#obi wan kenobi blurb

[ddejavvu]

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!

[darth-kote]

[fangirlforeversthings]

When obi wan met cody or: the story why obi wan loves him so much.

A very short story by: me

Obi wan suddenly, dramatically throws his robe down and yells into the skies: WHY IS EVERYONE IN THIS FREAKING GALAXY A KRIFFIN LUNATICK EVEN THE FORCE?! *sinking his shoulders sadly* why am i the only normal reasonable adult here? *sniff*

His robe then is picked up by a pair of gloved hands. Cody, picks it up and hands it to him then calmly crosses his arms behind his back.

Cody: Here you dropped this sir :) My name is marshall commander cody, i am assigned to you as your commander :)

Obi wan:

Obi *whisper*: a normal reasonable adult?!

Cody: oh thank the maker i didn't want to be so forward at our first meeting but yes oh finally A NORMAL PERSON. *leans in and whispers behind held out hand* these lunaticks here all all out of their minds aren't they?

Obi with teary eyes: YESSSS!

*edit

They both then proceeded to sing barbie as the princess and the paupers: i'm just like you (yes with performance)

And since this day they are unseperable. Two tired adults drinking their Whiskey adorned morning coffee and silently judging everyone else around them

They are staring. Furociously. Everbody knows

[stationary-cycle-in-motion]

@augusnippets day 13: drugging

tw: drug-like effects, implied physical abuse, concussion, implied amputation, implied dehumanization, gaslighting

Obi-Wan feels like he might be sick, but not because of the concussion or the splitting pain in his hands.

It should’ve been Rex.

Those words keep him rooted to the spot despite Rex’s and Cody’s attempts to drag him away from the landing zone, toward the medical tent. His head is pounding and his nonexistent fingers ache, but his physical suffering pales in comparison to the maelstrom of horrific realization raging through his system.

The clones are so achingly good, brighter even than the light of the Force, and that Anakin, a Jedi, could possibly see them as less valuable–

It hurts, tears at the fragile seams of Obi-Wan’s heart.

And Rex–

The press of the captain’s body against his own is steady, like an immovable boulder in the midst of a roiling sea, accepting every blow with grace and resignation. It’s more than he should have to bear.

Obi-Wan’s breath grows ragged. “If you think it should've been Rex, then you're not the man I thought you were.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath beside him, and Obi-Wan can feel the intensity of Rex’s eyes on him, even if he can’t see it.

Anakin stops, turns, the scowl on his face prominent. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“A Jedi is selfless, prioritizes others over themself. You–”

Obi-Wan falters as a strange ripple in the Force washes over him. The energy is heavy, with an edge that sinks itself beneath his flesh, digs its claws into his bones. Suddenly, Obi-Wan’s thoughts feel distorted, warped by a layer of film, and he lists, his weight sagging deeper into Rex’s grip.

He barely catches Anakin’s affronted “What, you’re saying I’m not a Jedi?” over Rex’s concerned “General?”

Obi-Wan groans. His head is spinning, and it’s nothing at all like the nausea from the concussion.

“I’m saying–” His voice sounds wrong. He breathes, starts again. “I’m saying that your sentiment sounds more like the deceptive influence of the Dark Side.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and Obi-Wan finally registers Padmé’s paralyzed form standing off to the side, the slight tremble in her hands as her gaze flicks nervously toward her husband, the greenish tinge of a bruise barely visible beneath her smeared makeup. It dawns on him, then, that perhaps his former padawan’s biggest lie had been right under his nose this whole time.

He needs to put voice to this realization, but the fog is settling over his brain, making it difficult to string together a coherent sentence. Gently, Rex rests a hand beneath his jaw, guides his face toward his. A blurry blonde mass swims in his vision.

“What’s wrong?” Rex asks, voice distorted, distant.

It’s Anakin, Obi-Wan wants to say. And maybe he does, because another decidedly more rough hand replaces Rex’s, yanks his head around.

In the sunlight, Anakin’s brown eyes look tauntingly golden-yellow. “Obi-Wan, you’re not thinking straight. I don’t care if you have to drag him kicking and screaming, just get him to medical.”

The black ebb of unconsciousness pulls him down, and the last thing Obi-Wan feels is the press of Rex’s arms around his waist.

