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speaknow-sw · 2 months ago

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•| 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.

#hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker fluff #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin x you #anakin x reader #evie writes

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uyuartik · 1 year ago

Text

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.

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obiwansito · 2 months ago

Text

somewhere in the haze

the great war - chapter three

playlist 𐐒𐐚 taglist ʚĭɞ fic masterlist

pairing- obi wan x f!reader

word count- 5.8k

summary- something is happening. the Force feels more dense, more unsteady. even the air feels different. anakin is acting strange, too. you don't know the galaxy -and your life- is going to change forever soon.

tags for this chapter- ANGST. anxiety, nightmares, more angst, dark themes, hurt/comfort (except it's not really comfort bc we all know what's coming), canon typical violence.

a/n- sorry this took so long, no one told me it would be so difficult to ruin my main character's life... 😞

24 BBY. 5 YEARS BEFORE.

The Coruscant sun warmly illuminated the training room in the Jedi Temple. The sounds of lightsabers clashing against each other filled the room, your breaths agitated as you and Anakin tried to avoid each other's blades.

Although you were still Padawans, you were both considered among the best of your generation. That's why you enjoyed training together so much, pushing each other to improve.

From a corner, Obi-wan and Plo Koon watched the two of you closely, closely analyzing every technique and move you used.

“Let the force guide you, so you can prevent every attack.” Your master's warm voice advised you.

Anakin lunged at you, but you leapt, elegantly dodging him. You smiled when he rolled his eyes.

“She has improved quite a bit.” Obi-wan spoke softly to your master.

You tried to concentrate on the match, but having the man you had a giant crush on talking about you wasn't making it easy.

And of course, your best friend noticed. “You look distracted.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Of course not.”

But when he charged another attack at you, this time aiming his blade at your side, you barely managed to block it, losing your balance.

Anakin raised an eyebrow, with a victorious grin. “Told you.”

You could still feel Obi-wan's gaze on you, but you tried to concentrate as much as possible, until you managed to disarm Anakin.

“Seems like I won today.” You smirked, extending your hand towards your friend to help him up. He grunted, accepting your help.

You both turned to the masters, who were approaching you. “Great job, padawans.” Obi-wan congratulated you, nodding to both of you. But his gaze settled on you. “You've made quite a progress. Keep it up and you'll be very successful.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and tried to cover it with a slight bow. “Thank you, master.” You just hoped no one had noticed.

But Plo Koon did. He looked at you with his head bowed in confusion, though he decided not to say anything. “That was all. You both did very well. We'll leave you to practice on your own.”

With a final bow, you watched as the masters departed, your heart racing at what you had just experienced.

Once they were gone, Anakin dropped to the ground with an exaggerated sigh. “You're lucky. But I let you win.”

You chuckled, lying down next to him. “Yeah, right. Keep dreaming.”

You closed your eyes, catching your breath. When you opened them again, you found your friend staring out the window, nostalgic.

“Are you alright?” You sat up.

“Yeah, it's just...” He sighed, his gaze lost in a fixed point. “I was thinking about Padmé. See that? That's the Senate building. She must be there...”

You looked at him, somewhere between amused and incredulous. “Oh, Force. Ani, again? You haven't seen her in years.”

“Yes, again.” He turned to look at you. “She's so special. Even if twenty years pass, I don't think I would be able to forget her.” He sighed. “Didn't you see her when she was queen, on Naboo?”

“Ani, I left Naboo when I was three. She wasn't queen at that time. And I don't remember anything about the planet either.”

“Well, you should. It's beautiful. And she's even more so.” You couldn't help but chuckle at how dramatic he was. “Oh, of course you're amused. You could never understand.”

“Why would you say that?” You arched an eyebrow.

He smirked. “Because you've never been in love, obviously.”

You scoffed. “And who makes you think I never have?”

Anakin looked at you in surprise, and that's when you realized you'd said too much. “Are you trying to tell me that you have fallen in love with someone?”

You laughed nervously. “Of course not... That's not my point.”

“Oh, no. Now you have to tell me.” He sat down next to you, curiously.

“It's just a silly crush... It doesn't mean anything.”

“Come on. You have to tell me who he is.” He shook you by the shoulders. “You know about Padmé, it's only fair you tell me who you're in love with.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing he'd insist to exhaustion. “It's... It's going to be weird, okay?”

He looked at you with intrigue. “It's not... me, is it?”

You pushed him. “Of course not, dumbass. That's gross.” You groaned. You were cornered. “Okay, it's... Ugh, it's Obi-wan.”

His amused smile was wiped away in an instant, turning disgusted. “That's- gross! He's my master! Like- my father! You like my father?”

You chuckled at his reaction, your cheeks completely red. “It's not like that! Well... maybe a bit yes. But he's not your father!”

He covered his face with his hands. “But why! What do you see in him?”

“Well... he's a great Jedi, he's amazing, and his force mark is very warm, when you see him you feel like everything will be okay and... he's so... handsome.”

Anakin groaned. “Oh, force. I don't know why I asked. I'll have nightmares.”

You laughed at his words. “You act like something is going to happen. Please Ani, he doesn't even know I exist. He just sees me as Plo Koon's Padawan and your best friend.”

“Well, he better. Both of you.”

The two of you remained in a comfortable silence for a few seconds, until he spoke again. “Do you think Padmé still remembers me?”

You couldn't help but chuckle. “Probably. Maybe someday you'll see her again, who knows.”

Anakin nodded. “Ready for a rematch?”

You ignited your blade with a proud smile. “Oh, I'm ready to beat you again.”

Your days at the temple were routine again. Train, teach, meditate, eat, repeat. Hell, you were even a little bored. As much as you hated to admit it... You missed being aboard a ship, floating in hyperspace for hours, reaching a distant planet and destroying droids.

You felt that Jedi values had changed quite a bit. When you were a Padawan, and the galaxy was at peace, you never thought anything like this would happen. To be a general in a war? It was crazy.

You were walking through the Temple, fresh from your first class of the morning. It was being a pretty quiet day, at least for now. You had woken up in your boyfriend's arms, sleepy smiles and soft kisses. But unfortunately he had to leave early for - yet another - meeting with the Council.

A force mark you would recognize anywhere brought you out of your thoughts. You turned, finding your best friend walking towards you.

“Anakin!” You started walking towards him, a smile lighting up your face, until it slowly faded as you felt his emotions through the Force.

“It's... so good to see you.” You looked at him with concern. “I wanted to look for you, but I figured you were busy. Are you... okay?”

He sighed. “I was named member of the High Council.”

Your eyes widened with surprise and confusion again. “They named you master? That's incredible news, Ani.”

You were about to go over to hug him, but he took a step back, denying. “No. I'm still a knight.”

“What?” You furrowed your brows, sensing the anger in his voice and in the Force. “Is that even possible?”

His jaw clenched. “No. It's a complete disrespect. I've done more than many Jedi Masters. I've saved lives, won battles. And this is how I get paid?”

“Ani, calm down.” You said softly. “I'm sure the Council had their reasons, but they're going to name you soon. It's what you deserve, after all.”

He scoffed. “That's easy for you to say. But we're not all the Council's favorites.”

This hit you like a bucket of cold water. You looked at him in dismay, trying to find the right words. “You're speaking from your anger. You think I don't understand you? We've always been in this together, Anakin.”

“That's a lie. From the moment they made you master, we no longer were. Why would they do that? You haven't even had a Padawan. I have.”

“I didn't ask to be one.” You were fighting with all your strength to keep yourself calm. “It just happened, and I'm sure soon you be will too-” You couldn't finish, for Anakin interrupted you.

“And here we go again. You're defending them. What about me? Wasn't I your best friend? You'll never understand how I feel. Do you know what it's like to try hard, to give your all and still not have it be enough?”

You looked at him in disbelief. “Of course I do. Force, Anakin. You know all too well my struggles with the Council. I've had to prove myself time and time again.” You took a deep breath, you were beginning to raise your voice. “I've always been here for you, why are you attacking me out of nowhere?”

That calmed him down. He looked down at the floor, embarrassed. “I'm sorry. I- I didn't mean to...” He sighed. “I have to go.”

And he walked away, leaving you confused and angry. What was happening to him? That wasn't Anakin.

You weren't blind, you knew the war had affected him. All of you. But that didn't justify him behaving like a complete idiot.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice someone approaching you until you bumped into each other. Immediately, you felt strong arms holding you, stopping a possible fall.

When you looked up, you met Obi-wan's soft gaze.

“Darling.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, glancing sideways to make sure you were alone. Luckily, you were. But you didn't want to take any chances.

“Master Kenobi.”

He laughed a little. “Are we formal?”

You nudged him, rolling your eyes. “Someone may come.” You scanned your surroundings, grabbing his hand and stepping into an empty room.

When the door closed behind him, you noticed he was looking at you with concern. He took a step forward, stroking your cheek. “Are you alright?”

You leaned into his touch, his warm hand immediately comforting you. “Yeah, I just... I argued with Anakin.”

His expression clouded, immediately realizing what was going on. “I guess you heard, then.”

“What happened?”

He sighed, taking your hand, tracing circles on it. “The Chancellor named Anakin his representative on the Council.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Is that even possible?”

Obi-wan shook his head. “No. The Chancellor does not have the authority to interfere in the affairs of the Council. But given the circumstances... It was decided to give him a seat, but without giving him the rank of master.”

“That's why he's so upset.”

“Yes, and...” He hesitated for a second, as if debating whether or not to mention it. “He was given an extra-official mission by the Council.”

“What is it?”

“They want Anakin to spy on the Chancellor.”

You brought a hand to your mouth. “What?”

“Palpatine has gained a lot of power in the years of war. We suspect something is wrong... We can no longer ignore it.”

“Obi-wan. The Chancellor is like a mentor to Anakin. He's one of the closest people he has... He's not going to take this well.”

“I know. I know because I already told him.”

You folded your arms, worried. “He must see it as treason.”

He took your hands between his, and rested them on his chest. “That's why I'm telling you this. Please keep an eye on him.” His voice was troubled. “You're his best friend. He trusts you.”

You closed your eyes, processing the situation. The last thing you wanted was to be in the middle of this. But you wouldn't leave your friend alone either.

You nodded slowly. “I will.”

And before you could say anything else, you felt him pulling you in, wrapping you in a warm embrace. “Thank you, sweetheart. Really.”

You sank your face into his robe, snuggling against his body. At times like this, in his arms, you could pretend everything was okay. No war, no Jedi Order, no pregnancy. Just you and him.

“ Everything will be alright.” He whispered into your hair. And you, if only for a second, believed him. You actually managed to think everything was going to get better.

A few seconds later, he broke away, leaving a kiss on your forehead. “I'll look for you later, okay?”

You nodded, even though your whole being was screaming at you to go into his arms again.

His fingers slipped from yours before finally releasing you. He gave you one last look, with the smile that always reassured you.

When the door closed behind him, you let out a half-hearted sigh, leaning your back against the wall.

At what moment had things come to this point?

You placed your hand on your belly, caressing it gently. You have to be strong. For your baby.

You didn't know what, but something in the Force felt... different. Your instincts told you something big was about to happen. But you couldn't figure out what.

You took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself to go about your day. You couldn't let this get to you.

You were sitting on the floor of your quarters, trying to meditate. It was already night, the window was open and you could appreciate the stars in the sky of Coruscant.

You breathed deeply, trying to connect with the Force. But for some reason you couldn't. Something had changed. Something you couldn't quite figure out, but it felt... dense.

You sighed. You wouldn't be able to meditate today. You opened your eyes, which focused on the holoprojector in front of you. You debated for a moment before turning it on.

A few seconds later, the kind face of your master appeared. “My dear.”

You smiled at him. “Hello, master. Apologies for calling you... You must be busy in battle.”

“Oh, don't worry, my dear. I'm on the ship. And if you decided to call your old master, it must be for a good reason.”

You chuckled a little, nodding. “Yes...well, I felt I had to call you. Something in the force just- told me to.”

He watched you. He was your master, he knew you better than anyone. And he knew something was wrong. “Are you all right, my dear?”

You bit your cheek. Of course he was going to notice. “I don't know.” You looked down. “There's something... Something's going on. In the force. I can feel it and it's... overwhelming.”

