way out of the living area and into his room. You couldn't help but giggle, as Anakin let out a chuckle. Obi-Wan definitely had been watching the both of you make out for a good minute or so before intervening.

Anakin let out a hiss, forgetting the fact that you had shot him earlier with your blaster. You looked at him with concern.

"Oh darling... Let's get you patched up." You tell Anakin, your hand gently brushing against the wound. To which Anakin sucked in a breath.

"Could you patch me up in your bedroom love?" Anakin spoke up. You rolled your eyes at his comment, before hooking your arm around his and leading him to your quarters.

thank you for reading!!! <3

-

tags: @mistress-amidala

[jazlynriddle-starwars]

Your Only Master Ch 1:

Summary:

“I can't watch any more.” Obi-Wan mutters under his breath, trembling fingers reach for the console. He knows what is coming and he knows he can't hear it, if he hears it– He's too slow. “Yes, my Master.” Anakin's hologram says and Obi-Wan's pain ignites into rage.

In the ruins of the Jedi Temple, Obi-Wan finds the security recordings and discovers the truth. All of it. That Anakin didn’t Fall to anger or for power, but onto his knees in fear and exhaustion, begging for Padme's life.

Having witnessed Sidious twist Anakin’s love into a weapon, Obi-Wan abandons the only path he's ever known, choosing to save Anakin. Not for the Jedi, not for the Republic, not even for the galaxy.

But for himself.

To reclaim Anakin, Obi-Wan surrenders to the Will of the Force, stepping into the ashes of everything he once believed in and discovering his own destiny in the wake of Anakin's.

What begins in righteous fury becomes more as Obi-Wan helps Anakin raise his children, wrestles with the past, and carves a bloody new path. If all else must burn so that Anakin never has to, so be it.

They will become something the galaxy has never seen before.

Warnings/Tags: Sith Obi-Wan, good dad Anakin, big happy family ending! Smut, philosophy, politics, world building, Force Dyad obikin!

You can also read on AO3! (chapter specific warnings below)

Notes:

Warnings: Canon typical violence and smut. Yes, you read that right, sex in the first chapter, near the end. Look, these idiots need to get their horny out of the way before we can get to the philosophy and world building that makes up 80% of this story. Post-nut clarity is necessary for brain cells to be functioning enough for philosophy. I know it's unconventional, but what, 14 years of slow burn not slow enough for you? You want me to make it last even longer? Geez. Just kidding, I do have an Obikin slow burn that is about as dark, way grosser and more angsty than this one. Go check it out if you want slow xP So, enjoy this chapter's smut while it lasts because it's gonna be several chapters before we get more. This first chapter puts the philosophy on the back burner in lieu of practicalities and story, before we get deep into world building and character introspection in the following chapters. Next chapter will be up in a week! Most of this fic is a result of the excessive time I've spent thinking about the philosophies and practices of the Jedi and the Sith, the ways in which both failed, the opportunities wasted, and the absurdity of the Jedi literally having the ability to feel each others’ emotions yet somehow decided to cultivate a culture that encourages solitary emotional suppression, rather than communal emotional growth and mutual support. Anyway, here's the abstract for this thesis fic: No code, creed, or philosophy exists in a vacuum. Interpretation is its lifeblood, its danger, and its potential. What we draw from a code is shaped by who we are—and what we need it to mean. Give anyone ten random words and time, and they’ll find a way to make it prophecy, dogma, or damnation. That’s not the words’ fault. That’s ours.

“Wait, Master.” Obi-Wan calls out to Yoda, unable to resist the pull towards the brightly lit consoles. “There is something I must know.”

“If into the security recordings you go, only pain will you find.” Yoda cautions him and Obi-Wan swallows, but presses on, striding past his elder.

“I must know the truth, Master.” Obi-Wan insists, his heart swirling with grief, loss, and fear.

He's lost everyone, his family. His brothers, his sisters, his fathers and mothers, even the clones that he'd thought of as friends. He doesn't know what he's hoping to see. They hadn't found Anakin's body amongst the fallen. Perhaps his brilliant boy had fled successfully. He hadn't felt Anakin nearby and for all his disobedience, the young man has always been so resourceful. Perhaps he’d gone in pursuit of the traitor or Sith that killed their brethren.

Or maybe Anakin had been kidnapped by the murderer, his courageous reckless boy was the Chosen One after all. The Sith have always been interested in him, stalking him, baiting him. What nefarious things Obi-Wan could imagine them doing to the young man he'd trained. If Anakin had been kidnapped, he would need to find his former Padawan. There was a high chance that Yoda and himself are the last surviving Jedi, there would be nobody else who could go to Anakin's aid.

It worries Obi-Wan that he can't say for certain that he wouldn't defy Yoda's orders if necessary. Seek out and rescue the boy that he had practically raised as his child no matter the cost. He shouldn't, shouldn't let his emotions guide his actions, but the thought of letting Anakin die, of losing him alongside his brothers and sisters, is beyond agonising.

Anakin is all he has left.

He knows he's attached. He's tried so desperately to hold it back, to hide it and bury it. But he is. Terribly so. And the pain from losing his brethren is making it impossible to suppress or ignore. Impossible to pretend it doesn't exist. Hope isn't meant to be this painful.

Obi-Wan knows a part of him would do anything for Anakin. Even help the boy hide his relationship with Senator Amidala, no matter how much pain their love causes him. Obi-Wan knows what it feels like to be parted from the woman you love, as he had in his youth, a scar that he's carried since then. And if the person Anakin wants is not him, but loves Anakin back just as fiercely as Obi-Wan does, he will not come between them.

He needs Anakin to be both safe and happy.

Well, as happy as he can be, Obi-Wan isn't even sure that's truly possible.

Then he turns on the holo... and his heart stops. Anakin? My Anakin? The Sith, the traitor. The murderer of our younglings, our brethren.

“It can't be.” Obi-Wan breathes, horror now mingled with grief and fear. He chokes on the bile rising in the back of his throat. “It can't be.”

He watches in a daze, as what must surely be Darth Sidious enters, and his Anakin—his beautiful, kind, proud boy—kneels before the man.

“You have done well, my new apprentice.” The hologram of the Sith Lord says, and Obi-Wan feels his horror begin to melt into something dark and ugly. Slimy coils undulating in his insides. “Now, Lord Vader, go and bring peace to the Empire.”

“I can't watch any more.” Obi-Wan mutters under his breath, trembling fingers reach for the console. He knows what is coming and he knows he can't hear it, if he hears it–

He's too slow.

“Yes, my Master.” Anakin's hologram says and Obi-Wan's pain ignites into rage.

After everything he's done for Anakin. Clothed him. Bathed him. Fed him. Suffered for him. Worried after him. Taken Anakin's sorrow, fear, and anger, carried as much of it with the boy as the Code would allow. Endured every time Anakin hurt him. Been there for Anakin. Tried to teach him. Tried to guide him. Tried to do good by him. Protected him. Loved him.

How long? How long has his boy been another's? How long has Anakin been under the thrall of another man? What else has he done in service of the Sith? How much of the boy that he loves is real?

Anger and an almost masochistic need to know—his blasted insatiable curiosity—drives Obi-Wan now. He rewinds the footage, hacks into the Central Surveillance Grid, and tracks Anakin's steps all the way back to Chancellor Palpatine's office. Watches Master Windu confront the evil man, watches Anakin seal Master Windu's fate. The revelation that the Chancellor had been Darth Sidious all along.

Through it all, even if Anakin ended up saving the Sith Lord, Obi-Wan is relieved to see that Anakin had turned Palpatine in at first. Wanted the man arrested at least, showed horror at his own actions, collapsed to his knees after Sidious threw Windu out the window.

Comforted beyond belief that his boy hadn't secretly been Sidious’ apprentice for years. Hadn't been lying to Obi-Wan, faking his love and compassion.

“I will do whatever you ask. Just help me save Padme's life. I can't live without her.” Anakin begs in the hologram and Obi-Wan's heart aches as he gazes at Anakin's tear-stricken face. Oh, my boy, my poor, sweet, loving, beautiful boy.

His anger towards Anakin dissipates, evaporating back into sorrowful love, as it often does. Is this his fault? Obi-Wan feels regret bite at his heart. Perhaps he should have stopped Anakin from being with Senator Amidala, but he'd loved Anakin too much to hurt him that way. Was not the war enough pain for his Padawan? He'd resolved to allow Anakin as much choice and agency as he could, but if his boy would choose this...

“Good. To cheat death is a power only one has achieved, but if we work together, I know we can discover the secret.” Palpatine says, and for the first time in his life, Obi-Wan feels true hate. Pure unadulterated hate.

He'd thought he knew what hate felt like, when Maul murdered Satine, cast her down at his feet, made him watch helplessly. But Obi-Wan now knows that it had merely been anger and sorrow, grief for the loss of a noble soul, fallen in battle against evil. His pain tempered by the knowledge that she would not want him to lose himself in it.

This man, however, isn’t taking Anakin’s life, but his soul. This scum had corrupted Anakin’s heart...

Obi-Wan had always felt uncomfortable about Palpatine's friendship with Anakin, always felt like the man was trying to steal Anakin from him. Trying to undermine his authority over Anakin's upbringing. Obi-Wan had thought it was just his own attachment talking. Jealousy. Possessiveness. Attachment. The path to the Dark Side. He'd suppressed it in terror. Acting on strong emotions was not the Jedi way. It was wrong, dangerous. Anakin was not his.

But now...

Now, to see that man using Anakin's goodness and love to manipulate him. That it hadn't been all in his head, that it hadn't just been Obi-Wan's own emotions getting the better of him. How much of Anakin's troubled Padawan years could be laid at the feet of this man? Obi-Wan's jaw tightens, he should have stopped Palpatine, Chancellor or not.

This was all his fault. He should have acted on his feelings and stood between his child and that man. That monster.

Palpatine, no, Sidious will pay.

For corrupting and breaking his Padawan, his apprentice, his boy.

The anger seething in his chest is like nothing he's ever felt before. Less like burning anger and more like acid, corrosive, sour and bitter. The sight of Anakin kneeling before the Sith Lord, pledging himself to Sidious burns itself into his retinas.

The Sith Lord is no doubt banking on Obi-Wan's own concession. Convinced that Obi-Wan would let Anakin go as he should, leave Anakin to face the consequences of his own decisions, as he had so many times. Simply rolling over and allowing Sidious to take his child from him.

Well, not this time.

Never again.

Anakin has only one Master and that is Obi-Wan. His Master Qui-Gon had bestowed the most strong, passionate, loving, brilliant child on Obi-Wan, and he isn't about to let the boy go without a fight. Anakin is his .

Only his.

Obi-Wan turns off the footage as Sidious gives Anakin his new name, before he is forced to hear his boy call the man his Master again, and turns to face Yoda. His body aching with the effort it has taken to remain outwardly calm and hold his turbulent emotions behind his mental shields.

The elder eyes him warily, saying. “Destroy the Sith we must.”

Yes. Yes. I must.

“Send me to kill the emperor.” Obi-Wan asks—no demands. “I will not kill Anakin.”

“To fight this Lord Sidious, strong enough you are not.” Yoda rejects him flatly and Obi-Wan has to force himself to calm, lest the Master sense his fury at being denied.