[hesthermay]

𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐒

PAIRING: obi-wan kenobi x gn!reader

SUMMARY: @celestialwrites secret dating prompt list; dancing alone in empty rooms.

WORD COUNT: 614

RATINGS + WARNINGS: general audiences. fluff. no y/n.

NOTES: its been awhile since i've written anything, so take this blurb with gracious hands

STAR WARS MASTERLIST

The sun was setting. 

You were not supposed to be in the Temple any longer, yet you were. It had been hard to find the exit after your responsibilities had been fulfilled, for Obi-Wan Kenobi was far more convincing than he should be. With something as simple as a smile, a wink, and warm hands grasping yours you were redirected to a different part of the building, your original plans being thrown aside as your feet moved despite your mental protests. 

They were not convincing enough. There was no label on what you and the Jedi Master had, but it was special nonetheless. Surely forbidden for a man living by the Order, but it had to have been worth it for him to risk what he has. That thought always made your heart flutter. 

Oh yes, this would be frowned upon. You felt far too much for the warrior of peace for it to be deemed acceptable.

“And what is your plan if someone catches you sneaking me off into the depths of this Temple, hmm?” you whisper to him, bumping your body into his as you take another turn. 

“Oh trust me, darling, I have a plan for everything,” he whispered back, voice smooth as he smirked at you. Cheeks reddening, you felt warm. 

Finally, you seemed to reach the room he was searching for, and upon entering you were met with high columns and open windows. Orange sunlight streaming in, painting everything in a deep glow. Obi-Wan’s footsteps were silent as he walked into the open space, but you did not possess all the grace he came with; your boots clacked on the marble flooring as you followed, softly echoing throughout the large expanse. 

“Care to dance?” 

The question broke your train of thought, causing you to turn your head to see him standing in the middle. He was angelic, really, washed in warmth and looking like a man in love. You did not often let yourself think that of him, but it was hard to deny it when he was looking at you as if you were the one who hung the sun and moon every rotation, hand held out to you as his words hung in the air. 

There was no label on whatever it was that you both had, whatever connection it was that bound you two together and had you always coming back for more. But perhaps, just maybe, that label could be love. Could be something more. 

You had somewhere to be, things to do and a home to return to, your absence would surely be noted; but it did not matter when Obi-Wan Kenobi was asking you to dance in an empty room during a Coruscant sunset. It did not matter when he made you feel like there was hope in this galaxy and you were wholeheartedly and unashamedly in love with him.

Obi-Wan had somewhere to be, responsibilities to tend to and an oath to live by, his actions would surely break that oath; but it did not matter when you looked so beautiful in the lowlight of the ending day. It did not matter when you made him feel like he was alive and he was unabashedly and completely in love with you. 

And so your hand ended up in his, and he pulled you closer. Your chests touched as he wrapped an arm around your waist and you wondered if he could feel your heart skip a beat. You danced slowly to nonexistent music, moving around the room and getting lost in whatever it was you both had. No label, no words, just love and one another; dancing alone in an empty room.

all works on this blog belong to hesthermay.tumblr.com: do not copy, repost onto other sites, or claim my work as your own.

[multi-fandom-imagine]

[ ESCORT ] : sender accompanies the receiver home late at night, in order to ensure they're safe.

A/n: Thank you for the wonderful prompts! I’m so happy.

“You do not have to do this you know.”

Tipping his head towards you, Obi-Wan gave you a gentle smile. His hands clasped behind his back as he stayed by your side as he walked you back to your courters.

“Nonsense. What kind of Jedi would I by if I did make sure the Princess safely returned to her room.”

Laughing, you shook your head as you crossed your hands in front of your chest. You were both now in front of your door. “That so, well since you were so helpful. Would you like to join me for a drink.”

Obi-Wan knew what you were hinting that.The man wasn’t stupid, he could have sworn that Padame use the same excuse on Anakin.A smart man would leave, a Jedi would have a scolded you.

But for you, oh he would do anything for you. If he could give you the stars if he could. A slow smile forming on his face as he closed the space between the two of you. “It would be an honor to have a drink with you.”

Humming in satisfaction you held your head up high opening the door as you both stumbled into your room.

Drinks won’t be the only thing you would be sharing with him tonight.

[arbre-mes-espaces]

Good evening? Afternoon, good morning. Hello there, my fellow Jedi, Sith, Mandalorians and so forth.