“The force is unpredictable, my child. It is constantly changing; it never stands still.” His eyes, though covered by his mask, were kind.

You sighed. “I know, master. But this is different. Something bad is going to happen, I know it.”

He watched you for a moment, reading you as only he could. “Don't let fear cloud you.”

“It's not- fear.” Your voice weakened. You were lying.

His voice softened. “The force is preparing you. And you're already ready for whatever comes.”

“How are you so sure?”

“Because you're my padawan. Because I took you in when you were a little girl and I've watched you grow into the strong woman you are now.” He was being sincere. You could feel it in your bond. “And no matter what happens, I will always be proud of you.”

You felt a lump in your throat, your eyes filling with tears. “Thank you, master.”

“It's late on Coruscant. You should rest.”

You nodded. “May the force be with you, my padawan.”

“And with you, master.”

The blue light that illuminated your face faded, leaving you in total darkness. You swallowed saliva, trying to process the conversation you had just had.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand. You weren't a child anymore, you had to be strong.

Suddenly, you heard your door open, and Obi-wan's warm force mark flooded your room.

He took off his robe, coming to sit beside you on the floor. “Hello, my love.”

He brushed a lock of hair away from your face, kissing your forehead. “Are you okay?”

You took a deep breath, nodding and forcing a smile. “Yes... I was trying to meditate.”

If Obi-wan noticed your red eyes, he said nothing. Instead, he took your hand gently. “It's late, love. Let's go to bed.”

You had to catch him.

Anakin's footsteps echoed in your ears as he marched through the Jedi Temple.

“Ani! Anakin!” you shouted, but your voice was lost in the corridors. He didn't turn around, but you weren't sure if he was ignoring you or if he didn't hear you.

You quickened your pace, but the further you went, the distance between you grew.

“Anakin, wait!” you felt the corridors becoming smaller with each step you took. The air was thicker, it was hard for you to breathe properly.

Yet you were still following him. You didn't know why, but you had to stop him. Your whole being was screaming at you.

The walls were closing in, so much so that you could now hold on to both of them to move forward, because the suffocating sensation was getting worse and worse and it was difficult to walk.

Suddenly, you felt your body buckle from the pain. You clutched your chest, an intense pang coursing through your heart, sending a nauseous sensation through you.

You gasped, forcing yourself to keep going. But when you looked up, Anakin was gone.

The hallway had returned to normal, but... blood stained the wall.

At first it was just a small drop, and as it slid down, it grew larger and larger, until it completely covered the place.

A shiver ran down your spine. You looked around, you could hear screams in the distance, screams of pain. But when you tried to look for where they came from, you were simply... incapable.

You wanted to run, to scream, to throw yourself to the ground. But it was as if something was holding you down, forcing you to stay still.

Suddenly, a hand touched your shoulder.

You turned with a lump in your throat, it was your master. He was there, his kind face and warm presence. But something wasn't right. He looked like... he was deforming.

“Remember, my padawan.” His voice echoed through the shouts, but it was distorted. “I will always be proud of you.”

You awoke with a jump, your heart pounding desperately and your breathing quickening.

You immediately felt Obi-wan sitting next to you, his warm presence comforting you.

The first sob came out of your mouth, and his arms immediately wrapped around you.

“Hey, darling. Look at me.”

But you weren't listening. Your body was shaking, your ears ringing, making your head throb uncomfortably.

You could feel that he was talking, but it came out as a faint murmur amidst a lot of noise.

“Love.” He cupped your cheeks, forcing you to make eye contact with him. Your breathing was rapid, panting.

“Breathe. Like this, see?” You followed his rhythm, his kind but concerned eyes helping you focus.

After a few minutes, your breathing had returned to normal. “That's good. That's it, love. You did very well.”

He brushed a lock away from your face and you cuddled into his chest, his strong, warm arms around you, protecting you.

“I'm sorry. It was just... a nightmare.”

He shook his head, pressing a kiss to your hair. “It's okay, love. It's okay now. I'm here.”

You nodded, your heart still racing.

“Do you want to talk about it?” His voice was soft and understanding. One of the things you loved most about Obi-wan.

“No... I just want to go back to sleep.”

He nodded, and you both lay back down on the bed. Your head rested on his neck, breathing in his familiar scent.

He left a kiss on your forehead, his hands gently caressing your waist. “Rest, love. I've got you.”

The sound of your holocomm brought you out of your thoughts. You were in your quarters, reporting on the latest battle. Although you were actually dozing off. After last night's incident, you hadn't been able to get to sleep.

The mid-morning sun was streaming through your window. Obi-wan had left quite early, the Council had called him away for an urgent meeting.

Sighing, you answered the call. Your commander materialized in blue light, his helmet on. ‘General, can you meet me at the GAR hangar?’

You raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “Of course, Commander.”

The ride was short, but you were confused. Why would Forge call you to the hangar? Everyone was on break.

When you arrived, clones from your battalion were everywhere, loading supplies and weapons onto the Neptune, your ship.

You looked around, some of them stopping to greet you before continuing on their way. They looked in a hurry. ‘What the-?’

In the distance, you spotted Forge, who was on the side of the ship, giving instructions to some shinies. As you approached, they left and he gave you a military salute. ‘General.’

‘Forge.’ You didn't know where to start. Surely, your confusion showed on your face.

And Forge noticed, for he raised an eyebrow. ‘’Are you... alright?’

‘What-what's going on?’

‘Um, we're preparing for the mission, sir.’

‘What mission?’ Your eyebrows furrowed.

“You... didn't know?” The clone was silent for a few seconds. Surely he had realized he screwed up.

“What mission, Forge?” you insisted.

“We were sent to Mygeeto. As reinforcements for General Mundi.” He ran a hand through his hair, almost nervous at your reaction.

You looked around the room. You hadn't expected the Council to send battalions overseas so soon, especially after the Battle of Coruscant. Yet your men looked ready to leave.

And you were just standing there, like a fool.

“How... How had I not been informed of this?”

“General Windu said you had another mission, and that's why you wouldn't be able to lead us.”

You took a deep breath, trying to contain your emotions. “A mission? I don't have any-”

You stopped when you felt yourself raising your voice. You sighed. “Alright. I'll talk to the Council. If they made this decision, it will have been for a good reason.”

You ignored the pain in your chest. If the Council had chosen this, it meant Obi-wan knew about it. And he hadn't told you anything.

He nodded, his eyes looking concerned at you. “I'm sorry, General. But... You look terrible.”

That at least made you laugh a little. “Believe me, I know. I'm exhausted.”

He gave you a sad smile. You both remained silent for a few seconds, not quite knowing what to do. In the end, you shook your head. “I guess I should be going. You guys are pretty busy here.”

He nodded, hesitating before speaking again. “Just so you know, General... If I had known, I would have fought for you to join us. Our loyalty is to you.”

Your chest felt warm and you nodded, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat. “Thank you, Forge. I truly appreciate it.”

He gave you a military salute. “May the force be with you, General.”

“And with you, Commander.”

You watched as he returned to the ship, stepping back silently. You had so many questions on your mind... You had to return to the temple immediately.

However, as you were walking through the corridors of the building, you felt someone pulling you. You gasped, everything had gone dark out of nowhere. You were in the service closet. And in front of you was...

“Obi-wan?” You looked at him in confusion. His chest was rising and falling quickly, as if he had run here.

He gave you a sweet smile. “Forgive me, love. I knew you were going to be here, and...”

“You knew.” You interrupted him, and he took a step back. You had caught him off guard.

“Darling...”

“You knew my battalion was leaving today, why didn't you tell me?” your voice was harsh.

“The orders came today, at the morning meeting. Reinforcements were urgently needed, and I wanted to tell you, but...”

“Forge said I wouldn't be able to go because I had a mission, what was he talking about?”

His expression became serious, but he hesitated. He was nervous, you knew him too well. “The Council decided to assign you an unofficial mission.” Your brows furrowed. “ They want- you to keep an eye on Anakin.”

Those words hit you like an icy bucket of water. “What?”

“I had already told you, love.”

“Yes, and I agreed, but I thought you were asking me out of your concern for Anakin. Not because the Council had sent you.” You folded your arms.

“I am concerned about Anakin. And so is the Council.”

“They're locking me out of a mission with my battalion, with my men. And they didn't even bother to tell me.” You took a deep breath, trying to calm your emotions.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I know, and that's why I fought for you. But the decision was already made.”

You looked at him for a few seconds. “And what am I supposed to do, spy on him?”

“No, no. Just- keep an eye on him. You can talk to him... or Padmé. I went to see her in the morning, but she didn't tell me much. You two... you're close. She trusts you more.”

You scoffed. “And what am I supposed to do, report my friend's personal business to the Council?”

He winced. “If you feel something is wrong, you tell me. I'll take care of it.”

You closed your eyes, analyzing. Finally you sighed, nodding reluctantly. “Fine. But I'm not doing it for the Council. I'm doing it because Anakin is my friend.”

He gently grabbed your waist, pulling your bodies closer together in an embrace. Even though you were upset, you couldn't pull away. Sometimes you hated how comforting Obi-wan's force mark was.

“Forgive me. I didn't intend to fight.” He whispered, his thumbs stroking your waist and belly. It was a familiar gesture. You felt him pull away, but you stayed wrapped around him for a few seconds longer.

When you came out of his arms, he was looking at you, his lips parted and brows furrowed. He was probably waiting for you to say something. “It's okay. It's not your fault.” You smiled a little at him, and then a doubt popped into your mind. “What are you doing here anyway? We could have talked at the Temple.”

Obi-wan blinked a couple of times, as if his mind had been in another world. “Oh, yes. Actually, I... I was coming to say goodbye.”

Your heart stopped for a second. “To... Say goodbye?”

He took your hands in his. “Grievous has been located. He is on Utapau, and the Council chose me to stop him.”

Your lips parted in surprise. Oh.

The war was one step away from being over, and Obi-wan would be in charge.

You were proud, of course. He was the best.

But still, everything inside you was begging you not to let him go. To be selfish and have someone else sent away, but not the man you loved.

You swallowed saliva with difficulty, you had a huge lump in your throat. “You're going to... stop the war, then.” You forced a smile, your voice was cracking.

“If all goes well, yes.”

His words echoed throughout your insides. And you knew there was a chance that this was the last time you would see him. A small one, but it was there.

And of course, you were in a war. There was always that possibility. But this time it felt different.

Your foreheads pressed together, feeling the warm presence of the other enveloping both of you.

You didn't say anything, but you didn't have to. Your force mark spoke for yourselves.

Please don't go.

Don't let me go.

But you knew very well that this was not your decision to make.

“Be careful, please.” His hands rested on yours, which were on his cheeks.

“Always.” He left a kiss on your forehead and gave you one of his reassuring smiles. “I'll be back before you know it.”

You nodded, watching as he walked to the door. But before he could open it, you called him again. “Obi-wan.”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

The elevator doors opened, materializing Padmé's living room. Your friend stood there, looking out the window. She was dressed in elegant attire, surely she had just arrived from the Senate.

You had finished your last class of the day and decided to visit her, considering your conversation with Obi-wan.

Again, you were doing this for your friend. You cared about him. Not the Council.

She turned, calling your name. ”Dear. How nice to see you.”

You moved in for a hug, your gaze dropping down to her wide robe, to cover her tummy. “Likewise. We haven't seen each other since... well.” Your hand rested on your own belly, which was still unnoticeable.

She smiled tenderly at you, but you noticed that her gaze was somewhat lost.

“It's true. And I have a lot to tell you.” She took your arm gently. “Come, sit down. Would you like something to drink? Maybe some tea?”

You looked at her cautiously, her hands were playing with the fabric of her robe. “Uhm, yes. Tea would be nice.” Padmé called out to Threepio, who immediately went towards the kitchen.

She exhaled, settling into the armchair. “You didn't... run into Anakin on your way up?”

You raised an eyebrow. “He was here?”

“Yes... But the Chancellor called him.”

“The... Chancellor?” you mumbled, your mind flashing back to the conversation you'd had with Obi-wan.

She nodded, her gaze distracted. “Yeah... I guess they told you about the Council stuff. Anyway,” She looked to you. “You have a lot to tell me... Have you told Obi-wan yet?”