“He is like my brother. I cannot do it.” Obi-Wan states, and before Yoda can respond, he cuts in. “Master Yoda, please. With all due respect. If I face Ana– Darth Vader, he will live. I might not be able to kill the emperor, but if you go, at least Sidious will be robbed of his most powerful apprentice.”

Yoda hesitates and Obi-Wan presses further. “Sidious is weakened, we saw what Master Windu did to the man. I will buy you time to handle Vader, track the Sith's movements. And when you have taken his apprentice, you can join me, and we can face the emperor together.”

Yoda closes his eyes for a moment, and then gazes into his own. “Certain you are, that kill him you cannot?”

“I cannot. I’m sorry, Master.” Obi-Wan lowers his eyes, hoping the Master will agree to this. If not, he is ready to fight the elder if necessary. To rush to Anakin's side and warn him.

But after several long seconds, Master Yoda sighs, heavy and tired. “Very well. To the Dark Side, I do not wish to lose you. Go I will, to find Darth Vader.”

“Thank you, Master.” Obi-Wan bows his head to hide his relief. “Senator Amidala should be able to lead you to Anakin. Here, take this.”

Obi-Wan hands Yoda a copy of the security footage, and attaches a tracker to it so he can follow them later. He feels bad for sending Yoda to her, but he hopes Senator Amidala will understand, he needs the Master to leave his side as soon as possible. With any luck, she will be able to resist and delay Master Yoda as well, buying Obi-Wan time to do what needs to be done.

The elder hesitates for a moment more, before he accepts it with a nod, eyeing Obi-Wan carefully. “Find the Senator, I will. Monitor Darth Sidious, you must.”

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan bows his head again and then watches as the small Jedi hobbles off down the hall.

Obi-Wan swallows. He must act swiftly, otherwise Yoda will actually kill Anakin before he manages to kill the Emperor.

This is a risky gambit, Obi-Wan knows. He might not be able to kill the Emperor, but as foolish as this is, he has to face the man. Has to right his failures. He has faith, at least, in Anakin's powers. The boy is strong enough to hold out against Yoda and Obi-Wan will do whatever it takes to protect him.

Even risk his own life and the galaxy.

He makes haste to Palpatine's chambers, and with every step, Obi-Wan feels his anger become increasingly unbearable. Feels the darkness that he'd held back for so long begin to creep in around the corners of his heart, gnawing at the edges of his mind.

A part of Obi-Wan knows what is happening, the teachings of the Jedi warn of this, and he's quietly struggled against it for so long. From the day he'd woken up to find Anakin, his small boy, curled up beside him on the bed. When he didn't scold the child and shoo him back to his room, but simply wrapped his arms around that tiny body, holding Anakin to his chest. Even as he pushed a drunk teenager away, sticky lips peeling from his own, he'd known.

He was doomed.

The way his heart ached as Anakin grew into a man, the forbidden feelings that also grew in his chest, fighting so hard to stamp them down and force them away. To hold Anakin at a distance even while pulling on his leash, to push the boy away from him, so that both of them might not fall into depravity.

Now, look where that had gotten him. He'd failed to curb his own feelings. And pushing Anakin away had only pushed the boy into the arms of a vile man who plainly wanted nothing more than to use his wonderful child. If Anakin would fall anyway, then what was the point of holding back anymore?

He should have taken Anakin from the Order, out of Palpatine's reach. All the suffering he'd put them both through, it was all for nought. All in vain.

Regret tastes bitter on the back of his tongue, souring and calcifying into toxins that burn through his veins as he approaches the Chancellor's room.

Even if he should die here today, if the poison infecting his soul is enough to take Sidious with him, Obi-Wan will be satisfied. He lights his saber, fingers itching for violence.

A flick of his blade past the walls is enough to cut down the Red Guards by the Chancellor's doors. Obi-Wan has no mercy to spare for anyone who serves the new Emperor.

He steps inside and sets his baleful gaze on the wretched face of the Sith Lord. Truly, this man is a monster, a demon. It is fitting that he wear the hideous visage of one, as justice is done.

“Master Kenobi, you survived.” Darth Sidious drawls and then pauses, a wide grin spreading across the man's grotesque face. “And what's this I feel?”

“You will die today.” Obi-Wan says, raising his saber towards the filth that dared take what is his.

“I sense darkness in you, young Master Kenobi.” Darth Sidious’ smirk widens. “Who would have thought that the most virtuous paragon of the Jedi could harbour such a well-hidden affinity for the Dark Side.”

“Silence.” Obi-Wan hisses through clenched teeth.

The pounding in his head makes it ache. There's something dark clawing its way into his insides, nestling in its new home with a purr. Or is it clawing its way out of him? He isn't sure. All Obi-Wan knows is that he wants to hurt this man, wants to make him suffer. Anakin is mine.

The Sith Lord laughs and cackles, it grates on his ears. “Perhaps I should have tried to seduce you to the Dark Side too. I can feel a great power sleeping inside you now. If you join me, I can help you cultivate it.”

“I don't care.” Obi-Wan snaps, he really doesn't. He just wants Anakin.

“Come now, if you join me, you can stand beside your old Padawan.” The Emperor coos and Obi-Wan's patience hits its limit.

“I think I'd much rather just kill you.” With that, Obi-Wan darts forward and swings his saber at the man.

Time passes in a blur, Obi-Wan feels only his anger and hate welling up within him. This man had taken everything he'd ever loved from him. Started the war that killed Satine, the woman he'd loved as a boy, before he met Anakin. Turned his own clones—his loyal men, Cody even—against him, forced Anakin to betray him, killed all of Obi-Wan's fellow Jedi, his family.

Die.

That single thought drives his swings, and their sabers hiss when they meet. Red against blue. His anger and righteous fury lend strength to every blow, forcing the Sith back relentlessly, unwilling to cede ground when so much is at stake. When Anakin is at stake.

He barely even feels the pain from Sidious’ dark lightning. It can't compare to the pain he felt when he thought Anakin lost. That he still feels at the thought that he yet might. Searing hot fire courses through his body and the Sith looks legitimately shocked when Obi-Wan gathers it up, adds his own hate to it, and throws it right back at the man with twice the intensity.

The Emperor's agonised screams are music, the stench of burning skin fills the room, and his panicked scramble for the door is the most amusing sight Obi-Wan has seen in years.

“Wait! Wait!” The Sith screams, but he doesn't.

Obi-Wan swings his saber and the man's head rolls across the floor.

It is done.

He feels a satisfaction he's never felt before. It's intoxicating, powerful. He thinks he might even have laughed as he staggers back from the headless body.

Sadly however, he doesn't get the time to savour this victory, because in the next moment, he feels something slam into his mental shields, cracking them with brute force and burrowing inside.

Obi-Wan releases a shout of pain and collapses, clutching at his head. It hurts. Searing pain everywhere, like a thousand needles digging into every inch of his skin. A foreign presence, a hostile mind trying to break his own and gain a foothold in his body. He struggles against it, feels it tighten around him, choking the life from him.

He can feel Sidious’ glee, the Sith's eagerness to take his body and then eventually Anakin's, and Obi-Wan realises that he’d fallen into a trap.

In desperation—bereft of the Code and betrayed by his own Dark emotions that had allowed Sidious entrance into his body—Obi-Wan abandons all else and reaches for the Living Force. The pillar of his existence, the Will that Master Qui-Gon had always told him to rely on.

Then, he touches something he's never felt before, something just past the Living Force, and it feels like the entire cosmos has opened itself to him. Unfurling like a blossoming bloom.

Obi-Wan tumbles into its warm embrace, drawn in by the Cosmic Force, and as he does, he sees a vision of his Anakin.

He looks older, worn from decades lived in solitude, bereft of loving touch. Broken and alone, his body clad in a suit of black. Bald and scarred, covered in welts and burn marks. He feels his boy dying slowly, pain with every breath, heart full of fear for the life of his child. Loneliness, regret and sorrow. He feels his boy fade into the netherworld of the Force, heart aching with longing and a single thought in his mind, Obi-Wan, Master...

Sheer anger and horror rips through Obi-Wan. He has seen many futures in the Force, but this one. This one, he will not allow to come true.

Obi-Wan feels the Force whisper to him, urging him forward, feeding him its strength. He has turned his back on the Jedi Code, and it is only now that he feels it, the mandate that he has been ignoring this whole time. As blinded by his adherence to the Code and the will of the Jedi Council, as a Sith was by their negative emotions.

Years wasted feeling uncertain if he was the right man to raise Anakin, if Master Qui-Gon would have done better with his boy. A decade spent denying his own attachment to Anakin, fretting about being unworthy and incompetent. Terrified of embracing his feelings for the boy he'd raised. Ashamed and fearful that he would fail Anakin by doing so.

Now he sees the truth, sees why the Living Force has always seemed just slightly out of reach. Its power denied to him, because Obi-Wan was too busy trying to be a good Jedi to follow his destiny.

He had been chosen by the Force.

Chosen to protect its child.

And he will, by any means necessary, even if he must embrace the ways of the Sith to do so.

He draws up all his strength, bolstered by the might of the Force, and tears into the invading mind, shredding it with precision. He uses his will and skill in Mindform to sink his teeth into the invader, crunches down viciously, and swallows. Consumes. He digs into the intruding mind—Darth Sidious’ mind—gnaws at its insides and drains every drop of blood he can find. He feels the Sith Lord's pain as his weakened mind finds, not an escape in Obi-Wan's body, but a predator waiting to subsume him.

He devours every morsel of the Sith's soul, his knowledge and his power. It is all his now. Like Anakin will be. Like Anakin was always meant to be.

The last dregs of Darth Sidious’ mind fades into oblivion and Obi-Wan opens his eyes, disoriented.

He is still himself, still Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He pushes himself to his feet slowly, wobbling slightly on the spot. His throat is raw from screaming, his head is aching, but he feels stronger now. His mind is still sorting through the wealth of knowledge he'd gained from the Sith Lord, it's an absolute mess inside him. It will probably be a while before he can access the bulk of them properly, perhaps through meditation.

A brief skim of the surface is enlightening however, the discovery that Sidious himself was not even properly following the Sith Code. Perhaps that was why the Jedi struggled to gain any ground against him. They'd been training to fight an enemy that had long mutated into something far more insidious. Perhaps much of what he'd long believed true about the Sith, were meaningless.

How much of the evil that he'd seen merely been Sidious’ evil, and not inherent to the Dark Side itself? The Sith Code reverberates through his mind, along with the disdain Sidious had borne for it, despite calling himself a Sith. It is because of that, that Obi-Wan finds a new appreciation for it.

Peace is a lie. There is only Passion.Through Passion, I gain Strength.Through Strength, I gain Power.Through Victory my chains are Broken.The Force shall free me.

Obi-One takes a deep breath. The air tastes different as he draws it in. Sweeter, lighter, the heavy cloud of the Dark Side no longer feels oppressive. Truly, he has never felt like this before. Blissful power and freedom. Yes, the Force has freed him indeed. Everything feels right now. He's free, free of doubt. Free to love Anakin the way he's always wanted to. The way he was always supposed to.

In contrast, the Jedi Code that he'd clung to now feels stifling.

There is no emotion, there is peace.There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.There is no passion, there is serenity.There is no chaos, there is harmony.There is no death, there is the Force.