I got this thing from Reddit, but: Bleh.👋🏻 I want to talk about something important, something I hold close and dear to my heart, and that would be Anakin’s war crimes! What are your favorite war crimes?

This is a SW blog, but most importantly, an Anakin blog, like the Anakin safe space. Because I love him, and I let y’all visit.

We support the actions of Anakin Skywalker here, and that includes all war crimes. Even asking him if he wants to go on a hot date to a kindergarten, but I digress.

So yes, please, every participation is welcome.

I do ask that you reblog this post for a wider range/audience and more participants.

🫶🏻✨💙

[ask-missparker]

A Naboo Dream  | A Star Wars Story AU

Pairing: Nikolai Skywalker x Amelia Colter

Fic Type: Star Wars AU

Extra Characters: Obi Wan, R2D2, The Young Avengers

Setting: The Clone Wars Era

-----

As the twin suns of Naboo cast their warm glow across the lush landscape, Anakin Skywalker's younger brother, Nikolai, arrived on the serene planet. Sent on a mission by the Jedi Council to assist in the protection of Naboo, his senses were heightened as he explored the beautiful surroundings of the royal palace.

Guided by duty, Nikolai wandered through the ornate corridors, his Jedi instincts attuned to any potential threats. It was then that he stumbled upon a captivating sight—a young woman with long, flowing brown hair, gazing wistfully out of a window.

She turned, revealing a delicate face adorned with subtle makeup, her eyes sparkling with an unknown intrigue. A small smile graced her lips as she nodded in acknowledgment of Nikolai  presence, leaving him momentarily spellbound.

But his training kicked in, his guard remaining vigilant as he continued his scouting mission. Throughout the day, he found himself crossing paths with the mysterious young woman, always at the periphery of his vision.

In the stables, she tended to gentle creatures with grace and compassion. In the garden, she sat among the vibrant blooms, a vision of serenity. And later, in the bustling mess hall, their paths crossed once more, her presence like a whisper in the Force.

With each encounter, Nikolai curiosity grew, drawn to this enigmatic figure who seemed to be everywhere yet remained shrouded in mystery. Little did he know, their fateful meeting would set into motion a tale of destiny and devotion in a galaxy far, far away.

———

As chaos unfolded in the marketplace, he found himself in the midst of a pursuit, his lightsaber drawn as he chased after the thieves. Through the bustling crowd and into the verdant expanse of the forest, his senses honed in on the task at hand.

Amidst the flurry of activity, he spotted an Orbak galloping wildly, its rider desperately trying to regain control. Without hesitation, Nikolai  sprang into action, using the Force to guide him towards the chaotic scene.

With swift movements, he managed to calm the rampaging creature, his eyes meeting those of its rider—a familiar face from his past. It was her, the mysterious woman from Tatooine, now revealed in her true form, her natural beauty shining through.

Memories flooded back as they locked eyes, recalling their chance encounter years ago amidst the sands of Tatooine. She had been one of the decoys, dressed in vibrant hues of orange and white, leaving him with a bracelet as a token of their brief encounter.

Now, in this moment of shared danger, she offered him a ring from her home planet of Naboo, a gesture of gratitude for his assistance. Yet, their exchange was interrupted by the Orbak's restless movements, reminding them of the urgency of the situation.

With a gentle smile, he addressed her, his voice calm amidst the chaos. The two stood together amidst the lush forest of Naboo, their destinies intertwined once more in the vast tapestry of the Force.

"Are you alright, miss?" he asked, with  concern genuine. 

“I’m alright but you nearly tighten the life out of him.” She responded. 

“Who?” 

“The creature your friends were chasing. What has he ever done to you that you must chase him about?”

He chuckled at that, petting the Orbak she rode on as he said, “I must confess, I never met him before. A friend of yours?”

“No.” She replied chuckling, pushing hair out of her face, “Most creates the ideals of Naboo as a noble place, and so is it’s creature who stole from the market.”

“Stealing is wrong.”

“Not when they’re not given the amount to pay for their food.”

“Ah, I see. Fair by all means then. Miss, what do they call you?”

As she smiled her cheekbones lit up like the stars at night. 

She hummed for a moment, “You really don’t know?”

“That’s why I asked.” He responded with a blushing smile.