You knew it was a tactic to evade the subject, but her voice sounded genuinely interested, so you decided not to press her. Yet.

“Uhm... No, not yet.” You lowered your gaze. “I was going to, but with the whole Grievous thing, and the war being at its end point, I decided to wait.”

She frowned. “Wait?”

“Yes... He's already under a lot of stress. I want to wait for the most appropriate time.”

“Dear,” She took your hand. “You know there's no such thing as the right time, right?”

You sighed. “I know. But I feel it's not time yet. The Force tells me so.”

She smiled a little, nodding. “If you feel it in the Force, then I believe you. But don't wait too long.”

You nodded. “Well, what about Anakin? I'm guessing you've already told him. And if not, then he probably figured it out.”

“Yeah, he already knows. He's very excited.” You noticed her smile didn't reach her eyes.

“Padmé.” Your eyebrows furrowed. “I know you. Did something happen?”

She hesitated, but just as she was about to say something, Threepio arrived with the teas.

When the droid was gone, Padmé took a sip, and you watched her expectantly. After a few seconds of silence, she finally spoke.

“Obi-wan came by this morning. To ask me about Anakin.” She licked her lips, thinking carefully over her words. “Are you here to do the same?”

You raised your eyebrows, surprised. Obviously she would notice, your friend is not naive. “Yes.” You nodded, exhaling. “Padmé... We're worried about Ani. Something's going on with him. You know that, don't you?”

She lowered her gaze. “I... I don't know what you're talking about.”

She was in denial, you knew. You took her hand, intertwining her fingers with yours, forcing her to meet your eyes. “Please. I want to help him.”

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. And told you everything. The doubts towards the council, his trust to Palpatine, and his ambition to have more. You noticed she was still holding some things back, but decided not to mention it. The information you had was enough so far.

When she finished, she took a sip of her tea. Her hands were shaking slightly. “He's not like that... He's so different from the man I married.”

You felt a lump in your throat. “I thought it was because of the war. We've all changed. But this...”

“He's still there.” Her voice was determined, but you could sense she wasn't entirely sure. “The Ani we love is there, we just have to be there for him.”

“You're right. He has to know that the people who love him support him.”

She nodded, and without another word, leaned toward you.

You both hugged each other for a few seconds, letting the warmth of the other comfort you. You closed your eyes, instantly relaxing. “It's going to be okay.”

When you pulled apart, she gave you a soft smile. “Thank you for caring.”

“You know I'll always be there for both of you.”

After another quick hug, you stood up. “I should probably get going. If I see Anakin, I'll try to talk to him.”

“Okay, you go carefully.”

You drove to the temple, leaving the speeder in the hangar. As usual, there were several clones there, loading supplies onto the ships.

You remembered this morning, when you saw Forge and your men leave on a mission without you. You wondered how they were doing, perhaps you would call your commander later, to see if all was well.

And inevitably, you also remembered Obi-wan. By this point, he would surely have reached Utapau. You silently asked the Force to protect him. You knew he was more than capable, but that didn't stop you from worrying.

You walked along the platform, waving to the troopers and jedi you recognized. In the distance, you spotted Anakin, who was talking to Mace Windu and other members of the Council.

You moved a little closer, but not close enough to interrupt. Master Windu was saying something to your friend, before boarding a ship with the rest of the masters.

You took the opportunity to reach Anakin, but as you did so, you felt a great change in the Force. And it was all coming from him.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Anakin?”

When he turned, and his eyes met yours, you held back a gasp.

His force mark... it was different. You were afraid to say it, but almost dark. “Are you okay?” your voice trembled slightly.

He nodded, his gaze somber. “Yeah, I'm fine. I have to go.”

He walked past you, not even looking back. You frowned, grabbing his arm. “Anakin. I want to talk to you.”

“I just told you I have to go.” His body tensed.

“It'll just be a few minutes. Please.” You stared into his eyes, looking for your best friend in that man full of anger and confusion. But before he could say anything, a soft voice calling your name distracted you.

“I was looking for you!” It was Sammi. You took a deep breath, this was the worst moment. When she saw your expressions, she took a step back. “Oh, forgive me, am I interrupting something?”

Anakin released his grip on you. “No. I was just leaving.”

You watched as he walked away without looking back, his robe fluttering until he disappeared into the temple elevator. You sighed, you had a very bad feeling.

Sammi rested a hand on your shoulder. “Are you okay?”

You turned, forcing a smile and nodding. “Yeah... don't worry, why were you looking for me?”

“Oh! I have a class with the younglings and I need your help...” She kept talking, but you couldn't concentrate. You felt a huge weight on your chest, not letting you breathe properly. Something was very wrong.

“How do you possibly have time to watch this?” you giggled. After helping Sammi with her class, they went to your quarters, and she showed you the latest holodrama she was watching.

“Well, General Jedi, may I remind you that I don't go out on the battlefield.”

“Just the same, you must be too busy in the infirmary!” you both laughed. The drama was a very theatrical recreation of Jedi life, and the main characters had a secret relationship.

“This is very unrealistic, anyway.” Sammi mentioned. “Secret relationships between the Jedi? Pff, of course not.”

“Yeah... obviously. That doesn't happen in real life.” You chuckled, trying to hide the fact that you had turned red.

Sunset was already coming, staining your room a nice orange. The younglings had helped distract you from the pain in your chest that plagued you. And Sammi's company was comforting, you could look for Anakin tomorrow.

Then your friend said something, but you didn't hear her, as a shiver ran down your spine.

You looked down at the ground, trying to analyze what was happening. Something had changed. In the air, in the Force.

You noticed that Sammi had gone quiet, so you turned your gaze to her. Her eyes were wide, her breathing accelerated.

“You feel it too.” You whispered, it wasn't a question.

Everything felt dense, as if time was suddenly slowing down. The pain in your chest had returned, but this time it was worse.

“What's going on?”

You rose gently from your bed, as shouting began to be heard in the hallway. You gasped, moving closer to the door and sticking your ear against it.

You closed your eyes, trying to connect with the Force, but-

You clutched your head, an excruciating pain was covering it.

You heard blasters.

Lightsabers.

And finally- nothing. Total silence.

Above it all, an emptiness of total suffering and pain. It was the dark side. Sammi whispered your name, desperate. “Tell me what's going on.”

You winced, trying to find your words. “The clones.” Your voice came out choked. “They're here. They're attacking us.”

next chapter 𖥔 ͙ࣳ ⸰ֺ⭑

#dividers by @saradika graphics #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #the great war #star wars #star wars fanfiction #obi wan kenobi #the clone wars #fanfiction #x reader #writers on ao3 #writers on tumblr #star wars smut

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cookybananas · 10 months ago

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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

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it-happened-one-fic · 2 years ago

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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.”

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rageofthemuffin · 24 days ago

Text

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.

#my fics #updates #codywan #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #i also have the biggest project of the semester due tomorrow that i should be working on #but this happened instead #oh well

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aspentreewrites · 6 months ago

Text

and when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot

Chapter 1

Pairings: Codywan

Tags/Warnings: slow burn(ish), fake dating, only one bed, general angst and pining, AO3 rating is E for future chapters

Link to read on AO3 here!

Description:

The truth of the matter burrows deep into Cody’s skin, settling into the home it’s long-since made for itself there, nestled tightly amongst the other secrets he harbours that are too shameful to ever speak aloud.

He digs his fingers into his temples, breathing in heavy lungfuls of the steam-drenched air as if it might reverse the realisation that now weighs upon his heart like lead.

This is no longer just some passing infatuation.

He’s in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

(or: an account of the relationship between one Marshal Commander and his General from in the midst of a war.)

✷✷✷✷✷

A/N: In my unending quest to name all of my fics after The Amazing Devil songs, this one is taken from Elsa's Song. If you're reading this on Tumblr, you're getting a unique version of this author's note - hello there! I usually just link to my fics on Tumblr, but this time I've decided to post each chapter in full here!

Any and all comments are massively appreciated, and if I can format anything better for posting here please let me know. I'm aiming to have the next chapter up in 2-3 weeks :)

Huge thanks to my wonderful friend @whenyourfavouritedies (link to their AO3 here!) for beta reading.

✷✷✷✷✷

He’d had a good run, Cody thinks to himself as he faces down the adversary in front of him. Perhaps he could avoid the mortal embarrassment of defeat by defenestrating himself from the nearest window - at least then his death could be ruled as a bizarre, impulsive moment of pure lunacy rather than the alternative of being done in entirely by the man in front of him.

… The man in front of him who evidently seems to be expecting a response to his words.

Cody, the Marshal Commander of the 212th who has spoken in front of the Council multiple times, who’s renowned throughout the GAR for his prowess at quick-thinking and strategy, desperately tries to muster something. Gingerly, he collects the shattered pieces of his brain from the floor, and attempts to produce something coherent with them.

“... Oh,” he manages, trying to not let his words come out as strangled as it feels like they could in this moment. “Right.”

As it turns out, those two words alone are insufficient, at least judging by Obi-Wan’s look of pure bewilderment. The Jedi tilts his head a little, studying the clone before him.

“Is everything alright, Cody?” he asks tentatively, before glancing back to the mission briefing on his datapad. Cody’s eyes remain glued to one word in particular, practically glaring at him from the harshly backlit screen of the tablet.

He can feel a headache coming on.

“If it’s too much, Anakin has offered to spare Rex, but to be perfectly honest–”

Absolutely not. The only thing Cody can think of that would be worse than going on this mission at all would be someone else going in his place.

“-- I’d rather avoid a repeat of what happened on Corellia, if at all possible,” Obi-Wan murmurs, stroking a hand over his beard. He frowns slightly at the memory, and Cody files the subject away to ask about later, though for the moment he has far more pressing matters to address.

“Right,” Cody repeats, before finally remembering that he does, in fact, know how to string words into a sentence. His eyes snap up from the datapad, meeting his General’s gaze. Discomfort claws its way through his body, constricting his throat a little when he tries to gather himself. “Yes, sir. I’m just wondering, about the aliases-”

Obi-Wan huffs, clearly having his own strong opinion on whatever he thinks Cody is about to say. “Yes, well, I appreciate that the backstories aren’t as detailed as they could be. I did mention it, but the Council did what they could on such short notice.”

“Of course. I’m just wondering if we have to be–”

“Really, it’s a miracle that they even had anything planned, knowing them.”

“-- Married?”

Obi-Wan blinks, and a long silence stretches between the two men. He studies Cody’s face again for a moment, before he looks back down at the datapad, his brow furrowed slightly as if he’s only just considering the implications of the mission for the first time.

Cody stands, steady as ever, though behind his back his fingers twitch anxiously. From the Jedi's telling, it’s going to be a fairly quick undercover stint - a handful of days at most. They’ll be staying at a hotel-slash-resort out in a neutral system, where they’ve been tipped off that a handful of Separatists are meeting for a business deal that could debilitate the Republic if it goes off smoothly.

A tad dramatic, perhaps, but when intel like that is received, the Jedi have to ensure that the call to action is answered. And who better to answer it with than one of their best?

Unfortunately for Cody, the Jedi’s best has a penchant for dragging him along, too.

This type of mission might be incredibly rote for the General, but for Cody, it’s… An intimidating prospect. He’s a soldier, a strategist - a damned good one at that, there’s a reason he’s been given the position of Commander - if there’s one thing he is decidedly not, however, it's an actor.

It’s likely that the more experienced man hadn’t even given Cody’s involvement a second thought - they’re by each other’s side on most battlefields, after all… This arena, though, is an untrodden one. After some consideration, Obi-Wan quirks a brow and looks back up at his Commander.

“You’re aware that we wouldn’t actually be signing any legal documents for the sake of the mission?” he queries, as if that were at all the issue Cody is having here. Stars, but does this man like to play dense sometimes.

“... That’s not the point, sir.”

“Then what is? Do you not think I would make a fine husband? My dear Commander, you wound me.”

Cody has the quiet suspicion that if anyone had the fortune to wed his General (not that the Jedi were even allowed such things), they would find themselves spending a considerable portion of the rest of their lives having to put up with his unfortunate sense of humour.

As it happens, Cody is the one who’s taking the burden for that responsibility at current. It’s been slowly driving him up the wall for the better part of the war effort.

