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s-brant · 2 years

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Teacher’s Pet

Anakin and Y/N’s relationship has always remained professional. Despite her obvious feelings for him, he never let himself entertain thoughts of reciprocating them…until now.

10k (18+)

Warnings: smut, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative sex, cockwarming, exhibitionism, choking, strong language, inappropriate relationships, she’s his padawan but they’re both of age and he didn’t know her for that long, and hints of possible yandere anakin.

She knows it's wrong.

Every time he offers a mere glance in her direction in front of the others or rests a hand on her shoulder in a silent gesture to calm her in moments of particular anger, typically directed at the council, she feels as though she will burn alive from the sin she cannot stop committing. Not only is it against the Jedi code to form attachments, but for there to be an intimate attachment between Padawan and Master is an affront to everything they know. That being said, Anakin has never been the type to allow the rules to keep him from indulging the impulsive yearnings of his heart.

It wasn't intentional.

After all, he tried to keep himself under control since Y/N was given to him as his first apprentice. It seemed fitting at the time. Most of those in training were discovered and brought to the Jedi temple as younglings, yet Y/N was not. Hers was a path that was far more unconventional than most. He himself was an unconventional Jedi Master, so it only made sense to him that the council chose to place her with him. She was brought to them when she was a young teen, when Anakin himself was still learning under Obi-Wan, and she didn't see much of him for years.

There were always moments in which they would pass one another in corridors or end up in the same room, but they scarcely found reason to interact much with one another due to their respective responsibilities. Being older than most, Anakin included, when they were brought to the Jedi Order, she had to learn such basic knowledge at a rate others her age were given years to accomplish.

This impressed Anakin from a distance, however, he was too wrapped up in his own dealings at the time to concern himself with what someone four years his junior was doing at the time. It wasn't until after he passed his trials and became a Jedi Knight that their lives became intertwined.

It started with her.

When she first began training under him, she was much like an annoying young puppy, always nipping at his heels and following as his shadow with every step he took. It was clear for everyone to see that Anakin resented the fact that he had to deal with someone as hard-headed, relentless, and precocious as she, but all Obi-Wan could do was laugh at how blind Anakin was to miss the glaring similarities between him and his apprentice.

And where Anakin became annoyed with her, she became enamored with him. It was the classic case of the schoolgirl becoming infatuated with her teacher, which was part of what fueled his annoyance with her. He could feel it. When she was distracted or too comfortable, forgetting to shield her thoughts or emotions from him, he felt it. She might as well have been shouting her feelings out loud to him, and he prayed, on the rare occasions when it would happen in close proximity to others, that neither Obi-Wan nor any of the others picked up on them.

Mercifully, the images he saw coming from her mind were mostly innocent in nature during that first year they spent together. It never escalated past what was appropriate for a young woman of her age to fantasize about, and she never took it too far out of fear that he could, in fact, sense the direction of her thoughts. Later on, she became better at keeping those feelings and thoughts to herself, but, still, some managed to slip through the cracks.

It was months ago.

Now that three years had passed since he first took her on as his apprentice, she'd become a woman right before his very eyes. Of course, she was only a few years off from officially entering adulthood when they were first assigned together, but he always saw her as a child until the past year or so. Until he saw an image from her mind that changed things.

She was late to their agreed-upon meeting time in the morning, so he took it upon himself to seek her out for an explanation. Within him, he felt the anger bubbling up, poised to explode the second he found her doing whatever it was she felt was more important than their duties for the day, but the moment he got to the door of her private quarters, he halted in place. A strange sound came from within. He couldn't tell through the walls if it was a cry of pain or sorrow, but the sound of her crying worried him nonetheless. It sprung him into action, reaching out with his mind to see if he could feel her there, but what he found when he reached her wasn't what he expected.

Anakin is nothing if not protective and possessive over those he cares for, and his Padawan, whether he found her annoying at times or not, is someone of great importance to him. And, in all fairness to her, she hadn't been annoying to him for months. Slowly, the frequency of the images and feelings she practically shoved into his mind began to dwindle, and after years by his side, she no longer followed him around incessantly. In fact, he found himself searching for her wherever she wandered off to be by herself quite frequently and realized, underneath the cold exterior he put on to keep her at a distance, that he missed having her nipping at his heels all the time.

So, being as protective as he is toward those he cares for, he thought someone or something must have hurt her, whether it be emotionally or physically, to make her cry and didn't waste a second before trying to intervene. But there was no emotional or physical hurt to be found on the other side of that door. There was only pleasure.

There were positively lewd images coming to life in his apprentice's mind, but what stunned him most of all was that they were of him. No, them.

Anakin is no hypocrite. He would not admonish her for feeling sexual desire seeing that it wasn't directly against the Jedi code. Although he was sure Master Yoda and Obi-Wan would not approve, he had indulged in such desires before. As long as he did not form any attachments, there was nothing saying he couldn't, so he did. What she was doing, though...that was different.

He thought that it wouldn't have messed with his head so much if it weren't him she pictured pinning her to the mattress, thrusting into her with his ungloved prosthetic hand squeezing the sides of her throat, but that foolish idea quickly vanished. Once his mind actually wandered to the thought of someone else being the object of her desires, he became crazed with jealousy. No, he decided, he would never be okay with that. Even though he already had sex with others in the past, he couldn't stand the idea of her in the arms of another. It was always there, lingering beneath the surface, but even if it wasn't, he realized at that moment that he wanted her to himself.

That was when things changed between them.

Y/N had never known him to linger so much. He began to spend more time with her outside of their necessary training and missions they went on together, which meant the only time they spent apart was the hours that they slept at night. Then came the touching—his hand brushing the back of hers "accidentally" beneath the table as they ate, his arm thrown over her shoulder, and his hand on the small of her back to guide her in the right direction whenever she gets turned around. It appeared to her that he seized every opportunity he could to get his hands on her, but she didn't know what to do about it.

Wanting him had been one thing, but the possibility of Anakin wanting her back was another thing entirely. She felt safe in her assumption that nothing would ever happen between them, but everything changed last week.

He took her out soon after everyone was due to retire for the night and walked with her, shielded by their hoods, through the streets of Coruscant. Not wanting to be recognized in their Jedi robes, he came already wearing a rather unassuming, common cloak over a plain pair of pants and tunic. She changed out of her robes in the adjoining bathroom while he stood watch and waited, then came out with a nervous smile plastered on her face.

He said, "Come along," and turned toward the door to her rooms.

As they traversed the streets without as many people turning their heads to look at them as usual, she couldn't help but feel a weight come off her shoulders. Her hand twitched with the urge to reach for him, then, a second later, Anakin draped his arm over her shoulders and didn't protest when she reached up to entwine their fingers. It was strange, but she didn't dare to question it out of fear of losing the dreamlike moment too soon. She feared that if she spoke of it aloud, he'd realize his mistake and rectify it immediately. But she was wrong. Earlier that day when he saw her laughing with Obi-Wan, something within him snapped, and once he decided his fantasies of her weren't enough, there was nothing that could stop him from taking what was rightfully his short of her refusal to partake.

She held on tight to his hand as they entered a seedy-looking bar in the bowels of the city, eyes turning wide at how those surrounding them indulged in drinking, dancing, and even kissing out in the open without shame. Sending her feeling of surprise, he found his assumptions about his Padawan to be true—she had never gone out and entertained her fantasies as he had during his training.

He didn't let her drink, even though he noticed how she eyed up the people sitting at the bar with great interest.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, standing alongside him with her back to the wall.

"I've sheltered you. When I was in training, I figured these things out for myself. I know Obi-Wan wouldn't have encouraged it."

"Master?" she asked with a quizzical expression.

Anakin said nothing. His face was unreadable, a mask of calm that gave her no clues as to what emotions lurked beneath, and when she tried to sense his mood through the force, he was able to resist her. Being as advanced of a Jedi as him, it's harder for her to reach for his mind than it is with her fellow Padawans. Rather than explain his meaning, he turned and made his way to the back hallway, but not without taking her by the hand to guide her. The leather of his glove was cold on the bare palm of her hand. She could feel the hard material of his metal hand through the fabric as it gripped hers.

In a room at the end of the hall, a series of couches and chairs were laid out across the open space and occupied by scantily clad workers engaged in intimate relations with customers.

He spoke, slowing down to allow her to step in front of him, "I used to come here. When I found myself wanting to act on the types of urges that lead to attachments."

Her brows furrowed, though, deep down, she suspected where the night may lead them. No, where he was leading them.

"Is that why we're here?" she asked, breathless, then looked over at a woman who was on her knees before a man in front of them.

There was a wide-eyed, almost excited, curiosity to her gaze that set Anakin's body aflame. Yet, at the same time, it was nothing she had ever seen or engaged in before, so it caused her to take a step back into where he stood at her back. Her breath hitched in her throat at the feeling of his arm slipping around her waist, pulling her back until there was no space left between their bodies. Then, he crouched down to bring his face to her neck and delighted in how easily her head turned to make space for him. The hand flattened against her belly could sense that she was holding her breath in anticipation.

"Go on," Anakin said, his hot exhales clouding against the sensitive skin of her neck, "Choose one. I know you've been curious."

And while she had already stopped breathing, the last thing he said made her entire body go still. He knew. Somehow, he knew. When his metal hand came up to grab the base of her neck and squeeze it gently, she knew he was answering the question she unknowingly asked him.

In answer, she ground the curve of her ass against the presence of his growing erection and said, "I don't want any of them."

What happened afterward left her in a frazzled state of disarray for days. All of her friends noticed the change in behavior, yet she waved it off as not having gotten enough sleep lately and pretended not to be thinking of how Anakin had fucked her in front of all those people at that bar. Granted, everyone in that room was accustomed to it, but, to her, it was the most scandalous thing imaginable.

Anakin, on the other hand, made a fair attempt at hiding how he felt about it. Even when Obi-Wan asked him if Y/N was okay, saying that she'd been acting off, he kept his cool and said he had everything taken care of with his apprentice. It wasn't the first time he spoke to Obi-Wan about her behavior. When he first took her on and began training her, he sought his master out for advice on how to handle the—at the time—one-sided crush she had on him. And, for a while, Anakin followed the guidance provided to him by his mentor. He tried. He really tried, but, in the end, he couldn't help himself.

The past few days, however, have been an exercise in discretion on both of their parts.

They've been trapped inside of a ship with Obi-Wan all day, battered and exhausted from a battle which they hardly escaped from unscathed, on the journey back to Coruscant.

She sits on her own, trying to busy herself with inspecting the superficial wound she sustained on her outer thigh amidst the scuffle, while Anakin pilots the ship with Obi-Wan sitting beside him in the cockpit. It isn't deep enough to require attention beyond basic cleaning and bandaging, so she decides to leave it be until they return to the Jedi Temple where she can properly wash it. It won't be long now if what she overheard moments ago was true. Apparently, they're due to land in Coruscant in a matter of moments, and she couldn't be any happier to hear it.

It's been difficult these past few days. Not only due to their efforts to stop Dooku's attempt to kidnap Chancellor Palpatine, but because of what happened between them last week. Because of everything that has been left unsaid. It's not as if she can blame him for it. There are far too many eyes on them at all times of day for there to be an opportunity to talk about it, and once they caught wind of Dooku's plans, it was no longer a priority.

Anakin can feel her staring.

In fact, he's felt her eyes on him for the whole duration of the trip. His knuckles tightened on the controls of the ship as he resisted the urge to turn to catch a glimpse of his pretty apprentice. Thankfully, she had the foresight to keep her thoughts as innocent as possible to prevent Obi-Wan from picking up on any of it. He may be able to tense the tension surrounding them, but that could be easily written off as a consequence of their mission. He knows how much Anakin cares for her, and seeing her injured at the hands of the enemy sent him into a frenzy, keeping Dooku constantly on the defensive until he managed to escape. Obi-Wan watched as Anakin rushed over and demanded to see where she'd been hurt, on guard for any potential threat while the two of them assessed her minor injury.

It isn't until he feels Obi-Wan's hand on his shoulder and yet he realizes he landed the ship, having operated on instinct as he became lost in his thoughts of her.

"You did well," he says, then his face softens, "She's strong. She'll be fine. Don't blame yourself for it."

Anakin nods.

"I know. It wasn't anyone's fault. She was to learn how to handle losing and getting hurt somehow, doesn't she?"

This response seems to please him.

"Yes. Now, you can escort her to a medic. I'll brief the council on what happened with Dooku."

With that, Obi-Wan turns to walk away and disappears past his line of sight. Before he leaves the ship, he offers a few words of praise to Y/N on his way past. And after days of being forced to ignore what happened between them, they're finally alone. The energy in the room shifts the second Obi-Wan is gone. They can feel the tension in the air sizzling like a current of electricity between them. It's palpable. Through the force, they can feel each other's emotions flaring up into something uncontrollable after days of keeping themselves on tight leashes.

She hangs her head low as he comes to a stop in front of her.

"I'm sorry, master. I'll be better next time," she says softly.

In lieu of a verbal response, he outstretches his flesh hand to her in a silent command.

Her voice is hushed when she asks, "Anakin?" and he thinks his heart may beat out of his chest at the sound of her saying his name. The last time he heard his name fall from her lips, he was buried inside of her with one hand wrapped in her hair and the other gripping her hip for leverage to thrust into her.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he says before she drives herself mad with guilt over how the fight unfolded. "Come on, let's get you fixed up."

His hand is warm. It's larger, closing tightly around hers and using that unrelenting strength of his to tug her to her feet. Seeing that he held an arm around her waist on the way back to the ship before they departed—just in case she walked with a limp, he doesn't let go of her. He simply moves his hand to grab hold of her arm instead to keep the contact from looking too intimate when they enter the Jedi Temple together. Holding hands would look odd to any passerby, but no one would think twice about him holding her arm for support with a visible blood stain on her pant leg.

Actually, most people try to stop and ask if she's alright, but all it takes is a polite, "I'm fine," from her to get them to back off. In truth, she is fine. The skin is sliced open from the end of Dooku's lightsaber barely grazing her thigh in the midst of the fighting. She anticipated his next move and made sure to dodge, but it was a second too late. All Anakin saw was her groaning from the pain and stumbling back a few steps with her hand on her thigh before he rushed forward to defend her.

It's not a severe cut, but, of course, Anakin must make a fuss about helping her walk. She soon notices that he isn't guiding her to the medic's room, they're walking in the direction of his private rooms. They're on the opposite side across from hers, males separated from females, and he can feel her squeezing him tighter in reaction to it. He also senses her excitement. It lights up her face as she looks at him, analyzing every minute movement and twitch in his expression in hopes that she may yield something from it. He doesn't appear to be as paranoid as she is about someone seeing them go into his room together. When she turns her head from one side to the other to keep a lookout, he stares ahead and keeps pulling her down the hallway.

It isn't until the door is shut and locked behind them that she can finally let out the breath she's been holding since she realized where he was taking them. Before she can say a single word to him, he grabs her by the face and rushes forward to kiss her.

Y/N melts into the warmth of the hard, muscular body pressing into hers and reaches out to brace her hands on his biceps as she stumbles back a step from the impact of him crashing into her. Amidst the sudden arousal sparked by kissing him, their parted lips press hard into one another's in a dance for dominance that leaves them both breathless.

As soon as they pull apart, she's reaching for the band of his pants hidden beneath his robes, but he doesn't let her. Her hand is stopped short in its tracks and held in an invisible hand that keeps her from palming his cock through his pants as she planned on doing. Their lips part with the wet smacking sound, and he shakes his head against hers.

"You're bleeding," Anakin says as an explanation for the abrupt rejection that leaves her chasing after his lips as he withdraws from her.

She shakes her head and looks up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"It doesn't hurt."

A lie, of course, and not one she pretends to think fooled him in any capacity.

Playing along, he furrows his brows and allows the side of his mouth to upturn in a smirk. "Oh, it doesn't hurt?" he asks, reaching down to gently squeeze her injured thigh.

The sudden pain that pulses through her leg makes her body jerk against him, drawing a stifled grunt from her lips. As soon as he lets go, she's already smacking him on the arm and calling him every bad name in the book for pulling that little stunt.

"That was mean!" she whines and tries to twist her way out of his grasp, but he holds on tightly to her.

He says through a soft chuckle, "Well if you just behave and let me help you, I won't have to be mean."

At first, she huffs in annoyance, prepared to roll her eyes at him as she's grown accustomed to doing whenever he teases her now that she's grown out of wanting to please him all the time. Then, she takes note of how the cut, already cauterized from the weapon that made it, stings since he put pressure on it. There's a fresh spot of blood blooming on her pant leg, and she can't find it in herself to refuse his help.

Ever the obedient apprentice, Y/N says, "Yes, master," and walks past him in pursuit of the bedroom that is visible from where they stand.

It's difficult for Anakin to repress the noise that longs to escape him at the sound of her calling him that. She may not know the extent of what it does to him yet, but on some level, she must know that it turns him on. As wrong as it may be, he hasn't been able to withstand her calling him that for months. The shame he felt every time his cock twitched in his pants at the sound of it was too great to measure, but it wasn't enough to keep him from arousal.

He takes his time in gathering what he needs before meeting her in his bedroom.

Everything is stowed away in a designated cupboard for instances where he returns to his rooms with a scrape or cut, but he can sense that she's seconds from bursting with anticipation, so he draws it out for the sake of allowing her to suffer for a moment.

When he walks in, he takes one glance at her and simply says, "In here," then disappears into the adjoining bathroom she had yet to notice.

She smiles to herself and follows along right away. Through the opening in the door, she can see him at the counter, laying down the supplies he gathered and pretending like he's not paying attention to her even though they both know he is. The light in the small room is warm. The orange-yellow tone of it brings out the lighter undertones of his hair, and she can't help but reach up to brush it back from his face.

Anakin goes still for a split-second, then leans into where her hand makes contact with the side of his head in a movement so slight, she questions whether or not she actually saw it.

His gloved cybernetic hand pats the open counter space once.

"Up," he commands.

Obviously, he doesn't expect her to do it herself with the cut running up the side of her thigh, so once she puts her hands on the countertop for support, he takes it upon himself to grab her on the underside of her thighs, careful to stay away from her wound, and hoist her up onto the counter.

The silence is overwhelming on its own, but with the natural tension that always spikes whenever they're alone together added to it, she can hardly breathe. He makes quick work of her pants and shimmies them down her hips with little effort. The contact of the fabric brushing against the open, bloody skin causes her to wince, but he's quick to murmur an apology. Other than what he did in his bedroom to test the honesty of her claim, he'd never do anything to hurt her. At least, not on purpose.

She watches him dampen a washcloth with warm, soapy water and kneel down in front of her, then braces herself for when it'll make contact with the laceration. To give credit where it's due, she only flinches a tiny bit as he wipes down the length of her thigh.

After another moment of this, she finally summons the courage to ask the burning question she's had since the night they spent in the city together.

"Are we ever going to talk about what we did?"

This halts his movements for a second. The hand using holding the soapy rag moves from her leg to toss it into the sink, then picks up another soaked in water to rinse the soap from her skin. At first, he doesn't answer her question. He just squeezes the water out of the cloth and allows it to wash the mixture of blood and soap from her thigh. It takes a few seconds of hesitation for him to acknowledge what she said.

He looks up at her, and, suddenly, every fear she had that it was a one-time thing, that he used his power over her for sexual gratification, is blown away like dust in the wind. His eyes are soft when looking at her. So unlike the cruel, steely-eyed glare she watched him give Dooku when she was hit by his lightsaber.

Anakin tosses the soiled cloth into the sink alongside the first one and reaches for the gauze pads he unwrapped before she came in.

"You're ready to talk about it?" he asks with an undercurrent of skepticism.

What he doesn't say—what she can feel through the force as well as the powerful connection they've developed—is that if she is ready to have that conversation, there's no going back. He kept himself at bay for far too long, and if she wants him the way he wants her, he's prepared to risk everything for it. That's the thing about Anakin. He lives in extremes, and now that she has become the target of his fixations, there's nothing he wouldn't do for her.

She nods.

In the silence that follows, she's left to assume that he's offering her the chance to speak first lest his assumption as to where this is headed ends up being wrong. He busies himself for the time being by pressing the gauze pads down onto her wound with harsh pressure to keep her from bleeding anymore, and reaches for the medical tape to secure them in place.

"I liked it..." Y/N says softly. "But"—his chest stops moving up and down at the use of the word—"what if they find out? We've been taught that attachments are bad, but, every time I'm with you, I can't help but wonder how it could be so inherently bad if it feels so right."

Her thigh is lifted from the countertop under guidance from his gloved hand as the other wraps her wound, packed with gauze, with a bandage to keep everything in place. Still, he has yet to look at her again. His eyes are fixed on her injured thigh with an intensity that would frighten many, but not her. Never her. Without a second to spare, he finishes wrapping her thigh and looks up at her from between her legs.

He shakes his head, the sharp motion of it toeing the line of being neurotic, and he slides his flesh hand up the length of her unharmed thigh. It comes to a stop at her hip, teasing the edge of her undergarments.

"You know, they're not always right about everything," Anakin says. His pointer finger slides until it reaches the band of the thin fabric separating his touch from where she wants it most. During this, his gaze never leaves her face. "They'll never need to know about us. We're alone together all the time and nobody questions it because it's for the sake of your training. The council doesn't think anything of it." His mouth curves up at the end again in one of those terribly charming half-smiles that weakens her knees. The tone of his voice turns soft, yet deadly serious when he says, "I'll protect you if it comes to that."

Not missing a beat, she counters, "I don't need your protection."

He huffs a laugh at this.

"I know that. You're powerful. That's why they put us together." He reaches up with his gloved hand to take hold of the opposite side of her underwear, a signal for her to lift her hips off the counter. A signal she complies with without thought. "I just meant that, together, they can't stop us from doing what we want." His eyes soften as he slips the garment off around her ankles. "From being with who we want." A beat of silence. His soft lips press into the inside of her thigh, inching up and up and up all while he keeps eye contact..."They can try but they won't take you from me."

At last, when his head is nudging her thighs further apart and his lips brush the pulsing heat that lies between them, he senses her surrender.

Y/N's head tips back, mouth falling open with a quiet moan, when he licks into her. The arousal is sticky where it coats his lips and chin, and he can't help but hum in approval of the distinct scent and taste of her that overwhelms his senses. This was something he didn't get the chance to do in that questionable back room at the bar. It wasn't as if he didn't prepare her for it, he warmed her up with his fingers, but it wasn't exactly the kind of place he wanted to do this at. He didn't want anyone else to see her undressed. Seeing that her robes covered her the whole time, he didn't have to worry about it that night.

It starts out as gentle, tentative licks that circle her clit without giving it as much attention as she wants. He works her up to it slowly, as if to taunt her, and it isn't until her fingers begin to tug at the strands of his overgrown hair that he gives in. Her hips jerk forward against his face instinctively when he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks hard for the sake of drawing a noise out of her. Of course, he gets what he wants. The heavenly sound she makes has his cock straining against the confines of his pants, and there's nothing he can do to satisfy it unless he resorts to rutting up against the cabinets beneath the sink.

Every breath she exhales becomes shakier as the seconds pass with his head buried between her thighs.

"M-Master," she whines, unsure of whether or not it's appropriate to use his name yet. She's only ever called him by his first name when the situation at hand causes her to forget her place. Considering that he's currently going down on her, he'd say that they're well past the point of such formalities, but he also likes that there's still a touch of obedience left in her. "That feels so good..."