His fellow Jedi's deaths were unfortunate, but perhaps also necessary. Necessary for him to be free. Obi-Wan has sworn to serve the Will of the Force. If this is its Will, perhaps he should not linger in grief, perhaps he should let his sorrow go, make peace with his destiny, as the Jedi Code urges. After all, it is by the will of the Force that he is free. Now, he can be with his beloved boy. There is nothing holding him back anymore.

He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the silver on the walls.

His eyes are yellow, and the Force is silent, waiting.

He looks away.

He can pursue this train of thought later. Regardless of which philosophy is better suited to following the Will of the Force—Jedi or Sith—Obi-Wan has one objective, one duty as assigned by the Cosmic Force itself, and that is Anakin. He needs to find Anakin.

He has to stop Yoda, before the Master kills Anakin or turns him into a lonely broken man clad in black. Nothing else matters.

He runs through the halls, the senate is in an uproar over the newly crowned Emperor's death. He cuts down Mas Amedda and the Red Guards that the Senator leads to stop Obi-Wan's escape, and manages to steal a ship to leave, following the tracker he'd given Master Yoda.

Mustafar.

He prays he will make it there in time.

The air is dry. Arid and hot. Obi-Wan follows the tracking signal, and finds the closest landing platform of a large facility. There's already another ship there, Senator Amidala's star skiff, and on the floor near it lies the Senator herself, unconscious.

Obi-Wan rushes to her side and checks her pulse. She's still breathing. Thank the Force. She's carrying Anakin's child, and whether Amidala retains her loyalty to Anakin or not, he doesn't want any harm to come to the baby. He carries her inside the ship quickly, and has 3PO and R2-D2 stand guard over her while he races to save Anakin. He feels his boy nearby, follows their bond to him. Runs through the halls with fear snapping at his heels.

Is this what Anakin felt on a daily basis? Like his entire universe is on the line? Like insanity is one slight misstep away? No wonder his boy is always a mess.

He finds them fighting by the side of a pit of lava. A fear like no other lances through him when Yoda throws Anakin into a fixture and the boy crumples to the floor. Obi-Wan raises his saber and dives into Yoda's path, catching the falling green blade with his own.

Yoda's gaze is sad as he meets Obi-Wan's eyes through the sabers’ light. “A mistake I have made, leaving you alone with the Sith.”

“I'm sorry, Master.” Obi-Wan murmurs, pushing back against the small Jedi and Yoda flies backwards, landing on his feet and putting space between them. “But I cannot let you kill Anakin.”

“The boy you raised, gone he is.” Yoda shakes his head mournfully, his little ears lowered. “And now, so too are you.”

“Yes.” Obi-Wan nods slowly. “I suppose to you, we are.”

Gone is the weak man who was too afraid of Falling, of losing his home, his place in the Order, his honour and piousness to the Jedi Code. There is no longer anything left to lose. Except Anakin. He will take Anakin back. Whatever he has to do. He will.

His eyes are open now, he can see that the Sith and Jedi are merely two sides of the same coin. Two interpretations of the same Force. That it is how it is used that determines good or evil. Why should he not use both to serve the will of the Force?

“Master?” He hears the sweetest sound from behind him and Obi-Wan glances back to see Anakin staring at him with wide and dazed eyes. They are yellow too.

Both their eyes had once been crystal clear blue, now they bear the same gold glow. Of course they are. Affection is gentle in his breast. The truth that Obi-Wan has long denied. That they were two halves of a whole, where one goes the other follows. That has been the case for more than a decade, and so it will always be.

“Anakin, I'm glad you're alright.” Obi-Wan smiles softly at him, before it lifts into a playful smirk. “Now then, are you just going to lie there and make me do all the work?”

A disbelieving grin spreads across Anakin's face, his eyes soft with wonder. For a moment, the boy looks as he once had, before the war. Bright and beautiful, the way he should always be.

Anakin calls his lightsaber to him and they fight together. While Master Yoda is powerful, he is not strong enough to defeat the two of them, not when they fight as one. Not when the Force sings with their unity. Not when they draw on emotions both Light and Dark in balance, both the joy and relief of reunion and the vengeful fury that rejects anything seeking to tear them apart.

The war has only made them stronger when in sync, the Hero With No Fear and the Negotiator. And together, they drive Yoda all the way back to the ship and the small green Jedi steals Obi-Wan's vessel to flee.

Exhausted from fighting Yoda till Obi-Wan's arrival, Anakin collapses to the floor, and Obi-Wan rushes to his side, taking the young man into his arms. “Anakin!”

“I'm– I'm alright.” Anakin murmurs faintly, stares at Obi-Wan through heavy-lidded and unfocused eyes, and reaches out to him with his left hand. The tips of his fingers brush Obi-Wan's chin and his voice is thick with disbelief. “Master you... you didn't betray me.”

“Never. I'm always on your side. I'm sorry, I should never have pushed you away. I was just–” Obi-Wan mutters, takes Anakin's hand, feels the warm flesh beneath his glove and places a kiss to the back of it. “I would never betray you.”

Anakin's glazed blue eyes search his own for several moments, disorientation and confusion ripples from him through the Force. Before he seems to find whatever he's looking for and he clutches Obi-Wan's hand tightly.

“Thank you, Master...” Anakin's eyes well with tears. “But– but she did, Padme... she brought Yoda here. She brought him here to kill me.”

Anakin sobs with agony, and Obi-Wan cradles his boy to his chest, cooing to him softly. Obi-Wan's jaw is tight, and his eyes burn with rage. He'd given way to her, let the Senator have Anakin, and that woman had failed to love Anakin as much as he did. He knew it, politicians were never to be trusted. If she weren't round with Anakin's child, he would kill her for this treachery.

The thought gives him pause, kill... he supposes this came with falling to the Dark Side. He no longer instinctively baulks at the thought of killing for a personal slight. He feels like he should be more concerned about that than he is. Instead, any discomfort is buried under the joy of having Anakin safe in his arms.

Obi-Wan is still unsure where he stands, a Sith or a Jedi or neither. He shakes his head, such matters should perhaps be left for later thought, they have more pressing concerns to worry about at the moment.

For starters, where will he go now? He has Anakin, and Senator Amidala. What next? For once, he hadn't planned very far ahead. Anakin had consumed all his thoughts.

He feels Anakin go limp in his arms and Obi-Wan places a soft kiss on his forehead. Gently, he scoops the boy into his arms, cradles his precious cargo against his chest, and carries him into the Nabooian transport.

“Oh, Master Kenobi!” 3PO calls out with some relief as Obi-Wan sets Anakin down on one of the seats. “Miss Padme seems to be going into labour!”

Obi-Wan sighs tiredly, shoulders sagging and body aching, there's always something.

He glances at R2-D2, the shorter droid whirring at Anakin's unconscious body with concern, it's always been more emotional than any droid he's ever known. Perhaps Anakin's power extended to granting sentience on top of creating love and devotion in everything he touched.

“He'll be alright.” He pats the droid on the head comfortingly and it beeps at him. “R2-D2, chart a course for Tatooine and prepare the Hyperdrive. 3PO, take the controls while I check on Amidala.”

For now, the outer rim was probably the safest place to go, what with the clones still out for Obi-Wan's blood. Perhaps they could seek aid for Amidala's labour from Anakin's stepbrother.

Leaving the droids to it, Obi-Wan goes to see Amidala. She lies on the small bed, covered in sweat, and her tired face lightens with relief when she sees Obi-Wan.

“Obi-Wan.” She reaches a hand out to him, and he takes it gently. “You're alive, I was so worried...”

“I'm sure you were.” Obi-Wan smiles thinly and brushes a hand over her damp forehead, it wouldn't do to endanger the child by putting her under any further stress. “Don't worry, you're safe. Just focus on the baby.”

She doesn't even manage a smile, closing her eyes as he returns to the cockpit.

It takes some time to get to Tatooine, and Obi-Wan collapses into a pilot seat, taking the opportunity to recover his strength. Fortunately, when they arrive, Owen, and his wife Beru, recognise Amidala and agree to help. Obi-Wan assists them as much as he can, asks Owen for materials and cobbles together a makeshift crib with R2-D2's help, welding metal strips together. Takes rubber and a pair of bottles and fashions two rudimentary baby bottles in preparation for the child.

It's strange, he notes—somewhere in the back of his mind—that after war, betrayal and treason, he's ended up here. On Anakin's home planet, the place where his destiny was born. Cutting rubber with the edge of a vibroblade in a stranger's home. The house that Anakin might have become a free man in, if Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon hadn't spirited him away.

He wonders if Shmi regretted allowing his Master to take Anakin. But even if she had, Obi-Wan would never have given her son back. Anakin is his.

When the preparations for the child are complete, Obi-Wan leaves Amidala in the care of the couple and goes to attend to Anakin, carrying the boy to the small side building that Owen had offered the men to stay in. He gathers several stacks of cloth together, and a blanket, into a makeshift bed on the floor, and tends to Anakin's burns. To his relief and pride, Anakin's injuries are relatively minor, considering that he had been fighting Master Yoda for hours.

When he's done treating his own injuries as well, Obi-Wan returns to Amidala's side to find that she is having twins and that she is dying. He still can't quite work up any grief or bring himself to care very much about the latter, but he takes the time to assure her that her children will be taken care of.

He supposes she does still love Anakin, because she says that there's still good in him as she breathes her last. As though Obi-Wan would need any convincing of that. Perhaps he had been hasty when assuming that she had indeed betrayed Anakin? Maybe Master Yoda had given her the impression that he was planning to arrest Anakin rather than murder him?

Either way, Obi-Wan is grudgingly grateful to her for making Anakin happy for the last four years—he caresses the cheek of a chubby baby girl—and for giving Anakin these beautiful children. He knows Anakin will need something to cultivate after her death, and his children would be solace to his beloved.

Though he does hope that Anakin will cling to him too for comfort, and from the boy's behaviour before passing out, Obi-Wan is optimistic.

Obi-Wan insists that Beru allow him to feed the children, holding one in each arm as he uses the Force to lift the bottles—of nutrient powder from the star kriff, hastily mixed in water—for them to suckle from. He's now glad that he'd made two bottles, in anticipation of rotating between them for one child.

As he rocks the twins gently to sleep, he feels Anakin begin to stir from his fitful rest. So, Obi-Wan leaves the twins to sleep in the crib, swaddled in cloth. Sets 3PO and R2-D2 to stand guard and ensure that they come to no harm, and quickly returns to Anakin's side.

He finds the boy sitting up on the floor bed, his inner robe pooled around his hips and bandages wrapped around his arms and side, anxiety thrumming through the Force. Their bond has always been stronger than the average Master and Padawan's—one normally born of familiarity—and he'd thought this was thanks to Anakin's immense power. But somehow, it feels like it has actually grown stronger since Obi-Wan accepted his attachment to the boy.

“Master, where is Padme?” Anakin asks, sounding quite disoriented. “Is she safe? Is she alright?”

“Anakin...” Obi-Wan sighs as he sits on the edge of the bed. Even after she broke his heart, the boy still loves her so deeply, and as little as Obi-Wan now cares for the woman, he hates to break his beloved's heart. “I am so sorry, dear one. But she passed away in childbirth.”