“I’m sure you would make a good–” no, that’s not appropriate, “a fine–” he stops short, glowering at the amused smirk that has plastered itself on his General’s face. Obi-Wan seems to be garnering a little too much delight in causing him to stammer like a schoolchild, the victorious glint in his eye evident. Cody shakes his head, persisting despite the flush that he’s sure has appeared on his cheeks. “... You know what I mean.”

Much to Cody’s relief, Obi-Wan takes mercy on him and drops the subject. He glances back down to the datapad with a thoughtful hum, his expression returning to something a little more dignified.

“It was ultimately a logistical choice. We would be sharing a room in the hotel, regardless, and the cover makes it considerably less likely that people would raise questions.” A pause, and then the Jedi’s voice turns a little more gentle. “If it would truly make you uncomfortable, Cody, then we can come up with an alternative.”

Cody finds himself shaking his head before he even has time to think it through properly. It’s… Fine. He’s fine. The thought of pretending to be Obi-Wan’s… husband, makes something strange curl in his gut, a sense of tightness and discomfort that he can’t quite identify.

He pushes the feeling away, telling himself that all it is is feeling unsure about going undercover in general - it will be, after all, his first time doing so for more than a few minutes at a time. He’s bluffed to get past guards and to stall enemies, they all have, but he’s practically a shiny in this territory. It makes sense that he’d have some nerves.

“No, I… I’ll take the mission, General. I was just…” he hesitates. He was just what exactly? Cody isn’t entirely certain. “I’ll just need some time to look over the aliases, to prepare. Being undercover is… Not my usual wheelhouse.”

That’s putting it lightly.

“If you’re certain?”

Cody holds the Jedi’s earnest gaze for as long as he can muster with this odd sensation sloshing around in his stomach. He manages a nod, moving to take the datapad from the other man as they prepare to move onto other matters for the morning.

“Yes, sir.”

______________________________

The night before the mission rolls around, Cody finds himself still awake far too late into the night. He’s at his desk, poring over multiple tabs of research, and Stars, there’s still so much to cover before they’re set to leave.

He’s… what is it that an actor would call it? ‘Studying’ the fictional man that is Vidarr Emerin, a wealthy investor who’s gained a frankly ridiculous amount of credits from backing a series of Spice mining projects on Kessel. Vidarr isn’t actually involved in the day to day operations of the creation of the drug directly (and thank the Force for that, because Cody couldn’t realistically describe the process if there was a blaster to his head), though he has his fingers in many metaphorical pies of Kessel’s ‘industry’, if one can call it that.

Vidarr is ruthlessly efficient, cutthroat, and has more money invested in the black market than Cody has ever seen in his entire life.

His favourite colour, the document notes, is brown.

They’re hoping that, due to the planet they’re travelling to not having seen hide nor hair of the war as of yet, Cody can blend in as a regular human without issue. If he were to be clocked as a clone however, he and Obi-Wan have come up with a story that fits. A benefit of their cover is that if any clone were to defect from the GAR, Kessel would likely be a decent option for them to run to, due to its relative distance from the war and the objective difficulty in getting to the planet. It would be easier if he didn’t have to out himself, but it never hurts to be prepared.

The Commander is about three cafs into his nighttime research, and is showing no sign of slowing, currently skimming through a holonet article about Kessel’s southern equator. He’s trying to take notes on as many details as possible about the habitable section of the planet: the names of local wildlife, parks, various points of interest… It’s unlikely that anyone would want to talk to him about the geography of the local rivers, admittedly, but what if he’s caught out unexpectedly?

No, Cody reasons to himself, taking another gulp of caf. Not worth the risk. He’ll just have to memorise the relative locations of every tributary and estuary in the local area that Vidarr is from. It’s the only way he can walk into this prepared.

It’s even later when his chrono beeps at him for attention. His eyes have been struggling to focus on the various screens for too long to ignore, and Cody’s attention turns to the empty notepad page to his right. The one that’s been staring him down all evening.

He narrows his eyes at it, sizing the offending object up. One moment passes, then another. The man groans, running a tired hand over his face and silencing his alarm. He may as well get this over with.

He returns his datapad to the page about their aliases, scrolling until he hits the ‘marriage and relationship’ section. Cody pulls the notepad over, reluctantly beginning to scribble down some bullet points.

Renne Emerin, née Cardall, met Vidarr at a soiree attended by a handful of various small-time investors for the Pyke Syndicate, and the two began courting not long after. Three years into their relationship, they got engaged. A further year, and the two were married. This little trip together is a celebration for their second wedding anniversary.

They have a bonded pair of tookas. They’re considering adopting a child. They’re a regular, normal couple in love.

Cody turns off the datapad, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

For the life of him, he doesn’t know why he feels such a mental block in regards to… all of this. Obi-Wan had been incredibly accommodating - between them, they’d laid out expectations, negotiated how they were going to approach this, and the Jedi had promised to not push too hard in the name of making a good cover (though Cody had insisted he not hold back on his account - he’d be damned if his own incompetence compromised a mission).

And yet… The anxious feeling persists. It’s subtler now at least, having spent the last week preparing and researching, but it remains under his skin, simmering away.

It worsens when he thinks of the marriage they’ll have to upkeep.

His chrono beeps a second time, a harsh, needy trill that tells him he really ought to be getting to bed now. Cody grumbles to himself, turning the blasted alarm off again, before finally flopping down in his bed and flicking off the light to his room.

It’ll be fine, he thinks wearily, forcing himself to take a deep breath and settle his mind.

If there’s one thing he trusts implicitly in this Galaxy, it’s that Obi-Wan will have his back. Discomfort be damned, they’ll get through this in one piece. Soon enough, this’ll just be a funny story to tell when sufficiently drunk.

Clinging onto that thought like it holds the last vestiges of his sanity, Cody drifts into a fitful but desperately needed sleep.

______________________________

The Commander wakes early, exactly as he was trained. A fast shower, an efficient shave, and his bed made neatly behind him as he dresses.

At 0600 hours exactly, he leaves his quarters, fully clad in his newly issued armour - shiny, pristine, bright white plastoid that catches in the harsh, fluorescent lighting lining the hallways of the Venator. He is precisely as he should be: the perfect example of what the Kaminoans created.

When he reaches the briefing room, he raps his gloved knuckles against the door once, twice. Cody feels confident as he waits - every single choice he makes matters today, and a good first impression is vital. Yes, he thinks, mulling it over in his mind: a single knock would have been insufficient, and three would be bordering on informal. Two was the right answer, Commander. Good work.

It takes precisely six seconds for the door to slide open, revealing the Jedi he had met briefly before in holocalls, though never face to face. The Jedi he’s going to dedicate his life to.

Auburn hair catches the light, and clean, cream coloured robes settle tidily about his form. Curious eyes settle on him, inspecting the clone likely as much as the clone is analysing the Jedi. Cody is quietly grateful for his helmet giving him the tactical upper hand in this endeavour.

The blue of the Jedi’s eyes reminds him of the Kaminoan ocean, though he’s unsure whether or not that association is a good or a bad one. The man in front of him looks methodically put together, neat and organised, as a member of the famed Jetii should be… Perhaps a little tired, though, as the faint bags under his eyes might indicate.

Cody decides it doesn’t matter. It’s surely just a sign of his new General’s commitment to his work ethic that he would stay up late to prepare for today. Something they’ll have in common, then.

The Commander’s back is, naturally, ramrod-straight as he salutes sharply, his voice strong and even as he speaks.

“CC-2224, sir. Ready for our briefing.” He knows the Jedi should have remembered his designation number from their fleeting introductions over holocall, but it never hurts to be cautious. The man has a lot to familiarise himself with over the coming days, after all. It wouldn’t be a slight if it took him a while to remember something so small.

General Kenobi pauses at that, before offering a small, if hesitant smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Of course.” He steps aside, allowing the clone entry into the meeting room. It’s a tidy, organised space, yet something about it is almost eerie in its quietude. Cody’s eyes sweep over neat stacks of datapads and consoles with no fingerprints yet on their keyboards, no dust yet accumulated on the cables filling the room. A tactical space, ready to handle and catalogue so much violence and death - years of it, more.

And yet it is, at present, still and empty. Lying in eager wait for the blood to start spilling, to see the use it has been designed for. Today, the Commander supposes, is the day.

The General sweeps through the room, posture so exact that it almost makes him look as if he’s gliding rather than walking. He sets up the holotable at the centre of the room, watching as the agenda for the day flickers into being, a list nearly a mile long. General Kenobi scans over the file with a quiet sigh, before he glances over to meet the other man’s gaze.

“Would you care for a cup of caf? I quite find I struggle to focus so early on in the day.”

The Jedi’s voice is gentle, softened at the edges with tiredness - not at all the tone the soldier is used to from authority. Cody frowns to himself. And he’s… Offering him caf. Not an order or command. An unexpected start to their working relationship.

Part of him can’t help but think it could be a trap. A test of how much he’d be willing to take from him, perhaps. A measure of his discipline?

Kenobi looks progressively more awkward as time presses on. He speaks up again, evidently trying to search for any hint of emotion in the clone’s expressionless helmet and drawing a blank.

“Or… Tea?” he tries, tilting his head a little. “I can make tea instead, if that’s more to your liking.”

The Commander hesitates, trying to figure out the right answer to this puzzle in front of him. Would it offend the General if he said no? Could he say no, if he wanted to? How much of a choice does he get here?

Regardless, he can tell his prolonged silence is unnerving his new General, and the last thing he wants is to make a bad impression.

“Caf… Caf is fine, sir. Thank you.”

That, at least, seems to placate the Jedi. He smiles, a little more sincerely this time, before disappearing off to the corner of the room and busying himself with making some drinks.

Cody takes the opportunity to get a headstart on the agenda for their first day, looking over the list at the holotable with a critical eye. There’s much to do, and he’s anxious to get to it and prove himself.

“Right,” Kenobi begins as he returns, passing a steaming mug to Cody before sipping at his own. “Let us get started, hm?”

The briefing is quick, and efficient. They move through all the matters of the day - introductory training with the men, preparations to oversee supply requisitioning, and early drafts of strategy for the 212th’s first upcoming mission in the field together.

The caf is nicer than he expected.

“Before we go, Commander,” Kenobi says as the two turn to leave for the first training, his tone thoughtful. He looks to the clone in front of him, folding his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “I was wondering if I could have your name.”

… What?

“My… Designation number, sir?” He asks, with a little uncertainty. The Jedi’s mouth twitches - not quite a frown, but something close to it. He attempts to disguise it by passing a hand over his beard. Cody tenses instinctively.

“No, you greeted me with that when you first came in,” he reminds him, voice gentle. “I meant your name. Your actual one.”

CC-2224 glitches.

He’s not sure how long he just stares at the General, but it’s long enough to prompt Kenobi to speak again.

“... If that would be alright?”

No, no it would be decidedly not alright. This is against everything the Commander was expecting, everything he’s spent his whole life preparing for. He’s almost indignant at the impropriety. As he continues to hesitate, a flash of something like worry flashes across Obi-Wan’s face, followed by a sheepishness unbefitting of someone of his station.

He raises his hand, cutting off Cody as he finally opens his mouth to answer.

“No, no, I apologise, Commander,” he says quickly, sounding a little ashamed. “Names are… important to your brothers, aren’t they?”

At Cody’s stupefied nod, he continues on.

“I should not have asked something so personal of you,” the Jedi murmurs, bowing his head briefly in apology. “Forgive me.”

The Commander doesn’t quite know what to do with that. A brief mumble of ‘it’s alright, sir’, and an evening spent puzzling out who, exactly, his new General is, will have to do.

That night, Cody finds himself staring up at the ceiling as he tries to find sleep.

Perhaps the Kaminoans were wrong about the Jetii. About what would be expected of them. But then, if that’s true, then what else were they wrong about?

It’s an unnerving thought, and it’s one that plagues him for the coming weeks.

______________________________

In the half-light of the ship’s artificial morning, Cody stares down his reflection in the mirror, wrinkling his nose slightly as he tugs a battle-worn comb through his hair, gently teasing the curls apart. He glances back down to the holonet vid he found, the projector balancing precariously on the edge of the sink. Making a swiping gesture in the air with his free hand, he winds back the video yet another time. The helpful, yet slightly too-fast-speaking Kiffar woman in the vid enthusiastically explains how to loosen one’s curl pattern, and Cody repeats the actions she demonstrates, his brow knitting together unconsciously as he focuses.