“Amelia..Amelia, that’s all you’ll get.”

“Lovely name. You shouldn’t be this deep in the forest alone.”

“I’m not alone, I’m with you. Mrs..I mean, Jedi.”

“You don’t remember?”

“I do.”

“So why you ask such a question?”

“To play the fool and get your answer.”

Years ago on the sandy lands, they would play as the older Jedi and driods would roll around talking. He was helping his older brother in a speed race in Tatooine, in hopes to win, as she accompany her older sisters as one of decoy queens to see the people there. 

“My, have you grown.” She asked with a giggle. 

“Ahh so you do remember, Mia.” He added with a wink.

“Hush, not so loud. I’m supposed to be working. I see you were working too.”

“Define work.”

“Hilarious.”

“I was entrusted to watch over Naboo grounds for a while. Keep the crown space from any spice runners who would sell it for parts.”

“I see you brought R2 with you.”

Nikolai turned around confused for a moment, as he then saw the white and blue driod rolling up to them in concern beeps asking where they headed of to. Nikolai muttered how he was fine and go tell Obi Wan that things will be alright. However R2 beeps otherwise that he rather stay.

“Does he treat you fair R2?” She asked the driod with a teasing tone.

He beeps twice.

“Oh really? You need some rest then.”

He beep again.

“He thinks about me and visiting the 7 wonders of the galaxy.”

Nikolai gasped and scoffed, “I never once said that! On the contrary, you must been thinking about me, if you remember my driod so well.”

She giggled and huffed a breathe, “I won’t confirm or deny it, my lord.”

“Cheeky respond for a princess.”

“And one for a Jedi.”

He nods with a lovely smile, “Clever. Very clever. I am a fine Jedi if you ask anyone.”

“One full of pride if you ask me.” She added giggling some more.

“You think you’re funny.”

“I think I’m honest. Meanwhile your a cheeky little solider”

“I beg your pardon?”

Despite what he said, he couldn’t help but laugh as a smile spread on his face. He shook his head having not felt this way in a while. Without a second later, he offered to lead the way back to the castle as their banter contain between them. 

As they contained their laughter to themselves, quiet blushing banter and witty comments that was upmost challenging, one can’t deny the chemistry  between the pair.

A Jedi & A Princess. 

Oh dear tiff..

…he shot up awaken from the sounds of the TV. The volume was high and guns were blasting, as the Jedis and Sith fought against one another on screen. He realized he was back in the living room, with tossed hair, a blanket over his body and a tray of popcorn over his lap. 

It was a dream. Or was it?

He looked over to see Arrow, his dog, on the ground playing with his chew toy, being a Falcon plushie. Liane was half paying attention as she was texting, Cole and Jeremy were cuddling on the couch next to him. Ethan on the ground eating some chips. Rochelle was half asleep on Michelle’s lap as the blonde girl was talking over the movie.

Nikolai then allowed himself to take a breath, rubbing his eyes and sighed. He remembered he was watching Star Wars with the gang. He wondered where the rest of the gang was. He assumed in the kitchen, as he excuse himself to grab some water and head over to the kitchen. There he found Rick and Luna chilling, eating extra slices of pizza. Finlay and Rose chatting about something. 

But Mia was no where to be found. 

He headed to the hallway only to have a pair of brown-green eyes bump into his chest. He heard her high pitched ‘Oof!’ As he looked down to meet his love’s face who pushed her glasses upwards, she watched him with a small dazes, as if she can tell he was thinking.

“What happened?” She asked.

At the same time he asked, “Where did you go?”

The two chuckled awkwardly at the exchanged. 

“I went to use the bathroom and then checked on the kids in the other room. Rochelle’s twins were fighting over a toy, Riley was dancing to Frozen, meanwhile Joshua was in his playpen watching the Tv and playing with his toy starfish.” She explained with a shrug smiling.

“Yikes! I hope things went alright.” He repiled chuckling, thinking he should take the next round on check in on the kids afterwards.

“Yeah, I handled it. What’s on your mind?”

“I had a dream.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s silly really.”

“Baby, come on, I wanna hear about it.”

“Okay fine, just know, it felt so real.”

He took her hand, leading the girl to the living room telling her about his Star Wars theme dream. He even mentioned how he wanted to be Anakin and Padme next halloween as she laughed nodding.