Anakin's face crumbles, despair floods their bond, painful enough to bring tears to Obi-Wan's own eyes. The boy reaches out to clutch at his sleeve, pleading. “No, that can't be–”

“Your children are safe and well.” Obi-Wan interrupts, hoping to stem the flow and halt his spiral.

“Children?” It works, Anakin stops momentarily in confusion.

“Yes, you have twins, my dear.” Obi-Wan brushes back the long curly locks that hang over Anakin's face. “A boy and a girl, they are beautiful.”

“Twins...” For a moment, Anakin's eyes are wide with wonder, but then distress returns. “They– they'll need their mother. Please, we have to go find my Maste–”

Obi-Wan snarls at that, and his hand shoots forward to grip Anakin's chin sharply. The boy freezes, and his cold voice feels foreign to even his own ears. “You have only one Master, Anakin. And that is me. You were my Padawan, my apprentice. Nobody else's.”

It's so much worse to hear Anakin call Sidious his Master in person. Obi-Wan almost wishes he could bring the audacious filth back to life just to kill him again.

Anakin shivers at his tone, and he stares into Obi-Wan's eyes as though seeing him for the first time. “Master, you also? Your eyes–”

Had they gone yellow? Curious.

“Yes.” Obi-Wan murmurs, loosens his grip, traces his thumb over Anakin's jaw, feeling the beginnings of stubble peeking out of his soft skin. “If you must have a Sith for a Master, that will still be me. Always me.”

Anakin's eyes go hazy at the possessive desire that must be creeping along their bond, his boyish cheeks flush and his lips part to release a hot breath. To his pleasure, Obi-Wan can feel Anakin's shock, his confusion, his delight, and... his arousal.

“But– but Master, Palpatine is the only one who knows how to create life.” Anakin protests weakly, blinking as though to dispel the effects of whatever he was feeling.

“What do you think you did with your children?” Obi-Wan snorts.

Anakin rolls his eyes. “You know what I mea–”

“If you think he can bring the dead back to life, then I haven't taught you well enough.” Obi-Wan chuckles darkly. “I see I must find a way to work that naïveté out of you.”

Anakin's neck goes red with indignation, and he jerks his chin from Obi-Wan's grip. “I don't need another lecture.”

The boy bites his lip—and Obi-Wan wants to do that for him—saying, “He knows things, Master. He knew about my visions of Padme's death.”

“And I didn't lend enough stock to your visions, does that mean I can never be correct?” Obi-Wan cocks an eyebrow. “Just because he was able to peer into your mind, doesn't mean he wasn't lying about everything else. He didn't even claim to have the ability to save her yet, do you really think he would have been able to figure it out with you before she gave birth?”

“It's worth trying!” Anakin exclaims desperately. “Please, Obi-Wan, I can't raise my children alone. I need her, they need her!”

“Oh, my dear. You wouldn't be alone. I would gladly raise your children with you.” Obi-Wan murmurs and is delighted when the receding flush returns to Anakin's cheeks again. “And I'm afraid that isn't an option regardless. Darth Sidious is dead.”

Anakin's eyes go wide. “Wha– how!? Who?”

“Who do you think, my dear?” Obi-Wan askes with some amusement, places his hands on Anakin's shoulders and presses the boy back onto the bed, sliding a knee between his legs.

“You? Master, you defeated the Sith Lord, alone? And his guard? Even four of the Council Masters weren't enough to–” Anakin gapes, and the awe radiating from him is intoxicating, heady and delicious.

“I assure you, Anakin. I am stronger now, strong enough to protect you. To protect our children.” Obi-Wan purrs, braces his hands by Anakin's head and leans close enough to feel his heated breath against his lips. “I consumed the Chancellor's mind. Took for myself, his knowledge and his power. You don't need him or Senator Amidala, and neither do our children. I will provide everything you need.”

Anakin knots his fingers in his clothing as Obi-Wan nuzzles his nose against the boy's cheek, murmuring softly. “You can be their loving mother, and I will be the guiding father. You were raised by a loving mother, you can do it too, dearest. I believe in you. I've always believed in you.”

A soft keen escapes Anakin's throat, and when Obi-Wan lifts his head to gaze into deep blue, he sees that they are damp with tears. “Even– even after everything I've done? Fail– failed to be a great Jedi– failed you...”

“You could never fail me, my dear.” Obi-Wan breathes, catches with his thumb, a shining drop from the corner of his eye. “My love for you has never been conditional. I would follow you down any path, no matter what.”

He feels something inside Anakin shatter, a swell of emotions too powerful to name pours through their bond like a torrent, a raging river, as though the entire galaxy had changed inside the boy's heart. As though a vast weight, an expectation of himself that he's been carrying for years, has finally been cast down.

“Obi-Wan–” Anakin whines, need and longing, desire and hope, all condensed into that one word.

It makes his heart ache, and he finally gives in to the urge to claim the beautiful boy's lips. They are sweet against his own, delicious and soft. Everything he's craved for the last six years. He slips his tongue inside to caress Anakin's, feels the boy moan into his mouth, and his burning desire becomes an inferno.

He licks into that hot cavern with relish, savouring the forbidden fruit he has long abstained from, taking his time and stealing Anakin's breath, before parting to grant him air. Obi-Wan trails his lips down the boy's jaw as he pants and tears at Obi-Wan's robes.

“Master...” Anakin moans breathlessly, ruts against his knee, desperately grinding his hardness against him. “I thought– I thought you didn't want me–”

“Of course I do. How could I not?” Obi-Wan murmurs against that slender throat, mouthing at the boy's voice box. “Shouldn't have pushed you away when you kissed me.”

“Thought you were disgusted–” Anakin gasps as Obi-Wan presses a finger into a bruise on his ribs.

“Only with myself. For wanting to hold you. You were fifteen, my dear.” Obi-Wan nibbles lightly, runs a hand over that wonderfully muscled chest. “And drunk. I was trying to be a good Master.”

“Didn't want you to be good–” Anakin swallows thickly, and his throat flexes deliciously under Obi-Wan's lips. “Wanted you so bad–”

“I did too.” He breathes, and digs his teeth into the golden skin on Anakin's bare shoulder, enjoying the way the boy bucks and moans against him. So perfect. “Dreamt of you every night since then, dreamt of touching you. Making you cry out for me. Force knows how guilty I felt, how frustrated I was at you for being so gorgeous. A siren sent by the Dark Side to seduce me.”

Anakin's breath catches when Obi-Wan takes a nipple into his mouth. Chokes out a moan when Obi-Wan laves his tongue over the hard pebble and suckles on it, like he thinks he can get the young man to lactate for his children.

“Then– then what–” Anakin whimpers when Obi-Wan's teeth clamp down around his areola. “What are you waiting for–”

“Patience, my dear.” Obi-Wan coos, taking the other nipple between his lips. His beard rubs against Anakin's chest as he gives it equal attention, he wants to leave abrasion burns all over his boy.

“Obi-Wan–” Anakin groans, his voice choked with pleasure and frustration, and then the young man is grabbing him firmly by the shoulders and pushing him back. Obi-Wan's lips make a wet pop as they are peeled off his lovely tits and Anakin glares at him. “For Force's sake, you've made me wait for years. Made me settle for the love of a woman I barely knew.”

He yanks hard at Obi-Wan's robes, loosening them enough to reach into his undergarments, and Anakin grasps Obi-Wan's aching cock with a growl. “So, stop teasing and start kriffing me, right now.”

Arousal pulses through Obi-Wan's body, and he bites back a moan, feeling the boy's thumb rub over his swollen tip. So much for foreplay, he should have known his boy wouldn't have the patience to be unwrapped slowly and worshipped, showered with love. Anakin really would be the death of him. Or at least his restraint.

Obi-Wan stands to remove his clothing, enjoying the way Anakin's eyes scrape down his skin as it's revealed. Watching with equal intensity as the young man removes his pants, tosses his robes aside, and spreads his legs in clear invitation.

What a glorious sight, his Anakin laid out like an offering on an altar. Obi-Wan thinks this is what a God feels like.

Such a vision was surely not something Jedi Master Kenobi would have ever gotten to see. No, this is perhaps something that only a Sith could look upon without shuddering in horror at such depravity. Without recoiling at the knowledge that this was the boy he'd raised, the child Master Qui-Gon had entrusted to him. The little boy who'd clung to him in the night, desperately afraid of losing him.

He kneels between Anakin's knees, runs his fingers along his inner thighs. He's beautiful. Kiss reddened lips, covered in his bites and bruises, a flush on his cheeks and nape, eyes filled with desire. Long gangly limbs that had filled out over the years, cock hard and swollen, pretty pink head peeking out from his foreskin, leaking little pearls of fluid from the tip. Obi-Wan collects that precious dew on the tip of his finger and places it on his tongue, delighted when Anakin keens.

Then he uses the Force to call a sachet of bacta from his waist pouch as he dips his head to take Anakin's cock into his mouth, the sounds the boy makes are music to his ears. The most lavish orchestra, unparalleled by the greatest artists money could buy. The heat and hunger in Anakin’s eyes as his boy watches him is unbearable. He pauses only to rip open the packet and squeeze some bacta onto his fingers, before returning his attention to Anakin.

The length in his mouth twitches when he sinks a finger into Anakin's puckered entrance, who groans as Obi-Wan searches the tight and hot channel. A moment later, Anakin jolts and his back arches, bucking deep into Obi-Wan's throat with a gasp. His head is thrown back and moans of pleasure fall from his lips, his hips stuttering as though unable to decide if he wants to kriff Obi-Wan's throat or press back against his finger more.

Obi-Wan adds another, strokes his fingers in and out, thinks of how he's going to be doing this with his cock in a few minutes, drags the tips of his fingers over the sensitive strip along Anakin's inner walls.

“Master–” Anakin claws at the blankets beneath him, sweat pools in the dips of his smooth chest when a third finger is added, and he shakes his head with a whine. “I can't– I'm going to–”

Obi-Wan doesn't stop, doesn't slow down, just keeps kriffing the beautiful boy with his fingers, watching intently, the mounting ecstasy on Anakin's face. He wants to see his proud boy come apart at his hand.

As though in response to his desire, Anakin moans, loud and shameless, his neck tightens, his toes curl and Obi-Wan's throat fills with fluid. He swallows quickly around the pulsing cock and with a last shudder, Anakin goes limp on the bedding, panting and gasping for air.

Obi-Wan allows the softening length to slip from his mouth, brushes away the wetness from his lips and beard, and admires the view. His child is gorgeous, broad shoulders trembling as he heaves for air, blue eyes hazy with pleasure. Had Amidala seen his boy like this? Obi-Wan pushes the thought away with a growl. This is his now, his reward for years of caregiving, patience, and frustration. He's never needed a reward for loving Anakin, but now he craves it desperately, hungers for it. Unbearable. It's unbearable.

He withdraws his fingers from the boy's body, calls the bacta sachet back to him and coats his aching erection with the oily liquid. He's waited for so long, he can't wait any longer, so he presses the head of it against Anakin's relaxed opening and hooks those long muscular legs over his shoulders. He groans low and deep as his cock is enveloped in wet heat, shuddering at the tightness, and the boy's insides spasm around him.