The 212th doesn’t exactly have access to the myriad of supplies the vid-blogger eagerly shows the camera, but Cody’s scoured the supply shipments to source some decent enough conditioner - combined with the comb with a handful of missing teeth that he’d uncovered earlier in his room, they’ll have to do. The steam from the shower he’d taken minutes earlier permeates the room, and Cody has to pause in his delicate work every few minutes to wipe down the mirror.

He continues working methodically from the ends of the strands up to his scalp, becoming progressively less clumsy with the action as he goes. It’s strangely meditative, though it helps that his attention on this is effectively holding off the nervousness that the mission ahead of him today brings.

By the time he finishes up, the Commander just… stares at himself for a long moment, noting the unfamiliar sensation of his still-damp hair falling a short way across his face. It’ll need to be slicked back, certainly, but it looks… Fine. Not like him, though. Not at all.

It’s a funny thing, that sensation that other sentients would refer to as not recognising yourself in the mirror. When your face is the same as millions of others, it’s more like seeing another one of the vode. One with that same scar across the temple and with considerably less sternness about adhering to the GAR’s hair-length regs, clearly.

Cody sighs, gesturing to power down the holoprojector, finishing towelling himself off and finally heading out of the ‘fresher to get ready for the day. Regardless of his feelings on the subject, it’ll help him blend in better as a deserter, so longer hair it is.

Longer hair and an almost merc-like uniform, according to the tailored cloak and boots that wait for him in his room. Cody grimaces.

He just hopes that if Waxer or Boil see him, they’ll keep their mouths shut.

By some mercy of the fates, he’s able to steal through the Venator and make it up to the docking bays without catching the eye of any of his men (mostly, at least; he’d brushed past Helix outside the medbay but the medic hadn’t even looked up from his work).

He jogs up the ramp to the ship to join his Jedi - already waiting for him and re-reading today’s mission details with a mug in hand, of course.

Cody spots the second mug of caf that Obi-Wan had prepared sitting over on one of the consoles and beelines for it, already knowing he’ll be needing all the stimulants he can get his hands on to feel at all ready for today.

“Ah, Commander, I was wondering when you were going to–” Obi-Wan starts, but the comment dies on his tongue. Cody glances over to see his normally so eloquent General taking a moment before finishing his sentence, his friend’s gaze flicking briefly over his appearance. The Commander raises a questioning brow, and Obi-Wan clears his throat quietly, before offering Cody a slightly short nod.

“... When you were going to arrive.” His eyes linger for a moment, uncharacteristically unsure of himself, before he turns away, busying himself by inputting the coordinates into the console. “The hair suits you, by the way.”

Cody feels strangely warm at the compliment, self-consciously reaching up to push back some of the strands.

“I’ve written up some of the boys for shorter,” he comments dryly, stepping up alongside the Jedi and taking a sip of his caf. Obi-Wan snorts in quiet amusement, giving him a sidelong glance.

“I’m sure.”

A calm silence briefly blankets them as the ship’s autopilot gets them away from the Venator and into the familiar black ocean of space, and Cody feels some of his tension ease. Of course it feels normal. He was a fool to think that this would feel any different to their usual missions.

His eyes idly track the various indicators that display the wellbeing of the ship as he exhales slowly, lips curling up into something more reminiscent of a grimace than a smile - but nonetheless, he tries.

“You feeling ready for this?” he asks, feeling selfishly a little comforted by the thoughtful hum he gets in response. That’s a ‘not quite’ from the Jedi, and it at least means they’ll be walking into this together with some uncertainty. Cody hates feeling like he’s on the back foot.

“You can never be too ready for an undercover mission,” Obi-Wan says evenly, staring out ahead of them as the ship prepares to enter hyperspace. His fingers tap idly against his mug. “It always comes down to improvisation. A slip of the tongue here, an unexpected question there,” he murmurs. Catching Cody’s eye, the ghost of a smirk flits across his features. “... Not to worry you, of course.”

“Mm, right. You’d never do anything to cause me worry,” Cody quips, settling down into the pilot chair and buckling himself in. Obi-Wan follows suit, nodding serenely.

“It definitely hasn’t happened before, no.”

The trip through hyperspace is largely uneventful, the two falling into a companionable silence. As his thoughts stray to the mission ahead a little way into the flight, Cody realises his mind must feel a little frayed through the Force, because Obi-Wan turns to give him the look.

‘The Look’ is something scrutinising that happens whenever the Commander hasn’t quite managed to maintain his mental shields enough to conceal his emotions in a time of stress - the Jedi Order had, en masse, taught the vode how to do it in the early days of their partnership, in the interest of maintaining privacy for the troops, and as a gesture of goodwill. Cody does it well, for the most part, though it’s harder for him with Obi-Wan than with others, he finds. The man always seems to be able to see right through him.

“You’re still anxious.” It’s more of a statement than a question, and Cody wishes, not for the first time, that the General wouldn’t draw attention to his vulnerability like this. He levels Obi-Wan with a frustrated look of his own, brows knitting into a frown.

“It’s fine,” he insists. Obi-Wan looks at him flatly. Cody relents immediately, knowing that it’s useless trying to lie to any Jedi, but especially this one in particular.

He course corrects.

“It’ll be fine once we’re actually in the thick of it. It’s…” he grimaces, shaking his head slightly. “It’s the unknown of it all. At least if it’s a firefight, you can face down the enemy with a rifle.”

Obi-Wan reaches out to gently squeeze his Commander’s shoulder. The action soothes, the familiar warmth of his hand providing an anchor point of calm. “You’ll be wonderful. If I didn’t have full faith in you, I wouldn’t have asked you to join me,” he says, sincerely.

“Besides,” Obi-Wan adds, a playful glint in his eye, “if it all goes sideways, then you can happily be in your comfort zone while we blast our way out.”

A huff of amusement escapes Cody as he rolls his eyes, reaching up to cover the hand that remains on his shoulder.

“My comfort zone of keeping you from getting yourself impaled or shot? Yes, I’m unfortunately very familiar,” he mutters, exasperated yet fond.

Obi-Wan tips his head back and laughs.

______________________________

The first time he hears Obi-Wan laugh - properly laugh, not that wry chuckle he occasionally hears during briefings - it’s also the first time they’ve stayed up late together to finish up on paperwork in his quarters. Cody has been regaling him with a tale from his youth on Kamino, relating to a particularly memorable incident involving Wooley, Boil, and a few mouse droids, and Obi-Wan laughs, eyes creasing at the corners and shoulders shaking with mirth.

At this time, it’s been about six weeks since the battalion’s first deployment in the war. The group is beginning to feel less like a random selection of soldiers and more like many parts of a functioning whole. Most notably, a handful of the men have recently started on their armour decoration. After much debate back and forth about the colour they should choose to accurately represent the battalion, Crys organised a (debatably) official vote in the mess hall with swatches of the strongest contenders.

The General had politely abstained over lunch, telling the vode that it wasn’t his place to influence their choices on such matters. Waxer indignantly declared such a position as ‘fence-sitting’, and Cody had sharply warned the young trooper that if he were to accuse High Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi of centrist tendencies again, it would be KP duty for a month.

The vote had come out strongly in favour of a colour they’d henceforth started referring to as ‘212th gold’ - a handsome shade that glowed like the sun when caught by natural light. As his duty dictates him to show the way for his men, the Commander was among the first to adopt it, beginning with the sunburst on his chestplate. It felt right, even with those first brushstrokes, to be able to claim something as truly theirs. Cody hopes that one day, 212th gold will represent a spark of hope across the Galaxy. A mark made entirely in their name.

A little romantic of a thought, perhaps, but it brings him a spark of pride whenever he sees the newest shinies brought in, eager to earn the paint stripes they see displayed by those in command.

In these last six weeks, a considerable amount has changed for the men, and it’s been a lot of adjustment. Both Obi-Wan and the vode serving under him have had to figure out how to adapt, to work alongside each other effectively. The General is kinder, more human than the Kaminoans had warned he’d be - he watches out for them on battlefields, mourns alongside them when their brothers are lost… in turn, the vode are beginning to slowly open up, too, starting to share parts of their culture with the Jedi.

He’s even been learning to speak Mando’a, though Cody is privately grateful that he’s been able to warn the boys ahead of time to watch their tongues when the General is floating around. They mean well, but he knows what they can be like if they think no one can understand them… The last thing he wants is to have to deal with writing up half of his troops for discussing too liberally what happened during their most recent trip to 79’s.

Once Obi-Wan gathers himself again, he looks over at Cody with a thoughtful glance, his expression softened with a grin.

“It doesn’t sound altogether too dissimilar to the way we were raised in the temple, you know,” he says, “... mischief and all.”

Cody watches him from his position sat on the edge of his bed. He thinks the relaxed, genuine smile suits the other man greatly. He privately hopes he’ll get to see it again after tonight.

The Jedi hums to himself, before adopting a fond, faraway look. “All younglings can be particularly trying in large numbers, regardless of origin,” he continues, “I do not envy the crechèmasters for the duty they have to perform.”

Cody’s interest is piqued at that. The datapad in his hand is ignored for a moment, attention turned fully to the man sitting at his desk.

“You were raised communally?”

Obi-Wan nods, pausing briefly to make an amendment to the report in front of him, slender fingers moving quickly across the screen. Stars, Cody thinks to himself with a little annoyance, the man can even make paperwork look elegant.

“Yes. Well, from a certain age at least. I was brought to the Temple around age 4,” he explains. His eyes are still a little distant, lost in the memory of a happier time. “I still have a deep fondness for my crèchemates, despite… Differing opinions with a handful of them.”

Cody nods slowly, studying the Jedi for a beat.

“I get that, General,” he says, returning his attention to his datapad. “I’m the same with my batchmates. I just… Might have had more of them than you.”

“An understatement I’m sure, Commander,” Obi-Wan chuckles, before his tone turns softer, more sincere. He glances over at Cody, choosing his next words carefully.

“It seems like… A wonderful thing, the family you and the rest of the vode share.” He gives Cody a small smile, though there’s something else to it, a heaviness that settles behind his expression. “... It’s a shame that such a thing was created for the unworthy purpose of war. I can only hope that once the fighting is done, you’ll be able to thrive as all other sentients do.”

The two lapse into silence for a little while, the only sound filling the room the soft tapping of keys. Obi-Wan has spoken a little about his feelings on the war over the last handful of weeks, and to be truthful, it’s not a subject that Cody trusts himself to speak about. Neither the 212th, nor Cody himself for that matter, have been deployed for very long, and the clone doesn’t quite understand all of the weight behind his General’s words. Perhaps he will come to, in time… for better or worse.

Cody has reckoned with his own adjustments in the past few weeks. He’s found himself relaxing considerably around Obi-Wan, no longer feeling the burning need to watch himself as if his General is considering decommissioning him if he puts a foot wrong. He didn’t particularly know her, but from what the other vode say, Shaak Ti was similar back on Kamino.

It took a week and one mission in the field before Cody decided that the Jetii were not the dictators they’d expected. A further week and he was convinced they had no choice in this whole matter either, and were evidently suffering for it. Like a good Commander, he'd kept those observations to himself.

As soon as he’d allowed himself to be… Well, human, around the Jedi, he and Obi-Wan had started to become closer. Cody isn’t particularly adept at it yet, but if he finds himself arriving early to their morning briefings, he’s started making the General his tea in the way he likes it. It’s something small, but judging by the way Obi-Wan’s eyes had widened the first time he’d done it, a pleased smile crossing his face, it’s something that seemed to mean a lot to him.

They’ve become… Friends, or something approaching that, at least. It’s a thought that has him steeling himself to speak now, clearing his throat in the quiet space.

“... Cody,” he says, forcing the word to come out casually. Obi-Wan glances up again with a raised brow, a questioning look in his eyes. Cody finds it in himself to meet his General’s gaze, offering an affirmative nod. “You, uh… asked me for my chosen name, when we first met,” he explains quietly, ignoring the way his stomach wants to twist as he holds out this olive branch of trust, “it’s Cody.”