His lips leave her clit for a second to allow him to dip his tongue into her entrance to get a better taste of her. Both of his hands are now gripping her hips to keep them in place as he ruins his apprentice with little regret or guilt left to flow through him. Past the point of no return, he no longer clings to his last scraps of morality in regard to his strange relationship with her. In the days following their secret tryst, he was trapped in a strange internal debate. He was torn between duty and love, caught between unstable moods that caused him to become hot and cold with her depending on whose company they were in. Whenever Obi-Wan was near, he couldn't allow himself to interact with her as he typically does. He didn't know if he could control himself.

The hand wrapped up in his honey-hued hair tugs on it once, and he just assumes it's because of what he's doing to her. A second later, she's pulling again, but it's harder, as though she's trying to get his attention. When he pulls his mouth away from her and looks up, her other hand reaches down to cradle his face. It guides him up and up and up until they're face to face again, and she kisses him once before speaking into the small space left between them.

"I want you," she whispers with her forehead pressed to his.

Anakin smiles and nudges her nose with his.

"You have me."

When they kiss again, she moans at the taste of herself covering the lips pressed to hers as well as the tongue that gently licks into her mouth. The fingers twirling the loose curls of hair at the back of his neck use their position to keep him trapped in the hot, open-mouthed kiss with her. There are no objections on his end, of course. If it weren't for their duties as Jedi, he would want to take her far away where no one could ever find them and spend the rest of his days this way.

She says the second she gets the chance, "You know what I mean," in regards to what was said before he distracted her.

To this, he sighs, and it isn't a frustrated sound, nor is it a tired one. It's the way a person sighs when they're placed before something in life that they know is bigger than themselves, resigning themselves to their fate not with reluctance but with acceptance.

"Mmm," he hums, then says, "I know. I just have one condition."

She nods.

"Use my name when we're alone," he whispers.

The request sends her mind reeling as he picks her up from the bathroom counter with her legs clinging around his hips and carries her off into his bedroom. Her arms are flung around his neck in a frantic bid to keep herself from falling, yet all he can do is laugh at her sudden panic. As if he would ever let her fall. His lips press a tender kiss to the warm curve of her neck on the short walk into the room, and that small action makes a world of a difference to her. Every insecurity or fear she had after their first time is assuaged by his honesty and the care he shows for her in everything he does tonight.

Although the door is locked and she knows that Obi-Wan and the others are meeting to discuss what occurred on their mission, he still feels the need to close the door to his room before setting her down on her feet before the end of his bed. All that's left to cover her is her utility belt and tunic, which is already torn at the shoulder leading down to her elbow from the fight that later caused the injury to her thigh.

She stands still and allows him to unfasten the belt from around her waist, although, the contact of his hands brushing her body makes it difficult for her to breathe as calmly and deeply as usual. Despite how familiar they already are with one another in terms of physical intimacy, her face flushes with heat at the idea of him seeing her fully undressed.

With her tunic then lifted from her body and tossed aside, she stands in front of him without anything left to shield herself from his intense gaze. His eyes look her up and down, then come back to settle on her face with an appreciation that causes her stomach to flutter with nerves. The air is cold against her nipples, which harden from both the exposure and the undivided attention being given to her.

He reaches across the space between them to brush his fingertips against her skin, but just when he's about to make contact, she stops him. She grabs his wrist and looks up at him through her lashes defiantly, then smirks at him.

"It's my turn."

He does her the courtesy of undoing the greaves guarding his shins and kicking off his shoes, but, after that, she begins with his utility belt.

It comes loose from his lean waist and is tossed aside onto the floor where he discarded hers in a matter of seconds, but, after that, every move she makes is deliberately slower than the last. She can sense how eager he is. The energy coming off of him practically rattles the room with its commanding presence, and it worsens with every second she draws this torment out. With the belt out of the way, it's easy for her to slip the tabard off of his shoulders. All of the layers would typically frustrate her when taking her clothes off to bathe herself, but it's different now. When undressing Anakin, the tedious nature of it makes everything feel more sensual to her.

Finally, once his overtunic and undertunic are pulled from his torso, she is met with the sight of him bare before her. Well, partly. The dying daylight illuminates him for her, allowing her to admire what she was not able to the first time.

The tips of her fingers graze his skin with a feathery-light touch as she drags them down from the base of his neck down to his abdomen. Beneath them, hard, taut muscle pushes back against the gentle pressure they exert. And she finds, as she allows herself to inspect him further as though he's a miraculous species wholly unknown to her, that she quite enjoys the way his stomach flinches inward in anticipation when she reaches the waistband of his loose-fitting pants.

As her right hand works at undoing his pants, the left reaches for the glove covering his cybernetic arm. Finger by finger, she tugs it away until she's able to slip it off of him and let it fall to the floor with the rest of his clothes. When she looks up from where the fake hand rests at his side, she finds him staring at her as though he's trying to analyze every thought that crosses her mind now that he's the one put in a position of vulnerability.

Y/N's hands brace against his shoulders now, and she stares right back at him without fear. The hand that just slipped his glove off of his arm creeps up his neck until it's cupping the side of his head. All the while, he's still watching her. Even as she runs her thumb along the length of the scar that cuts through his eyebrow down to the top of his right cheekbone.

Their lips are a hair's breadth apart now, so close that they can feel the heat of one another's exhales hitting their faces, and when Anakin dips his head down to kiss her again for the first time in what feels like (two minutes) an eternity, she's quick to jerk her head back enough to keep it from happening.

"I'm not done yet," she whispers, their lips brushing with every word. "You had your fun, now let me have mine."

His head shakes. Just once.

Anakin murmurs, "I need you," and there's a small part of him that knows how pathetic he must appear to her right now, clinging onto her by the curve of her waist and desperately trying to connect their mouths in a kiss, but he doesn't care. There's a rosy blush spread across his face extending to his ears, yes, but there's something about her that sets him at ease. He may feel shy about it, but it doesn't stop him from using his grip on her waist to press her body closer to his and say softly, "Please."

Oh, the things that hearing him beg does to her...

At this point, she can't help herself. There's nothing she can do to stop her from pouncing on him as she does the second she hears him utter that word, tossing her arms around his broad shoulders and jumping to wrap her legs around his hip. He intercepts her unexpected actions with a grace very few others could have, but, with their connection, he has a way of anticipating what she says and does before it happens.

He grabs hold of her thighs without thinking of the injury she sustained battling Dooku, then immediately murmurs an apology once he senses her pain and hears her wince into his mouth as he walks her back toward the bed.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," he whispers, kissing her once, twice, three times. "Are you okay?"

Where her face is pressed up against his, he feels her nod and takes that as his cue to set her down atop the sheets that he left unmade and twisted upon waking in the early hours of the morning the day they left. The sun, the light that had illuminated his half-naked body to her a moment ago, is beginning to slip partway below the horizon and washes the sky gold in its absence. That fading light shines in through the windows and creates a hazy glow around her, and, for a second, he thinks she might be an angel.

Both of their hands frantically scramble to push his undone pants down, along with his undergarments, as he climbs onto the bed after her. They're kicked from where they fall around his ankles before he settles himself between her eagerly spread thighs. Neither of them can bear to wait any longer, so the second he gets within arm's reach of her, she grabs him by his biceps and tries to pull him up to meet her faster.

The soft palm of her hand grazes down the length of his chest once again, but, this time, there's nothing left to prevent her from touching him. Her forehead is pressed to his, her chin tilted down, and she watches her hand wrap around his thick cock to guide him to her entrance. She pumps her closed fist around him a few times with her thumb brushing over his leaking tip just for the sake of hearing his breath hitch in his throat from it.

There's no need to get it over with quickly seeing that Obi-Wan reporting to the council about their mission will likely take up to an hour, but, the thing is, they both know they don't have the patience to make it last. They're both too rash and antsy when it comes to one another after days of avoidance, and she thinks she may die if she doesn't have him right now. Everything with Anakin feels natural. It feels like this is where she's meant to be and exactly what they're meant to be doing together. She may not have known it until recently but there has always been that thread connecting them. From the beginning, it was there. It was only a matter of time before one of them tugged on it.

She can hardly string together a sentence once she feels the broad tip of him pushing into her, "Oh"—her nails dig into his arms hard enough to break the skin and continue to apply more pressure as he sinks into her—"Anakin..."

Her bottom lip is bitten between her teeth at the feeling of him buried inside of her, so deep that she can feel the bony prominence of his hip bones pressing into the soft flesh of her thighs. And she knows it's affecting him just as much from how his metal hand squeezed her hip hard enough to leave finger-shaped indents behind on her skin. Although she's ready for him to move, she can tell that he's waiting for himself to be ready. His eyes are fluttered shut, forehead pressed to hers, and she can tell he's trying not to let himself be overcome by how good it feels.

What he said to her days ago at the bar wasn't a lie, he has done this multiple times before, but it's never too often. It was only a means to an end, a way to satisfy the urge he felt guilt and shame for having in the first place. This is different than those other times for him. Seeing that it's her he's doing this with, he can hardly control himself and refrain from spending in her in the span of a moment much like he did the first time he had sex.

After a moment has passed and his breathing has turned deep and even, she whispers, nudging his nose with hers, "Look at me."

The second she says it, he obeys, and she didn't expect to find him being to her will to be so...alluring. As her master, he's the one who typically commands. She is the one who listens, who serves, who obeys, but, right now, everything is backward. Anakin looks down at her for guidance with the same hunger and desire as before but softened around the edges.

His hair is soft to the touch when her fingers play with it, and she uses her grip on his scalp to pull his lips down to hers.

"Fuck me," she murmurs into his mouth as they engage in a lazy kiss. Her hips press up into his in a silent urging for him to move that he listens to immediately with a tentative thrust.

His arms cage her in on either side of her head as he licks into her mouth with his tongue and starts to fuck into her at a relaxed pace. Still, even with how slow and tender it may be, she feels him so deep inside of her, she wonders if she could feel him there if she pressed her palm flat against the bottom of her stomach. The languid undulations of his hips guiding his cock in and out of her builds on the pleasure he had given her earlier.

Last time, it had been painful when he first entered her, but, this time, there was only a slight sense of pressure, if being overwhelmed, that gave way to the pleasant feeling she found toward the end of their first intimate encounter. Even when she found it somewhat uncomfortable at the beginning, she still wanted it for the sake of being close to him. Of being the one to make him feel good. And now that it feels good almost straight away, she is overwhelmed with how badly she wants him. Nothing is ever going to be enough for her, is it? Even as they're kissing and fucking and grabbing at one another in a frenzy of need, she still wants more of him.

One of her hands slides down the length of his body and grabs his hip to guide him into a faster pace with every thrust.

"Just like that," she says between panting breaths.

The words of praise cause his face to flush for what feels like the tenth time since they retreated to the privacy of his rooms, and it doesn't go unnoticed by her. Despite the fact that he holds power over her as her master, she senses his desire for her to take control and take care of him. To treat him with the reverence and praise he is so scarcely granted anywhere else in his life. So, she takes control. He may have the physical advantage with his considerable strength and position on top of her, but only a fool would think he's the one in power here. The second she told him to look at her, he willingly gave it up.

Her other hand, the one that isn't holding onto his hip, comes up to card through the long tufts of hair on the back of his head. She pulls it taut from his scalp to maneuver his face away, creating a short distance that allows them to stare into each other's eyes as they're both overcome with the sensation of it all. His brows pinch together a little at the feeling of her tight walls squeezing down around him on the upstroke of his thrusts as though she's trying to push him closer to the precipice he refuses to fall from without bringing her along with him. It doesn't feel like he's the experienced one here even though he's been doing this much longer than her. It almost makes him scoff. He should've known that she'd take to this quickly just as she does with everything else. His smart girl.

"Fuck," Anakin curses under his breath and truly starts to throw himself into it now. "You feel"—his sentence starts and stops before he can string it together, so he abandons it altogether in favor of spewing the first, most vulnerable thought that springs to mind—"Promise you'll never leave me."

If she's being honest, the unrestrained honesty in his request addles her brain far more than the sex itself. However, it doesn't scare her away as he fears it will. Maybe it's a little sick, but she likes how desperate he is for her. How could she not enjoy the simple truth that she is the only one who can bring the great Anakin Skywalker to his knees? It's a beautiful thing to see him in such a state of mindless bliss.

Her arms twine around his waist in a tight embrace to bring their bodies closer than they already are somehow, and when she opens her mouth to speak, she's interrupted by a moan that leaves her suddenly at the feeling of him hitting a sweet spot inside of her. When she pulled him down onto her until their bodies were flush, it adjusts the angle of his thrust and puts delightful pressure on her clit with his pubic bone. After taking a second to relish in the sensation, she looks up at him through heavy-lidded eyes and lifts her head up from the mattress to kiss him.

She murmurs into his open mouth, "I won't." The next thrust he makes into her is significantly harder than the rest have been in reaction. "I'll never leave you, Ani. I promise."

The sound he makes in response almost pushes her over the edge. It's somewhere caught between a moan and a whine, a thrilling noise that makes her tense around him once more and writhe beneath the weight of his body pinning her to the bed. A familiar tension stirs in the pit of her abdomen now. It crescendos into territory where the stimulation almost becomes unbearable, begging to explode as it did the last time in an earth-shattering climax that left her limp and incoherent in his arms.

Since he can sense how close she's getting, he doesn't change anything. He pulls back as much as he can without shifting the position and watches her in utter fascination. It's the little things that get him—how her nose scrunches a little when it starts to get to be too much, the way she looks up at him like she's in a daze, and how his name sounds coming from her pretty, kiss-swollen lips. They shine in the dim light from a mixture of their saliva, and he can't resist the urge to lean down to connect them with his again.

And this makes her smile. Everything about it makes her radiate joy, an emotion he can feel her projecting onto him without trying to shield it. Like him, she adores the little things—how his hair tickles her forehead the whole time, the sound of his moans, and how he never eases his grip on her as though he's afraid she'll disappear in the event that he lets go. On top of that, she likes how warm he is. She's come to realize over the past week that Anakin is the human embodiment of a furnace. Every time he pulls her near, she takes comfort in the heat that comes from his body, and, as of the current moment, she loves it.

His skin is hot to the touch where it meets hers, covered in a thin sheen of perspiration that greets her tongue with a salty taste when she dips her face into his neck to kiss him there. Her teeth nip at his skin and leave a faint mark behind that they both know will be hidden by his clothes later. With her nearing climax, she can't do much other than claw at his upper back and try to stifle the sounds she's making in case anyone is nearby.

Her lips stop moving against his neck, not because she'd ever want to stop kissing him, but because she can't function beyond the mindless bucking of their hips and the slack-jawed sounds she lets out. Her head thumps back onto the bed without a sound, back arching up against him, and her legs constrict around his hips to prevent him from going anywhere but closer.

As for Anakin, nothing could rile him up the way she does. Every stroke inside of her collapses any shred of sense and logic left in him, leaving behind just the primal urges that currently guide him.

Knowing how close she is, Y/N asks with her face pressed to his, leaning into the role he inadvertently pushed her into, "Are gonna be good for me?"

Even through the hazy state of mind he's in, he finds a way to nod when she asks him this. He's so far gone that he isn't sure he can form the words to verbally respond to her. All he knows is that she's here. She's here, and she's caring for him, and she promised she'd never leave. That's the sole thing occupying his mind as she offers him a sweet smile and plays with his hair the way she knows he likes.

"That's right," she says softly, then pauses for a second to stifle a moan. His frantic pursuit of their respective orgasms leaves them both trembling in each other's arms while she tries to maintain enough composure to speak to him through it. Every time he slams his hips down into hers, sheathing his cock in her sodden cunt and hitting that sweet spot without fail, she can almost feel the relief that's soon to find her. "I don't know what you would've done if you weren't my master"—his cybernetic hand grips her throat with enough pressure to use it as leverage but not to prevent her from speaking—"How long have you been waiting for me, Ani?"

Despite his previous assumption that he no longer had the ability to speak, he responds instantly between his panting breaths, "My whole life—"

His words are cut off by the downright pornographic display that is her orgasm. It comes on suddenly, without a warning for him to prepare himself, and he groans at how tight she becomes through the intense peaks that reduce her to a tensing, shaking mess beneath him. It is somehow twice as intense as the one given to her in that seedy bar he escorted her to last week. It wouldn't surprise her if she makes him bleed with how harshly her nails dig into his flesh, but that's far beneath her at this point. The pleasure wipes her mind clean of everything but him. In her head, she hears it like a prayer over and over and over again—Anakin, Anakin, Anakin.

Her master—who is now pounding into her and keeping her pinned to his mattress with his body weight throughout her climax. He fucks her through every second of it, prolonging the all-consuming pleasure far longer than it ever lasts when she touches herself.

Then, something new happens.

Just at the end of her climax as she begins to feel it recede as it always does, she thinks she feels another coming on. This has never happened to her before in her limited experience. Most of the time, touching herself is a quick affair before she fell asleep that felt good, but it wasn't anything like this. She can sense that it surprises him too when he feels her tight walls spasming around his cock for the second time in a row, and this is all it takes to push him over the edge.

Anakin clings to her as though she is the only thing tethering him to this planet, stilling inside of her with a low moan as she watches him come apart for her. She already thought he was beautiful before, but, fuck, he's utterly divine like this. He has always been above the others in her eyes, not only as a Jedi but as a person—a deity for her to worship and learn from as his Padawan. But, now that worship is intensified by what she sees, hears, and feels when he comes. The hand around her neck squeezes hard enough to keep her from taking in air.

Her head is tilted back against the mattress, her jaw slack, and her back arches up, pressing her bare breasts against the toned musculature of his chest that clenches throughout his orgasm. She can feel him throbbing inside her with every spurt of his release that floods and spills out of her at the base of his cock.

Even after half a moment passes, they both remain like this without moving despite how the sensitivity causes them to tremble. Her chest falls when his rises in a push and pull much like that of the tides as they pant for air. He keeps his face buried in her neck the entire time and doesn't retreat from the hiding spot until he feels her hand tracing up and down the length of his spine absentmindedly. It wakes him from the post-orgasmic haze and forces him to remember that, although they have some time to themselves, they have to meet with Obi-Wan shortly after he's finished reporting to the council.

Still, he doesn't pull out of her yet.

He asks instead, not wanting it to end, "Can we stay like this for a minute?" and sighs in relief when she mutters back a quick word of approval.

She keeps her arms wrapped around his chest to trap him in her embrace and continues to rub up and down his sweat-slick back in a soothing pattern. It almost causes his eyes to close and submit to the alluring gravitational pull of sleep that longs to drag him under. With the clarity of her thoughts returning, she can't ignore the worries that come to mind in regard to how they'll manage to hide this from the others.

Without her even having to voice these worries aloud, Anakin pulls his face from her neck and brushes her hair from her face with his flesh hand, looking down upon her with a tender gaze.

"It'll be okay," he says softly, and, for a second, she thinks she believes him. She thinks she'd believe anything he says for the next few moments. "They'll never know. Even if they end up suspecting it, there won't be a way to prove it."

She asks, face twisted with concern, "Are you sure?" and, suddenly, they're pushed back into their natural roles with her looking to him, someone she considers far wiser, for guidance and reassurance.

Though there's a slight smile, though the adoration for her remains present in his expression, there's a flicker of darkness in his gaze, and his arms tighten around her waist seemingly in response to it. As he had when they were writhing together in pleasure not long ago, he holds onto her as though someone or something will come along to take her from his possession the second he eases his hold on her. Those pretty blue eyes never once stray from hers.

Anakin keeps the side of her head cupped in one of his hands and says, "Nothing will ever take you from me."

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker smut #star wars #fanfiction

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tossawary · 1 month

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Thinking about missed opportunities in the "Star Wars" prequel trilogy again: it's weird with hindsight that Count Dooku doesn't appear in "The Phantom Menace".

Dooku was a Jedi, so it's perfectly reasonable for him to be at either the Jedi Temple or the Republic Senate when we visit Coruscant in TPM. It would have been easy to move a few things around and include him even as a member of the Jedi Council when initially constructing the films, if you were planning ahead when writing.

As Qui-Gon's former master, Dooku is in the perfect position to ask questions onscreen about Qui-Gon's conviction that he's found the Chosen One and Qui-Gon's decision to put Obi-Wan up for knighthood, both publicly with the Council and privately from a more personal standpoint. Dooku could be used as a tool of interrogation to better lay clear for the audience some of Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Anakin's characters, their motivations and fears and their potential flaws. An intimate conversation with his master's master could definitely be used to give Obi-Wan some much-needed character focus and inferiority before his climatic fight with Darth Maul.

As the future leader of the Separatists, this is also the ideal point in time to have Dooku act as a voice of criticism, someone who laments both the greed of the Trade Federation and the inaction of the Republic. Dooku could have easily been the representative of the Jedi in the Senate, watching everything, offering grandfatherly sympathy to Padmé Amidala, remarking on the effectiveness of unrestrained power, perhaps even making a warning observation of the dangers of that as Palpatine becomes the new Chancellor. We don't have to see Palpatine and Dooku interact directly, the film could even suggest that Dooku finds this ambitious politician slightly distasteful, but it sets up an explanation for how these two might know each other.

And if we have reason to know and like Master Dooku, then it would actually hurt more when he becomes Count Dooku and betrays both the Jedi Order and the Republic. Even briefly, we could have seen him show frustrated affection and concern for Qui-Gon, give warm advice and praise to Obi-Wan, stand up firmly against the unfairness of the Jedi Council saying Anakin is too old at nine years old. We could have seen Dooku support Padmé in her struggles to make the corrupt Republic take action. We could have seen him as dignified and wise, perhaps one of the only members of the Jedi Council to immediately take the return of the Sith 100% seriously after Maul appears on Tatooine. We could have been made to feel like this experienced, slightly embittered, but righteous older man was the only one "speaking the truth" here.

It really wouldn't have taken all that much shuffling and reassignment plotwise to add him in as a supporting character.

We would feel intrigued at the beginning of "Attack of Clones" when we learn that Count Dooku has left the Jedi Order after Qui-Gon's death. We could see Anakin and Obi-Wan briefly exchange lines about how they miss Master Dooku as well as Qui-Gon (there is already an exchange in the films where they state they miss Qui-Gon), and how they haven't seen or heard from him in some time now. Anakin could suggest that Dooku is hunting down the Sith Master; Obi-Wan could counter with how Master Dooku has simply returned to his life on Serenno, which he couldn't have as a Jedi Master, which Anakin casually calls unfair and he suggests that Dooku can do far greater good as a powerful count (a parallel to Anakin's marriage to Padmé and own Fall). Dooku being established earlier in the trilogy would better highlight how he and Obi-Wan went completely separate directions after Qui-Gon's death.

And again, the reveal that Dooku has Fallen would hurt so much more, if we had actually seen him be affectionate and righteous and wise. If we had any point of comparison for how Dooku's embittered desire for peace and justice has been warped into the pursuit of control and tyranny. It would hurt to see that formerly good man sentence Padmé to death as "just politics, my dear".

"This will start a war!" Padmé tells the man who helped her help her people once.

"I know," Dooku replies, with ominous satisfaction.