“Wait, Master–” Anakin rewards him with a strangled moan, shaking his head. “Too much– I can't–”

Obi-Wan leans down, practically folds the boy in half and sinks even deeper, making Anakin choke on air as he's filled. The boy is trembling when they're fully joined. He places a kiss on the corner of that gasping mouth and hisses lovingly into his ear. “You can, and you will.”

Anakin moans loudly and clings to his shoulders, eyes glazing over with heat and desire. Releasing a needy whine as Obi-Wan draws back out, pleased to see that there is no blood or signs of injury, as he thrusts back inside again. The boy wails at the overstimulation, his limp cock gradually hardening again as Obi-Wan pumps his hips relentlessly into him.

He can still barely believe that he's finally taking what has been his all this time. Could almost believe that he is simply dreaming, if not for how incredible it feels, nothing like his fumbling clumsy trysts with Satine as a fifteen-year-old Padawan. Anakin's body feels like it was made for him, that tight hole suckling on him as he ruts in, wanting to embed himself inside forever.

It's perfect, he's perfect. Obi-Wan groans as he lowers his gaze from Anakin's panting mouth, takes in the obscene sight of his cock ramming into his opening, the bacta oozing out around his reddening rim. “Look at you. Such a good boy, taking me so well. My dearest, Anakin.”

“Master–” Anakin wails and rakes his nails down Obi-Wan's shoulders. He can feel how much his words have affected his beloved, Anakin's side of their bond is a chaotic avalanche of sensation and emotion. Perfect.

His Anakin was always meant to be like this, wasn't he? Obi-Wan had spent years trying to train it out of him, but Anakin has always been a storm of passion and love. Something that had both inspired admiration and fear within Obi-Wan. Fear of losing his wonderful child to darkness. Fear that Anakin becoming a Sith—as he was always so clearly meant to be—would take Anakin from his side.

But, now that Obi-Wan no longer fears the Dark Side, sees that passion is only dangerous when warped and twisted, by someone like Sidious. Now that he no longer believes that these powerful emotions will cost him the person he loves most, Obi-Wan is free to admire Anakin's beauty. To watch with adoration and desire as Anakin writhes beneath him, firm muscles tight and unrestrained ecstasy pouring from his presence in the Force.

To behold his perfect child lost in the throes of bliss.

Drool trickles from the corner of Anakin's slack mouth, his deep blue eyes, dilated and glassy, gasping desperately for air as though he's drowning. Anakin looks like he's losing his mind, and Obi-Wan feels like he is not far behind. Force, he loves this boy, has wanted him more than anything, and now that he has him, Obi-Wan will do anything to keep him.

“My Padawan, my boy, my apprentice, my love.” Obi-Wan breathes in awe, in reverence and adoration. “My little Sithling.”

Anakin only moans weakly in response, sweat covers his brow, and his watery blue eyes struggle to focus on him as Obi-Wan rocks into him ruthlessly, finally indulging in his desires, taking everything he's ever coveted.

With a wave of his hand, he takes the boy by his ankles and raises them into the air with the Force, holding them in place. The new angle allows him to sink even deeper, forcing a punched out sound from the boy as he reaches between their bodies to grasp Anakin's bouncing cock.

“You are mine, Anakin. As I am yours.” Obi-Wan smiles down at him, stroking that swollen and sensitive length slowly, lovingly, contrasting with the pace at which his cock continues to drive into Anakin's body. “You will only ever attain this pleasure from me now. Understood?”

Anakin nods drunkenly, tears at the blankets beneath him, his tongue hangs out like he's trying to swallow the air, his words slur together like he's forgotten how to use it properly. “Y– yes, Mast– Master... please–”

Obi-Wan's grin widens and quickens his strokes to match his thrusts. Within seconds, Anakin releases another wail, his spend spurts onto his own abdomen in thick globs and his insides clamp down on Obi-Wan's cock.

He kriffs Anakin through it, savouring the sensation, the echoing explosion of pleasure through their bond. It takes everything in his power not to come from it. Obi-Wan doesn't want to stop. He can only have Anakin for the first time once and it feels too good to just end like this.

But then Anakin gives him an exhausted smile, a beautiful, pure smile—like the ones he'd worn as a child, before his obsession with Amidala, before the war, before all his smiles became permanently shadowed by weariness, bitterness, and pain—and whispers faintly. “L– love you, Obi-Wan...”

That's all it takes.

Obi-Wan buries himself inside and his control slips, dropping Anakin's ankles back onto his shoulders as his entire being becomes doused—absolutely drenched—in ecstasy. It seers through his body. He paints Anakin's insides white and gasps for air, kriffing his seed deeper with stuttering thrusts. Such a good boy, granting him so perfect a first claiming.

The pulses of pleasure ripple through him for a blissful eternity, before they begin to calm, as all good things that must sadly come to an end. Obi-Wan heaves for air as he lowers Anakin's legs to the blanket and braces his hands by the boy's head for a moment to collect himself. Anakin's eyes are closed, and Obi-Wan presses a sweet kiss to his damp forehead.

Then he leans back and lets his softening cock slip out, a trickle of pale fluid oozes out with it and something in him purrs with satisfaction at the depraved sight.

Once he has caught his breath, Obi-Wan uses his undergarments to clean the mess from Anakin's stomach and bottom. Then he lies down beside him and holds his boy close, pleased when Anakin stirs shortly and eagerly wraps himself around Obi-Wan. The young man hooks a leg over his, and nuzzles his flushed cheek into the light auburn strands covering Obi-Wan's chest with a contented sigh.

The moment is quiet and peaceful, basking in the warm afterglow while he, and presumably Anakin, sort through their thoughts.

Obi-Wan runs his fingers idly through soft brown curls. He'd meant it when he said he would take care of Anakin and his children. But in all honesty, he still isn't certain what their next move should be.

The Senate is likely a warzone now. Palpatine had just consolidated all the power in the Republic under himself, and now he's dead. The power vacuum would likely incite the most powerful members of the senate to attempt to seize control of the newly created—and vacated—Emperor's throne. Would the clone troopers follow whomever won?

He thinks of Cody, his men. He knows what they are. Slaves. He always tried not to think of it, like his fellow Jedi. They hadn't had much choice, the best they could do was be good slavers. Treat their men as well as they could. What would happen to them under other Masters? Does he care? They'd betrayed him, Cody tried to kill him. Anger simmers in his heart.

“I'm sorry, Master.” Anakin murmurs softly, interrupting his thoughts. “For giving in to Palpatine. For killing the younglings.”

It gives him pause, perhaps his boy had felt his sense of betrayal and thought it was of Anakin's deeds. Which it wasn't, but it did make Obi-Wan reconsider his anger. Perhaps Cody hadn't had much choice, perhaps he had been manipulated into it, like Anakin had been.

Even if he would be regarded as a Sith now, Obi-Wan still sees little sense in acting impulsively without first seeking the necessary information to make objective decisions. After all, Padme had been more loyal to Anakin than he'd first assumed based on Anakin's words. If he had allowed himself to hurt her because he thought her treacherous…

Perhaps being guided by strong emotions may not be as bad as he'd been taught to believe. But the Jedi's preference for caution and reason had won him victory enough times that he feels it foolish to simply discard everything he had learnt from them and jump to the other extreme. As tempting as that may be.

So, though he feels Anakin's fear, Obi-Wan resists both the ingrained reflex of offering up a quote of ancient wisdom, and the instinctual protective urge to grant immediate comfort and absolution.

Instead, he takes the time to consider his response, what he personally feels, what he knows, and what Anakin needs. He takes a quick glance through some of the memories—and thoughts of Anakin—that he'd acquired from Sidious’ mind. He doesn't want to say the wrong thing, not here, not now, not when it matters so. There will be a time for casual light-heartedness to return to their relationship.

“Good. You should be.” Obi-Wan eventually answers, and he can feel Anakin flinch, before he presses a kiss to the boy's hair. “But I do not blame you for falling to his manipulation. You are young and Darth Sidious used your kindness against you from start to finish, systematically breaking down your mind until the easiest option was to obey. To let someone else do the thinking for you.”

He can feel Anakin's confusion and smiles sadly. “First, he used your need for the affection that I was too afraid to give you. Then your love for Padme and your proximity to him to isolate you from the Jedi. Then he made himself look helpless in front of you, used your instinct to protect the weak to get you to attack Master Windu in his defence. That was the first break.”

Anakin nods slowly, clutches at him like he would as a child after a nightmare.

“I was tired, so tired. Trying to decide what to do. Then being forced to wait in the Council chambers for hours. When he killed Master Windu because I–” He swallows and takes a shuddering breath. “...I just wanted it to all stop. To stop thinking. Stop feeling. To rest.”

“You shouldn't have been left alone, I'm so sorry, my love.” Obi-Wan caresses his face gently, is pleased to see Anakin's eyes soften at the term of endearment. “That's why he revealed his identity to you then, while I was away. When I couldn't be there for you. I shouldn't have left.”

“I wish you'd been there.” Anakin murmurs. “Even if we had been arguing, it would have been less painful and exhausting than arguing in circles with myself.”

“Exactly. And then while you were tired, he had you do something that you could never forgive yourself for. Something to break your self-image.” Obi-Wan closes his eyes for a moment, even now, this is something he too must come to accept. “We both know he could easily have killed a handful of children on his own or with the clones. He did it to make you feel unredeemable. Unforgivable. To the point where being offered forgiveness would cause you pain.”

Anakin smiles wryly. “Is that why you're not offering forgiveness for the younglings?”

“Correct, clever one.” Obi-Wan taps him lightly on the nose. “I will offer you forgiveness for breaking my heart and taking my younger brothers and sisters from me. But for the act itself, the ones you need forgiveness from... are the dead, and they cannot give it. So, it is you who must forgive yourself. That is a pain I have not the ability to relieve you of.”

Anakin remains silent. And Obi-Wan allows him the space to think. He knows the boy has never enjoyed his lectures, but he feels a curious new willingness to listen. Is it because he stopped pushing Anakin away? Obi-Wan swallows a snort, what irony. That his boy would only listen to him after he lost the need to lecture him quite so harshly.

After the burden of being the Master of the Chosen One, of being a member of the Council, of being a good Jedi while honouring Master Qui-Gon's wishes. After everything he's carried for more than a decade has been laid down to rest. When he is free to be kind and indulgent towards his former Padawan simply for the sake of it. Because he loves Anakin.

“What will we do now, Master?” Anakin finally asks and Obi-Wan hums, accepting the change of topic. There was no need to rush his emotional recovery.

“I'm not sure.” Obi-Wan admits, stroking a hand over his beard. “We could stay here, hide from whomever takes power in the senate. A new war could start.”

Anakin bites his lip and shakes his head. “I don't want my children to grow up here. Tatooine is... this place... The desert only takes.”

Obi-Wan's eyes narrow, there's something that Anakin is hiding from him. He can feel it through their bond, simmering under the surface, a cautious hope that Anakin can share this secret with Obi-Wan, now that they are Sith. Is this something his boy had shared with Sidious? Envy coils in Obi-Wan's stomach, he could look, could search Sidious’ memories for it.

But he doesn't. That wouldn't be real. He wants to hear this secret from Anakin, as a show of trust.

“What is it?” Obi-Wan asks, tracing a thumb over Anakin's lower lip. “What are you keeping from me?”