Obi-Wan’s expression goes from confusion, to surprise, to something incredibly warm.

“Cody,” he repeats softly, as if testing out the sound of it on his tongue, before giving an approving nod. A smile remains on his face even as he returns to his work. “Thank you, Cody,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes carefully trained on the datapad at his desk. The Commander is grateful for it - he feels as if the vulnerability of further eye contact might make him combust right now. “It’s a fine name. I’m honoured to know it.”

If Cody feels his heart react to the softness of his Jedi’s tone in that moment, he doesn’t mention it.

______________________________

“Mister and Mister Emerin?”

Obi-Wan and Cody share a glance at the call across the docking bays. They’ve barely been parked for a minute, and they’re already out of time.

“I suppose that’s us,” Cody says with a heavy sigh, rolling his shoulders slightly. He looks at Obi-Wan, tilting his head with a silent question of ‘ready?’ and the Jedi nods, bringing the last of the bags with him down the gangway of the ship.

A tall, pale Nautolan woman with a checklist in hand approaches, teeth flashing a perfect, artificially white smile as Obi-Wan steps forwards to shake her hand.

“Charmed,” he drawls in a smooth, Outer Rim accent, his voice low with lazily drawn out syllables - a stark contrast to the sharp, crisp Coruscanti voice that Cody’s used to hearing. Beside the Jedi, he forces on a smile.

“You’re here to check us in?” he says, hoping that his voice comes across not nearly as unsure and out of place as he feels. The Nautolan nods, making a scribble on the flimsi paper she’s carrying, pocketing it and taking the bags from the two of them without asking.

“Here, I’ll get these for you and show you to the main building. Is this your first time staying with us?”

The woman chatters away to them as they make the walk from the docking bays to the resort itself. Obi-Wan is as content to make conversation as Cody is to let him. The clone hangs back a little, taking in the planet around him. Brilliant light beams down on the building ahead, even as it nears the start of sundown, making him squint a little. It’s…

Excessive is the primary word that comes to mind.

The docking bays themselves are massive, on an elevated platform above a calm looking ocean of tropical blue. The bridge they’re now on connects to a few perfectly sculpted beaches that are teeming with people even at this hour, and more pressingly, a building the size of the damn Senate. Cody’s far from an expert on architecture, but it’s clearly a recent build - large windows and extravagant relief work carved into the stone of the imposing structure, of various people or mythological beings that Cody imagines he probably should recognise but doesn’t.

It all seems to be purpose-built with the intention of making the space feel welcoming to those in a certain tax bracket.

Cody is undeniably not part of that tax bracket.

This area of the planet itself has almost definitely gone through some extensive terraforming by the looks of things, and he feels a little dizzy as he imagines the cost - coming from a corporation, no less. Part of the background provided for this mission detailed that Miphena, the planet they’re standing on, is essentially owned by the resort managers with no government to speak of. To call it ‘bleak’ would be underselling it.

They’re ushered inside by the woman with the increasingly grating customer service voice, brought through a pristine foyer tiled with marble underfoot. Cody is sure to make a mental note of that - that’s very slippery when covered in blood, so if they’re having to fight their way out, they should find another point of exit than this one.

He continues to sweep the rest of the room with an analytical eye. The main desk could be used as cover in a pinch, though it’s not in a particularly tactical location - the presence of stairs, an elevator, and double-doors through to the main events hall makes this an undesirable position to have to defend with too many points of ambush.

… Granted, it’s exceedingly unlikely they’ll be forced to stage a firefight here, but it can’t hurt to be prepared.

The receptionist leads them up to the seventh floor (with a lot of small-talk in the elevator that feels entirely unnecessary), hands them their keys for the room, drops their bags off and thanks the two profusely for their custom before leaving them alone once more. Obi-Wan and Cody share a glance, and the former smirks.

“After you, darling husband,” Obi-Wan says easily with a flourishing bow, still holding onto the accent despite the fact it’s just the two of them. The amused gleam in the Jedi’s eye only gets stronger as Cody rolls his eyes, pushing past him to enter into the room.

Much like the exterior of the hotel, it’s certainly extravagant. A large bed takes up most of the space, crisp white sheets with elaborate gold embroidery detailing the edges, and a plush red carpet beneath it. Every surface has some form of decoration, a vase of fake flowers here, a small metal sculpture there. A fairly incomprehensible piece of abstract art hangs above the bed, though what it’s intended to represent is entirely lost on Cody.

The two share another glance, silently communicating with one another, and get to work searching the room for any listening devices.

Cody heads directly for the mirror, carefully unhooking it from the wall to see if the garish item is the result of the need to obscure a bug of some kind, or if it’s just the result of terrible taste.

Hm. Terrible taste it is.

Once they both signal the all-clear, Obi-Wan relaxes a little, setting both of their bags down on the bed.

“Well,” he says mildly, glancing around with a disapproving gaze. “It’s certainly expensive.”

Cody snorts, following his eyeline. “Just how much did the Republic spend to send us here?”

Obi-Wan peers closely at the strange painting, letting out a soft hum. “I shudder to think.” He pauses as Cody wanders over to check out the balcony. “This surely can’t be an original work,” he mutters to himself, passing a hand over his beard and frowning in thought.

Cody can’t help but glance back with a raised brow.

“... Sir,” he says, and the Jedi interrupts him with a wave of his hand, still narrowing his eyes at the artwork.

“It’s Obi-Wan when we’re alone, Cody, you know that.”

“Obi-Wan,” he starts again, amused. “Please tell me you’re not critiquing the art–”

“If it’s there, it should be there with purpose. This is soulless. It’s nothing-”

“In a resort, Obi-Wan.”

The Jedi lets out a rather contemptuous scoff, before drawing back to meet Cody’s gaze. He folds his arms, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “If you’re not the type to appreciate a critique of art, my dear, then whyever did I marry you in the first place?”

Cody lets out a long suffering sigh, not missing a beat. “I ask myself the same thing every day, darling, believe me.”

That draws a laugh from his Jedi. Cody steps out to the balcony proper as Obi-Wan begins to unpack his bag.

The sun is drawing lower on the horizon now, painting the sky in picturesque golds and oranges as people slowly move in from the beach - a steady stream of holiday-goers and families making their way back to the hotel for the evening. Cody idly watches them, leaning out over the railing as he takes in the myriad of species, genders, and ages of the people who’ve come here for an escape. One thing seems to bind them all together despite the differences - that distinct aura of wealth that seems to permeate the very air here.

He can’t really put his finger on what it is. The way they carry themselves, maybe? The sea of perfect skin and hair, the precision in which they choose to dress… It’s all fairly alien to the Commander. None of it really feels real in the way that people tend to be. Give him the flawed mess of the Lower Levels any day.

“I’m going to go for a little wander,” Obi-Wan calls through from the bedroom. “Get the lay of the land, so to speak.”

Cody turns, stepping back into the lavish room and stretching slightly. He sighs as he feels a pleasant ache in his muscles.

“I’ll probably stay in,” he yawns, “get an early night. Didn’t sleep well last rotation, and I’d prefer to feel rested for tomorrow.”

Even though he technically hasn’t been awake for all that long, Cody figures it’d be best to get started on adjusting to local time as quickly as possible. They’ll need to be up at dawn, regardless of if they’re ready for it. The Jedi hums in response, slipping on his cloak and heading to the door.

“That sounds wise. I’ll try not to return too late - if you’re already asleep, I shall endeavour to join you as quietly as possible.” His gaze falls to where Cody stands, offering a small smile. “Feel free to claim either side of the bed. Comms are on, I’ll see you in a little while.”

With that, he’s disappeared off into the night, leaving Cody with the question of whether or not he should take the floor tonight dying on his tongue.

He blinks, a little stupidly, after the now closed door. It’s as if there wasn’t even a question of whether they would be sharing the bed in the Jedi’s mind. Which… Cody supposes there shouldn’t be, really.

He and Obi-Wan have shared tents before in the field countless times, slept closely on the ground when there hasn’t been space in various quarters they’ve been given. Hells, during a mission on Mygeeto two months ago, he’d had no qualms with combining their bedrolls together for warmth.

A real bed just… feels different. Cody isn’t quite sure why.

He gives a wary sidelong glance to the offending furniture, as if expecting it to bite him. The bed, for its part, stares back at him unblinkingly, its exorbitant number of pillows providing more fuel for Cody’s growing resentment of the damn thing.

The Commander shakes his head. He’s being ridiculous. With a sigh and a mental slap upside the head, he unpacks his own bag, glancing out every now and again to the progressing sunset as he changes into his sleepclothes.

He’s almost loath to admit it, but the view is gorgeous. The twin moons slowly rise into the sky, basking the ocean in an ethereal glow. If it weren’t for the fact that he can still hear tourists partying outside, he could be tricked into actually enjoying this.

Cody sets aside the outfits he’ll need for tomorrow - something casual for the day, and something more formal for a party that’ll be occurring in the evening - before putting his suitcase down on top of Obi-Wan’s, near the door.

Sinking down into bed, he’s further frustrated to find out how comfortable it feels, reluctantly admitting to himself that perhaps the richest of the rich in the galaxy do get some things right every now and again. Rarely.

He lets out a deep exhale, pleased to find that his mind feels considerably more settled now that they’re actually here at the mission location, a little more peaceful.

It’s a relief, to be certain - Cody doesn’t really know who he is if not for the calm, collected strategist that always has an answer. His lack of certainty as of late has been… Disquieting, to say the least.

He grasps the feeling of quietude with both hands, allowing it to pull him into the alluring drift of near-sleep.

He stirs a little when he hears Obi-Wan return, the door clicking closed ever so gently. The Jedi seems to be true to his word in keeping his movements as soundless as possible-

Well, that is at least until he takes a step further into the dark room and walks directly into the suitcases in front of him, letting out a hiss of pain.

Cody can’t quite conceal his ensuing huff of amusement. Obi-Wan seems decidedly less pleased, grumbling something under his breath.

The other man pads over to the other side of the bed, and Cody hears the distinctive rustle of clothes being removed. He lets out a slow breath, ensuring to stay stock still, facing the other way. Not that he could really see what was going on even if he did roll over, but…

“Sorry. I tried.” Obi-Wan’s whisper cuts through the darkness, genuine regret in his tone.

“You’re fine. Is your foot alright?”

The Jedi huffs. “Mortally wounded, I’m afraid. Amputation likely.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

The bed dips gently behind him as Obi-Wan gets in. Cody is suddenly very grateful that everything in this hotel is oversized - it at least means they can do this without threat of the two being close enough to touch. For one long moment, he’s hyper-aware of every shift, every slight movement from his Jedi, before he forces his eyes to close.

It all falls quiet after that, apart from the gentle sound of even breaths behind him. Cody unconsciously finds himself matching them, slow inhales and exhales that serve to soothe his suddenly racing heart. He tries not to think too hard about why his heart might be racing.

Cody swallows. Thank the stars he knows how to shield, because he has no idea what Obi-Wan would say if he could sense this… Whatever it is that’s gotten into him.

With a long exhale, he uses what his General had once taught him of meditation technique to forcibly quieten his mind. He’s not allowing himself to do this. Not again.

To his immense gratitude, with a little effort (and time spent visualising the movement of the ocean outside), the calm of earlier finds its way to him once again, soothing his mind and slowing his breaths to match that of the lapping water.

As he finds himself on the precipice of sleep once more, he hears a quiet murmur from the other side of the bed.

“Goodnight, Cody.”

Cody pulls the covers up a little tighter to himself, yawning as he does so. It takes him a moment to find his voice, and when he does, it’s uncharacteristically quiet.

“Sleep well, Obi-Wan.”

(chapter 2)

#codywan #aspentreewrites #my fics #star wars fanfiction #tcw #cody x obi wan #commander cody #commander cody x obi wan #flowers & cannons

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lokidjarin-7567 · 7 months ago

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Day 8 - Forbidden Relationship

Obi Wan Kenobi x you

Contents: smut/drabble, fem!reader x episode 2 Obi Wan, corruption kink

W/C: ~600

Soooo I’m so behind but I swear to you I will post all of these chapters!! It just might be a little late. The next few should be faster though - with some of the more ‘vanilla’ prompts on my list I feel like I have to write more background to make it worth the read, but the kinkier ones are just going to get straight into it lol

Kinktober Masterlist | General Masterlist | AO3

“I shouldn’t be doing this…” He muttered into your neck, and your walls fluttered around him in response. He said it every time, and yet, here he was. There was just something arousing about knowing your pussy is so fucking good it had a Jedi crawling back for more, breaking his covenant over and over just so he can fuck you.