It would hurt to see Obi-Wan beg Dooku to stop this (a prelude to him begging Anakin in the next movie: "Anakin, please, I cannot lose you too!"), only for Dooku to attack and nearly kill him when Obi-Wan refuses to join him. It would hurt to see this grandfatherly figure cut off Anakin's hand, someone he knew and was kind to as a child. Seeing where Dooku fell from would also make everything about his fight with Yoda hurt more as well. We wouldn't have seen Dooku's struggles directly, offscreen in the time skip between TPM and AOTC, but this Fall would help prepare us for witnessing Anakin's Fall onscreen in "Revenge of the Sith", illustrate for us how power and grief corrupts, how the desire to take complete control and "start over" corrupts.

And all of this would also make Dooku's death in ROTS hurt more: to see Anakin execute an unarmed, injured man who had once been kind to him, who had once had good intentions a long, long time ago. We could have even had Dooku perhaps try to warn Anakin about Sidious, as the fear cuts through him as he realizes Sidious has betrayed him, only for Anakin to kill Dooku out of anger (Dooku is responsible for so much death, Palpatine reminds Anakin) just before the ruined man can finish speaking. Dooku's former goodness underlines Anakin's arrogance in thinking that his own fate will be any different.

The novelizations of the prequel films and other extended universe materials build up an image of Dooku's life as a Jedi and his Fall for us. We can assume and imagine a lot. We can retroactively apply knowledge gleaned from "The Clone Wars" with Dooku as a major villain. But ultimately, Dooku as a more sympathetic and emotionally relevant character is just not in the films.

When "Attack of the Clones" reveals to us: "Oh, no! Dooku has betrayed the Jedi Order and the Republic!" I think that most of the audience is like: "Gonna be real with you, chief, I have no idea who that is."

He's only been mentioned before once maybe? In Palpatine's office? Master Mundi assures Palpatine that Dooku is a good man (or something like that), but we have seen no evidence of this ourselves. This line mostly just becomes really funny on a rewatch, rather than poignant, because the prequel films audience only ever gets to see Count Dooku as a Sith Lord and rather underdeveloped villain. We don't ever get to see him be a "good guy" first. We're told but not shown.

The audience has no solid reason to care that Dooku specifically has betrayed the Order, as opposed to any random Jedi, because we haven't seen him before at all, much less interacting with any of our protagonists or establishing himself as an opinionated player within the story. Which is a shame! Because he has strong opinions that stand in interesting ideological conflict with so many other characters, generating fun and dramatic exchanges! He has direct connections to and parallels with other characters! He's potentially a really useful storytelling tool within these films, and his character just doesn't get used to that full tragic potential.

In conclusion...? I wish I'd actually been sad when Dooku betrayed everyone and died at Anakin's hand, instead of mostly just confused and then vaguely pitying. I want to see some of the love between characters beforehand, so that it hurts more effectively when that love turns to hate.

#tossawary star wars #count dooku #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #anakin skywalker #yoda #padme amidala #character death #long post #spoilers #tossawary script doctoring

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thatforkedroad · 10 months

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Sun-hearted

[ao3] Anakin Skywalker is not human. The people around him try not to think about it.

----

Shmi had always known her son wasn’t like her.

At first, she had assumed that the pregnancy had simply happened without her knowledge. Or that perhaps her mind had blocked out the event — a slave knew better than anyone how the brain killed the past to protect the present, to keep you surviving.

But the more she tried to dig up the memory-that-wasn’t-there, the more she ran through scenarios, the more she realised that nothing that made sense. If it had been… any of her theories, she would have known, there would have been evidence, Watto wouldn’t have been so angry when he found out. Eventually, she realised she had to give up logic alltogether. Anakin’s father was not something knowable to her. He (it?) had been something else. Something impossible.

A miracle.

The theory only grew more convincing as her pregnancy progressed. She began to sense things no human should have been able to. Objects falling before they’d even been knocked. Watto’s bad mood from two rooms away. Her baby’s strong soul, loudly proclaiming it would be a survivor.

She held her new sixth sense dear for those nine months she had it — but not as dearly as she held her baby boy, to whom the sense really belonged. Her darling miracle baby boy, who always knew too much too soon, who read intentions as easily as he read schematics, and whose quick hands and quicker mind did the impossible on Boonta Eve.

Slaves were supposed to cling to their miracles, so few and far between as they were. But a mother was supposed to do what was best for her son, and Anakin was her boy above all else. She let him go, hoping the Jedi would understand and care for his impossibility better than she ever could.

(And as Shmi died, she did not need Anakin’s sixth sense to feel the anger running through his miracle veins. She did not need it to know what would happen next, either.

She knew with all the certainty her slow-beating heart had that her son’s grief would raze the galaxy to ash.)

—

Obi-Wan knew Anakin didn’t fit in with the other younglings and padawans.

He wanted to believe it was just because of the boy’s upbringing, that it was only because he’d grown up in a much crueler, realer world to the others. Or perhaps it was because Anakin was already a padawan or because of how annoyingly easily it was for him to call the Force. Maybe they just heard the Council had tried to reject him. There seemed to be a few hundred thousand reasons that the children of the Temple would consider him an outsider — but one stood out like a sore and mythical thumb.

There was no Chosen One or such thing as a child born of the Force. There was certainly no chance that the other children (even the ones who tried to accept Anakin with open arms) could sense otherness in his blood. He was just like any other Jedi, if a little more reckless.

As Anakin and the other padawans grew, they grew together. He became like well-sewn patch on an old shirt — the difference was there, yes, but only noticeable if you were really looking. It was better for everyone if Obi-Wan stopped looking for the gap, so he did.

Anakin had never seemed to notice it, anyway.

(And as he watched Anakin’s slaughter of the Temple, the hot drowning of dread and horror and nausea was joined by a cold, parasitic realisation. The gap between Anakin and the other Jedi had never grown smaller; Obi-Wan had only grown more blind.

Jedi were taught from a young age that they could not hold or control the Force, that they were to let it flow freely else they would face the consequences. Obi-Wan had been a fool to think that something made of one half Force and one half heartbreak could be held any more than its parent.)

—

Anakin grinned, and Ahsoka felt every clone in the hangar’s mood lift. Ahsoka couldn’t help but smile in return — and then he cracked a joke, and the worry and grief of the battle became a distant, shrouded memory.

It always went like this. They came back from the latest campaign dirtied, injured, and with a tiredness that ached into their very bones. They all wanted nothing more than to eat and sleep and mourn and not talk to anyone for several hours. But then Anakin — still riding the high of a good fight — would clap Ahsoka on the shoulder, make a stupid comment to Rex, and everything would feel fine. Better than fine even.

Morale seemed so reliant on him that if her master was angry or sad or upset, so was the entire ship. When he was in a mood, meditation became impossible, no matter how at peace Ahsoka felt. She once considered that it was more than just moral, more than just his stupid jokes, but she had grown up in the Temple, raised on lessons of a Jedi’s few limits. A single man could not project his emotions onto an army.

Anakin just had a friendly smile, was all.

(And when Maul told her — warned her — of what her master would become, she did not listen. She could not listen. She thought only of his grin, and the sunny sureness in her chest that always accompanied it.

And so she fought for it again.)

—

Rex knew, theoretically, that General Skywalker was human.

He’d seen enough medical scans from Kix (on the unusual occasion that the general submitted to care) to know that Skywalker’s biology was just like any natborn human’s. He didn’t have strange-coloured blood or an extra eye and all his (mostly-intact) organs were in the right places. The records showed that he was completely, one-hundred-percent human.

Theoretically, this made complete sense.

And it made sense he would seem slightly off. Rex had spent the first decade of his life surrounded entirely by his brothers and Kaminoan scientists; his idea of a ‘normal’ person was someone who looked and sounded identical to him, not a tall, barely-tanned Tatooinian with the wrong accent. Even if it hadn’t been, Rex knew Jedi were different from your average natborn. They could do all these crazy things that belonged in storybooks and myths, not the battlefield. Swaying people, moving objects (or clone captains) with their minds, seeing the future — if Rex hadn’t been trained to do so, he wouldn’t have believed a word of it.

But if being a Jedi had been the reason, wouldn’t Rex have noticed the same thing with Commander Tano or General Kenobi? He understood that maybe Commander Tano wasn’t old enough to develop whatever it was General Skywalker had — but Kenobi was older, more trained in the Force. Surely Rex would have noticed the same thing, that same surely-not-quite-human feeling with him?

Maybe he just spent too much time around the General. Maybe this thinking was just a part of having a good natborn friend.

He hoped it was, at least.

(And when Rex heard of the attack on the Temple, he understood his hope was for naught.

He and his brothers weren’t an isolated incident, he knew; Ahsoka had felt the deaths across the galaxy. He had no doubt the clones on the battlefield cut down their generals — who trusted them like they trusted their own right hand, who stood alone in front of a one-thousand strong army — with an alarming ease.

But he heard reports of the Temple, of blue-painted clones massacring all there, and knew they couldn’t have done it alone. Only one Jedi was strong enough to take on a Temple of their own kind and win.)

—

Padmé wondered if her husband was made from the stars themselves.

It seemed like the only explanation, sometimes. How could anything mortal be so beautiful? How could anything born on solid ground hold that much love in its heart? He was impossible. He looked her in the eye and saw right through every mask she wore, saw that all she was at the core was an overworked girl from Naboo — and still beamed like she was the most perfect thing in the galaxy. He loved her for who she was, not what she could do for him nor for the stature of Amidala. That seemed rarer than stardust.

She would see him and her breath would catch with something that had to be more than love. He stood by the window and stared into the Coruscanti night like he could hear every thought in the city-planet, his golden-brown hair catching the edges of the hundred-colour lights. She ought to walk up to him, hold him, tell him she loves him and pepper him with kisses — but all she could do was stare. In those moments, he was perfect and divine, and she could not interrupt them with her mortality.

(And as Padmé lay dying, her life force dragged out by some dark presence, she thought of her star-husband. And she thought of the refugees she had once helped when their sun imploded. It should have been a lesson learnt; stars were beautiful in the night sky, warm in the summer, but dangerous. Able to end entire planets in their own cosmic pain.

Some small part of her knew this when she first said I love you. But she could not listen. She saw only the star-beauty in his eyes and all the love he held in his sun-heart.)

—

Anakin Skywalker had long questioned whether he was human or not.

But as Darth Vader looked down at his mechanical hands, heard his pressurised breathing, and ignored the pain that followed his every half-sedated movement, he found his humanity was no longer a question.

#anakin skywalker #shmi skywalker #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #captain rex #padme amidala #star wars #fic #total write forever

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fanfic-obsessed · 7 months

Text

No Memories, Just Vibes

There is a part of the Jedi Apprentice series that has sparked two different ideas, of which this is the first.

Early in one of the books, before Obi Wan is taken as a padawan, Qui Gon Jinn witnesses a duel between him and another initiate. Qui Gon perceives that these two pre teens (if I remember correctly, Obi Wan is a few weeks away from turning 13 and Bruck Chun was a few months to a year younger) are too angry and tells Obi Wan that he is destined to fall, that training Obi Wan would be a waste of time.

As traumatizing as this speech is, when we take into account Obi Wan’s entire story it is also, objectively, the single most hilarious thing that Qui Gon Jinn could say to Obi Wan Kenobi.

From this Two ideas were born.

IDEA 1

The first is that as soon as Qui Gon tell Obi Wan that he is destined to fall, the Force drops post Death Star Qui Gon into current time Qui Gon’s head. Except there are no memories, just vibes. So between one moment and the next Qui Gon goes from ‘I will not teach you. Get away from me’ to ‘this is my baby padawan, my little boy! Isn’t he precious?’.

And the Masters watching, particularly those responsible for assigning the Master/Padawan pairs, go ‘we were going to let you take the baby, until just now. Now we need do a psych eval’

And Obi Wan (twelve years old) is a mix of emotions that he is not sure there is a word for. Ten minutes ago he was hopeful that Qui Gon Jinn would take him as a padawan. Three minutes ago the same master shattered that hope and left him devastated. Now the Master who devastated him is now hugging him and babbling about a padawan braid and how Obi Wan is his son.

Nothing makes sense.

Eventually, after innumerable medical and psychological tests, Qui Gon is allowed to take Obi Wan as a Padawan. At some point, during the evaluations, Qui Gon comes to two ‘realizations’ (based on nothing but vibes). The first is that he decides that Obi Wan must be the chosen one, but Qui Gon cannot tell anyone, believing that Qui Gon would not be allowed to teach him (left over vibes from the High council not letting him take Anakin as a Padawan) and to not put excess pressure on the baby. He also decides that Obi Wan’s goodness (the vibe that Obi Wan is incapable of falling) is just what is needed to bring Xanatos back to the light.

It should be noted that Qui Gon communicates this plan poorly to Obi Wan, who perceives that Qui Gon took him on to be bait for Qui Gon’s fallen former padawan. Obi Wan, though lacking in much of the trauma that we associate with him, is fairly fatalistic and just shrugs, thinking ‘well, this might as well happen’.

As soon as Qui Gon is released from medical, he takes himself and his shiny new padawan haring across the galaxy looking for Xanatos. It takes long enough to find him that Feemor hears about what is going on and, out of concern for the child involved, goes to find them. When he arrives Qui Gon is waving Obi Wan at Xanatos going ‘I got you a baby brother.’

Feemor, somehow both too young and too old for this shit, goes ‘For Kriffs sake, Qui Gon’ and briefly steals Obi Wan.

At some point Obi Wan and Xanatos bond enough that the next time that Xanatos tells Qui Gon that Xan is going to kill him, Obi Wan pipes up saying that Qui Gon was the only master ho would take him and Obi wan really wants to be a Jedi.

Xanatos now has a new mission, to find a new Master for his little brother, so he can go back to trying to murder Qui Gon. (For handwavy reasons, we’ll call it the repudiation, Feemor is not allowed to take Obi Wan as a Padawan-Xanaots asked).

So now we have the weirdest chase in history. Qui Gon is vibing and chasing Xanatos. Xantos is leading Qui Gon on a chase and looking for another Jedi Master without getting skewered (because of the darksider thing). Obi Wan is being dragged along with Qui Gon, hoping that he gets to learn something about being a jedi before he is killed? He is not even sure. Feemor is following Qui Gon and Obi Wan, occasionally confiscating Obi Wan, because he is not sure anyone should be exposed to this much Qui Gon over any length of time.

They are also utterly ignoring both the senate and the Jedi council. Well Feemor and Qui Gon are ignoring the Jedi Council and the Senate. Xanatos, since he is not part of the Jedi Order any longer, is not bound to either. Obi Wan is actually filling out the required reports to the best of his abilities but the information boils down to ‘We continue to ignore the assigned mission, I am thirteen (having had a birthday in the interim) and cannot change that. Feemor is quite kind when he abducts me.’

You may or may not have guessed but this clusterfuck lands on Galidraan. Just before the fighting between Jango Fett’s True Mandalorians and Dooku’s Jedi is due to erupt. Qui Gon wanders through the tense standoff, stops and with no context whatsoever goes ‘Oh, everyone here is being tricked’. With him is thirteen year old Obi Wan, a tiny child. Xanatos, who beat them to the planet by about an hour strides dramatically as fuck from the other side of the potential battlefield shouting out ‘Qui Gon Jinn, you ass…’ before clocking the Jedi and going ‘Jedi’.

Feemor also lands and exits his ship from yet another direction, already looking like he had a headache, going ‘Qui Gon, what he Kriff’.

Now the tense standoff between the Madalorians and the Jedi is derailed as everyone involved goes from violent rage to baffled rage. Also everyone recognizes that there is now a kid on the battlefield and no one wants to be the one to fight a tiny child. This does eventually defuse things enough that contacts can be exchanged and everyone gets to realize that the governor is the asshole.

Qui Gon refuses to elaborate (and frankly is unable to elaborate, he has no information only vibes) on the ‘Everyone is being tricked’ thing. Or what he meant when he wandered up to Jango Fett, peered at him, and told him ‘You’re not the right one, but I won’t hold it against you’ (what Qui Gon means, even if he doesn’t realize it, is that Jango is not Cody). At some point or another during the time that they are figuring this out, everyone in the combined party of Jedi/Darksiders/Mandalorians/Other says ‘For Kriffs sake, Qui Gon’ (This includes two Deathwatch prisoners captured during the campaign).

Throughout this Xanatos keeps trying to corner other Jedi to get them to take on Obi Wan, except he is also not great at communicating his intentions, so it is perceived that he is trying to get rid of Obi Wan so that he can have Qui Gon to himself. No one is willing to question any further, though most are a little freaked out.

IDEA 2

The second idea is not quite as detailed. It’s a Read/Watch the series. Again we start from Qui Gon telling Obi Wan that he is destined to fall. The Force pulls everyone (initiates, knights, Masters, and the Council members) in the area outside of time where they watch the Movies and shows (Starting with TPM and watching in chronological Order: The prequels, The Clone Wars, Kenobi, the OT) with a focus on Obi Wan Kenobi.

So everyone gets to go ‘Oh, Obi Wan is actually awesome’. Except of course for Obi Wan, who nearly has a breakdown believing that this is proof that he should not be a Jedi knight (somehow convinced that the Purge/Order 66 is actually his own fault).

So now Obi Wan has a plethora of Masters who want to train him (including Qui Gon, who again believes that Obi Wan must be the Chosen One) , additional trauma of survivor's guilt before the events that he survived, and a shiny new appointment with the mind healers. He also has the admiration of the initiates that had previously bullied him.

The Jedi council is able to piece together enough information on the Sith to try and change things, with varying results.

#star wars #star wars au #obi wan kenobi #fanfiction prompt #qui gon jinn #qui gon and obi wan #xanatos du crion #feemor #jango fett #yan dooku

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geekforhorror · 10 months

Note

pls pls plsssss i want older!anakin to fuck me where everyone could hear us so baaaaad!!! want obi wan to yell at us for being so reckless & disrespectful!! also daddy kink! imagine age gap!

pls write something about his i love your writing!!!!!!!!!

I PRACTICALLY MOANED AT THIS. ALSO I APPRECIATE THE FEEDBACK

shameless

pairing: older!anakin x fem!reader

warning(s): SMUT (DNI IF YOU’RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH IT!), dom!anakin, sub!reader, established age gap (anakin is 35, reader is 20), anakin is a master in this (not readers master tho!), unprotected p in v sex, dirty talk, pet names, divorced au (sorry miss amidala!), etc.

————

You always had a thing for Skywalker.

You didn’t know what made him so alluring. Maybe it was his confidence, good looks, personality, or perhaps it was all three. You had developed a crush on him from the very moment you encountered him in the temple’s halls. From then on, you could barely keep your composure around him. It started off with blushing and now it had gotten to the point where you had to clench your thighs together whenever he spoke to you. You tried your best to shield your thoughts from the confident Jedi and you thought you succeeded in doing so.

Oh, how wrong you were.

See, unbeknownst to you, Anakin had picked up on your behavior and instantly wanted to know what it was that was making you that flustered. He already had a sneaking suspicion of what was going on. Luckily, he would have the opportunity to see if he was right or not. One night, he had been assigned to be your dueling partner since your master was out on a mission. You were nervous to say the least. How the fuck were you supposed to spend an entire hour with him when you could barely keep your composure around him for more than five minutes? All you knew was that you were screwed.

————

The time had finally come where you had to meet Skywalker in the dueling chambers. Here you were, outside of the very room where the man you had grown feelings for was, yet you were too nervous to actually enter the room. You didn’t know how to describe it. Being around him was so… intoxicating, but also nerve wracking. You knew better than to let these thoughts surface during your session with him, but it would be rather tricky when you had to duel at the same time. Besides, what would he think? He would probably report you to the council the first chance he got for inappropriate behavior on your behalf. That’s why this couldn’t come to light.

To prepare yourself, you took a deep breath in and collected yourself enough before finally entering the room. As soon as you entered the room, you were met with those mesmerizing blue eyes you loved so much. They had a way of making you gaze into them until you were in a dazed-like state. It was hard to look away, but you managed to do so, keeping in mind that you couldn’t be caught doing a thing like that.

“Hello Master Skywalker. It’s a pleasure to duel with you again,” you say too cheerfully. Fuck.

“The feeling is mutual,” he replies with a rather nonchalant tone to his voice. You didn’t know what it was about his voice that always had you dripping through your panties, but fuck. Maybe it was the way his voice sounded like pure velvet.

“Are you ready?” he asks you.

“Yes,” you said a little too quick.

“Alright then. Positions!”

You do as he says and take your normal stance, which you had learned from your master. Anakin takes his signature pose, the room now filled with silence that wasn’t there before. Suddenly, his lightsaber strikes in the air and gives you barely any time to react. However, you know better than to let his hasty movements derail yours. You decide to use your instincts to your advantage.

“I’m not gonna go easy on you,” he says with a cheshire smile.

“Good,” you confidently reply.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your rather fierce response. He always admired your boldness and confidence. It was what set you apart from all the other Jedi. However, you were also selfless and willing to sacrifice everything for the ones you loved. He saw parts of himself in you. That drive and desire.

He saw your response as an invitation to go harder on you as he swayed his body around while attempting to strike you with his wielded weapon. You blocked him with every breath you took and focused on finding his weakness. Fortunately for him, your focus on defeating him allowed him the perfect opportunity to lodge himself inside that pretty little brain of yours and see what you were hiding from him. After all, his mind reading abilities were way stronger than yours, so it was likely you wouldn’t even notice.

Suddenly, he was met with a vision. It was one of you: all alone in your quarters, wearing nothing but your lacy bra. He was met with the sight of your cunt, all covered in slick and creamy arousal. There you were, all sprawled out on the bed while plunging two of your fingers inside your needy pussy—imagining it was him stretching your tight hole until you were practically begging to cum. Just as he was about to strike, his ears were met with your needy moans.

“Fuck- Ana- Anakin,” you whined out, loud enough for bypassers in the hall to hear.

The vision disappeared just as fast as it was displayed and was replaced with another, only this one was more of a thought and more dirty than the last. This time, it was you thinking of his hands roaming your body and pounding his cock into you until you were a crying and moaning mess around him.

How could a girl like you have such nasty thoughts about her superior?

He felt himself grow hard in the confines of his pants and knew he had to get out before you noticed. When he came back, he was met with your leg swiftly coming up in the air in order to counter his previous actions. Despite being distracted for some time, he somehow overpowered the thoughts of you just enough to hit you right in the leg with his training saber, declaring victory.

“Well, well,” you heard him say.

“What is it?” you say, sounding intrigued but also confused.

“It seems like I beat you despite getting into that pretty little head of yours,” he finally admits.

“Wait what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me… I know every dirty little thought you have of me,” Anakin chuckles confidently. “It’s quite adorable, actually.

You felt a flush of embarrassment fill your cheeks as they were now a rosy shade of pink. “It’s not that hard to sense in you, angel,” he replies, reading your very thoughts. “I found them quite amusing. The way you want me to kiss all over your pretty little body, how you want me to ruin you and make you mine, the feeling of what it would be like to be taken by a man, not a mere Jedi boy. They don’t know what you want like I do,” he says cockily.

“I- I don’t know what to say,” you admit.

“Then I’ll do the talking. From the moment I first saw you, I knew I had to have you. I mean, why else do you think you ended up with me all these times your master was out? It’s because I told the others to let me train you even if it was temporary.”

“I had no idea, Master Skywalker,” you say truthfully, but also surprised at what you were hearing right now.

“I think we’re past all the formalities, don’t you? Call me Anakin,” he says.

“Anakin, I had no idea,” you correct yourself.