Anakin swallows and shakes his head. “I'll– I'll tell you later. When we have time. It's... it's not important right now.”

He's not particularly pleased with the response, but he can feel Anakin's pain and that the boy is being honest, so Obi-Wan lets it go. For now.

“I think we should go back to the Repub– Empire.” Anakin says instead.

“I should hope you recall that the clone troopers have orders to kill me on sight.” Obi-Wan drawls dryly.

“Palpatine made me his apprentice, his second in command.” Anakin states. “Now that he's dead, the clones should obey my orders. If we return quickly enough, before they crown a new Emperor, we can take over and rule the galaxy. Make things the way we want them to be.”

“Now why would we want to do that?” Obi-Wan asks, raising a sceptical eyebrow. “Are you not tired of war?”

“I am.” Anakin admits. “But I want my children to grow up in a peaceful galaxy. I want to give them everything.”

“Being the children of the Emperors will take freedom from them.” Obi-Wan warns. “They will need constant protection, they will never have equal peers or a regular childhood.”

“And they would here?” The boy scoffs, an ugly sneer darkening his face. “On a backwater planet with no water. With slavery, raiders, gangs and crime? Under Hutt control. Where the sick creature could seek to make a pleasure slave of my daughter and nobody would lift a finger to stop it.”

Obi-Wan sighs and strokes his beard, Anakin had a point. Tatooine isn't a good place to raise children either. They would still be isolated and in constant danger of dying to something banal like the weather. At least as political hostages, their children would be valuable and have the chance of ransom or negotiation.

“Besides, they will likely be Force Sensitive. We both know this.” Anakin shakes his head. “I'd rather we be able to give them every material luxury they may need. A stable planet like Coruscant, with the Jedi Archives, schools, parks, and all the karking water they need.”

Obi-Wan gazes at Anakin's worn face and sighs again. “If we go back, we will never be free. We will spend the rest of our days at war.”

“They're worth it.” Anakin declares, before hesitating and giving him an uncertain look. “I– I hope we are... to you.”

The furrow between Obi-Wan's brows eases and he strokes a hand over Anakin's hair comfortingly. “Of course. You are worth everything to me. My life, my morals. Everything.”

Relief is plain on Anakin's face and joy sings through their bond as Obi-Wan lifts his hand from his chest and presses a kiss to the warm skin of his bare knuckles. “You are mine, which makes your children mine as well.”

“Are you proposing, Master?” Anakin asks with some amusement.

“If you wish.” Obi-Wan chuckles. “We are not Jedi any longer, not that that stopped you.”

Anakin gives him a sheepish grin, before asking tentatively. “Why did you let me be with Padme, when you felt this way about me?”

“Because she made you happy. I foolishly thought at the time that it was better for you to love her. That it was alcohol and fear of abandonment that made you desire me.” Obi-Wan explains with some irony.

Anakin snorts, his voice dry and bitter. “Could've just asked me what I thought.”

“There were many things I could have done.” Obi-Wan murmurs, brushing his fingers through the boy's damp brown strands.

“Like kriff my fifteen-year-old ass?” Anakin offers him a boyish grin.

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, but can't help smiling fondly when his boy nuzzles happily against him.

He's lost so much in the last few rotations. His brethren and his friends. Fought and killed the Sith Lord, acquired both new power and Anakin, lost the respect of Master Yoda, gained a pair of children. Obi-Wan knows he'll feel the true brunt of all this in time, but for now, he's just grateful that he has a new meaning and purpose. That he hasn't lost everything there is to live for.

He holds Anakin close, covers them with a blanket, and allows the exhaustion of this whole ordeal to carry him into rest.

Notes:

On the logistics of this fic's premise, I definitely cranked Obi-Wan's possessiveness over Anakin up, and did the impossible—making the security footage in the Chancellor office not only exist but also viewable from the Jedi Temple. But that's about it. I hope you can suspend disbelief for these unrealistic elements just so I can explore all the shit I wanna in this story OTL

Hear me out, if Obi-Wan wasn't the one who told Padme about the killed younglings, she wouldn't have already primed all of Anakin's insecurity and made him anticipate Obi-Wan's disapproval.

Padme also didn't know Obi-Wan was alive, so her first response to seeing him isn't to ask after Anakin's health, which makes Obi-Wan think she doesn't care about Anakin that much. He also misses how Anakin's anger can make him harm the very person he was so desperate to protect, so he doesn't get the impression that Anakin is lost. He doesn't see Anakin let his emotions control him or say "I understand" when Palpy's all "Obi-Wan's an enemy too", only sees Palpy manipulate him.

I like the theory that Sidious had wanted to use Essence Transfer to possess Anakin's body, but didn't in Canon because of Anakin's injuries. So, with an unexpected confrontation by an Obi-Wan leaking Darkness, and the idea that Obi-Wan's strength of will wouldn't be strong enough since he was such a stalwart Jedi yet he fell anyway (plus he's pretty powerful in the Force and would deteriorate slower) that makes his body an attractive candidate to Sidious.

Let's just say Sidious made a bad snap decision here, just like Yoda haha

Then the scene where Padme and Obi-Wan confront Anakin occurs, but with Yoda in Obi-Wan's place, and the scene where Anakin strangles Padme for "betraying him and bringing Yoda here to kill him" follows similarly. Anakin's fight with Yoda would not be as emotionally charged, so he'd be less reckless and, through pure Force power, be able to hold his ground against Yoda in a stalemate till Obi-Wan's arrival.

And thanks to all of that, butterfly effect, bam.

And, on the more character study side, I think Anakin's main source of fear and insecurity has always been that he'll make a mistake that causes him to lose those he loves. Whether it be them taken unwillingly from him through death or them discarding and abandoning him, leaving him to walk a lonely path. He fears having nobody to blame but himself, and ironically, that fear is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

It comes true when Padme says she cannot follow him down this path (and Obi-Wan in canon tries to kill him). A path he feels trapped on, unworthy of any other path, as Anakin says when bleeding his Kyber Crystal, all he can be is a Sith after everything he's done.

However, here Obi-Wan promises, and has in fact proven just by retaining loyalty to Anakin despite his actions, that he can and will follow Anakin down any path. This affords Anakin the security to risk changing his path. To endure the pain that comes with acknowledging a grave mistake he has made.

Ironically, it is when one is secure in the ones they love, that they can boldly face the prospect of self-improvement and progress despite the fear of failure.

Also, I think it's important to remember that in Anakin's experience, the systems he's seen have done jack shit to protect him or the ones he loves. Tatooine's hutts are a violent gang, the Republic didn't save him or his mother from slavery, it was Padme who later managed to liberate some slaves from Tatooine, but that was her own political efforts. The war showed him first-hand how fragile and limited the reach of the Republic is.

For someone who doesn't trust the system, who has been hurt by the failures of the system, there's a lot of paranoia and anxiety. That's why Anakin wants power and to be the one at the top, not out of hate or desire to subjugate others, but for the safety of his loved ones. Wanting one's family to be safe, is honestly just human and should not be treated as a bad thing. It's the system's fault for creating such paranoia. The solution is to improve the system.

Unfortunately for Anakin, he's attached to a politician, a Jedi and is the Chosen One. He can't just leave like Ahsoka.

Honestly, the people who say to Anakin, “with great power comes great responsibility, you got born with the Force, suck it up” are no different than the Nazis who said, “well, you're disabled and a waste of resources, so we are killing you, suck it up” or the slavers who say, “you're born a slave so suck it up”.

If someone (Jedi or otherwise) is ready to sacrifice their personal happiness for others that should be respected, I would admire and grieve for anyone strong enough in their beliefs to make that choice. But nobody should ever force or impose such expectations on someone who is unable to do so (like Anakin), any more than one should expect the blind to see.

[dumbbbg]

F O R Y O U - 2

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Padawan!reader (Later will turn into Unburnt Vader x rebel! reader)

Full series

Previous chapter - 1

Warnings (For the whole series): noncon, dubcon, dom/sub dynamics (basically filth)

Warnings (for this chapter): Anakin being controlling and really intense.

No one knew what had shifted in Anakin Skywalker, but something had. He had gotten...bigger, more muscular. His eyes had gotten serious, and when he smiled, no genuineness flickered in it.

Perhaps some of them could have sensed Anakin's change in the Force, but Anakin was too good at hiding it. He was a master at the Force; he could use it and wield it as well as he could his lightsaber.

The only one who sensed something was wrong was Obi-Wan, but his old padawan would not let even a flicker of whatever he was hiding show. Obi-Wan felt relief when he found out that Anakin had finally taken a Padawan. He took that as a sign that Anakin was finally okay.

If only he had looked deeper, he would have seen the obsessed look in Anakin's eyes whenever he looked at you. The sheer possessiveness, the hunger, the desire to possess your very fucking soul.

You didn't notice it either. You were terrified of him, he was a quiet, giant, ridiculously skilled man who had somehow agreed to become your master.

You went for training, and while you trained, you followed the orders he gave in his deep voice and as he circled you, his arms folded against his chest, and his eyes firmly on every move you made. You felt exposed. Naked. Like he could see everything.

You made too many mistakes, and he shook his head everytime you said sorry. He pushed you till your arms were aching and the lightsaber was trembling in your hands. He gently took the lightsaber away with his giant hand, and set it in his pocket.

"You'll have it back when you can handle it, little one."

"What? But how am I to train without it?"

He lowered his head till he was looking right into your eyes. "How younglings do, with a wooden stick."

"But-"

"No," he said, softly, dangerously. You almost jerked away. "You say 'Yes, master.' You're my padawan, and I know what is best for you. Now, what do you say, little one?"

Why was there so much danger in a Jedi Knight's voice? You felt like you could suffocate on the tension.

You opened your trembling lips, keeping your eyes anywhere away from him, and whispered, "Y-Yes, Master."

His large, prosthetic hand raised, and he cupped the side of your face gently. "That's a good girl. Let's go for lunch now, yes?"

You had no choice but to nod.

. . .

He did not give you your lightsaber back. You were grateful that he always trained you in his private training room, otherwise anyone finding out that your master had taken away your lightsaber would have been humiliating.

The next day, he gave you the wooden stick he wanted you to use. You looked up at him, wanting to say something, to ask to at least have your lightsaber even if he wasn't going to let you use it.

But just looking at his blue eyes that had a tinge of yellow in them, you couldn't speak. His presence was too much, it filled the room. You were hyperaware of where he stood, how he moved, as if a prey in a standoff with its predator.

"Now, that was better, wasn't it?" He said after the training, his voice holding that same gentleness that was lined with the danger that made goosebumps rise on your arms. "Keep being good, and I will give you your lightsaber back. You'll be good, won't you?" Prosthetic hand raised, and tipped up your head. You avoided his eyes and nodded.

"Words, padawan."

"Y-" It was too hard to speak. Maker, why had you asked him to train you? "Yes, m-master-"

"Good girl." His hand cupped the side of your face, and the thumb brushed your undereye as he looked deep into your eyes. "You know I can sense how nervous I make you, right?"

"I-I know-"

He smirked, fingers curling slightly, cupping your cheek. "Why are you scared of me, little one? Have I hurt you, hm?"

"No...no, master."