The first time was intoxicating. You knew that he was a virgin - it wasn’t hard to tell - and you were apprehensive, but it didn’t matter that it didn’t last long, or that you didn’t orgasm… The power you felt. The control. Getting to coax him through it, seeing his face when he first pressed himself deep into your velvet core, knowing that you were corrupting a Jedi knight... It was like nothing you had ever experienced.

The second time, he couldn’t keep his hands off you. He was needy and desperate, lips and fingertips ghosting across every inch of your skin like a man starved. A man who had been deprived of pleasure for so long and now, he couldn’t help but indulge.

The third time, you went down on him. Took your time, letting your tongue run up and down his shaft, swirling around his head and smearing his precum gently before you took him completely into your mouth. He was a mess by the time you finally obliged his whines, his tip hitting the back of your throat with a moan from you. The look of pure pleasure and surprise on his face when you swallowed every last drop of his load as he came down your throat.

“But it feels so gooood, doesn't it?” You drawled, and he groaned pitifully. You’d lost count of the amount of times he’d promised it would never happen again, that he needed to stop, and yet here he was, buried to the hilt inside you. It was only recently that he’d realised you didn’t derive the same kind of pleasure as he did from your hookups, and he practically begged you to teach him how to help you out. You weren’t exactly going to say no to that. So you showed him how you touched yourself. Made him watched as you reached a climax.

The way he blushed afterwards… You loved the way it made you feel. His innocence. And how easily you could break it.

And now, his hand delved towards your folds, and you moaned as his thumb brushed across your sensitive clit, hips bucking as he continued to rut into you.

“Right there, baby…” you whispered, kissing his neck lightly and twisting your fingers into his hair. “Stars that’s perfect, keep going…” He groaned and sunk his teeth into your bare breath, beard scratching the delicate skin.

“That’s it… oh yes that’s it…” he whispered as you came around his cock, whining his name and his own orgasm followed not long after.

As he lay on top of you, breaths heavy, you thought about how this is normally when he’d say it had been a mistake, when he’d leave and apologise and swear up and down that’s he’d never return.

But now, he sighed contentedly, fingers drawing lazy patterns onto your shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. You smiled to yourself, knowing he was yours.

#kinktober 2024 #kinktober #fanfic #obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi smut #star wars fanfiction #star wars episode ii: attack of the clones #space jesus #mullet stan #obi wan kenobi fanfiction

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obizenyukii · 9 months ago

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top 10 obizenyuki moments (+all of the honorable mentions that i almost picked bc these three are too much .) DISCLAIMER: these are my opinions and also i talk a lot. <3

under the cut bc this is so long oh my god

number 10

THIS PANEL OF THEM BEING SO AT PEACE RESTING BY EACH OTHER'S SIDE. OBI DEEP IN CONTEMPLATION AS HE WATCHES OVER SHIRAYUKI AND ZEN. THEM SLEEPING SO SOUNDLY BECAUSE THEY CAN LET DOWN THEIR GUARD AROUND HIM. I'M FINE.

every time i see this panel i just feel so happy. they belong together.

number 9

needless to say you'll miss the young miss, but you'll be lonely without me too, i bet. this entire conversation . obi saying this as a light joke but also because he knows how much they both mean to zen. obi searching, in a way, for a reassurance that he /is/ needed and wanted as well, since it's so obvious that shirayuki would be. zen's response. this is a moment that shirayuki isn't physically in so i bumped it down a few places, but it's still so meaningful for the ot3.

number 8

obi longing for zen and telling his bestie (zen's gf, who he's known for also occasionally longing for) about it casually under the stars (and saying he'll say that to zen under the stars) . i know what you are .

this moment is absolutely iconic and one of my personal favorites <3

number 7

ot3 date <3333 the entire next chapter is just a bunch of cute moments of them (honestly could have had like 300 pics on this post if there wasn't a limit). them spending time together, goofing off, having fun and enjoying each other's company. give me 10 more of these dates please.

number 6

whenever i reach out my hand, you would grasp it?

the most iconic trio of all time you will not change my mind. this moment being an unsaid promise between the three of them to always come back to each other . lay me to rest

number 5

THE FACT THAT YOU'RE NOT DASHING OVER TO HER RIGHT NOW IS ALL THE ANSWER I NEED. THE TRUST. GOD. SHE CAN HANDLE HIM. I'M ON THE GROUND.

this moment is not as talked about (at least i haven't seen much of it discussed) but it's SO important to me. so much is being said without needing to spell it out. obi and zen keeping watch from afar, content in each other's company but also making sure shirayuki is in their sight. this is so romantic to do under the stars . they make me unwell. i need a vacation

number 4

obi and shirayuki always keeping zen in their hearts no matter what, despite him wishing not to weigh on them. this also touching on zen telling obi he wishes the title he gave him won't be a burden to him. the bond they have is highlighted so beautifully here. it's pure love <3 i'm sick to my stomach. /j

(& the bonus of obi and shirayuki seeing zen off together and looking at his retreating figure fondly. this is so romantic . i'm crazy .)

number 3

the iconic whenever i'm with you two it's always like this ;^;; <3 obi's love towards these two started to take root here. you don't understand because it's love dude . you don't understand because you were never attached to someone like this. you never had a home to come back to, never had the acceptance and understanding you have in them. dumbass. (said fondly)

it's okay, he learns it later <3

number 2

zen, furiously questioning obi and shirayuki on their health, making sure they're fine, and finally pulling them into a hug. his relief to have them safe and healthy in his arms. them realizing how worried he was . this is probably the most iconic obznyk moment and is a contender for n1 for sure, it was tough choosing between the n1&n2 moments ;; . god this moment. zen's "that's the most important thing" . don't talk to me i love them

number 1

the iconic line that is also my ship tag, if it's for you and mistress, i'm willing to go anywhere </3 this moment was what solidified the ship for me when i was only an anime only (shudders) slowly getting into the fandom. the anime was enough but this entire chapter had me setting my house on fire (joke). the brainworms never stopped. the entire chapter is so crazy ot3 but this moment is my favorite and overall the message/highlight of obi's resolve & his answer to zen's questions. it also showed more than any other moment obi's love & dedication to shirayuki and zen. shirayuki isn't even in this scene but it's still my favorite ot3 moment in the manga so far <3

and now, some honorable mentions. these following moments were all contenders for top 10 bc obznyk is so good. also these are not all of the obznyk moments in the manga ofc. there are many that i couldn't find in my screenshots and tried to find skimming through the manga but failed lol. these are just some classics/faves.

zen's iconic heart eyes

pretty early on in their relationship development, zen liking seeing them together ;;

zen being so happy around obi and shirayuki ;-;

zen introducing himself as obi and shirayuki's companion <3 it's just spelled out at this point lol

zen's heart eyes pt 100, if this post didn't have a limit i would've posted so many more of these

shirayuki and zen fretting over obi and then spying on him (while obi knows and is having the time of his life stringing them along) because he was seen with a pretty lady

it's like a part of me is always by their side <3 <3 <3 this would've been n10, but it's now the official number 11 moment

shirayuki and zen putting their full trust in obi to the point of fully letting their guard down, and obi realizing that for the first time, he's wholeheartedly wanted.

zen and shirayuki being the obi detection/protection squad <3

there's so much more. i love them so much <333333

#akagami no shirayukihime #obizenyuki #zen wisteria #ans obi #ans shirayuki #ans manga #akagami no shirayukihime manga #ans manga caps #obi ans #shirayuki ans #ot3: i'm willing to go anywhere #if yall doubted my obznyk craziness. i wrote a literal essay on how perfect they are for each other like 4 years ago.#its still sitting in my google docs lol #anyway sorry for typing soo much . this took so long #okay just checked bc i have no concept of time. it was two years ago lol.

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dumbbbg · 19 days ago

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F O R Y O U - 1

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

Full series

Next chapter - 2

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

Warnings (for this chapter): Stalking, Anakin being a lot more intense than I planned.

Anakin Skywalker was the crowned jewel of the Jedi Order, the Chosen one. He was a skilled Jedi knight, someone who was beyond everyone's skill set.

So, naturally, he had everyone confused when he did not take up any padawan even after passing his trails. Padawans went up to him and tried to woo him, but he never took them under his wing. He trained alone, and he ate alone. Sometimes he could be seen with Obi-Wan, but even that had diminished because he had too many missions.

So when your master died during a mission, you had to get yourself an equally capable master. Yes, Anakin Skywalker was young, and not as experienced, but he was the best. And you wanted to be trained by the best, even though the difference between your ages was not much.

You gathered your courage and knocked gently on the bedroom door. You tried to keep your breathing under control, nervousness fluttering in your stomach at the thought of him. He was intimidating. And while you had talked to him before, those conversations had been tiny. Now, you had to convince him to have you as a Padawan.

"Come in."

You pushed the door open with your shaking hands and stepped inside. Anakin Skywalker was watching the skyline, a drink cradled in his giant hand, and his body covered in his Jedi robes. He looked over his shoulders, and his eyebrows shot up. "Y/N," he said. "Come on in. Sit." He motioned to a large armchair near him, the only one in the room.

You lowered yourself onto the seat, somehow feeling even smaller sitting there while he was towering over you. He took a sip of his drink and leaned against the window, his form relaxed and face passive. "What can I do for you, Padawan?"

Your hands messed with the edge of your dress. You weren't in your Jedi robes, you didn't like to wear them all the time, unlike most of the padawans and masters. "I..I wanted to ask you something, master Skywalker."

"And what is that?"

You took in a deep breath. Here it goes. You pretty much readied yourself for rejection. "Will you be my master?"

How eyebrows shot up again, his scar deepening. "Me?"

"Y-yes. I mean, I know you haven't accepted anyone. But I recently lost mine and I...I thought I would at least ask-"

"Stand up, Padawan." His head tilted.

You froze, but did what you were told.

"Come closer. Let me feel your Force."

You stepped closer. His gloved hand raised, and he cupped your face, his large hand covering almost the entirety of the left side of your face. Your eyes widened at the touch, and just when you were about to take a step back, he shook his head.

"I can feel it better like this. Stay still."

You forced yourself to remain standing, but could not look him in the eye. You focused on his chest, letting him feel your Force. You had never heard of anyone doing it like this, but of course, you didn't know better than Anakin Skywalker.

You should have run.

He kept his hand cupping your face and then spoke up after a few moments. "The Force is strong with you, little one," he muttered. "Yet you tremble. Look at me."

You lifted your eyes off his chest, looking him in his eyes that were slightly...yellow. He smiled, head tilting, a curl brushing on his scar. "I will be your master. How can I deny you when you've just recently lost your older one?" He lowered his hand. "Go. Meet me in my private training room after breakfast. Do not be late." He turned away, sipping his drink as he stared out the window, dismissing you.

You did not need to be told twice. You all but fled out of the room, and you could have sworn you heard him chuckle.

. . .

Anakin Skywalker, like every night, watched your sleep through the cameras. He had right installed in your room, and three in your bathroom. He had multiple nanodroids following you all the time. It was for your safety and his sanity. You were the thread he was holding on to not lift in lightsaber and bring it down on everyone. Everyone.

He sat on his armchair, the very chair you had sat on, and he could faintly smell your perfume. Flowery with the right amount of sweetness. He continued watching you sleep from all right angles, the image was projected on the windows.

He took off his robes, letting them hang on the armrest. He could feel his cock thickening, the dark side of the Force cursing through him, making him feel stronger. More powerful. Sinful. Possessive. Obsessed. He didn't touch his cock. No, he was storing all his cum for your sweet holes. He would feast on them, rip them apart, and then gather you in his arms. You were his, his little padawan. You had walked yourself into his den, not knowing you had always been there.

He watched as you changed sides, your nightgown lifting, showcasing your perfect ass barely covered by the panties you were wearing. He felt his throat go dry. So tempting.