“That’s better. Now do you want to take this somewhere a little more… private?” he asks.

“Like where?” you ask playfully.

“Perhaps my quarters?” he suggests.

“I’d like that,” you say with an ear to ear grin, clearly showing you had gotten over your shyness.

“Follow me then,” he says before reaching his hand out to yours. You take his hand before he walks the two of you out of the room and into the dark halls of the the temple. The two of you look for anyone who may be lurking in the halls, but there’s no one. Before you know it, you guys have reached his room and that’s when he hastily opens the door and slams it just as hard.

He wastes no time before hungrily kissing you on the lips and pushing you against the wall of his room. The kiss is primarily fueled by pent-up desire that had been built up in the two of you for what seemed like forever.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted this... wanted you," you pant against his lips.

"Trust me...I do," Anakin clarifies. He then moves his lips and latches them onto your neck, sucking roughly at the surrounding skin.

"Anakin..." you whine.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he responds.

"I want you to fuck me," you confess.

"You do, huh?" he rhetorically asks, already knowing the answer you would give him.

"Please Ani.. don't tease me," you pathetically say. You know how you sound right now, but you're too lost in the moment to care about any of that.

"Anything for you, baby," he coos.

With that, he swiftly grabs your hips before letting you wrap your legs around his waist. He guides the two of you toward his bed and gently lays you down. "I'm gonna treat you so well that you won't be able to think about any other man besides me... gotta have you all to myself, baby," Anakin says full of passion while undressing you until you're all bare for him and only him. He knows you want to undress him, but he stops you before you can even lay a hand on any of his garments. He starts to strip himself of any and all clothes he previously had on and maker, his body did not disappoint. Despite his age, he had kept most of the lean physique he had when he was in his twenties. His abs were sculpted to absolute perfection. The way his waist was so defined practically had you drooling. He was perfect in every way. Even his dick was. It was all red at the tip and sat upright, but the thing that stood out the most was how long and thick it was.

"Eyes up here, darling," he says with a slight laugh.

"I don't know if I can take all of that," you shamefully admit.

"You want it though, don't you?" Anakin asks.

"Yes."

That was all you had to say before he positioned himself on the bed and instantly inserted himself inside your tight pussy, giving you no time to adjust to his size as he thrusts into your greedy walls. You immediately felt full of his thick cock and felt yourself clench around him.

"Need to train this hole if you're gonna be all mine," he grits.

"Please!" you cry out, digging your nails into his defined shoulders, which only eggs him on even further.

"Need to ruin you for any other guys, yeah?" he goes on.

You can only nod your head yes due to the newfound pleasure filling your body. No other man had made you feel this good. Maybe it was because one of them had experience like Anakin did. Relationships were strictly forbidden for Jedi to have, but there were rumors about Senator Padme Amidala being pregnant with Anakin's children. You thought they were merely rumors, but that was before you had his cock deep inside your weeping cunt, thrusting until you were all raw and sore. Before tonight, you never knew that's what you wanted.

"Harder!" you beg of him.

"Poor little thing... hasn't been full of my cock for more than 5 minutes and is already begging for more" he tuts.

"Please, daddy!" you scream.

"That's right baby," he says in a soft yet promising tone.

Fulfilling your needs, he spreads your legs even further to get an even better angle of your pussy before animalistically pounding his fat cock into your swollen walls. You couldn't help but loudly moan at his movements. You knew you were giving other people the chance to hear what was going on, but you were too cock drunk to care. The sound of skin hitting skin filled the thin walls of the room and probably the entire hall, as a matter of fact. You felt too full to even form coherent thoughts. He wasn't planning on slowing down anytime soon now that you had given him the green light to go harder. He wouldn't stop until you were a crying mess.

A familiar feeling started to form as you saw stars in your blurred vision. You felt a rope of heat fill your stomach and knew you wouldn't be able to hold off for much longer.

"'M so close Master...please let me cum!" you cry out.

"Just hold on for a bit longer... wanna make you feel as good as possible," he replies. You nod your head at this and comply with his words. He suddenly then ruts his hips even rougher on yours, knowing you would be bruised for days to come.

"I'm gonna-" you start to say.

"Let go for me baby. I've got you... cum all over my cock."

With his permission, you finally let go and spill all over him while he's still fucking you through it. He groans at the feeling of your warmth around his hard cock and cums shortly after. He pulls out of you before lying down next to you. "You did so well for me, darling," he says in a reassuring manner.

Just as you're about to speak, there's a sudden knock on the door that alerts the two of you. The two of you rush to put your clothes on, not wanting to answer the door naked for whoever is on the other side. Once the two of you are fully dressed, Anakin opens the door and it's none other than your master Obi-Wan.

Shit, the two of you were screwed.

"I see that the two of you are finally done engaging in....activities. However, please remember that some of us were forced to listen to your obscenities. Please come with me otherwise you will be dealing with far worse!" he says in an almost lecturing dad tone.

This was gonna be a long night.

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #anakin smut #anakin imagine #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin star wars #hayden christensen #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fandom #star wars anakin #anakin x reader #attack of the clones

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babypinkhearts · 8 months

Text

spare me this - anakin skywalker

pairing: anakin skywalker + fem!reader

summary: the council assigns you on a deathly solo mission, forbidding anakin to join you.

warnings: angst (i don’t know what is wrong with me!! i am addicted to writing it now), mentions of injury and death, anakin is so sweet and sosososo in love it’s almost pitiful, fluff

a/n: i feel like i put a part of my soul in this. i feel so drained but finishing this feels SO rewarding. another day for firsts! this is my first time writing for anakin, or anything star wars related :) this has been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS. i figured, while i still feel motivated to write, let me finish this!!! hope you all enjoy <3 i loved writing it

“three days.” you repeated faintly.

you disliked how quiet anakin was at times. it often left you more troubled than relaxed.

you frowned when he didn’t look at you from his stubborn stare at the ceiling. sighing softly, you mimicked his eyes and looked upwards, your neck rested against the headboard of the bed.

“we will come back victorious, and we will be right here. together again.”

the night before your mission’s departure, you slept in anakin’s room. it would have been much easier to ignore him, act like he didn’t exist for a while. the two of you were far too dependent on one another. the love sometimes felt overwhelming.

however, anakin’s fear was far too evident. it was strong - too strong to the point where you genuinely believed someone else could detect it. you decided that if you could soothe his worries, he’d be relieved of his thoughts.

but anakin didn’t speak. he refused, and his body simply forbid him from trying. not a touch or word was directed at you. it had almost been an hour of pure silence.

unbeknownst to you, there was a helpless feeling of uncertainty that anakin could clearly sense from you. that was what was driving him crazy.

bloodshed was a promise, you already knew it. your master had spoken grimly about the mission, and it was anakin who realized - much quicker than you - that this battle would not end seamlessly.

there was a large, if not, inevitable chance of you coming back alarmingly injured.

you were calculated, strong, and reliable. it was you who the council had chosen to lead the mission.

they were selfish, anakin believed.

“obi-wan knows this will kill me.”

anakin bleakly spoke, his voice muffled by the blanket he had brought up to his face. you decided against expressing your surprise to the sound of his voice.

while obi-wan had no idea about the true nature of your relationship with anakin, he was aware that you served as each other’s weaknesses. jedi code called for the banishment of any attachments, though obi-wan knew he himself had begun to break them when he started to form a brotherly bond with his once-padawan. he held no room for judgement.

while you hadn’t spent nearly as much time with him as anakin had, you felt very fond of him. there was a certain soothing atmosphere that only seemed to arrive in his presence.

secretly, obi-wan had pulled you aside mere hours after your mission was announced. his voice was low as he spoke, and he had gently held your arm the entire time.

“you come back within your scheduled arrival, and everything will be fine. i cannot promise you we will be at ease if you take longer.”

and, of course, through unknowing ears this was a simple comment - a statement of encouragement, really. but it was a completely different story when you could see the true intentions in his words.

anakin would not be at ease, is what he had wanted to say.

and obi-wan was right. from the moment you explained your mission to anakin, he had gone silent. you had been in your room, slowly walking in circles as you counted the tasks you were required to fulfill on your journey.

you hadn’t noticed how awfully pale your jedi had become.

now in present, you realized he had never left his stage of shock.

anakin hated this. he hated how guilty he felt for the resentment he had towards your capabilities. you had impressed the council too much, and it had put you in a dangerous position. he hated how careless you tried to sound, and he hated how you only gave the reply of “yes, master” when being told the instructions of your suicide mission. most importantly, he hated how he was forbidden to join you.

“how do i live? how do i function when you could be dead at any moment?”

you froze, eyes widening.

anakin’s words were cold, and you fought the urge to feed into his frighteningly grim thoughts.

pursing your lips briefly, you forced a smile, brushing back his hair from his forehead. anakin was laying on his back, eyes still narrow and focused upwards. you tried to keep the mood light, attempting to add a little amusement to calm the tense atmosphere his question had made.

“we’re both aware i’m capable enough to handle myself. i used to beat you during training, and i saved you from-“

your playful smile faded, and you gave up talking once you realized he had started to look up at you.

anakin knew you were strong. he didn’t need to hear your reassurance, especially when he knew even you were undoubtedly terrified.

for a while, he just stared at you. it wasn’t intimidating - he could never direct an emotion like that at you - but you felt exposed, almost as if you should shield your face.

anakin felt troubled, trying to piece together all his discomforting emotions clearly. to have you so close seemed to be a punishment. you shouldn’t be here. he shouldn’t be seeing the worry in your eyes, or watching the slight furrow of your brows. although, there was something so beautiful about your concern. he wasn’t made to feel these kinds of emotions, especially ones that one mere person could provide.

for a moment, he wished he didn’t know you. selfishly, he knew that would relieve him of the pain.

“anakin,”

his name that only ever sounded right when you said it.

“what’s the matter, ani?”

there were no protests made when you moved closer to him. the security and serenity he felt with your arms around him made it feel impossible to refuse.

anakin trusted you with his life. he’d give you his life in a heartbeat. he’d do anything for you. and yet - why couldn’t you help him believe you would be okay on this mission? it was cruel, picking on his one and only weakness. his heart, which you held so effortlessly. his mind consisted of you, you, you.

with a shaky sigh, he spoke.

“you’re scaring me.” he quietly admitted.

his eyes were glossy, nearing a depressive red. his stare was piercing. you weren’t sure you wanted his attention anymore.

confused, though mostly alarmed, you continued to look back at him. scaring him?

“you think you’re going to die, don’t you?”

your eyes widened, and suddenly you felt very vulnerable being in front of him.

“anakin - what?” you stumbled out, shaking your head in surprise. he couldn’t be serious. you attempted to talk, reassure him that you would be fine, but his gaze was unfocused. he didn’t want to listen to your futile words. anakin knew you better than anyone else.

“please, do not lie to me.” he whispered, and in that particular moment, you had never seen him so small. “spare me that.”

anakin skywalker, the reckless jedi who consistently charmed his way through trouble. someone who was so spontaneous, yet brilliant.

love kept him going. it wasn’t unrequited. he knew that more than anything. love got him up in the morning. love was adrenaline. love was everything and so much more.

he couldn’t bare losing it.

“i-“ you shook your head again, pausing briefly to lay beside him. a hand was placed on his cheek, and you caressed his face gently.

anakin’s eyes closed, and once more he felt a wave of anger pass through him. he hated the council, he hated the jedi. he hated everything to do with this. they were trying to take you from him. your sweet touches, your soft voice, your caring nature. he felt so bitter it hurt.

you pursed your lips, letting a sigh escape you.

“i will tell you this.“ you whispered, cupping a hand around his soft face. “i am scared. i act like i am not because that is what i must do.”

for the past couple of hours, anakin had assumed that hearing you admit your fear out loud would put his mind at ease. maybe, if you admitted you weren’t invincible, he could convince you to take extra care of yourself.

but your words had the opposite effect on him.

you were scared. and he wouldn’t be there to help.

“i cannot promise you i’ll be unscathed, anakin, but i can promise that i will come back to you.”

it took everything in you to not break in front of him.

you forbid him from continuing the conversation further after that.

when the morning you had dreaded arrived, you silently awaited for a signal on your commlink to commence your departure.

you had left anakin, quietly pleading for him to stay optimistic during your absence. he had helped you get dressed. his touch was like a feather, gently escorting you to a hell you could only hope would be generous to you.

weapons were hidden under your robes, as usual. two lightsabers, because you had learned from anakin years ago that an extra could never hurt.

you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt possibly felt guilty.

anakin had trained you, hoping that an increase in your skill would payoff on the battlefield to solely keep you safer when he wasn’t around.

but you had surpassed his expectations. and now, you were in this position.

it had been an honor to be praised so highly. though, you quickly found that, in reality, it was not something to completely look forward to. anakin’s worry being the main reason.

when your commlink finally sounds off, you waste no time in leaving.

three days, you had claimed to anakin.

when you finally return, a week had gone by.

and just like you had repeated to anakin so many times before - you were victorious.

though, not unscathed.

“medical-“ you breathed heavily, your hand glued to your side as you stepped out of your starfighter, your heart pounding in upmost fear as you realized your vision had begun to blur.

you couldn’t tell who grabbed you first. it wasn’t anakin, you knew that by muffled noise of calm reassurance. if anakin were here, he would have the entire building burned to the ground in seconds. if it weren’t for the excruciating pain you felt everywhere, you could have chuckled at the thought.

“requesting medical attention - yes, this is urgent.”

blinking as quickly as you could, which looked evidently labored, you watched as obi-wan spoke through his commlink.

yours had broken days ago, leaving you stranded with no communication. retreating was never an option in your mind, and you stupidly had fought until your mission had succeeded.

the consequences of your actions truly haunted you as you were lifted on to a table, the strong scent of medication telling you that, yes, your wound was as bad as it felt, if not worse.

and finally, the mask put over your mouth lulled you to a more painless state of sleep.

upon the first few seconds of opening your eyes, you tried to immediately close them again.

of course, anakin was right next to you.

you heard him jolt in his seat, repeatedly calling your name as if you would die if he stopped. his voice sounded hoarse. gently, you reached your arms out, silently begging for him to touch you. you needed his embrace. you can not have gone through all this effort for nothing. he was why you had tried so hard to survive. without a word, anakin complied to your silent request. his hands cupped your face, while yours did the same to him.

his chest was shaking with uneven breaths.

“i made it back - just like i said, right?” you spoke quietly, smiling through a wince. joking was never the way to handle serious situations with anakin, but fuck, you really couldn’t handle how broken he looked.

he didn’t smile. he hadn’t taken your eyes off of you, almost as if you would disappear the second he looked away.

“don’t ever do this to me again.”

you quickly stopped speaking at his tone. unstable and hurt. you can’t promise that to anakin. it would be selfish. you help people - your mission had hopefully saved thousands. what is one life to lose if it can save so many more? you’re skilled, why not use your potential for something extraordinary?

“leave the order with me.”

your eyes widen, bigger than you mean them to.

“i-i can’t do that.” you reply immediately, shaking your head in his gentle grasp. leaving the order was nearly unspoken of - all of these years training, dedicating your life - what would it have been for? you can’t leave. people need you - the galaxy needs you.

you would have anakin, but could you live with yourself? all these years, you’ve been taught to be selfless, so why is anakin proposing such an idea?

you’re sure he can see the conflict on your face.

“you almost died.”

his bluntness forces to you remember the stinging pain on your side. you shake your head.

“that’s a part of the job.” you speak firmly. “i would be injured a hundred times over if it meant someone won’t be.”

anakin immediately lets go of your face.

“listen to me,”

it’s nearly a full-body sob, and you watch as he stands straighter, attempting to compose himself.

you feel your heart drop to your stomach.

“you’re hurting me - i don’t care if i’m being selfish! i love you. i love you more than anything, and i know i cannot live without you.”

anakin skywalker’s love for you was almost pitiful. he himself nearly couldn’t stand it. how can one person cause so much heartache? why is it possible to care for someone as much as he does for you? his outburst was childish, and he’s aware. but he needs you to see him, so raw, so authentically. maybe if you could see the pain he was in, you would spare him more easily.

“anakin…” you whispered, so quietly you almost doubted he heard you.

the reality was, you tended to push anakin away. you were hesitant to love him. you felt greedy whenever you allowed yourself to love him so deeply. you were meant to serve others, not have feelings of your own. anakin was your weakness, and that scared you more than anything. if you were going to be powerful enough to save millions, it would be foolish to have a flaw.

but, clearly, anakin didn’t care about weaknesses. he had you, and loved you with open arms, and despite this, he preformed better than you in nearly everything. how does he manage?

“i love you too much.” his voice was defeated, and the anger he had previously held dissipated. “obi-wan saw me sulk after the three days. he stopped me from seeing you when you arrived.”

you nodded slowly. it made sense, you couldn’t imagine the scene that would have occurred if it had been anakin carrying your half-conscious body. anakin skywalker reacted according to his feelings. he was spontaneous.

you sighed quietly.

“i would never leave the order, anakin. i wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” you spoke, and winced as you visibly saw him tense.

you had to be honest with him.

reaching a hand out, you grabbed his, gently interlocking your fingers.

“but, i can promise you that i will never take a mission like that. it was reckless, i know. i’m so sorry.”

he didn’t speak, taking a seat on your bed.

he was unsatisfied, you knew that.

but you couldn’t change the entire trajectory of your life for him just because he worries you’ll get hurt. it would be wrong, and you know, though he won’t say it out loud, anakin agrees with you.

he allows himself to give into desires. it’s not because he feels he’s “deserving” of them, but because it’s something that comes so natural to him. so why must it be wrong to love you?

anakin is confident with your abilities. he knows how strong you are. but it’s second-nature for him to worry. you’re something so precious to him in this world of despair.

so he’ll stay silent and let you do whatever you please. he cannot hold you back, and he’s now painfully aware of it. but, he can help you.

more trainings, better advice, and more time.

you have each other, and he is satisfied with that forever.

#star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader #star wars fic #star wars x you #anakin skywalker #anakin angst #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x you #obi wan kenobi #obi wan star wars #darth vader #revenge of the sith #darth vador x reader #luke skywalker #obi wan x reader #rots #r2d2 #star wars anakin

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ddejavvu · 9 months

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Betrayal - Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Summary: months into the war and it's not as exhilarating as you'd hoped - not for your battalion, anyway. when the air conditioning in your compound blows, an old friend brings his tech genius of a padawan to fix it for you. while anakin is working, you convince his master to spar for old times' sake, and simple adrenaline gives way to a landslide of long-buried feelings neither of you should have for each other.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni, fem!reader, jedi!reader, reader is a general, sweat kink (? they are really sweaty and i talk about it a lot), oral (m+f receiving), semi-public sex (risk of being caught), sparring, lightsaber use, throatfucking, messy kisses, scratching/marking, lotsa spit, obligatory 'had you said the word' (sorry satine i had to steal his line)

WC: 16.9K / navigation / inbox

A/N: sorry this took me so long to finish! i didn't have time to write for like two months but it's done now and i hope you enjoy it <3 this is set a couple months/a year into the clone wars, but i have chosen to fuck with their ages a little bit. in this, anakin is like 12-14-ish, even though he was older in AOTC when the war began.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Neglecting the option of taking a padawan under your wing is what stuck you on this humid, blazing, hellish planet, and you almost regret it. You’d wanted more freedom in your duties, didn’t want a youngling clinging to your leg begging for help with their rudimentary saber drills, so instead you swapped it for what you thought would be constant battle, exhilarating speeder chases, and the glory of proving yourself. Unbecoming of a Jedi to wish for, yes, but you’ve never claimed to be Council-worthy.

Now your butt is sticking to the chair you’re planted in, overlooking a very empty, very desolate, very boring outpost. It’s so hot that you think you’ve melted into the chair and fused with its fabric. Standing might tear your skin away from your flesh, leaving an imprint of you behind in your seat.

“General,” One of your clone troopers calls, sticking his head through the doorway to your station, “Nothing on my scanners.”

“Nor on mine,” You drawl lazily, “We’re scheduled to be inspected today. Any word from the crew?”

“None.” He laments, “I just hope they bring a droid that can fix the cooler.”

The base you’re stationed to isn’t always this disgusting. The structure is wired with an air conditioning system to keep the inside much cooler than the outside, but after a rather unfortunate incident with a freshly manufactured astromech droid with some crossed wirings, both lay broken and singed in the maintenance bay. Your clones don’t know how to tinker with droids or heating systems, and you’d probably wind up just as ash-covered if you tried.

“Alert me when they land,” You order the trooper, leaning your forehead against the cool metal of the scanner screen before you, “I want to have time to change into an outfit I haven’t soaked through with sweat.”

The scanner grows warm against your flushed skin far too soon. Everything is hot, and sticky, and gross, and you find yourself yearning for the cold showers you used to despise at the temple. Perhaps you yearn for the temple in general, for the familial atmosphere shared among overconfident Padawans and exasperated Masters. You think specifically of Obi-Wan Kenobi, a man you’d trained with, now Master to his apprentice Skywalker.

You haven’t seen the pair in years, but you remember Anakin’s blonde mop of hair, as well as his penchant for chaos. Watching Obi-Wan’s eyes fill with horror at whatever shenanigans his Padawan had gotten into that day was part of what helped you make the decision to decline one yourself, though you hold no distaste for the boy. He was simply young and untrained in the ways of the Jedi, and you were not a patient enough person to gracefully navigate that predicament then. You’re not sure you are now, either.

Even though you know you’re better suited on your own, you wonder if you’d have been more fulfilled with a Padawan learner of your own. Surely anything could be better than this, wasting away- rotting on a planet hot enough to boil your blood if you stepped outside without proper protection.

Your base is secluded and temperature-controlled, even if the contraption that the Republic had fashioned under pressure of time to keep you isolated is rather crude. It’s, in essence, a large dome, seals in place to ensure that vessels can land and takeoff without destroying the temperature control. It’s cooler within the dome than it is outside of it, but the hurriedly-designed system can only do too much, and you greatly depend on the air conditioning to do its job. Now that it’s not, you’re irritated from the heat, and you wish that the inspection team would just hurry up already. The patience you’d had drilled into you from your early years as a Youngling is nowhere to be found under the pressure of a heat wave, and your foot taps impatiently against the floor while you itch for some action.

You think it’s rather pathetic that you yearn for excitement so badly that you’re anxiously awaiting the inspection team. Their job takes barely an hour, a scan of your equipment and a survey of your troops. They’ll walk in and out without so much as a pleasantry, but you long for something new, something more, something exciting.

The call over your comms comes over an hour later, a time in which you remain at your post but begrudge it all the while. “General,” Your trooper barks, voice staticky and rough over the channel, “We’ve got visitors. Inspection team’s here. Initiating landing procedure.”

“Copy that,” You bolt out of your seat, barely remembering to lean over the microphone to reply, “Thank you.”

Finally.

Finally, someone new to talk to, even if they have the same face as everyone else you’ve spoken to on this long, dreary assignment. You’re friendly with your troopers, of course, but that itch for more is back in your brain, igniting you with vigor you don’t normally possess as you rush to greet the inspection team.

However, when you reach the landing bay, and the ship’s hydraulics hiss, clone troopers aren’t the only ones to disembark. Jedi robes make their appearance, shrouding the very man you’d just thought about, as well as the child by his side.