"Then why?" He asked, gently, darkly, and he stepped closer. You took a step back. His head titled, and before you knew it, you were backed up again the wall, his hand still cupping your face.

You were breathing heavily and your heart seemed to make your whole body shake.

He leaned closer. "Acting like a little girl when you're a Jedi padawan, hm? Such a shame. I have a lot to teach you, little one. It's a good thing I am your master now, isn't it?" A pause. "I said isn't it?"

"Y-Yes-" you choked out, lips trembling. "Yes, m-master."

He let go of your face. "Run along now. I'll see you tomorrow."

. . .

He kept cornering you after that. At every chance he got. He would back you up against a wall with just one hand cupping the side of your face. Sometimes he'd explain something related to the training like that, other times he would ask questions ("What time did you wake up, little one, hm? You were late." Or "Where is your mind, my padawan. You're making so many silly mistakes.").

But other times (and these times had you terrified), he would back you up against the wall and just stare.

He'd keep your face cupped, and he would stare deep into your eyes and then drag his eyes all over your body, accessing everything. He'd keep that hand against your cheek, and if you tried to speak, he'd shake his head once. You did not know why he did this. All you knew was that it terrified you and left you shaking for the rest of the day.

After one particularly hard training where you made too many mistakes, he shook his head. "Little one, I swear..." He sighed and stepped closer. You instantly inched towards the door. You did not want to get cornered again.

The side of his lips twisted up in a smirk. "Running, are we?"

Your hand grabbed the knob. "I-I will see you a-at lunch, master."

The smirk did not disappear. "It my little Padawan going to run away from me, hm? I don't think I have done anything that warrants this treatment. You make me feel like a monster."

"N-no, I don't mean it that w-"

"I will meet you for dinner," he said. "I'll come to your room to picky you up. Be good, hm?"

You ran out of the training room.

. . .

Anakin could not take it anymore. Just being near you wasn't enough. He had to take you. And he would.

So, instead of knocking at your bedroom door, he opened it using Force.

"M-master?" Your little spooked voice made his cock hard.

"Yes, little one," he answered calmly, slamming the door shut. "I'm here to teach you a few things."

[it-happened-one-fic]

10 Seconds - Floyd

Author Notes: I'm not gonna lie, I had a lot of fun writing this. This fic was pretty much entirely inspired by a scene in chapter 111 in Akagami no Shirayukihime (Snow White with The Red Hair). After I found out that Floyd and Obi had the same voice actor, the temptation was to great for me to resist. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Fluff/ flirtation/ romance/ kind of spoofy/ Reader does have a pushy admirer so be warned on that note

Word Count: 1890

There was something about persistent wanna-be lovers that made one nervous enough to look to even the most shady sources of help. Including Octaveinelle.

“So this young man has been bothering you for…?” Jade trailed off as he looked up from the glass he was currently polishing to where I sat, right in front of him, at the bar.

“A little over a month now, I think.” I frowned as I recounted the numerous times the Pomefiore junior in question had just ‘happened’ to be right where I would inevitably run into him.

 I would be trapped there, having to interact with him and dodging his advances until I was saved by some passerby or thought up a reasonable excuse to leave.

I could’ve gone to Vil for help, considering it was one of his dorm members. But I also didn’t entirely want to put my annoyingly persistent and considerably pushy admirer through quite that much sorrow.

I did, however, want this handled, and me turning him down numerous times as politely as possible simply wasn’t cutting it. Which was why I went to Octavinelle to seek the advice of the infamous tweels. After all, they handled a lot of Azul's issues. Surely they would have advice for handling one persistent admirer.

Floyd let out a low whistle from behind me, causing me to twist slightly to glance at the young man who ought to be sweeping but was now just propped up on the broom’s handle as he shook his head, “Stubborn guy.”

His eyes found mine as a grin crossed his face, and I realized very quickly that I didn’t want to know exactly what Floyd was thinking. That wasn’t really one of his nice grins….

“Come now, Floyd. We can’t exactly blame the poor fool for being quite so smitten with our darling little Prefect, can we?” I almost grimaced at Jade’s teasing tone as I turned in time to catch his mocking, sharp-toothed smile.

“Guys,” I didn’t even bother fighting the whine that slipped into my tone. “I just want some advice. I can’t get him to go away, and I’ve already tried being blunt.”

Jade smiled in an indulgent manner down at me before a frown crossed his face, “I suppose it is rather problematic and concerning if he’s been at it this long.”

He sat the glass down with a tiny clink on the bar as he continued to ponder my plight, “You said he’s a Pomefiore student?”

I nodded, wondering exactly what Jade was thinking as Floyd slipped up next to me, propping himself on the bar, “Should I just scare him off? That’d probably do it.” 

Floyd sounded perfectly willing to do just that as he looked at me with that sharp-toothed grin of his before looking towards his brother. 

But he was soon frowning in confusion as Jade started to shake his head with a slight frown, “No, if he’s as determined as I fear, then I doubt that would solve the problem for little more than three days.”

That mocking smile appeared on Jade’s face again, even though he wasn’t actually looking at either me or his brother, as he continued, “Besides. Those Pomefiore boys are the schooling sort. Always flitting about in a group. If we tried aggression, he’d just come back with his friends, and that would make things more difficult for you, wouldn’t it, Prefect?”

He looked towards me as he finished, and I nodded glumly, “A squad probably would make it tougher.”

Especially since Pomefiore squads were known to be aggressive. Turning him down in front of his posse could be risky at best.

A chuckle slipped from the vice-housewarden’s lips as he smiled at me, “Now, now. There’s no need to make such a face. The solution is really quite simple, isn’t it?”

I perked up at his words, looking at him hopefully before I frowned once I noticed his grin, “What’s it gonna cost?”

The twins laughed together, their voices joining in a strange harmony that made me tense ever-so-slightly. 

“Oh, it’ll be on the house this time. After all, this will be most amusing for both of us.” Jade’s words seemed to surprise Floyd as much as they did me.

Unperturbed by our obvious confusion, Jade leaned forward with an undoubtedly conspiratorial grin. Propping himself on his elbows as he gestured both of us closer with a single flick of his long fingers, “Listen closely…..”

And that was what had brought me to this moment, as I let out a quiet exhale before rounding the corner.

I didn’t even have to worry about setting the guy up. I knew exactly where he’d be.

Propped up on the wall in that careful pose he was always in when he was waiting for me to come and just ‘happen’ to bump into him.

And sure enough, there he was. Leaning against the wall with one arm raised so that he had me slightly caged in from the very second I rounded the corner.

“Prefect! What a surprise,” His perfectly white teeth flashed almost blindingly, and I fought not to gag at the raw amount of perfume he was wearing. 

It was a good thing he hadn’t brought his posse; I probably would’ve passed out from the raw amount of perfume that would’ve been in the air.

But I smiled. Pretending to be surprised and not at all frustrated by his persistent, unwanted affections as I carefully went back through the plan that Jade had laid out in my head.

Interact with him like everything was normal while waiting until reinforcements came, and then follow those very simple directions that Jade had given.

So I waited. Awkwardly exchanging pleasantries and smiling up at the young man who now leaned increasingly closer despite how much I would like him to say far away. He was no doubt about to drop some sort of new line that was intended to sweep me off my feet but would be far more likely to make me grimace.

And right as he opened his mouth with a grin that spoke of some very misplaced confidence, I heard the exact thing I’d been waiting for.

“Shrimpy~” Floyd’s sing-song call came from behind me, and I turned so fast that I almost missed the deep frown that appeared at impressive speeds on my admirer’s face.

“Floyd!” I didn’t have to fake my joy at seeing him, though I couldn’t say the same for him considering that Floyd himself looked entirely bored as he looked towards the Pomefiore junior that now stood stiffly silent. Already frustrated by the mere presence of Floyd.

For a brief moment, I was honestly worried about how well Jade’s scheme was going to go over until Floyd’s gaze shifted and his eyes met mine. Because then there was an entire change to his person.

His gaze softened ever so slightly, and his lips twitched up in an absentminded smile as he walked over, all but cooing at me affectionately, “There you are.”

He didn’t stop until he was right next to me, looking down at me, and then I knew the moment of truth was upon us.

I could hear Jade’s amused voice in my head as I braced myself, swallowing as I recalled his words: “Ten seconds. You will need to stare into each other’s eyes for ten seconds. But that’s all it will take.”

Floyd was far calmer than I was as he slipped off his blazer and draped it over my shoulders, blocking the cool breeze that came through the open window.

 His voice was quieter than usual, though still playful as he spoke, “There you go; can’t have you getting cold.” And that was my cue that we were beginning.

One.

My hand reached up to tug his oversized jacket a little closer around my body, and my hand brushed lightly against his fingers that lingered at my shoulders.

Two. Three. Four.

I twisted just a little bit more so that I could look at him better as his hand slid down my arm so that his arm was wrapped around my shoulders.

Five. 

It was already getting sort of awkward to keep staring for this long into Floyd’s mismatched eyes for this long. But now I was beginning to think more about the color of his irises than the actual situation we were in.

Six. Seven.

One was a yellow color. Not a sickly yellow, but rather it was a warmer color that made me feel oddly safe considering the young man I was looking up at. The other eye was a surprisingly gentle olive that was also welcomingly familiar and spoke of how, in certain moments, Floyd himself could actually be quite gentle.

Eight. Nine.

I could feel numerous people staring at us, and I was fairly certain that one of them was definitely Jade. He was probably utterly delighted by how uniquely embarrassing this really was. Because even though I’d been prepared to feel a little self-conscious, I hadn’t been expecting to be this flustered. Especially since it was just Floyd….

Ten.

Floyd’s smile grew by just a fraction, and then he blinked, “I reckon I’ll see you later. I know you can’t miss your class. Good little student that you are~” He let go of my arm with an affectionate squeeze as he continued to look down at me. But this time with amusement in his gaze and a teasing lilt to his voice.

I swallowed down my overwhelming shyness as I looked away, blinking as I attempted to force my recovery by focusing on his teasing. 

But even then, my voice wobbled as I quipped back, not quite able to look back up at him, “Unlike you, I actually have to study to keep my grades up.”

Out of my peripheral vision, I could tell he was fully grinning now, “Aww, if you ever need help, you can just ask. If you're nervous about Azul, I can help you out.”

He leaned down and into my line of sight so that he could wink at me, and I let out an exhale. Reminding myself that this was Floyd I was dealing with. Not some incredibly romantic male lead who was here to sweep me off my feet and actually be successful.

Which brought me back to my admirer, who was still standing there, staring in open-mouthed shock. 

“Ex- Excuse me, I lost track of time with Floyd and really do need to get to class now,” I  was still flustered enough that I stammered slightly before I flashed him an apologetic grin before I trotted off. 

As I fled the scene, I passed a chuckling Jade and mouthed a quick, ‘Thank you,’ before hurrying on. Attempting to outrun the oddly shy sensation I now felt at the thought of being near Floyd and entirely missing what happened behind me as I fled the scene.

“You haven’t gotten anywhere in a month, and it only took me ten seconds.” So saying, Floyd glanced down at the Pomefiore student, who almost immediately puffed up with indignance that quickly deflated as Floyd grinned in a way that perfectly displayed his too-sharp teeth.