He tortured himself by watching you sleep. He did not need sleep since he had joined the dark side. Now, he only needed you.

The morning came, and he watched as you dressed yourself in your robes. He chuckled as you changed your hairstyle multiple times, and then gave yourself a pep talk to make yourself less scared. He knew you had seen the darkness in him, at least glimpsed it. The prey was always paranoid.

So he had to ease you in. Pet you in the right places, make you trust him, coax you into his bed. Or, he could just take you.

Either way, your fate was written. And in the universe, there was no bigger law than what Anakin Skywalker dictated.

That was the future Darth Vader dictated.

. . .

#yandere smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin #anakin smut #anakin x reader #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #Skywalker #darth vader smut #unburnt vader #darth vader #vader #star wars smut

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bisexualwintermoon · 1 year ago

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star wars holo-tumblr dashboard simulator (circa 21 BBY)

❤️ best-clone-tournament follow

🌀 small-and-sad follow

u guys know the clones are all the same guy right theres no point in doing a tournament

📸 five-oh-first

fuck off the clones have their own personalities and anyone who’s interacted with them knows that

#i fucking hate people like this #like hello the clones are PEOPLE

(765 notes)

🦂 starlightandsecrets

the thing about the separatist movement is YES they have some good points about the republic but why did they choose the worst people to represent them

#dooku’s a bitch #gunray and the trade federation tried to take over naboo #poggle the lesser tried to kill a senator and two jedi #and that’s not even all of them #current politics #separatist movement

(72,890 notes)

🎶 taylorswiftupdates follow

Taylor Swift has been spotted on Coruscant with famous podracer Sebulba.

🕰️ bejeweled-jedi

imagine thinking this is anything other than a shitty rebound lmaoooo

#hes not even her type! #taylor swift

(1313 notes)

🚅 coruscanti-mold follow

the fact that people still defend the jedi is disgusting tbh

✨ jedi-defense-blog

The Jedi (and clones) are putting their lives on the line every day to defend the Republic. Without them, countless innocent lives would have been lost. Maybe if the Senate actually tried to negotiate peace with the Separatist Parliament, this war could be over a lot sooner.

#tw jedi hate #added to blocklist #mod son’ya

(637 notes)

⬜️ clone-confessions

I lowkey have a crush on my Jedi general

#submission #please don’t try to guess the submitter’s identity in the notes #we’ve been through this before

(47 notes)

🐱 padmes-senate-gown

SENATOR PADMÉ AMIDALA AND JEDI KNIGHT ANAKIN SKYWALKER ARE IN A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP: PROOF

#padmé amidala #anakin skywalker #someone help me figure out a ship name lmao

(2867 notes)

🔞 jedi-x-reader-imagines follow

the next chapter of my obi-wan kenobi x senator!reader fic is now up HERE on holo-ao3!!!

#obi-wan x reader #jedi x reader #obi-wan kenobi #the negotiator #jedi order #reader insert #senator!reader #jedi x senator #minors dni

(926 notes)

🐸 frog

swamp planets, i miss

(1 note)

#eclipse’s posts <3 #star wars #the clone wars #tumblr dashboard simulator #tumblr simulator #yoda’s one note is from mace #theyre mutuals

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pocksprincess · 7 months ago

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Chapter 2 - Meet Cute

Series masterlist

Obito Uchiha x f!reader

Modern AU, obi still has scars, he (29) is a doctor and reader (25) is a vet nurse, pining, he is a simp, obito isn't nice to himself :(

Word count - 1887

Beta baddie - @dabilove27 love you <33

<- Prev | Next ->

It's you. His pretty new neighbour. Standing at his door in a skimpy yellow sundress that leaves little to the imagination–not that his imagination isn't in overdrive right now at the sight of you. It's part of (the main) reason why he hasn't popped over to introduce himself. Pretty girls have always made Obito nervous. And for good reason, the prettiest ones are often the cruellest.

And it's as your face breaks into a friendly smile and you trill at him, “Hi, neighbour!” that he hopes that rule doesn't apply to you.

"Hi…" He manages to croak out a greeting in response, his scarred hand clenching the open door he leans against for support. He really wishes you hadn't caught him in his lounge wear and before he had a chance to shower.

"For you." You don't give him any time to breathe as you hold out a bottle of red towards him confidently.

"What's this?" He asks dumbly, frowning at the neck of the bottle gripped between your fingers. Your nails are short, the polish on them chipped, each finger painted a different shade of pastel–mirroring the remnant colours of summer as the season begins to turn.

"Um, it's wine. Ever heard of it?" You're teasing him, smile turned a little more wicked, but not malicious. It surprises Obito, you're bold.

Your demeanour is playful, just friendly banter…between strangers. It makes him fidgety, he isn't the best at social interactions, let alone with someone as friendly and familiar as you. It makes him instinctively pull into his protective shell–the one he uses to keep others at an acceptable and safe distance.

You huff a small laugh at his reaction and he wonders what his face looks like caught in the crosshair of your dazzling smile and shining eyes.

"Yeah, I've...I meant, what's it for?" He stumbles over his question, mentally cursing himself for not being more cool and assertive. Deep down (or maybe not that deep) he's still the gawky teenage boy that doesn't know how to talk to girls.

"It's a housewarming gift!" You announce proudly, hand still hovering in mid-air, caught in the purgatory of his front porch–neither on your side nor his.

"I think I'm the one who's supposed to do that," he nods at your offering, "yaknow, since…you're the one who moved in." He finishes lamely, what little confidence he had waning under your glittery-eyed gaze, mirth dancing deep within. It makes him feel bad, like a shitty neighbour, but in all honesty, he was too chicken to knock on your door.

You're so beautiful and warm, always smiling and waving at him like you're old friends. Obito knows he'd fuck up any welcome wagon he tried to roll out in your honour, so he just...didn't bother–figuring you'd probably just settle in and he'd never actually have to speak to you. He feels pretty stupid now with you at his door in a cute little sundress, hair playing about your face in the gentle breeze, and holding out a bottle of merlot (his favourite, how did you guess?) with a mischievous smile playing about your lips.

You surprise him once more when you lean towards him, just a fraction, as if you're sharing a secret only meant for the two of you. "Well, maybe I got tired of waiting." Your voice is low, so familiar, and he can see you quietly relish in how it makes him react.

He feels the heat rise to his cheeks unwarranted, mouth hanging slightly open as he flounders for any sort of response. Your words weren't even innately suggestive, you didn't say anything scandalous, but Obito's thoughts race at their hidden meaning anyway. Could you be...flirting with him? He isn't practiced in the art, but he's almost certain that's what's happening here. Either that or some serious wishful thinking on his part.

You shift in place while you wait for his response, putting your weight on your opposite hip, almost as if you're tired of standing out on his doorstep. He has a fleeting thought to ask you in but bats it away when he realises the absurdity of it-it would definitely seem weird coming from a near total stranger.

"Um, yeah...I-I'm sorry about that," Obito isn't quite sure what to say, or what to do with his arms. He realises they are limp at his sides and decides to cross them over his chest instead, grounding himself with the embrace and hopefully making him appear more confident (or something). He forces his gaze to meet yours, fighting the urge to flit them away.

"Don't be silly," you chastise him, but coming from your lips, it sounds gentle-reassuring, "It's no problem, really." You shake the bottle in your grip, all but pushing it into his chest, as you finally give him your name. It's just as pretty as the rest of you.

He quickly unfolds an arm to catch the bottle in his hand, his rough and scarred fingers grazing over your soft ones in the process. He didn't even think, just used his naturally dominant arm to reach for the object, forgetting his carefully trained practice of using the left since the accident.

The touch sends a jolt of something into his navel, and he has to suppress the urge to show his obvious reaction to your nearness. You have no such reservations, hitching in a breath as your eyes zero in on the place where your skin just barely meets his, your hand frozen in place around the bottle–delicate fingers overlapped with his larger ones. And he swears your pupils dilate–becoming large and round like a feline tracking its prey. Are you even aware of your reaction or is this all part of the game?

Obito jerks his hand away from yours, narrowly missing the door with his elbow, and barely manages to hold on to the gift you brought him. God, he must look and sound like a total idiot.

Your eyes dart back to his face, your features twisting into a slight frown as you slowly lower your hand back to your side, fiddling with the yellow tie that dangles from your waist.

"Sorry," you apologise, as if you did something wrong. You look so sad. Of course you think that, *he* made you feel that way…it's just been so long since anyone has touched him skin to skin, not even a handshake, especially a beautiful woman. He's always so careful, so aware of keeping only his left side angled towards someone, only ever using his left hand in front of others. Your little surprise visit made him sloppy, he forgot himself. And now you think it's your fault.

"No, please!" The words jump from his throat and Obito winces at the desperate tone in his voice. He gathers his courage with a deep inhale and then lets out the anxiety gnawing at his gut with a breath-get it together, man.

"This was really nice of you," he looks at the bottle, turning it until he can read the label, "it's one of my favourites."

He offers you a rare smile (one he doesn't afford many), it probably looks awkward and disingenuous on him but it seems to clear the brewing storm clouds from your expression, a sunny smile lighting up your face. Any reservations you may have had about the moment that just passed between you disappears and you are back to the friendly neighbour routine.

"Really?" You seem excited that you so accurately pegged something about him. He's not sure whether he's impressed by your insight or irritated that he can be so easily read. You remind him of someone else in that regard…

"You just look like a red wine kinda guy, I'm glad I picked the right one." And you do look glad, you look proud of yourself and something else…something soft and oh so dangerous when you look at him.

Obito swallows instinctually, trying his best not to read into any of your actions or glances. He really is pathetic, you're just being neighbourly, a decent person and he has to ruin it by thinking with his dick. He's always been easily led by a pretty face with an even prettier smile. Usually women only use him to get what they want, knowing it will work every time, the desperately overlooked disfigured guy with no self esteem.

But you seem different, he doesn't get the impression that you have malicious intent, you don't even seem to be phased by his scars. Most women grimace when they see him, whisper to their friends, no doubt about what horrible thing could have left him so permanently twisted. No, you can't be…romantically interested in someone like him. You're just nice, maybe you even want to be friends, or something. It's refreshing and terrifying all at once.

You study his face, perhaps slightly amused, as if you can see the battle going on inside his brain. He thinks you might also feel a little awkward since neither of you has spoken in a while. He can tell because you're twisting your fingers together–a nervous habit, perhaps? It looks uncomfortable, but you don't seem to notice.

"Well, I better be going…" you float the statement out into the sea of stillness between you, breaking the tension-filled silence. "I just wanted to give that to you before I forgot or chickened out."

He can't believe you could possibly chicken out…that's his job. But it feels oddly reassuring knowing that a stranger feels the same anxieties as he does. Guess he's not the only one who struggles with people. And maybe, just maybe, that means you aren't quite as confident as you appear. Maybe you are being genuine and are just looking for friends, no one has come to help you with your belongings or visited you since you moved in. Maybe you're as lonely as he is.

"Oh yeah, of course. Well, thank you, really." He tries to put as much sincerity into his response as possible but the words sound stiff to his own ears.

"Any time, neighbour." You smile a wicked little grin, unfazed by his awkwardness, back to your mischievous tone as you descend his front steps slowly.

And it's only in that moment that he realises he never gave you his name in return. What a fucking moron.

"Obito!” He blurts out as an afterthought. You look confused and slightly taken aback by the sudden outburst. He takes a breath and tries a small smile, “Name's Obito.”

“Obito,” you repeat, sounding the name out on your tongue. It makes his heart thump harder in his chest.

"Well, seeya, Obito!” You call out, throwing up a hand in goodbye as you walk to your door.

He returns the gesture, nodding his head and jerking his hand up clumsily when you turn around to smile at him one last time–key in the lock as you hesitate for a second. And then you're inside and his door is shut and he's leaning against it heavily–breath leaving his body in an audible whoosh. He rests his head against the door with a thunk, eyes screwed shut.

But it's no use, he can still see your kind eyes and pretty smile in the darkness.

#obito uchiha x reader #obito x reader #naruto fanfiction #obito uchiha x you #obito x you #☾•°•lûneywrites•°•☽#☾•°•neighbourly series•°•☽#divider by @/firefly-graphics

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