Obi-Wan wears the years that have passed since you last saw him, but time has treated him well. His hair is longer now, gone is that stiff Padawan buzz. His braid is missing as well, giving way to luscious strawberry blonde strands that he’s slicked back so that they drag against the back and sides of his neck. Longer hair looks good on him, just as it had when he was fifteen and had refused a haircut for months in a typical, if rather tame, display of teenage rebellion. Anakin is also significantly older than you’d kept track of, but he can’t be older than fourteen if his lanky limbs and awkward demeanor are any evidence.

Obi-Wan smiles at you, and you nearly forget to shove down that shameful part of you that wants to take more out of him than he can give you. Even as Padawans you’d always gravitated towards the man opposite you, sneaking out to roam the gardens after hours together or sharing sly glances across mission briefings. But he’s an honorable Jedi Master - a member of the Council itself, so you’ve heard - and you wrestle down your repressed feelings to grin at him.

“General Y/L/N,” He greets with a smile so charming you lament that the Jedi Order interrupted his chances of being a model.

“Master Kenobi,” You greet, but you know he’ll chide you for the honorific if you use it more than once, “I wasn’t aware you’d be on the inspection team.”

“We’re not. Technically.” Obi-Wan admits, arm coming to press against Anakin’s back and nudge him forwards, “We got word that your air conditioning system is out, as well as one of your new astromechs. Anakin here is still an excellent mechanic, I thought we’d come out to offer you some reprieve from the heat.”

Anakin looks embarrassed by the attention that’s fallen upon him, in typical pubescent fashion, and you take pity on the timid teenager, casting your glance back at his Master, “Maker, thank you. We’re melting out here.”

“I can imagine,” Obi-Wan laughs, and you turn again to Anakin who’s anxiously awaiting your orders.

“Anakin, if you could fix our air conditioning, that would be wonderful. Honestly, I’m not even sure I want the droid fixed, it’s what got us into this mess in the first place. But they’re both over there,” You point to the shorted out panels, “And my troopers will offer you any supplies you need, like tools or wiring or refreshments.”

“Thank you.” Anakin nods, hands clasped behind his back obediently even if he looks mortified to be the center of attention once more, “I’ll have things up and running as soon as possible.”

“I’m leaving you here,” Obi-Wan warns the boy, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I don’t often leave you alone with machinery and tools, Anakin, for reasons we’re both aware of. Promise me you will not do anything reckless?”

“I promise,” Anakin mutters reluctantly, and you avert your eyes so he has some semblance of privacy.

“I mean it, Anakin. This is no time to experiment with your technical prowess. You simply fix their system and you wait for me back on the ship, understand?”

“Master,” Anakin pleads, “I understand.”

“Very well. Get to your duties,” Obi-Wan dismisses the boy, turning to you only after he sees his Padawan crouch by the singed panel.

“He shouldn’t take long. He most likely will try to tinker with the astromech, though.” Obi-Wan smiles sympathetically, “He’s not one to leave a droid unusable.”

“I remember he had a particular talent for mechanics,” You muse, starting off towards the main base intent on leading Obi-Wan to your rec room, “If I recall correctly, he figured out how to inconspicuously rewire his communicator to give you an ‘unavailable’ signal if he didn’t like what you were asking him to do.”

Obi-Wan scoffs as he lets you lead through the doorway, “Yes, my Padawan has always had very selective hearing. I’m sure you don’t mind not having one of your own.”

“That’s one of the reasons I justify my choice,” You chuckle, letting the door shut behind you as you make your way through the halls. The base that the Republic had granted you is spacious, even decked out with training facilities and rec rooms interspersed throughout your rows of quarters, but it’s unbearably hot and you’re tired of being cooped up inside of it.

“This isn’t bad for a base,” Obi-Wan muses, robes swishing behind him as he strides beside you, “But I hope Anakin fixes that cooling system soon.”

“Try being stationed here permanently,” You scoff, tugging at the sweat-soaked neckline of your tunic, “I have long since abandoned my robes.”

“Do you have somewhere I could set this?” Obi-Wan asks, fingers catching the front of his cloak as he slings it off. It falls gracefully from his shoulders, and he holds the garment up as he laments still having to wear the rest of his robes.

“You can leave it in my quarters,” You veer sharply to the right, letting him catch up, “They’re just down this hallway.”

There’s unmarked doors on either side of the corridor, and you’re still impressed that each clone trooper knows where their bed is at night. Your door has a plaque beside its frame that reads ‘General’s Quarters,’ and you’re not confident that you could navigate the halls without it. You type in your access code, and the door slides open with a hiss.

“Just set it on the bed,” You gesture towards your mattress, “If we have some time, I thought,” You reach into the closet, pulling out your seldom-used lightsaber, “We could spar.”

Obi-Wan laughs, discarding his cloak onto your bed as his eyes crinkle happily at the corners, “You’re lacking a bit of excitement here, aren’t you, Y/N? There’s no way you’d duel me willingly after I took you down the last time.”

You’d sparred together since you’d been handed a saber for the first time. Sure, your initial weapons were wooden, then training blades designed to be duller than their more advanced counterparts, before you’d finally been granted allowance to manufacture one of your own. But there were no more dedicated sparring partners than the two of you, and you can tell the man opposite you is fond of the reminder you’ve given him, even if he is trying to tease you.

“You did not take me down,” You gawp, “I mean- yes, I was on the floor, but I wasn’t done! You didn’t win!”

“Mm, yes. I didn’t win because no one did.” Obi-Wan sends you a sly grin, “Anakin interrupted us, don’t you remember? We never got to finish.”

“Then a rematch,” You insist, gesturing towards the open doorway, “Once and for all we’ll prove who the better duelist is.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll win. After all, I can tell you spend every waking moment practicing and making sure you lose none of your fighting abilities,” Obi-Wan’s hand darts out to switch on your holotable, revealing an in-progress game of chess. You’re losing.

“I’ve only been using that as of late,” You snap, defensive, “It’s insufferable to train without proper ventilation. And only when I’m not on duty. I don’t spend all of my time sitting and playing chess.”

“Losing at chess.” Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow, finally stepping out of your quarters so that you can shut it once more, “Come, Y/N, show me to your training grounds.”

The training room is just as hot as everywhere else on the base. You walk through the doors and humid air greets you, something that wrinkles Obi-Wan’s nose and rustles his mustache.

“God, I hope your Padawan knows what he’s doing,” You groan, rolling up the sleeves of your own tunic but jumping excitedly into action despite the heat. You ignite your saber, slightly embarrassed by the thrill that the weapon gives you as it thrums to life. You haven’t felt this in a long time, at least, not paired with the thrill of battle. It’s significantly less awe-inspiring to ignite a saber against a training droid you know wouldn’t be able to singe your tunics if you stood stock still. Obi-Wan brings his to life as well; blue and green lights bathe your faces.

“I’ll go easy on you.” He smiles infuriatingly, cocking his head slightly to one side, “Ready?”

“Ready.” You jolt right, a fakeout before you dart left instead. He catches on rather quickly, though, and his blade clashes against yours as you aim for his leg.

“Nice start,” Obi-Wan admits, “But you can’t rely on misdirection for your entire fight. You’ll have to overpower me.”

“I could easily overpower you,” You swing left, breaking the contact of your two sabers, then jabbing so that he has to move his foot out of the way to avoid the plasma. He stumbles, barely catching himself against his back foot, but it gives you time enough to bring your blade up and around to nick at his shoulder, a hole now slashed into his tunic.

“Okay,” He stands straight, eyeing the tear in his clothing warily, “I won’t go easy on you.”

“Never underestimate your opponent,” You tease proudly, saber still ignited, “That’s one for me, Obi-Wan.”

“That doesn’t count,” He scoffs, standing at the ready, “I told you I’d go easy on you. Now I’m serious.”

“All I’m hearing is excuses,” You gloat, feet light as you step around him, “You lead this time, Kenobi.”

He does. He swings downwards, and you block your face with your own blade to stop him. He nearly jabs at your gut before you can prevent it, and you feel the heat from his blade as your own comes to block his.

You fling his weapon away with yours, and he lets you. After such a long period of no action (and shamefully little meditation) your abilities with the Force have grown slightly weaker, as have your regulatory skills. You can still sense what he’s going to do when he squares his shoulders, but you’re almost not fast enough to interpret those senses, and you barely make it to block him from swinging his blade in a fiery circle that would clip the edge of your arm.

“You’re rusty,” He taunts, his own Force abilities stronger than ever as his presence seeps through the cracks in your mind. You try to force him out, but it takes effort, and it’s effort you can’t expend elsewhere. It means that you can’t foresee his intent to aim for your face, and his blade hums inches away from your cheek as he holds it there.

You freeze; you’re caught.

We’re even,” You grunt, sweat beading at your forehead, “But we’re not finished.”

“Hang on,” He disengages his saber, letting the apparatus clatter to the ground as he tugs at one of the outer layers of his robes, “I’m going to shed a few things.”

“Stripping will not help your cause.” You tease, “I’m not distracted by sex appeal.”

Clearly, he isn’t expecting your jab, and he lets his mouth fall open as he slings off one of his garments, an incredulous laugh filling his throat.

“Y/N. You’ve obtained a foul mouth somewhere along your career. It certainly wasn’t in the temple.”

“It’s the clones,” You groan, “Try being stationed with a troop of grown men who went through puberty in record time. They’ve got the appetite of an adult with the filter of a teenage boy.”

“They’ve never tried anything with you,” Obi-Wan narrows his eyes questioningly, and you try to avoid looking at the sweat glistening against his tanned neck as he strips to his base layer.

“No, they’re respectful.” You assure him, “Just crass.”

“Yes, well,” Obi-Wan frowns distastefully, “They haven’t had Jedi training. I suppose I’m not surprised.”

He stands there for a moment with only his undershirt covering his chest, then decides that it’s still too warm, tugging at its hem to raise it over his head.

You feel your insides ignite with a fire you haven’t felt in a long time when his bare chest is exposed, skin marred and riddled with coarse, wiry hair. His stomach is flat but not as tight as you remember in your youth, softer now. You can tell there’s an impressive layer of muscle beneath the milky white skin, though, even if it’s not outwardly visible. He uses his tunic to wipe the sweat off of his face so you’re granted a moment to ogle him, your mouth watering as you try to conceal your thoughts.

“Okay. Enough with this child’s play.” You shake your head, letting Obi-Wan have just enough time to toss aside his tunic before you plant your feet against the mat. Obi-Wan stands at the ready, both of your sabers ignited, “I want a real match. A long one, now that we’re warmed up. Best two out of three, Kenobi. Winner takes all.”

“Winner gets to stand in front of the air conditioning vent when Anakin gets it up and running,” Obi-Wan suggests, sweat trailing down his neck and over his chest. You avert your eyes, lest the fraile state of mind you’re in betrays you.

“Fine.” You shrug, reaching for the hem of your vest. It’s tactical, good for keeping with you on duty, but it’s etching lines of sweat into your back now. You sling it off, letting it land in a heap similar to Obi-Wan’s robes, and exposing the tank top you have on beneath it. “I know just the one I’ll pick. In my room, there’s one just above the bed. Maybe I’ll let it hit my back while I win at holochess.”

“I think the heat might be getting to you,” Obi-Wan cracks, a slight heave to his chest as he tries regulating his breathing. It’s hard when you’re as hot as you are to get enough oxygen, and you’re doing the same. It’s awfully difficult not to indulge in the view of his bare chest rapidly rising and falling, and you feel a tug below your gut as a vision flashes through your mind. It’s of what else could make him pant in such a way, and you can’t afford to entertain the thought, not around him. “I’m not sure which outcome is more delusional; that you’ll win this duel, or that you’ll win at holochess.”

“You’re wasting time,” You croon, charging with your blade poised for battle so that you have no more time to fantasize, “I think you’re scared.”

“Do I feel afraid?” Obi-Wan laughs, blocking your attack with little effort and redoubling to launch one of his own. The clatter of your sabers almost drowns out his words, “Reach out, Y/L/N, all you’ll feel is confidence.”

“I’m not sure I could feel you if I tried,” You lament, chest heaving as you block one of his swings, “Not while my mind is occupied with our duel. I am rusty, you were right.”

“Practice more,” He chides, “Less chess, more meditation.”

“One is a lot more boring than the other!” You groan, barely managing to get your arm up in time to take a shot at his own, “And the less boring one is chess, so that’s really saying something.”

“It may be boring but it is beneficial,” Obi-Wan lectures you, and you wonder if he thinks you’re still a Padawan. You fight with heaving breaths and monumental effort, the heat sucking your energy out through the sweat that drips down your skin. He turns and his back is glistening, which is really not a sight that helps you to stay focused.

“Now I’m starting to see why Anakin tinkered with his communicator,” You call, as Obi-Wan whirls around your left side, “You’re very dull as a Jedi Master!”

You have to throw yourself onto the floor to avoid a swing at your head, your right shoulder aching as you do so. But you scramble away from him, righting yourself and miraculously avoiding the blade of your saber coming into contact with the training mat.

You stumble to your knees, driving the forward momentum you have against Obi-Wan as he tries blocking you. You nearly get a nick out of his pants, but he pushes you backwards with the threat of his blade, and you fall with your back to the mat.

Your stomach drops when a blue blade hums hot and bright near your throat, its tip directed at your jugular. It doesn’t matter that it’s on its training setting; it’s inescapable and daunting when it’s an inch from your skin. You’re done for.

“I may be dull,” Obi-Wan pants, beard glistening as sweat streams down his neck. His chest heaves as he speaks, bare and open for your eyes, and his pink tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth to dart along his lips, “But I am victorious. Does this remind you a little bit of the last time we fought?”

It does. He’d been standing over you then as he is now, and you’d had to fortify your mind back then not to let slip vulgar thoughts about being on the floor below him. His thighs, meaty with muscle and strong from training, are hidden behind loose pants, but their crotch has tightened slightly, a chub to what should be a relaxed surface.

A pang of arousal shoots down your spine, and suddenly the lightsaber near your throat isn’t the most daunting thing in the room. It’s Obi-Wan.

He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing as you lay beneath him.

“Your thoughts betray you,” He observes, and you feel his invasive presence in your mind, sucking out the private thoughts coursing through your brain. They’re of panting breaths, heaving chests, wandering hands, and meshing tongues; passionate embraces, intimate attachments. Things no Jedi should fantasize about, not under the code. Things that should bring shame to you, and maybe they do, and maybe you like it.

“Your body betrays you,” You’re able to muster, swallowing the saliva pooling in your mouth as you glance pointedly at his bulge. It’s only grown since you’d last glanced at it; evidently your visions did something to him too.

He sees, or perhaps, feels what you see, freezes, then clicks his saber off. The blade retracts with a hiss and there is a distinct vacuum of sound where its humming once was. He breaks the unnerving silence with a clatter as he tosses it aside, feet still firmly planted on either side of your hips.

“It’s natural.” He weakly supplies, a poor defense, “It’s adrenaline-fueled, nothing more.”

“Really? So when you duel sith lords, when you chop the heads off of battle droids, you walk away with a stiff dick?” You carefully observe his body language, feet poised like he might bolt if you make any sudden moves. He’s flighty, and you have to make your next moves carefully.”

“Y/N,” He begins, his voice weak, “I wish you wouldn’t use such foul language.”

“Is it the language that bothers you?” You push your elbows against the mat, hoisting yourself up at an obtuse angle to meet his eye better, “Or is it the truth it carries? Obi-Wan, you were right. It’s natural. And it is not something to be ashamed of.”

“It is against the Code,” He reasons, his voice still fighting to sound resolute. He offers no other reasoning, and you know it’s because he has none.

“It’s not.” You insist, “The Code is ancient and rigid. And celibacy is not required, only a level head.”

“That’s the problem,” He chuckles weakly, “I don’t have a level head when it comes to you, Y/N.”

“You seem as though you do.” You press cautiously, careful not to push your luck, “I’ve never felt anything unprofessional about your feelings towards me.”

“That’s because I haven’t been around you in a long time,” He admits, “Not consistently. I was better at controlling it- no, hiding it when we were Padawans. I had to do it every day, it was natural to me. But I am out of practice now, and I have been since you were stationed here. I barely have the ability to hide how I feel about you, Y/N. And- and it is not something the Council would approve of.”

You sit up now, fully straightened. You’re still between his legs, but you’d need to rise to your knees for your face to be level with his bulge. You plan to.

“The Council is not here. Nor can they see us, or hear us, or feel us. They will not know what we do, Obi-Wan.”

“I will know.” He breathes, his voice growing weaker each time he tries raising it against you, “Y/N, I will never forget a thing we do together on this base. If we… If you touch me, I will remember every brush of your skin against mine for eternity. If you- kiss me, I will never be able to put the thought of your lips on mine out of my head. And I would not know how to live without it for the rest of my life.”

Your heart sinks in your stomach like a stone in water. He’s loyal to the Order, he always has been. But you’d been so blinded by isolation, so convinced by your own delusions, that you’d assumed his loyalty to you would be stronger. But it’s not, and you can’t earnestly be angry with him for it.

You swallow what little saliva has accumulated around your tongue to give yourself something to do, then rise to your feet.

“It sounds like you should walk away.” You mutter regretfully. His eyes hold the same feelings, strikingly painful. He nods, almost imperceptibly, but before he can follow your orders, you continue.

“But will you forgive yourself if you do?”

You feel it, his swell of emotions. Every single one is unbridled, yearning, heartache, fondness, want; all of them unleashed from the man whose mind is usually a fortress. They’re washing over you like waves, invading your brain and turning your thoughts their colors.

“No. I couldn’t,” He admits, “But-” and there’s always a but, “The Council would never forgive me if I didn’t.”

“They won’t know.” You insist, but it’s lost on him, “Obi-Wan, please make a decision. Who is more important, you or the Council?” Then in a more timid, soft voice, as his soft eyes bore into you and beg for mercy, you give him the opposite, “Who is more important… me or the Council?”

He kisses you. There is no warning, no shift in his Force signature, only his hands on your face and his lips on your own. There is strength in his touch, his hands firm where they pull your cheeks ever-so-slightly towards his face as if he’s trying to mash them into his own. His beard is rough and grating against your face, but it’s not unpleasant, especially when it brings with it his lips. His lips, which are much softer than you’d have imagined them, merely frame your own. The kiss is sweet but chaste, and the only indication you have that he wants more is the way that he holds you against him. Otherwise you’d mistake his courtesy for disinterest, and you tilt your head slightly sideways to encourage more enthusiasm from him.

When your lips reconnect he sighs, a breath from his nose that fans over your top lip. He’s letting you lead, letting you dictate whether you want to keep kissing him or whether you’ll suddenly switch positions; it’s like he’s afraid that you’ll rip off a mask and reveal yourself to be Master Windu, scolding him for his reckless passion. But of course you don’t, and you lick gently against the plush of his bottom lip instead.

He hums at the feeling of your tongue against his mouth, but he’s suddenly pushing against your cheeks instead of pulling.

“Are you absolutely sure,” He starts, but can’t seem to resist the temptation to steal another kiss from your spit-slicked lips, “That you- mm, that you want this? Because I cannot-” He breaks off with a weary, pleading, defeated look in his beautiful eyes, “I cannot turn back if we go further. If we proceed… I will not be able to forget what we do. If you’re not interested… please tell me now, so that I may save myself from loving you for an eternity that you do not wish to share with me.”

You scoff, moving in for another kiss at his lips. He doesn’t reciprocate, only pushing you back so that you can respond.

“I just spent five minutes,” You pant, desperate to reconnect your lips, “Bargaining with you to get you to forget about your nerves. And you don’t think I want this?”

You try surging forwards again but he holds you back, eyes still begging for your words.

“Please. I need to hear you say it.” He seems almost self-conscious, worried you’re not interested in him the same way he’s interested in you. But you have been since you can remember, and you’re more than willing to work around the unconventional aspects of your relationship if it means you can have him, even just for today.

“I want you,” You breathe, the exhale hitting his lips, “Please- Obi-Wan, I want you. I want you no matter what the Code says. No matter what the Council says; I want you.”

He looks like he could cry. He is devoted to the Order, far more than you have seen most Jedi, and to hear you choose him over the Code must mean a great deal. He pours passion into the kiss you share, chest filling with oxygen that he gulps just to be able to keep his mouth on yours for longer. He consumes you, fingers pulling at your cheeks and tugging you closer still, like he thinks you might fuse if he tries hard enough.

He groans into your mouth, his tongue more exploratory now that you’ve pledged your devotion to him. He’s not afraid of taking now, of getting his hopes up only to be thrown down, and he swipes the wet muscle in a hot stripe over your own tongue. He rolls it against your lower lip, so wonderful to kiss for someone with such lacking experience.

“No one is coming,” You breathe, exhaling against his mouth as your hands wander to his waistband, “No one- no one can see us.”

“I want you in your quarters.” He protests, grabbing your wrists when your hand sinks to his bulge and ghosts over it. He jolts at the unexpected contact, but holds you back, “I want to lay you down, Y/N, I want to indulge in every part of you. Worship you.”

“I will let you,” You moan, tilting your forehead against his and mouthing at his lips in a sloppy kiss, “You may have me any way you want, Obi-Wan. But here, I- I want to have you. I need to have you now,”

“Impatient,” He notes, sounding suspiciously close to lecturing you. But he lets your wrists go, and you sink to your knees instantly. He hears them hit the training mat, knows they must ache, but he can’t find any part of him available to worry about it, not now that your hands are prying greedily at the waistband of his trousers.

He’s a near stranger to physical pleasure, at least in recent years. He’s a grown man, he has urges, but he also has responsibilities, and the constant pressure of an ambitious (read: reckless) young Padawan under his supervision mixed with a quickly-rising rank within the Jedi Order leave him with little time nor interest to indulge in his barest desires. Your hand gently squeezing his clothed bulge as you wrestle with his pants nearly knocks him off of his feet, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle having your warm mouth envelop it.

Finally you tug loose the drawstring within his pants, and yank them down his thighs. They’re seldom bare, you see from the milky white tone of the skin there, but they are muscled and thick like he does not neglect them.

You can’t help yourself when you lean forwards, tongue already protruding from your mouth to lick a fat, wet stripe around one of his thighs. It’s sturdy beneath your tongue that dips into the crease between his skin and the parts of it that are covered by his briefs. His muscles tense like you’ve struck him with a fatal blow, and an open-mouthed groan escapes his lips.

His skin tastes of the sweat that’s currently moistening every inch of your bodies, salty and tantalizing. There’s no escaping it in the brutal heat, but it makes him all the more sexy, his skin glistening before you even get a chance to smear it in your saliva.

You’re guilty of impatience as he accuses, and you can’t resist mouthing at his covered bulge. He’s half-hard, but when your lips purse around the outline of his cock in his briefs he twitches, and you feel him stiffen against the restraints of his underwear on your tongue.

His knees give out with no warning, and he barely has the foresight to grab desperately at a bench press behind him for stability. He falls quickly to its surface, perching on the edge of it while you desperately chase his cock. You fit your mouth again over his briefs and drool against the fabric, surely soaking it through with your saliva. His cock, though restrained, is heavy and thick on your tongue, making your mouth water and produce enough drool to soak through his entire ensemble. His hands clutch the bench beneath him with white knuckles, and he grits his teeth to stop himself from shouting as you suck at his clothed cock.

“Oh, Y/N,” He pants, voice strained as you get lost in your task and forget that you need to actually pull his briefs down. He reaches for your head, gently nudging you away with his knuckles against your temple.