“You might as well just try somewhere else, ‘cause you aren’t going to be stealing Shrimpy away from me anytime soon.”

[lightasthesun]

Happy Disability Pride fellow spoonies!

As always: mind the tags!!

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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.“

[rageofthemuffin]

Sneak Peek

Here's what will probably be the first chapter of an actor AU I've been thinking about for literal years now. Codywan are together, but the main focus of the fic itself will be Obi-Wan's (platonic) relationship with Anakin. A little warning that Qui-Gon is a pretty slimy dude here, and there is discussion of manipulation and some predatory behavior.

I have no idea when this will actually be posted, I would want to get a few chapters written before then, and I don't even have an outline yet. I also have school and work and hobbies and all that good stuff, but this kinda wrote itself, so we'll see where it goes. Enjoy!

---

Obi-Wan had just finished pouring two generous glasses of wine when his phone started buzzing incessantly in his back pocket. He sighed deeply, carrying the glasses into the living room and handing one to his boyfriend before fishing out his flip phone, pleasantly surprised that the little caller ID screen was actually a friend and not spam.

“Bail, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked, sinking onto the couch and against Cody’s side as his wine sloshed precariously.

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting, Obi-Wan,” Bail said regretfully.

“No, no,” Obi-Wan assured him. “Cody and I are having a quiet night in.”

“Ah, well then I’m exceedingly sorry,” Bail said, good-humored.

Obi-Wan chuckled, taking a sip of his wine and leaning into the kiss Cody pressed to his temple.

“I have some news about our project,” Bail said.

“Good news or bad news?” Obi-Wan asked warily.

“Just news, but I want you to hear it from me.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Did it get delayed?”

“No, everything’s coming along perfectly, we’re still on track to begin shooting next month. But we’ve finished casting.”

“Oh? That sounds like good news,” Obi-Wan said cautiously. It also sounded like news not worthy of a phone call.

“It is, but there’s-“ Bail broke off, sighing. “See, we-“ he cursed softly. “I’m just going to say it. We cast Anakin Skywalker.”

Obi-Wan froze, wine glass half way to his lips. “I see.”

“And believe me, if there had been anyone else who fit the part I would have chosen otherwise, but he’s perfect, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan smiled wryly, ignoring Cody’s concerned gaze. “Yes, I can see why he would be.”

“I know this isn’t ideal, and you two will have to work very closely with each other, but-“

“It’s fine, Bail,” Obi-Wan said softly. He didn’t really need to hear whatever assurances his friend would come up with.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m a professional. I can handle working with another professional. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Bail breathed a sigh of relief through the speaker. “Alright then. Good. And if there’s anything I can do to make things easier-“

“I appreciate that,” Obi-Wan cut him off again. “Was there anything else?”

“Not tonight.”

“Then I’ll talk to you soon,” Obi-Wan promised, and with a return of the sentiment from Bail, he snapped his phone shut and tossed it to the other end of the couch.

“Are you okay?” Cody asked gently.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“I heard a certain name come up, and given that it was Bail on the phone, I think I can guess what’s going on.”

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair, nodding grimly. “They’ve cast him.”

Cody sighed. “They couldn’t find any other tormented kid for the part?”

“Bail and Breha have been trying to cast this part for months. And it makes sense, it really does. I’ve no doubt he’ll be fantastic.” Obi-Wan grimaced, washing the words down with a heavy sip.

Cody frowned. “I don’t like the idea of you-know-who coming to set all the time.”

“He’s never been one to do that sort of thing. Usually I was the one tagging along to his sets, and most of the time he just ignored me,” Obi-Wan snorted. “He’s never been good at taking an interest in what others are doing.”

“Bastard,” Cody muttered as he drank from his own glass.

“I quite agree. Now, I believe we had plans for this evening. You queue up the show, and I’ll be right back.”

Cody grabbed the remote, navigating to their latest trashy reality TV binge-and-bitch, as Obi-Wan called them. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to need the rest of that wine.”

—

It wasn’t that Obi-Wan hated Anakin Skywalker. The kid hadn’t really done anything to him.

Except, well, stealing his boyfriend.

But no, his therapist’s voice scolded him mentally, boyfriends couldn’t be stolen. They could decide, though, after ten years of dating that they were over it and start fucking their nineteen year old co-star. And that nineteen year old co-star had been…less than gracious about it.

When a humiliated and heartbroken Obi-Wan had shown up at the house he and Qui-Gon picked out together to move out his things, Anakin had already been quite comfortable, dressed in Qui-Gon’s clothes with messy hair and marks on his neck that painted quite the picture of how the two of them had been spending their time.

While Obi-Wan had shuffled around, miserably gathering his clothes and other personal effects, the boy had been practically hanging off of Qui-Gon, kissing his throat, pressing their bodies together, all with a vicious smirk as he caught Obi-Wan looking out of the corner of his eye. Qui-Gon, the bastard, had pretended to scold the boy, but it was painfully obvious the older man was pleased, giving Anakin sweet kisses and squeezing his ass whenever he noticed Obi-Wan looking. Obi-Wan hadn’t even closed the front door on his way out before he heard Anakin moan wantonly. He’d gone back to Quinlan’s apartment and shut himself in the guest room for a week after that.

Now that Obi-Wan had done some major healing, he could recognize that it was all just manipulation on his ex’s part. After all, he’d been Anakin’s age when he and Qui-Gon met, and there really was no reason for a thirty-five year old man to take interest in a nineteen year old. But Obi-Wan had been terribly vain and thought himself mature, and the older man had been so charming and attractive. He’d lapped up Qui-Gon’s attentions eagerly, preening over the fact that the notorious bachelor had chosen him.

So when the sex was mediocre at best, or when Qui-Gon would get in one of his moods and ignore him for weeks at a time, or when he’d point out Obi-Wan’s shortcomings far more than he’d ever complimented him, none of it mattered because they were in love. Qui-Gon chose Obi-Wan, and that made everything else insignificant. It wasn’t until months after it ended and dozens of therapy appointments that Obi-Wan finally grasped just how toxic and calculated it all was.

He realized that Qui-Gon probably had sex with Anakin right before Obi-Wan came over on purpose, and that his affection toward the boy was played up deliberately for him to see. He actually felt sorry for Anakin, knowing what kind of things were undoubtedly happening behind closed doors. It was bad enough for a thirty-five year old to pursue a nineteen year old; it was even worse for a forty-five year old to do it.

However, Anakin hadn’t been an easy one to pity. The media went crazy when they found out Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had broken up and that the older man already had a young new boyfriend. Speculation ran wild, and a lot of it was pretty much accurate, but the two of them had taken advantage of Obi-Wan’s private disposition to attempt to spin things in their favor.

Qui-Gon, similarly private, hadn’t ever said anything about it. But Anakin, a bold upcoming action star, had said a lot. He spoke about the drama in several interviews, claiming that Qui-Gon had just gotten out of a bad relationship when they met and that he and Anakin had “just clicked.” He never mentioned Obi-Wan by name. He didn’t need to. He just gushed about Qui-Gon to the press until interest died down.

It had worked probably about as well as it could have, though Obi-Wan had seen plenty of people expressing doubt about the age gap and pointing out that Obi-Wan had once been in Anakin’s position, too, though without the potential infidelity.

It was all too much, and the noise had made it very difficult for Obi-Wan to attempt to move on and heal, so he’d replaced his smart phone with a basic flip phone and started using his computer mostly just for work. He’d loaded his TV with ad-free streaming service subscriptions, and he’d finally given himself some peace.

He went to therapy, he spent more time with his friends, he decorated his apartment just exactly how he liked it. He only took projects he was interested in, finding a lot of satisfaction in his work when there wasn’t someone at his side telling him all the ways he wasn’t quite perfect.

And on the three year anniversary of the worst day of his life, he met Cody.

Cody was head of security for the film Obi-Wan was shooting at the time. He noticed him immediately, strong and handsome and a little mysterious. For the first time since his breakup, Obi-Wan felt the stirrings of interest. He’d chatted to Cody throughout the day, and the man was exceptionally polite and professional. Almost too professional, because Obi-Wan had gently flirted with him for the rest of the shoot, and then the man had still seemed shocked that Obi-Wan wanted to exchange numbers on his last day on set.

The two of them gradually started getting to know one another through phone calls, eventually getting to the point where they would talk for hours, both missing out on sleep in favor of one another. Eventually, Obi-Wan invited Cody to his apartment so they could hang out in person, and that was that.

Cody was sweet and attentive and communicative, everything Obi-Wan had never experienced in a relationship before. The sex was great, better than Obi-Wan even knew it could be, but the little, slow moments where the two of them just existed together were Obi-Wan’s favorites.

His friends loved Cody, and the media had no idea Cody existed (not because they were particularly trying to hide, but because he wasn’t a celebrity, and Obi-Wan was great at avoiding the press). They bought a house together six months ago, both of their careers were thriving, Obi-Wan had just signed on to a movie produced and directed by some of his best friends, and he’d never been so happy in his life.

He reminded himself of that fact as he walked into the studio for the table read. It was only two months of filming, he could get through it.

The thing was, he wanted to do more than get through it. He wanted to enjoy himself. Bail and Breha were amazing, the script was brilliant, and the cast was incredibly talented, Anakin Skywalker included.

Obi-Wan was met almost immediately by Breha upon stepping inside, finding himself pulled into a tight hug.

“Obi-Wan, it’s been far too long,” she scolded him warmly. “Bail’s been keeping you all to himself.”

Obi-Wan grinned down at her. “Maybe if you weren’t so wildly successful, you wouldn’t be too busy to join us for lunch once in a while.”

Breha just shook her head fondly. “How’s Cody?”

“He’s great, he told me to invite the two of you for dinner sometime soon.”

“Of course! I’ve got to run and meet some execs, but set up that dinner with Bail before you leave.” Breha kissed his cheek before breezing out of the room, her place swiftly taken by her husband.

“Obi-Wan,” Bail greeted with a firm handshake. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise.”

Bail leaned in and lowered his voice. “I’m sorry about the seating arrangement, but you two have so many scenes together-“

Obi-Wan held up a hand, glancing around to note that, of course, he and Anakin were seated next to each other, the younger actor already in his seat. “No more apologies Bail. Like you said, we have a lot of scenes together. We’re both adults, it will be fine.”

Bail nodded, not looking particularly reassured, and moved to greet someone else. Obi-Wan moved toward his seat, shaking hands and kissing cheeks along the way.

He greeted Padmé Amidala warmly, glad she was seated on his other side. They weren’t close, but they had mutual friends, and Obi-Wan had always admired the younger actress.

Finally, he had no choice but to address Anakin. The young man was eyeing him already, and when Obi-Wan faced him, he stiffened, jutting his chin out as if challenging Obi-Wan to make a scene. It had been five years since Obi-Wan had seen him in person, and he definitely looked different.

His hair was longer, for one thing, and instead of the boyish energy he’d carried himself with five years ago, now he was tense and moody-looking, his shoulders hunched forward and his arms folded over his chest.

Obi-Wan just did his best to smile politely, sticking out a hand. “Hello, Anakin.”

Anakin watched his hand suspiciously for a moment before shaking it. “Hi.”

Obi-Wan sighed internally, deciding to go grab a coffee before the reading started.

It was going to be a long two months.