“Darling, please, I can’t- I won’t last for very long. Please, have me properly.”

He grips at the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down hurriedly and letting his cock spring free. It’s of decent length, but slightly thicker than average, its base shrouded by a patch of curled hair at his groin. It’s a similar caramel color to the rest of his hair, and his sweat has accumulated particularly within its wiry constraints, leaving him musky. The smell might bother you if it were anyone else, if you were anywhere else, but here and now, on your knees for Obi-Wan in the training room, it’s the most disgustingly tantalizing thing you’ve ever smelled in your entire life.

That’s why you bury your face into it, the hair tickling at your skin. His hips jolt as you inhale deeply near the base of his cock, groaning and letting your tongue fall to drag against just the shaft of his erect dick. He’s painfully hard, embarrassingly seconds to orgasm, and your spit now glistening on his length doesn’t help. Or it helps too much; either way, he’s close to cumming and you haven’t even had a chance to put him in your mouth.

“Darling,” He begs, pushing at your forehead once more, speaking through an eternal shortage of breath, “Please, I- it all feels too good. I can’t take it. I won’t last long.”

“That’s okay,” You pant, your breath falling over his cock as it practically pulses with pleasure, “We’re here for a good time, not a long time.”

“Terrible,” He manages to chuckle weakly, but any further chiding he has planned for your cheekiness is cut short when he stops breathing. He actually forgets how when your wet mouth closes around the head of his cock, your tongue licking flat over its head and covering most of its surface area. It’s so much sensation so fast that Obi-Wan has to clench his hands around the bench not to cum right then and there, and he feels pinpricks of pain over his skin that he realizes are from his fingernails digging against his palms. When you draw your head back off of his cock with a slick sound, then move in again to take more of his length into your mouth, his lungs suddenly remember their function, and heave within his chest.

His groans are filthy and they only pool more slick wetness between your thighs as you kneel for him. You don’t care about the ache in your knees, nor the pain in your neck from the slightly awkward angle you’re indulging in him at. All that matters is his cock, heavy and thick on your tongue, sweat and precum alike flooding your taste buds.

His restraint is put to the test. He’s a member of the Jedi Council, for Force’s sake, and he should have a little more control over himself than this. But it takes almost all of his energy not to buck his hips forwards and plunge the length of his cock down your throat, and it means that he’s not able to devote as much restraint to delaying his orgasm as he’d like.

He’s twitching in your mouth, and even with your faded Force abilities, mental muscles weakened by disuse, you can feel the tension coursing through his veins, hot and wild. You don’t need to look at his strained, white-knuckled grip on the edge of the bench to know that he’s devoting all of his energy to restraining himself, and you take pride in being able to undo Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi with merely your mouth. You indulge in his painful hardness, tongue smoothly caressing the underside of his length as you bob your head back and forth around him. Each time you draw back you flick your tongue up and over the ruddy, leaking head of his cock, something that makes that fiery tension in his body glow even hotter.

“I’m going to-” He warns you, voice petering out weakly as he tries controlling himself, “I can’t- I can’t help it, I’m going to cum.”

“Cum,” You speak in unison, your word coming out muffled as you speak it against his cock. You smooth your hands up his thighs, feeling his muscles impossibly tight beneath your fingers. You stroke them soothingly, encouraging him to unclench his jaw that’s wired so tightly that you’re sure his teeth are on the verge of cracking, “Cum, Obi-Wan, please.”

Even if you hadn’t asked him so kindly, he’s sure he wouldn’t have been able to withhold any longer. Not with your pretty eyes gazing up at him from between his legs, lashes latticing the tender emotions swirling in your gaze. Your fingers slide calmly, sweetly over the expanse of his thighs, and the mere thought of you digging your nails harshly into them and leaving marks is what elicits the final twitch of his dick on your tongue.

Evidently, you’re more in tune with his thoughts than he’d expected. You’d caught the quick image that had flashed through his mind, now completely unguarded to you, and you curl your fingers quicker than he can comprehend, carving searing marks into his thighs that will show up red for at least a week. Paired with the movement of your fingers, you suck hard at his cock, plunging your face forwards to nestle against the base once more. His tip hits the back of your throat with force and it makes you gag, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure what sensation is more overwhelming: the vivid burning at his thighs, the way the tip of his dick nestles so securely into the warm, wet sleeve of your throat, or the way that you’re breathing in his sweat-marred scent like it’s the purest oxygen you’ve ever had in your lungs. All he knows is that together, they’re his undoing, and he lets out a rugged cry; he can’t control himself any longer when pleasure roars through him with a fury he’s almost frightened of.

He’s always calm, collected, in control. But now he’s grabbing your face with shaking hands as he pumps warm spurts of cum down your throat, holding your jaw steady so that you can’t back away, not that you want to. He holds you in place while his thighs begin to tremble, your tongue continuously smoothing over the underside of his cock while it twitches in your mouth. He keeps himself fully nestled into the back of your throat while he cums, and if he had energy to be embarrassed about cumming as much as he was, he’d be apologizing. But he can’t, not when you’re swallowing him so eagerly, throat convulsing around the head of his cock and only milking more out of him. There’s obscene groans coming from his mouth, the kind that bring heat to your own core, and you think you could get off to the sound a thousand times over if you recorded him now. They’re deep, throaty, and desperate as he holds your face around his cock, gagging you on his dick as his orgasm takes control of him.

A part of your training that hasn’t left you yet was your extensive disaster training, in which you were taught how to extend the time for which you could hold your breath. That comes in especially handy when Obi-Wan’s hands cradle your jaw, keeping you snugly choking around his dick. You have to fight not to draw back at the strange sensation of your throat being plugged while his cum splatters against the back of it,, and you use all of your strength to keep yourself from panicking at the lack of airflow. You’re only slightly ashamed to admit that you’d willingly die like this, a fucktoy for his cock.

Once his orgasm has worked its way through him he seems to remember you can’t breathe, all of the tension having leaked out of his muscles. He inhales with a start, pushing against your cheeks and tugging his cock out of your mouth, “Oh, Y/N, darling- Y/N, are you-?”

At the sight of your spit-soaked lips, tongue desperately running over them to collect any of the sweat that had accumulated there from being pressed against his pelvis, he lunges forwards to meet his lips with your own. He can taste the slight savory hint of his own release, your tongues meshing wetly and messily. He’s hunching now, even though you’ve straightened up on your knees, and he feels you clumsily palm at his dick, tucking him back away into his briefs. It makes his lips go slack with a gasp even though he’s just finished, and he’s more than eager to take you by the wrists and help you to your feet. You toss his undershirt at him with careless speed, and he nearly gets lost in its beige expanse from the way that his arms shake as he pulls it over his head.

“My quarters,” Your voice is thick and ragged, still recovering from your prior lack of oxygen, “We can- it’s soundproof, no one will know.”

“Yes,” He breathes, legs shaking slightly as he gathers the rest of the clothes he’d shed while sparring with you, “Um- we can... Anakin still hasn’t gotten the air conditioning running.”

“Uh-uh,” You shake your head, feeling nothing from the vent to your left, “Hurry, let’s go before-”

“General,” The door slides open, and you both startle, much less in tune with the force presences of those around you than you’d like to admit. One of your troopers sticks his head through the door, “The kid needs a multitool.”

You blink once, registering a slight soreness at the back of your throat, “Get him a multitool, then.”

You’re sure he can see your haggard appearance, and all apart from the glossy look of your lips looks like you’ve been sparring. Which you have, technically. You just hope Obi-Wan’s trousers don’t look like they’ve only just been hitched up around his waist again, or his shirt barely pulled down over his chest.

“I lost mine, general,” The trooper admits sheepishly. There was an abundance of the supplies that were offered to you before you’d been shipped out to this battle station, and more had been stocked for a long time in one of the supply closets, but your troopers are bored more often than not, and you shudder to think of all of the times they’ve used them as target practice by standing them on the balcony and opening fire. Apparently, you need to request some more from the next inspection team, as well as impress upon your troops the difference between an abundance of resources and useless clutter begging for a blaster wound.

“I have one in my quarters,” You sigh wearily, “Let’s see to it that we don’t misuse our equipment anymore, soldier.”

“Yes, General,” He nods vigorously, stepping out of your way to offer you the open door.

“Obi-Wan,” You turn apologetically, “We’ll have to continue our sparring match after I retrieve the multitool for your padawan. You’re welcome to follow us, though I’m not sure it’s any cooler out there than it is in here.”

“I’d like to stash my clothes somewhere, if you don’t mind,” Obi-Wan holds up the outer garments he’d shed, “I think it gives you somewhat of an unfair advantage if I’m liable to trip over my own tunics.”

You grant him a good-natured laugh as you pass your trooper in the doorway, and all in all, you think that the two of you have done a fantastic job at pretending his dick wasn’t in your mouth only minutes ago.

Your trooper makes the wise decision to stand outside of your quarters when you enter them, although any initial disappointment you’d felt at his poorly-timed request has well worn off by now. That’s all he’s guilty of, anyways; you find their antics amusing despite their destructive nature. It’s not his fault that you’re canoodling with the Jedi master, so you forgive him his abhorrent timing. You beeline for a locker in your closet, punching in the numeric code and letting the squeaky hinges reveal your small weapons store. It’s a multipurpose space, blasters on a rack that’s affixed to the back, a mount for your saber, and a drawer of various other mechanical supplies down below. You throw it open, and Obi-Wan watches you dig for the multitool where he stands by your bed, his tunics laid on your bedspread.

You realize all too late that one of your other mechanical supplies is in full view of the Jedi master standing behind you, black in color for subtlety but unmistakable in shape. It’s phallic and has a second prong that shoots off of the base to vibrate against your clit, something you only use when you're absolutely certain no one can hear. Besides, the sound could very well be mistaken for one of your troopers shaving their scruff, so you have ample opportunity. You snatch the multitool out of the drawer and slam it shut, making your trooper’s shoulders twitch in a quickly concealed wince. You’re thankful that only Obi-Wan was a temporary witness to your lack of organizational skills.

“Here,” You rush to hand it off, forcefully locking the cabinet and thrusting the tool towards the trooper, “Take it- uh, keep it, I’ll put in a request for more supplies tonight.”

“Thanks, General,” He nods warily at you, and you pity the way he’s taken your context clues and misarranged them to view your behavior as standoffish and exasperated with him, “My apologies again.”

“No worries,” You try not to snap at him, unnerved by the abnormal lack of mental pressure from Obi-Wan behind you. He used to tease you abundantly in your youth, prying at your mental shields and slipping snide remarks through the cracks while you fought to keep a straight face, but now that he’s laid his eyes on possibly the most embarrassing item you own, he’s completely still, completely silent.

“Goodbye.” You shut the door with a hydraulic hiss, and stand facing it until Obi-Wan speaks, pretending to fuss with the control panel.

“It seems you overlooked another multitool in that drawer,” His voice finally reaches over the silence, carefully bundled so that the underlying mirth is something you can only guess at, “Now I wonder if your battalion is really the cause of your foul mouth.”

“Shut up!” You whirl on him with cheeks blazing on opposite sides of your face like Tatooine’s twin suns, “Don’t tease me-”

“I’m not teasing you!” He insists, voice sounding aghast, like it’s out of the question, like he’s offended by the accusation, taking your arms into his grip when you look like you might shove him. His face is split into a smile - not a grin, which is reassuring - but a warm smile, even if there is amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Yes you are,” You scoff, and you have half a mind to pull away when one of his hands releases your arm and anchors itself against your face instead. It’s warm, rough from wear but impossibly gentle. You fight leaning into it for as long as you can, pride still bruised, but he leans in to press his lips against your forehead in a chaste kiss.

Typical.

You’d gagged on his dick ten minutes ago, and he’s kissing your forehead.

“Darling,” He hums sympathetically, tucking your face against his chest so snugly that you think it was engineered for the curves and bumps of your skin. You relish the hug he traps you in, the tender hold even though you’re interested in something more carnal, feral, hungry. His voice is strong and soothing as he speaks, and the vibrations thrum through his chest and against your face “You had my cock in your mouth not ten minutes ago. I’m not going to make fun of you for having a toy.”

Oh. Perhaps he hadn’t forgotten.

“Such a foul mouth,” You admonish him, tucking your grin away between the haphazardly-righted folds of his tabard.

He pinches at your side, fingers greedily prying at the soft flesh of your belly through layers of clothing you wish weren’t between your skin and his, “Yes, well, it’s because I’ve had yours all over me.”

His hand, similarly bold to his mouth, flattens out along the curve of your side, tucking into the space above your hip bones. The other stays in place against your cheek, finger running idly across the underside of your jawline. You don’t know whether the shiver that shudders down your spine is due to the ticklish nature of his touch, or the sensual area he’s chosen, but he feels your spine thrum, and he presses further into you like it was an invitation.

“Darling,” He starts, back to that well-practiced hesitancy, “If you still want to…”

“I do,” You nod, feeling sweat drip down the back of your neck and soak into the fabric of your tank top, “Do you think we have time?”

“Anakin can occupy himself with scrap metal and multitools for hours,” Obi-Wan recollects with a smile on his face that isn’t committed to fondness or resignation. You’re sure he’s proud of his padawan’s abilities, but not of the havoc he wreaks with them.

“Hmm, that might be cutting it close,” You pretend to debate it, gnawing at the inside of your cheek, and he lets out a laugh as warm as the runoff heat from his saber with none of the bite of its blade.

“You’d occupy yourself with me for hours?” He teases, but when you nod, it’s earnest.

“I’d occupy myself with you for the rest of my life, Obi-Wan.”

The breath that he draws in when you begin speaking is the last one he draws for a while. Instead he holds it there, letting it burn and sear at his lungs while he wonders if any words he could produce with it would contain even a fraction of the yearning he feels roll over him in a nauseating wave. Very little has ever made him want the life of a civilian - his home is between the opulent walls of the Jedi temple, but any walls he shared with you would be infinitely more grandiose if only for your place within them.

“Had you said the word,” He elects to speak the truth, even if it isn’t even a chip away at the trove of feelings he keeps locked tightly away in his mind for you, “I would have left the Jedi Order.”

Would have.

You know why he won’t now, and you’re not upset with him for the reasons. You understand them, even if you don’t relate to them.

“But Anakin…”

“I know,” You nod against his chest, fingers taking hold of his undershirt’s fabric edge and fastening there, “You made a promise to your master. And to him. And he needs your help. I wouldn’t ask you to leave.”

“Would you have? When we were younger,” He idly strokes down the length of your spine, arm wrapping comfortably around your waist.

“Maybe…” You admit, “Maybe if I’d known your trip to Naboo would bring about such change. Maybe if I’d known I only had a few years left with you as we were. But I didn’t. So I never asked. And I never will.”

He doesn’t react verbally or physically after your confession, but the silence that ensues isn’t an awkward one. Instead, he maintains his hold on you, and you feel a gentle wave of affection flow from him through the Force. Affection, appreciation, love, which you feel so broadly through the Force, but rarely so devoted to you yourself rather than the galaxy in its entirety. You’re no stranger to the feeling, but it’s different channeled privately between two people than it is as a way of life.

“Let us pretend,” Obi-Wan finally musters, his voice thicker than usual, though if you were not so in tune with him you wouldn’t have perceived it, “For the next few fleeting moments, that we are still young. That we don’t have responsibilities other than those to ourselves, and to each other.”

Though your youth may have escaped you, your mind weary with resignation and Obi-Wan’s eyes darkened with the perpetual exhaustion of adulthood, his touch does not feel tired or incapable. It feels strong, firm, and mindful where it slips from your chin to your waist. His other hand sandwiches you between them, and you’re tilting your chin up to kiss him before he gives any indication that he’ll do the same. But he does, his boldness almost reset from the interruption you’d suffered. Like you need to coax him out of his shell again, like he’s worried you’ve somehow changed your mind.

You take the back of his neck in your hand, finding it slick and tacky with sour-smelling sweat, and pull him down so that his lips smash messily to your own. It’s a move he’s not expecting, and a startled groan escapes his lips as proof. You drink it, sucking it down your throat and pulling him towards the bed with the same backwards momentum. He’s nimble even if he’s unprepared, probably to do with his extensive agility training. You’re more than ready to fall back onto your bed when your calves butt against the frame but he lowers you down gently, with ease, drawing back from your kiss despite your fervent protests to watch you look up at him.

“Obi-Wan,” You beg, your voice weary, “Why are you hesitating?”

“I’m not hesitating,” He answers, and you feel it to be truthful, “I’m admiring you, darling. I’m not unsure, I’m more sure than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Prove it,” You plead, already pulling at the hem of your tank top. You peel its sweat-soaked binding off of your skin, showcasing the equally stained garment beneath it that keeps your chest closer to your neck than your stomach, “Please, Obi-Wan, take me like you want me. Not like you feel bad for having me.”

“I do not feel bad for having you,” He promises, mouth barely parting from yours to utter the words. His lips are pink-tinted, glistening with spit, probably a mixture of his and yours. He pants slightly, cheeks similarly ruddy, “Perhaps later I will. When I stand in front of the Council and tell them we conducted routine maintenance. When I lie, when I guard my memories of you from them. But I’m not occupied with that now, darling. Only with you, I swear it.”

“Oh, well, that’s good to know,” You hum, kissing an inch lower than his mouth, the apex of his chin that’s marred by the scruff of his beard. It’s prickly and rough beneath your lips, and when you draw back they glisten with transferred sweat, “I’m glad you’re not thinking of Master Yoda while dipping a knee between my thighs.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan ducks his head, advances on pause as he plants his forehead against your shoulder, “That’s awful. Really, truly vile.”

You laugh, and despite his disgusted bravado, so does he. His chest shakes against yours and you relish the sound, hand still planted firmly on the back of his neck. You briefly consider breaking out your rusty Yoda impression, ‘kiss me, you must’, but decide against it, instead choosing to press his head closer to your torso, letting his forehead lay flush and sweaty against your shoulder. It puts the scruff of his beard on the curve of your tits, and you feel it burn your skin as he kisses along it lightly.

His mouth is soft, and his beard is its abrasive opposite. They trail in tandem along the slope of your breasts, first the soft lips and then the burn of the beard, until he’s lit a fiery trail across your skin to the padded edge of your bra. When his lips meet fabric instead of skin he noses beneath it, surely smelling a morning’s worth of sweat accumulated beneath the weight of your chest. You’re self conscious, for only a flash, then he takes a deep drag of air, inhaling until his chest seems fit to burst.

“I’m sorry,” You find yourself humming, regardless of his clear interest, “I wish a shower would help. Even the cold water doesn’t prevent sweating.”

“I don’t want you to shower,” He muses, pushing his face between your breasts to kiss at the skin between them. He mouths gently, tongue sliding over your skin with little form and too much spit that blends well with your sweat, “Sex is not sterile, darling. Soap and water defeat the purpose.”

You’re not sure whether it’s his insistence on the natural state of your body or the way that his knee gently prods against your center, but whatever it is, your fingers itch and you fling them up to cup the underside of your chest.

“Take it off,” You beg, and Obi-Wan shows no hesitation in complying, his hands sliding beneath your back, rough and weathered from work. They’re gentle as they slide over the clasp of your bra, and you push yourself up onto your elbows on the mattress so that he can maneuver the stretchy fabric easier.

“Does it hook or button?” He nudges his nose against yours to ask, and your stomach flops at the question. Both the fact that he doesn’t have enough experience to know, and the way that he feels comfortable enough admitting that to you by asking so earnestly only make you want him more, and you’re barely able to mumble ‘clasp’ before pressing your lips to his own once more.

“Three,” You add later, against his lips, when he unhooks one and still doesn’t have the garment undone, “There’s three.”

He takes your orders with unfailing patience, a trait you’d admired even in your youth. While you’d been more prone to hotheaded outbursts, he’d take you by the arm and speak for the both of you, usually resulting in far less severe of a punishment than you’d have gotten if you’d spoken your mind. Then the two of you would share sneaky, fleeting glances at each other while scrubbing the floors of the refectory, trying not to laugh loud enough for the Knight unwillingly supervising your punishment to hear.

You’re pulled out of your reverie when he finally unhooks the garment and slips it off of your shoulders, meaning you have to draw back from where you’d tucked your face over his shoulder, giving him a view of his work. As your faces pass each other he offers you the same grin he’d worn all those years ago, his pretty eyes alight with the love you feel seeping from his fingertips. You see a glimpse of the boy he was through the man he’s become, and both are equally endearing to you. The first, because you’d grown with him, like ferns tangled together in sticky, clinging tendrils. The second, because he wears his accomplishments on his face, crows feet at the corners of his eyes from laughing at his padawan’s wayward antics, and frown lines for scowling at the same incidences only moments prior. He’d laughed at you in your youth, and frowned just the same at your more uncouth ideas for adventure, and now those expressions are etched into his face, like layers of makeup no longer dissolvable with remover. He’ll wear them forever, and you want to see him display them even in his old age.

He watches the way that your body moves when he peels the sweat-soaked garment away from your chest. He watches your breasts succumb to gravity’s harsh pull, sloping sideways and downwards rather than maintaining their tight compress towards your chin. He watches them sag, watches them fall to their natural state and declares, “You’re beautiful, darling.”

He takes them in his hands, their mass in his palms as he rolls his thumb over the skin of your nipples. They’d usually pebble in the cold but now they’re pulling taut beneath his touch, and when he brushes his thumb over their peak you stifle a gasp.

“Beautiful,” He repeats, and leans down to meet one with his mouth. He gravitates towards the right one first, and the embrace of his hot mouth against your skin tempts your back to arch. His tongue presses flat against your nipple, then drags up its surface, and his lips kiss over the stripe of saliva he’d left behind.

His beard rubs against your skin and it’s not rawing, not yet, but you know it will be the more he mouths at your breast. He’s licking, sucking, pulling, but never biting, teeth merely grazing your flesh rather than indulging in it. His tongue does that instead, flattening out over your raised flesh and dragging hot, wet stripes over the bud of your perked nipple.

“Obi- Obi-Wan,” You gasp, dragging desperate, heaving breaths into your lungs as your hands fly to his lengthened hair. You’d ruffled it many times when it was short and spiked, but now you’re able to get purchase in the strawberry-blonde locks, curling your fingers around the soft, sweat-darkened strands and pulling.

You don’t pull hard, but it’s unexpected, and you feel the momentary pinch of Obi-Wan’s teeth around your breast. It floods heat to your already-pulsing core more than you’d have thought possible, considering the sweltering temperatures you’ve been in the whole time, but the soft groan that then ripples through your skin from the depths of his throat only makes you more desperate. All of a sudden the long-suffering heat is tepid by comparison, and you yank at the material of his undershirt so hard you nearly rip the fabric.

“Off,” You pant, “Please, take it- get it off, Obi-Wan.”

In a fluid, crouched movement Obi-Wan tears his undershirt off with one hand at its hem, his muscles flexing as he swings the arm up and over his head. He discards the shirt carelessly beneath him and it droops to the floor, no longer covering the bare skin of his chest that you’d admired earlier.

You have half a mind to do to him what he’s been doing to you, to sink your teeth into the flesh of his chest and suckle on his sweat-soaked skin. But he dips his face back to mouth at your tit once more, so you settle for running your hands greedily, desperately over the layer of soft skin that blocks his muscled chest from view. When he was younger, what seems like an eternity but must only be five years, his build was more defined. You’d gotten plenty of eyefuls of his bare, heaving chest during a particularly intense sparring match, or down by one of the large pools that were definitely supposed to be used more for reflection and tranquility rather than the chaos you’d wreaked upon them. But years of planning someone else’s schedule before his own has meant that he’s softened out around the middle, muscles still prominent when you dig your fingers into his skin, just not starkly visible anymore.

Age does that to a person; pushes them harder than ever before to achieve a less-defined result than they’re used to, but you find that you want to grind down onto the thin layer of pudge he’s accumulated just as much as you’d have wanted to drag yourself over his defined abs. The thought of doing both, either, anything makes you dizzy with desire that you express by scratching your sharpened nails down his skin, feeling his muscles shudder beneath your fingers.

“Darling,” He groans, choking on the word like it’s gagged him, “I- I think we ought to- are you ready?”

You marvel at his sincerity, at the idea that he’s not aware of the throbbing, slick mess that your core has become. You’d been ready twenty minutes ago, sprawled out on the floor beneath him, and you’ve only gotten more eager since then. His concern makes you want him more, and you use your grip on his soft hair to tug him upwards to meet your lips in a kiss.

“I’m ready,” You breathe, laying the words out in a hazy moan over his tongue, “I’m ready, Obi-Wan, please- please take me.”

A groan melts from his mouth like molten butter, dripping over your tongue and down your throat. He pants, lets you suck his tongue into your mouth in a long, eager drag, then mumbles clumsily, “I want you. I want- I want to have you, darling, I want to take you.” His hips roll experimentally against your own, the tight pressure of his clothed cock digging into your panties as he nearly loses the function in the muscles that are holding him up above you.

He lets out another moan as you drag your hips up to meet his premature thrusts, and this time it’s a weaker sound, more strangled and mottled. It’s satisfying, knowing that you’ve reduced the ever-stoic, prized Jedi negotiator Obi-Wan Kenobi to a heaving mass of sweat and desire. His undershorts are rucked up around his meaty thighs, but he hasn’t yanked them off to free his stiff cock yet, so for a moment, all you do is grind against each other.

The layers of clothing between you, one covering you and two covering him, provide frustrating boundaries but much-needed friction, and the scrape of his rough undershorts dragging against your thin panties makes your fingers curl into his back once more. You suspect that when he wakes tomorrow, your marks will still be there, and you take pride in knowing that he’ll have a very hard time forgetting you.

“Obi-” You really do intend to say his full name, but your breath leaves your lungs too quickly for it, and you revert back to the nickname he’d loathed as a teenager. Too juvenile, he’d protested greatly at the clipped diminutive, but he leans into it now. He licks the word right off of your tongue, his own plunging past your lips and dragging over your teeth in a messy, imprecise fashion. You get the sense that this is not about sex to him, it’s not about mechanics or equations or the perfect formula. It’s about you, and him, and you and him together. He doesn’t kiss you like a storybook prince because he kisses you like Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan wants to lick the spit out of your mouth and suck on your tongue. Obi-Wan wants to feel, not think, for once in his life, so he does.

“Obi-” You falter again, hands traveling from his muscled back to his hips. Your fingers dip beneath the waistband of his undershorts, then his briefs where they lay against the same stretch of skin, “Off. Off, please- Obi-Wan, off, take ‘em- off.”

He grunts his approval into your mouth, obscene squelching sounds coming from where his spit pools between your teeth and your tongue. He reaches down with a blind, clumsy hand to tug at his waistband, but when it doesn’t provide immediate results, he finds himself getting frustrated. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, not the frustration itself but his inability to control it, and he feels his brow crease in irritation as he reluctantly parts from your mouth to focus on the task at hand. All he needs is a little extra leverage to slide his shorts off of his waist, briefs bunched together, and as soon as they’re out of his way he’s reaching for your own underwear.

You crane your neck downwards to watch him, and the glimmering mess of saliva in your mouth practically doubles in volume at the sight of his red-tipped, rock-hard cock. It’s curved slightly up towards his stomach in its desperation, and there’s precum oozing from its tip, foaming and all too appealing. You want to suck him off again, to really choke yourself on it this time and never draw back for air, but there’s no time when he tugs swiftly at the elastic band of your panties, tearing them easily away from you. They drag beneath your thighs but he merely pulls harder, until they spring free and bunch up around your knees.

“Up,” Obi-Wan taps at your left thigh, and you struggle to bend your knees amidst their relentless trembling. He helps you, strength having stuck with him even when composure has abandoned its post. You get your left thigh up first, exposing your glistening cunt, smeared sticky with your own slick. His breath catches, you feel it stutter to a stop in his chest that you’re groping, and his eyes glimmer in the warm lights above you.

“Darling,” He breathes, taken by the mess of your drooling cunt. He reaches out, touches it carefully, with only the pad of his pointer finger. He ghosts it along the side of your slit, and even the infuriatingly chaste touch is ultra erotic. At the way you writhe beneath a single one of his fingers he brings his thumb up to stroke down your slit, catching wetness on his thumb that his mouth opens to accommodate.

He sucks your release clean off of his thumb, you’re almost certain he scrapes his teeth along his skin just to get it all.

He leans into his own thumb, chases after it like he’s not the one taking it out of his mouth. He hesitates no further in clamoring backwards on the mattress until his knees hit the floor below, and he thanks the Force that the beds you were given are low enough for him to lean over the edge and bury his face in your cunt.

“Obi-Wan, no!” You plead, fingers tangling in his pretty blonde hair, “You’ll- you said- don’t cum yet, please, I- I want it in me!”

“I will cum in you,” He pledges, voice deep and determined as he nudges his nose against your wet cunt, “My darling, I’ll do whatever you ask. But I need you here, now. Please,” He breathes, his exhale shaky and warm as it heats your cunt, “Please, Darling, I want you here.”

“Have me,” You whimper, squirming your hips from side to side to propel yourself down the mattress. Your cunt bumps messily against his face that he doesn’t bother moving, and you buck your hips once, twice against his nose, riding his face, “Please, have me, Obi-Wan, you can have me.”

Your consent is all it takes. His mouth is open and his tongue is out the second you say the word, licking wet, tantalizingly slow stripes up your slit. He doesn’t breach it, doesn’t delve his tongue into your entrance, he laps at the slick smeared on the outside, as well as the wetness that has thoroughly soaked your thighs. Your skin is tacky with it even when he’s replaced it with his spit, and your cunt throbs at the meticulous approach he’s taken to appreciating every drop you give him.

It’s too meticulous.

After another slow, careful, nearly chaste lave of his tongue over the crease between your thigh and your cunt, probably just as soaked with sweat as it is with slick, you retighten your now-loose grip in his hair. You’d let go of the strands when he’d given you what you wanted, but now you want more, and you lead him straight to your core where he’d been lapping at your thighs instead.

“Here,” You beg, pulling his face against your drooling cunt until you’re certain he’s unable to breathe. You feel his nose breach your slit, nudged into your cunt by your insistent tugging on his hair.

“I need you here, inside, please.” You beg, pussy aching with abandon. His slow, careful ministrations had driven you mad, and now you are teetering on the edge of insanity as you nearly howl, “Please!”

His response is white-hot and wet. His tongue prods gently from between his lips as his jaw widens, and he watches your reaction as he fills your cunt with his slick tongue. A gush of your own wetness greets him, and as insistent as he is at meeting your eyes, his own flutter shut at the taste.

“Force,” He breathes, and the exclamation is uncommon from him. The muffled, garbled word sends vibrations straight into your cunt, and after the initial shock of his tongue inside of you, you feel his beard.

It scrapes abrasively against the sensitive, licked-over skin of your inner thighs, and prickles deliciously at the base of your leaking cunt. You feel sharp hairs prod at the curve of your ass, and his mouth moves fluidly, tongue wriggling with surprising prowess through the mess of slick you’ve accumulated in your cunt. It slides wetly along your inner walls that have made way for his tongue, and that will stretch eagerly to accommodate his cock.

His cock, oh, you’d forgotten the thick weight on your tongue, and your jaw aches with the ghost of it. Your cunt aches, too, and when his nose softly bumps your clit you gasp as your hips jolt upwards. He catches your thighs with Jedi agility, his muscles not straining at all to hold you to the mattress. The casual, easy display of strength makes your thighs quiver, and something inside of you tighten like a knot.

He licks you out like he’s drinking ambrosia, the glistening substance smeared over his face and starting up the bridge of his nose. The noises that he makes are hungry and wild as he licks more, sucks more, takes more. He’d moderated himself at first, lapped the sticky spillings of your wet cunt like he was rationing a meal. Now he feasts, tongue losing focus from inside your pussy and rapidly licking over your clit. His lips suction on and his beard burns tantalizingly at your sloppy cunt. You feel stimulation everywhere, the knot below your belly tightening ever-stronger until you feel the beginnings of a fray. It’s a step you take, an incline that you scramble up, and each pedestal you achieve gives way to a higher one. You let yourself climb, climb, climb, against every pulse of his suctioned lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves, and you breach the clouds as Obi-Wan broadens his sucking mouth to half-latch to your clit, his tongue delving back into your drooling cunt. You leap for the final pedestal and a surge of pleasure hits you, soaking wet like a wave that you ride back down to the surface.

You tremble, you whimper, you love. Your thighs shake, the muscles in your stomach stuttering as your hips jolt and jerk. Your mouth produces such feeble sounds, whines and moans and ‘Oh, please, yes’s, and ‘Obi-Wan- kriff!’s. Your fingers in his hair latch tight but cling gentle, holding him to you as you lose control of yourself in the Force. All of the love, all of the passion, all of the attachment, all of the terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad-un-Jedi-like things that you’re not supposed to feel surge through the Force and hit Obi-Wan like Coruscant’s train, knocking the wind out of him, though he never stops sucking at you.

Obi-Wan licks you through your orgasm, tongue pressing tight and hot and wet to the quiver of your cunt, letting it spasm against his mouth. He sucks up every last drop of slick that you’ll give him, greedily mouthing at your cunt long after it’s begun stinging from oversensitivity. You want his mouth off, and his cock in, although that first part sounds like a heinous thing to wish for. His tongue is perfection, slippery and knowing you well enough to hit just the right spots even though it’s never had you before. You only push his mouth away to beg for his cock, but you’re tempted to let him white out your vision and lick at you until he passes out.

“Obi-!” You gasp, pushing instead of pulling at his golden hair, “Obi-Wan, no- no more! Here, up- here, please, and I want you inside of me.”

He lets you unlatch him from your pulsing cunt, rife with the sting of stimulation. You need only a matter of seconds to come down from your high, but they’re seconds you can’t afford to spend on Obi-Wan’s tongue, or the clock won’t ever start. He licks at a smear of slick over your thigh that he’d missed earlier, and his brain seems to register your begging.

“Alright, darling,” He pants, out of breath from the way he’d spent it all in your cunt. His voice is ragged, drowned in slick and thick with want.

He clamors back onto the mattress, all humbly-forged muscles and greed. He hovers over you, and dips down to claim your mouth the way he had your cunt: with broad, sweeping swipes of his tongue. He licks your slick across your tongue, letting you taste yourself on him.

“I’m here,” He soothes, his voice a notch deeper than usual and his words malformed due to the open ring of his mouth. He licks against your tongue once more, sloppy and hot, as his hips grind down against your thigh. He knows you need time but he doesn’t have long, and he grinds against your hip until you’re ready. You feel his stiff cock digging into your flesh, and it sends pulses of energy to your recovering cunt that make it beg to be filled. He’s not composed the way that he normally is, but he’s managing to hold himself together through grunts and groans into your mouth. If you don’t act fast, he’s going to splatter your stomach with cum, which wouldn’t be distasteful by any means, but you’d rather him paint your insides with it.

“You are intoxicating,” Obi-Wan proclaims, speaking directly into your mouth, an addict that can’t wean off of his drug, “I don’t know how I am supposed to pretend like this never happened.”

“Don’t,” You beg breathlessly, “Don’t forget me. Keep quiet around others, and- and when you are alone,” You reach down to take his cock into your hands, heavy and thick and waiting, “When you lay in bed at night, when you touch yourself-” He lets out something teetering on the edge of a whimper as you stroke your hand along his flushed length, an angry red coloring the tip that exposes how much self-control he’s composing, “-touch yourself, and- and think of me. Think of my hands, of my mouth, of my cunt. Think of me, Obi-Wan.”

“I will,” He vows, his voice holding like a frayed rope with one thread remaining, strained and pulling and clinging together, “Please let me have you. Please,” He braces his forehead against yours, his cock throbbing in your palm, “Please darling, let me in. I want to be inside of you, I want to have you, please.”

You’ve never seen him babble before. Not when he’d been seven years old, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, caught with a stray tooka cat in his robes halfway back to the creche. Not when he’d been fifteen and a warrior, his side split open in a gory mess of blood and flesh and lymph and bone. Not at his old master’s funeral, the light from the pyre’s flames dancing upon his stoic features. Obi-Wan Kenobi is a master at composure, but he is breathless now, sacrificing it to the dewy-warm crease where your neck meets your shoulder, and sucking up your sweat-salty scent in return.

You place your free hand on his back, sticky and flushed beneath your touch, and use it to help guide him into you. Your other hand, still wrapped around his cock, lines it up with your entrance and he needs little coaxing from there. He pushes himself into you slowly, courteously, but loses himself to some deep, primal urge that he’s buried beneath layers of meditation and balance.

He comes undone.

His muscles surge and his hips buck in what begins as a steady pace, but transforms into a wild rhythm that pins you against the mattress. He lets out a groan into the sweaty juncture of your neck, something that sounds like it could be from a beast and not a man. You feel the scrape of his beard against the seldom-touched skin there and you’re sure it’s growing raw, but you couldn’t care less. He’s not holding your hips up - his hands are plastered to your side and holding you there with a force carefully and pointedly short of bruising - but you angle your pelvis up anyway, allowing him to hit that much deeper inside of you. The tip of his cock never hurts where it connects briefly each thrust with your cervix, but you feel it intimately, every vein and ridge and curve that his body has to offer.

You’re grateful for the sound-proof walls of the military compound because you realize after a moment that you’re making noise just the same as he is. It’s softer, quieter, but it’s there, the underlying harmony to his leading grunts and groans.

All the while he is soft and gentle, because what he wants is not sex, it is you. Perhaps if he were a lesser man, he’d squeeze you, or bend you, or break you, all to take you the way he wants. But it is the soul inside of you that he’s after, and he takes great care with the vessel it’s enclosed in. He holds you, but he does not squeeze you. He kisses you, but he does not bite you. He moves with you, not against you. Your hips surge upwards to meet the thrusts of his cock and he latches his mouth to yours desperately, pleadingly. Your breathing is short and staccato through your nose, fanning against his top lip as he mashes it messily to your own, and you’re much easier to bring to a climax the second time around, sensitivity still roiling in your blood from your previous orgasm.

“Obi-Wan,” You beg, the words spilling languidly into his mouth, as you move in tandem, in, out, in, out, forwards, backwards, everything, nothing.

“Obi- I’m gonna- ooh, I’m gonna cum,” You cry, overwhelmed by the consistent drag of his cock against the walls of your soaked cunt. You’re slick again, gushing enough to replenish however much Obi-Wan had licked out of you. It squelches as he drives his dick into your pussy, foamy from the repetitive motions that are only creating it at faster intervals.

“Please- please do,” He moans, his dick twitching inside of you, “Force, I- ah, there’s nothing I want more than to feel that, darling. Please- please cum, please-”

“Kiss me,” You plead, even though he’s never stopped, if the way that his mouth moves against yours can still be considered a kiss. It’s far from any conventional peck on the lips, mostly tongue and drool that seeps down the side of your mouth and into your neck, mixing with the sweat already lingering there from your workout.

He tries kissing you more neatly, his lips tightening and suctioning around your own, but the closer you both get to your impending orgasms, the sloppier his thrusts are, and the more slack his mouth goes, smothering your own instead of truly kissing it while his tongue continues its dogged pursuit of your own. It’s no matter; his spit leaks uncontrollably into your mouth and you relish the taste. You don’t need perfection, you need him.

You can’t help your wandering hand from snaking down to his waist, curving just below his cock to cradle his balls against your palm. They’re heavy and warm as you take them into your hand, and doing so elicits a gasp from the man chasing his release inside of you, his hips stuttering in their pursuit of the wet warmth of your cunt. You squeeze them, not harshly, just a gentle compression, and Obi-Wan melts. A whimper escapes his lips, still slack and pressed to your own, and though his thrusts momentarily slow, they resume at double the pace. He’s rapidly bucking his hips now, barely containing himself enough to lift one hand off of your side and bring it to your chest. He fits his palm over one of your breasts, your stiff, sensitive nipple caving against his palm. You gasp at the prickling sensation and your fingernails momentarily dig into his back, but when his dick twitches once more inside of you, desperate, fit-to-burst, you drag them down his back in searing red lines.

If you hadn’t been able to feel Obi-Wan cum inside of you, you’d have known it was happening from the cry he releases alone. It’s abrupt, like his orgasm catches him off-guard even though he’s been pursuing it. But you can feel it, you can feel his warm cum ooze out of the head of his cock, momentarily stationary as it’s snug against your cervix. You feel it gush from his dick, filling any and all available space in your pulsating cunt before flooding outwards, dripping down your ass and thighs in an obscene display that soaks right into your bedsheets. Obi-Wan rides out his climax at a pace rapid enough to coax your second one out of you, and you welcome the now-familiar sensation of cumming around Obi-Wan. It’s mind-numbing, your ears ring for a faint moment, and your cunt rapidly clenches and unclenches around his cock that’s all too happy to continue occupying the space.

He grunts, moans, and groans as his sloppy thrusts finally slow, and your cunt appreciates the reduced pace. You’re well and truly spent, difficult to achieve for someone who’d gone through endurance training since childhood, and you’re not surprised that Obi-Wan, too, needs a break. He lowers himself to your chest with a slow, shaky exhale, eyes closed and face glistening with sweat just as your own does.

His beard grates roughly against your skin, shifted with every ragged breath that he draws in. His hair spills over the breast that his mouth isn’t nestled beside, and you stare down at his face, marveling how beautiful his barely-fluttering lashes and heaving chest are.

Before he opens his eyes he angles it towards you, so that the first thing he sees is your flushed, sweaty, open-mouthed expression. He’s in the perfect position to kiss the side of your breast, and it tingles with the phantom sensation of his palm flat against your perked nipple barely minutes before. His beard scrapes your skin like it has since you first kissed him, and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to live happily without the scratch of it against your cheeks, or thighs, for that matter. The skin between your legs is still raw, stinging with the friction of Obi-Wan’s coarse hair against your flesh..

“You look beautiful, darling,” He hums, his voice grated raw from fatigue. His breath fans hot over your chest, but he pushes himself up on his tired biceps to hover over you. His weight against you had been comforting, but his gaze is even more so, and you let him loom over you.

His chest, peppered with auburn curls so fine they glisten in the poor lighting of your quarters, rises and falls deeply in front of you. You have half a mind to bury your face in it; you might if his face wasn’t impossibly more captivating.

His eyes search yours, for what you’re not sure, but you realize that his breathing gets more shallow until his chest stills completely. He only releases his breath when you reach up to thumb gently at his sternum, loosening his lungs again.

“Do you regret it?”

You suppose you didn’t have to ruin the moment so harshly, but you want to know the truth. You want to know if this was worth it, or if you’re going on the list of regrets that Obi-Wan pours over obsessively.

He takes a moment to answer, but you suspect it’s because he’s been caught off guard by your question. He shakes his head, dipping his face down to kiss the swell of your cheek.

“No, I don’t.” He mumbles against the dewy skin of your face, hiding his words there in self-preservation. You kiss the fleeting scruff of his beard as he pulls away, and your eyes find the blue of his instantly.

“You needed convincing at first,” You recall warily, something sinking in your chest now that you’re not puppettered by lust, “Are you certain it was the right thing to do?”

“Not at all,” He admits, “In fact, I think it was wrong of me. But I’ve done it anyways, and I am happy for that.”

“Why wrong?” You ghost your knuckles against his cheek, and he leans into it like he used to do when you’d clean scrapes and cuts he’d acquire while sparring.

“I am more attached to you now than ever,” He offers simply, but it doesn’t seem like it pains him to confess. He seems lighter now, less embroiled in his own anxiety. “And I’m not certain I can keep my personal feelings- well, personal. I don’t know that I could think rationally about you. That’s not desirable to the Order, or to the war effort.”

You bite your tongue, teeth digging softly into its muscle.

“All the same,” He continues, “Jedi are not without attachments. Younglings form friendships in the creche, and their minders love them. Padawans love their Masters, and vice versa. Masters engage in relations,” He acknowledges, then his brows tick up and he considers, “Ki Adi Mundi has four wives. Perhaps I’m not the most blasphemous Jedi they’ve ever seen.”

A laugh comes tumbling from your lips before you can stop it, and Obi-Wan’s face softens into a grin of his own.

“Five,” You correct him, “He has five wives.”

“Force, he’s a heretic,” Obi-Wan exclaims, but it’s all for show; he holds no ill opinions of the council member.

“I’m happy for his wives,” You hum, the sound just short of a giggle, “But I prefer your beard over his.”

“Oh, but he’s got a better mustache than me,” Obi-Wan settles on his side facing you, a smile etched permanently into his features as he plays along with the banter you’ve started. He relishes its lighthearted nature compared to the hesitance of moments prior, “Maybe I should grow it out and curl it like his.”

Before you can offer him another round in exchange for a promise to never shape his facial hair around Master Mundi’s, the walls of your compound give a creaky grinding sound, then a rumble, and air whooshes through the vents you’ve come to loathe for their uselessness in the recent past.

“He did it!” You gawk, sitting up excitedly, nearly forgetting that you’re topless, “Oh Force, Anakin’s a wizard! He really is, he’s a mechanical wizard, and I’m going to buy him a speeder for this.”

“Do not,” Obi-Wan groans, sitting up beside you and tugging you easily to fit your back against his chest, “The last thing that boy needs is the ability to go faster.”

“He did it,” You sigh happily, leaning back and pressing your lips to Obi-Wan’s. He reciprocates easily now, unlike before when he’d run himself ragged with doubts.

“That means we’ll be off soon,” Obi-Wan reminds you gently, and you deflate slightly in his hold, “But I don’t think comming each other should be any issue.”

“Every night?” You suggest, kissing at the prickly cleft of his chin.

“That’s- ambitious.” He chuckles, but it’s not meant to tease, “Every night, darling.”

“You can send me dirty videos,” You gush, scrambling to free yourself from Obi-Wan’s hold when he tries locking his fingers onto your sides, nipping sharply at your shoulder.

“I will not!” He insists, voice firm but chest trembling with barely-withheld laughter, “Force, if I pressed the wrong button…”

“Perhaps Master Mundi could share it with one of his wives,” You laugh, scrambling back into your underclothes and heading for the fresher to clean yourself up, “Hurry up and get dressed, Obi-Wan, one of my troopers is probably on their way to tell us the good news!”

Your suspicions are confirmed only moments later, thankfully, after you’ve both had time to right your appearances. You look flushed and sweaty, if anything, but the cool air hasn’t managed to flood the entire compound yet, and you’ve been exercising, so it’s excusable. No one but you two needs to know that exercising didn’t mean sparring for longer than ten minutes.

“Anakin, you’re fantastic,” You call, rushing through the empty hangar where he’s standing near the ramp of the ship, “You’ve saved us all. I’m fairly certain my troops would have resorted to fratricide if we’d had to melt here for any longer.”

The padawan gives you a valiant effort at a polite chuckle, and you press on, “For the record, I told your master I’d get you a speeder for helping us today, but he said no.”

“Y/N,” Obi-Wan starts, exasperated, but catches himself on the use of your first name. Perhaps it feels different now, coming out of his mouth much more measured than it had only twenty minutes prior. He doesn’t speak further.

Anakin’s eyes briefly glint at the fantasy of his own speeder, but he controls himself quickly. He’s a credit to his master, who manages to look convincingly like he hadn’t just broken a very long streak of celibacy. Still, you appreciate that war hasn’t managed to suck the most basic of excitements out of the child, and you reach up to pat his cheek in a gesture distinctly un-Jedi like.

“Take care of yourself, and don’t let Obi-Wan bore you with a million lectures on economics, or politics, or the two combined.”

Anakin nods, but bites his lower lip to refrain from smirking, saving himself a lecture on sass later on. You hear Obi-Wan exhale huffily behind you, and you turn your attention to him when Anakin retreats onto the ship.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t add to my apprentice’s willfulness,” He grouses, but the corner of his mouth twitches upwards in fondness for you both, “He’s got enough of that on his own.”

“Take care of yourself,” You ignore his teasing, your voice tender and sweet, slightly more than it had been for Anakin, “I know they don’t send you out much, because he’s only fourteen, but- but please take care of yourself, Obi-Wan.”

Perhaps if Anakin hadn’t been lingering on the ramp of the ship, perhaps if there weren’t five clone troopers stationed in the hangar, perhaps if you were the only two people in the world, like it had felt less than an hour ago, Obi-Wan would have kissed you. But he doesn’t, all he does is nod,

“We will,” He vows, and you nod, satisfied.

“I mean it,” You continue, more threatening than your earlier sentiment, “Comm me.” And you think back to the request you’d made earlier, breathlessly, the words fanning out against his sweaty skin, “And… think of me.”

You know he’s recalling the same moment in time when his cheeks tinge pink.

“I will,” He promises, singular this time, confirming your suspicions that his mind is flashing with visions of your flushed skin beneath his hands, “And please take care of yourself, too, General.”

Something hard and aching tugs at the back of your throat at the honorific, such a far cry from the intimacy you’d shared. But now you are General Y/L/N, and he is Master Kenobi, and that is the way things must be in the presence of others.

“Master Kenobi,” You bow, bending at the waist and noting the soft tug of soreness there.

“General Y/L/N,” Obi-Wan mimics your gesture, hands folded neatly into the sleeves of his robes.

He turns. He pivots on his feet and strides up the ramp of the ship they’d taken, Anakin waiting until he’s passed through the doorway to follow behind him. The door hisses shut, concealing them both, and the mechanical whiz-kid has the engines powered up in no time. You watch their ship take flight and navigate the narrow entrance to your hangar with ease, waiting until they’ve passed each temperature-isolating layer of defense that enshroud your compound and disappear into the planet’s heat-hazy atmosphere to turn away.

“General,” One of your troopers lingers behind you, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” You put on a convincing show, smiling serenely, “I’d just forgotten how much of a challenge sparring with Master Kenobi is. I’m fatigued; I think I’ll retire to my quarters for some rest.”

“General,” He nods, stating your title like a vow of loyalty, standing at attention as the hangar doors finally shut you in.

You walk the familiar path to your sparse quarters absentmindedly, feeling that same twinge of achiness each time you take a step. Only once your door hisses shut do you release the prim tension in your shoulders, slumping and slouching like you’d just escaped the throes of battle.

There is a shirt on your bed.

It’s white, though it’s been worn thoroughly, so the color is muddied ever so slightly with the tan tinge of sweat. It’s rumpled, from a hasty removal. It’s laid over your poor excuse for a blanket, cream-colored against the starkly contrasting black fabric. It’s impossible to miss, which means it had to have been placed there deliberately; it wasn’t forgotten.

It’s Obi-Wan’s.

You overcome your momentary stun and pad towards the bed, reaching for the shirt with a hesitant hand. You take it, feel it ever-so-slightly damp with lingering perspiration, and your stomach flips.

It’s Obi-Wan’s; it’s yours.

The shirt winds up snug around your pillow, tucked beneath the Republic-issue linen. It’s invisible to the outside eye, but when your nose is pressed gauchely into the pillowcase you can smell Obi-Wan through it, a mix of natural and artificial scents.

The musk of cologne and the acrid smell of sweat. Composure and lust. What is right and what is wrong.

You and Obi-Wan.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

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guildofscribes · 2 months

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Okay, so about the Wrong Jedi Clone Wars story...

If anyone was going to understand leaving the Order, it would be Obi-wan.

If anyone was going to understand wanting to leave because he’d fallen in love, it would be Obi-wan.

If anyone was going to understand what it was like to be put under the microscope of the High Council, have every action he’d ever made inspected, every word he’d said scrutinized… it would be Obi-wan.

If anyone was going to understand mistrusting the orders of the Council, it would be Obi-wan.

Obi-wan who:

Actually left the Order once because he saw people who needed help, and orders went against everything he’d ever been taught about being a Jedi.

Had to beg for help after leaving the Order to help a bunch of kids try to survive a civil war, and then had to beg to be allowed back into the Order, and to be taken again as someone’s padawan.

Had fallen in love (and never really faded out of love) with a woman was was literally one word away (“Stay?”) from leaving the Order again for, but ended up staying because both he and the woman he’d fallen in love with were too bound up in duty to serve themselves.

Had been ordered by the Council to do things he doubted the wisdom in (Rako Hardeen), and was blasted for trying to do the right thing for the greater good, not just serve his own comfort.

It would have been Obi-wan who understood what it was like to be one of the people who needed greater help, who needed the help of a Jedi to solve their problems.

It would be Kenobi who knew what it was like to hold lives in his hands. (It was Kenobi who knew exactly how heavy the souls of children sent to fight wars were in his hands.)

If someone was going to understand not trusting ones’ own judgement, and still having to make choices anyway, it would be Obi-wan.

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starlazergazer · 4 months

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You Promised

Pairing: Anakin x Reader

Request(s): Hello love! Could I request something with Anakin x reader where he’s out on a mission and gets hurt maybe knocked unconscious for a bit and when he wakes up he’s like “she’s gonna kill me for getting hurt” and when he gets back gets an earful but also lots of cuddles <3

Was recently watching Hunger Games Catching Fire idk if you’ve seen it but there’s this one scene where Peeta gets hurt then Katniss like freaks out and Finnick saves him and realizes shes in love with him and I was imaging that scenario with Anakin so maybe you could write something like Anakin getting hurt on a mission and oc freaking out thinking he’s gonna die and Obi-Wan or Rex can just tell 😭

Warning: Angst! A lot of descriptions of chest compressions. It has a super cute ending though I promise!

Word Count: 4k

A/N: I went ahead and combined two that were super similar so I hope that’s okay. I actually really like how this one turned out so please enjoy! As always let me know what you think love you guys!!

Obi-wan was on his knees.

That was the only thought that echoed in your head.

Obi-wan Kenobi, the general, the Jedi master, the great negotiator, member of the jedi council, was on his knees. Why was he on his knees?

Everything seemed to move in slow motion around you, every noise fading into the background as you tried to move forward, the very air seeming to fight against you as you did so.

Gloved hands clasped around your arms, holding you in place, a modulated voice you recognized registering in the back of your head but you didn’t pay attention to any of the words said.

Why was Obi-wan on his knees?

You tried still to push forward but those hands held you back, halted your every movement, white and blue armor entering your field of vision, trying to block your view.

“whats-“ you couldn’t even get your whole question out, weren’t really sure how to finish it.

You clawed at the armor before you, tried to use it to pull yourself forward, to Obi-wan, you had to get to Obi-wan.

“Kid you don’t want to go over there” Finally the voice broke through the haze, because that was Rex’s voice, his nickname for you. But why was Rex here?

“No I need to-“ you weren’t really sure what, you needed to get to Obi-wan, that was all you knew, that everything in your screamed that you had to get to Obi-wan.

“Let the general work” Rex’s voice was smooth, clam.

But Rex was supposed to be with Anakin, Rex was always with Anakin, Rex had Anakin’s back, Rex kept Anakin safe. So why was he here without him?

That was the first time you really processed the scene before you, the fact that there was a person over there with Obi-wan, a person Obi-wan was kneeling over, a person beneath Obi-wans interlaced hands, a person wearing all too familiar boots with their toes pointed to the sky.

Your gaze cut to Rex, as if you could get confirmation from the man’s helmet, as if he could tell you anything but what you already knew, as if he could fix everything.

“The general has him Y/N”

And somehow hearing him say your name made it worse. Because to him you weren’t Y/N you were general, jedi, kid, anything but the gravity that came with your name.

You like to think you’d decided then that you’d feel guilty about it later, but truly the action came without any forethought. Your hand came up with a mind of its own, your energy focusing just enough to give Rex a push through the force, not enough to hurt him but enough to get him out of your way, because right now you needed to get to Obi-wan.

You ran without checking on Rex, ran calling out Obi-wan’s name not missing how the general never halted his movements, and slid down across from him onto your knees not noticing the way loose gravel and glass cut into them as you did so.

Obi-wan was saying something to you, you acknowledged that, but your focus was planted on nothing but Anakin’s unconscious body beneath his hands.

He looked peaceful, too peaceful for the way his body moved beneath Obi-wan’s rough compressions.

“no no no no” it took you too long to realize it was you repeating those words, that your body was rocking back and forth softly, your hands balled up painfully in your hair, trying to do anything to ground yourself, to make yourself wake up, to give your brain anything it could latch to that would make sense.

Because it couldn’t be Anakin lying there without a heartbeat, it just couldn’t.

“Y/N” a shout of your name snapped you out of your stupor, your gaze snapping up to the Jedi master before you.

His eyes never once strayed from his hands on Anakin’s chest.

For the first time you took in the state of Obi-wan, noted the worry he tried to force down that was slipping through his eyes, the way his lips were parted with heavy breaths, the sweat that clung to his brow.

You’ve known Obi-wan for years, the man had been through more than most people experience in their lifetimes. He was a general in the republic’s army, a man regularly sent to the front lines to lead, the person you called to the table when you wanted to negotiate. Obi-wan Kenobi did not sweat.

“Obi” his name left your lips in a whisper, as a prayer, pleadingly.

The Jedi’s eyes cut up to meet yours briefly, his compressions never once halting “I know”

The man’s voice wasn’t scared, wasn’t broken, but it wasn’t calm either, it was just empty, hollow, the voice of a man who had cut himself off from everything, focusing on nothing but the task at hand.

It almost scared you more than anything else.

“No no he can’t he-“ you begged, who you were begging to you weren’t sure at this point “he promised he would be okay, he promised he would be careful, Obi-wan he can’t”

The words fell from your lips your mind barely attaching meaning to them as they passed.

“Rex” Obi-wan called without a second thought, paying you no mind as his attention shifted to the newly arrived reinforcements, a horde of clone troopers descending on the two of them completely blocking your view as Rex carefully pulled you back.

And you knew they were there to help, knew that Anakin should go with them, that if anyone could bring him back it was them.

But in this moment all you knew was you were being separated from him and you weren’t sure if you were ever going to see him again.

Desperately you screamed Anakin’s name over the crowd, watching as his body was hoisted by a few troopers and carried towards the nearest starship, ardently fighting against Rex’s hold as he kept you in place.

“No no Rex please I need to go with him” you begged the clone captain “please I can’t leave him alone he can’t be alone”

The captain did his best to calm you, softly shushing you, holding you in place until your movements started slow, your legs giving out from beneath you as the ramp to the starship that took Anakin ascended, effectively sealing him from you.

Rex followed you down to the ground, arms that had caged you into him softening to offer comfort instead as you watched the ship takeoff “Rex he can’t die he’s my-“ and you couldn’t bring yourself to finish the sentence, chocking on the word friend. Cause that wasn’t quite right, that word wasn’t enough, and it seemed that only when faced with Anakin’s flatlined heart that you could admit that to yourself.

Fate was a cruel thing.

Rex’s hand made its way to your shoulder, giving it an affectionate squeeze as he rocked you back and forth softly “I know Y/N, I know”

The first feeling Anakin noted after waking was not pain but rather stiffness.

The bright lights assaulting his unacclimated eyes he could get over easily, but the way his own body fought against him from the moment he opened his eyes, the way it seemed to protest just his breathing, that got to him.

“Well hello there”

Three simple words and Anakin was calm, the tension in his body melting into the mattress beneath him as he took the time to take a deep breath and try and relax.

Obi-wan was here, and if Obi-wan was here then everything was okay, because no matter what shit he had gotten himself into, and over the years there had certainly been a good amount of it, as long as Obi-wan was by his side he knew he could get out of it.

“Where am I?”

His voice sounded weak to his own ears, his very vocal chords grating as he tried to speak, only then realizing how thirsty he was.

“medical unit” Obi-wan answered, coming to his bedside to help Anakin sit up, passing him a cup of water once he was sure he could handle it “I must say we’ve had a lot of close calls in our days my friend, let’s never get that close again”

Anakin just hummed in response, greedily gulping down water.

“What do you remember?”

Finishing the glass Anakin handed the empty vessel back to his master, taking a moment to rack his mind, trying to sort through a jumbled mess of memory. “we were on Corellia” he answered hesitantly “the separatists were attacking we were there with Y/N I think, she went off with her clone army and…” the words died on his tongue, the emptiness of the room hitting him for the first time. His wide panicked gaze met his masters and Obi-wan read his expression easily.

“she’s fine, she had to brief the council”

Anakin sagged back in relief, his breath taking a second to right itself once again “okay-okay good. She’s okay. She separated off and told me to be safe then I-“

“did the exact opposite” Obi-wan supplied with a half smirk, relishing the way that same panicked look grew once again on Anakin’s face in response.

“shit” Anakin swore under his breath, bringing the heels of his palms up to rub at his eyes.

“she’s been by your side since she got to Coruscant” Obi-wan replied, crossing his arms over his chest “had to threaten expelling her from the order just to get her to go give her debrief”

Anakin could only groan in response, his posture slumping further as he did so “scale of 1 to 10 how likely is she to kill me?”

Obi-wan chuckled in response “oh my dear padawan we surpassed double digits long ago”

“it was that bad huh?”

Obi-wan was silent for a moment, hand coming up to rake through his beard in response, a tired sigh escaping him before he spoke again “the first time she saw you since the moment you separated off was when I was giving you chest compressions-“

“Well I’m here now that’s got to be worth something right?” he tried, earning only a single brow raise in response.

Another heavy silence fell over the pair before Obi-wan broke it “After seeing her reaction to finding you like that I feel it is my duty as your master to warn you against forming attachments” Anakin nearly rolled his eyes at the same tired old speech, Obi-wan cutting in to continue speaking before he got the chance to do so “however, as a friend I will say you ever put that girl through something like that again and breaking the Jedi code will be the least of your worries”

Anakin nearly laughed in response, the smile dying on his lips once he brought his gaze up to meet Obi-wans and seeing the seriousness that those eyes held. All words clogging in his throat as he was only able to force up a measly “yes master” that at least seemed to placate him for the moment.

Obi-wan’s posture straightened suddenly, eyes cast towards the closed door as he sensed a presence Anakin had felt coming minutes ago. “I believe that is my que to leave”

Giving Anakin a small bow Obi-wan made his way towards the door, pausing when Anakin suddenly called out “Master…thank you”

Obi-wan smiled warmly in response “It’s good to see you breathing again Anakin. Do your best to keep it that way”

Opening the door Obi-wan paused just in the doorframe, conversing briefly with someone he knew to be you before disappearing.

The entryway to Anakin’s surprise remained empty, empty for long enough to make him worry.

Despite everything though your form crept through the doorway, seeming almost scared to see him.

And though Obi-wan had told him you were okay Anakin couldn’t relax fully until he finally was able to lay eyes on you.

You, however, stayed as tense as ever just inside the door, eyes wide and panicked, gaze pinning him to the spot.

Anakin was almost afraid to move beneath your gaze, afraid any wrong move would break the spell and have you yelling at him.

Cause maker he knew he deserved it but he just woke up, he was alive, and he thought seeing a frown on your face after everything would kill him all over again.

The stare down lasted a tense few seconds as you scanned each other, Anakin noting the bandages wrapped around your palms, the badly bandaged cut on your brow. Maker how many times has he told you to see a medical droid after an assignment instead of trying to do it yourself, some bacta and it would be gone in minutes and he wouldn’t have to stare at the physical reminder of his own failure to protect you, of your own vulnerability.

The two of you seemed to snap out of it at the same moment, finishing your physical examination of one another at the same moment, because as Anakin took a deep breath and started to push himself up you were bound across the room in a near sprint.

Your arms were around his neck within the next second, your body planted in his lap, your chest pushed flush against his. And every part of him hurt with it but he didn’t care for a second because you were in his arms and the only thought running through his mind was that he needed you closer, that no matter how hard he pulled you into him it wasn’t enough because he was alive and you were here and nothing else beyond that mattered.

Much to his displeasure you were pulling back much too quickly and he tried to fight it, tried to keep you against him, tried to seek comfort in your arms as long as possible. But then your palms were cupping his cheeks and all thoughts in his head ceased, your wide eyes were looking directly into his and Anakin could do nothing but freeze, your nose brushed against his and Anakin forgot how to breathe. Then your lips were against his and Anakin suddenly wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t actually died back there.

But Anakin had thought about this too many times to hesitate now, he kissed you back just as fiercely, just as hungrily, one hand coming to the back of your head, fingers threading themselves into your hair at the base of your neck as he pulled you into him, his other hand finding your waist and pulling, seeking out any sort of physical reminder that you were here, really here.

But there you went pulling back again, ending the kiss much too quickly for his liking. He tried to follow you back, tried to pull your lips back to his but you were too stubborn, why did you always have to be this stubborn?

Before his mind could even process what had happened, before he could even mourn to loss of your body against his, your hand was raised and Anakin felt a sharp sting on his cheek, a pain he was only 60% sure was new at this point.

He forced his eyes open only to be met with the anger in your eyes he had been expecting since you had walked into the room.

You were pulling back again, getting up from the bed to your feet, fingertips trailing down the sheets that separated his body from yours absentmindedly but leaving a trail of sparks in their wake for Anakin. He tried to reach for them but you were too quick pulling them back, coming up to stand alongside his bed.

He could acknowledge you were talking now, or rather ranting fit it better, but he was too busy trying to reach you, trying to pull you back down on top of him, too busy cursing his every ache and pain that kept him from standing up and following you.

“cannot believe you thought it was a good idea to go off on your own what were you thinking? No scratch that I knew what you were thinking and it was nothing-“

Your words vaguely registered in the back of his mind as you paced back and forth, scolding him. “you’re right, I’m sorry, come here” the words rushed out of his mouth as he tried to reach out to you again.

But you never even acknowledged that he had spoke, continuing your rant without a hiccup “you cannot keep doing this to me, to Obi-wan, to Rex, throwing yourself into every dangerous situation without any regard for your life-“

And all Anakin could focus on were your lips as you spoke. Was it just him or did they seem slightly pinker than before? Slightly swollen. A soft sheen on them from saliva, his saliva, maker how he wanted to add to it. He hummed non-committally to whatever you had just said.

You hadn’t even looked at him as you ranted, your eyes planted on your feet as you paced rapidly before his bed “you promised me you’d be careful and this is how you thought you would go about upholding that promise? Because I have news for you if you really thought that was a good plan-“

He hadn’t even gotten the chance to really enjoy himself, enjoy the feeling of your lips against his, the taste of you on his tongue. With every second that passed with you still all the way across the room he became less and less convinced that the kiss had really happened. At this point he didn’t really care if he had imagined the whole thing he was just desperate to recreate it.

His bed shook slightly as your hands came to rest on the foot of it and your eyes for the first time this entire rant connected with his and Anakin’s focus finally zeroed in, yours seeming to do the same, the both of you acknowledging in that moment you hadn’t listened to a single word the other had said in the past five minutes.

Another tense silence passed, each being unsure of what to say to the other, before a tear falling down your cheek broke it. “Ani I found you while Obi-wan was doing chest compressions, I only found you after you had died”

And for the first time the weight of his own stupid actions seemed to hit him. Because he could tell himself that he was doing it for you, or for Obi-wan, but truly Anakin hadn’t ever thought about what would happen after he made the decision to do something stupid. And here he was dealing with those consequences.

You were scared, you were scared and sad and Anakin had done that to you and he wasn’t sure he could forgive himself for that.

“Y/N please” he begged softly, one arm extended out to you.

And finally you listened to him, too slowly making your way back to his bedside, and Anakin wasted no time in wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling your head into his chest.

You went willingly, your arms wrapping around his torso, burying yourself into him with a relieved sigh as Anakin buried his nose in your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.

“I’m so sorry Y/N” he whispered into your hair and for a second you didn’t respond, simply stayed in his arms, listened to the sound of his heart beat, reminded yourself he was really here, before replying, your voice muffled slightly by his shirt.

“You better be Skywalker”

And despite everything Anakin couldn’t help but chuckle at your threat, arms tightening slightly around you as he fondly kissed the top of your head once more.

“If I promised to be more careful would you kiss me again?”

It came out in a teasing tone but you froze at the question, your entire body tensing beneath his touch before slowly pulling back to better look at him, your eyes wide in panic “maker I kissed you”

“you did” he agreed eagerly, hand coming up to cup your cheek.

You brushed aside his hand without a thought, your panicked state leaving Anakin much too amused “I didn’t even ask you or warn you or tell you how I feel I just kissed you, maker Ani”

“And I’m asking you to do it again” he chuckled, hand wrapping around your wrist and giving it a small tug trying to pull you back into him.

“I could’ve ruined everything” you continued to rant, eyes unfocused as you spoke “We’ve known each other since we were nine and I just kissed you like that wasn’t going to change everything what was I thinking”

“I’m thinking if you don’t kiss me now my heart may stop…again”

Your response was immediate, one fist shooting out and connecting solidly to his shoulder causing the jedi to groan softly “Ani that’s not funny”

Nonetheless Anakin took advantage of the way you leaned forward slightly to hook one hand around the back of your neck and crash your lips sloppily into his, a happy groan escaping him once you had finally connected.

Yet again you were pulling back but Anakin learned from his mistakes, never letting you get far. “I want it on record this does not mean I condone you injuring yourself”

“You got it sweetheart” Anakin mumbled back without much thought, pulling you back into him to let your lips connect once again, relishing the few seconds you eagerly kissed him back before you pulled back once again.

“And you can’t just say whatever you think I want to hear just so I’ll kiss you”

“mhm sure whatever you want baby” he responded with a hum before pulling you in again, an exasperated groan escaping him when you once again pulled back too soon.

“I mean it you have to promise me Ani”

Anakin’s other hand came up to cup your check, gaze desperately seeking out yours as he held your head mere inches from his own “I promise you I will not put myself unnecessarily into danger going forward” and without giving you a chance to respond he was kissing you again, committing every second to memory as he threaded his fingers through your hair.

Your hands planted on his chest as you pulled back again, barely getting out your “and one more-“ before Anakin was responding with a simple “no” pulling you back into him, the Jedi’s desperation making you giggle against his lips as you happily kissed him back.

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