------

—> Thanks for reading. That’s what I got! Comment down below with ideas and reblog your thoughts 

Tags: @missstrawbs2001 @purpleprincessonfyre @meiramel  @gcthvile @rickb-chaos @gaminggirlsstuff @wizzzardofoz @cherrysft @thechoooooosenone @luna-d-marsh @sherloquestea and etc

[ddejavvu]

omg I BEG of u to write a fic about the thing anon mentioned about dbf obi-wan 😭 /nf maybe reader is like anakin's age and her master is yoda.

i also think it would be really interesting if reader tends to be quite similar to her master yoda where she's usually calm and collected and zen and all that, but just cant keep her head clear when obi-wan's around NFNAJFJSKDB i'm already blushing just thinking about it!!! i just know you'd write this beautifully!!! /gen

Brewing and serving a perfect pot of tea is something inescapable as Grandmaster Yoda's padawan. You'd been trained in proper steeping rituals before you were ever trained in lightsaber combat, and you take a bit of pride in your craft even though it's a skill most might consider less-than-impressive in the overall catalogue of a Jedi's skills.

All of that is why you should not have dropped the teapot you'd been carrying upon seeing your master's houseguest, but Master Kenobi catches it with wide eyes and a steady hand. The teapot hovers mere inches above the ground, giving you a measly two seconds to gather your composure before a twitch of Master Kenobi's hand lifts it back up onto the tray you're miraculously still carrying.

You have very un-Jedi-like feelings towards Master Kenobi. You'd never thought much of him- nor anyone for quite some time, but you'd travelled outside of the temple, spent time on other planets, socialized with hundreds of different people in the galaxy, and the auburn-haired man in front of you has recently topped the charts of people you would be attracted to, if you weren't a Jedi forbidden from attachment.

"Sorry." You stammer, heart hammering in your chest from a mix of adrenaline and something else you refuse to name, "I- I lost my balance."

Your master snorts from his place on his tea cushion, a tiny thing at the head of the coffee table where you set the tea tray, "Uncoordinated, you are today, Padawan."

"Yes, Master." You agree miserably, pouring tea for Masters Yoda and Kenobi before pouring your own cup. You want to come up with an excuse, overtiredness or a troubling class assignment on your mind, but there's nothing your master won't see through.

"It's quite alright, dear." Master Kenobi places a hand over your own where you set the teapot down, and your eyes dart towards his own. Your trained Jedi composure allows for you to keep your face in a neutral expression, but there's very little hiding the slight shake to your hands as you reach for the sugar.

"Anakin has a habit of spreading his mechanical projects over our carpets like we live in a junkyard. I know that they're there," The bearded Jedi master smiles, "And every morning I still step sure-footedly out of my bedroom expecting not to be impaled through the foot with a jagged wire. Jedi agility cannot completely remove natural clumsiness."

"Remove clumsiness for me, it did." Your master huffs, squeezing the sap out of some deadly looking berries and into his teacup, "A better Jedi I am, than you two."

"You tripped over your own walking stick yesterday," You point your spoon accusatorily at him, and you nearly lose your conviction when it draws a warm chuckle from Master Kenobi's throat.

"Hmmph. Disrespectful, you are." Yoda gripes, but you see through his stern facade, "Sleep outside tonight, you will."

"Master!' You shriek, nearly choking on both your laughter and your tea, "That's not fair!"

"Don't worry, dear." Master Kenobi stretches his leg out beneath the coffee table to rest against your own, "You're welcome to stay the night in my quarters if your Master kicks you to the curb." He winks, "Anakin is gone on his first solo mission, so the two of us will have plenty of room."

You know the whole thing is one big joke, and you also know that Master Kenobi's offer is nothing but platonic. But still, the invitation, the assurance that you'll be alone with plenty of room- room for what? - you're barely able to nudge his leg back teasingly and glare half-heartedly at your master.

"I'm reporting you to the Council." You decide, but your threats come out weaker than intended due to the continued press of Master Kenobi's leg against your own beneath the table, "You may be the Grandmaster, but the neglect of a padawan is serious business."

"Two nights," Master Yoda snickers, "Two nights, you will sleep outside."

You let out an exasperated groan, but the last of your composure slips away upon meeting Master Kenobi's kind gaze, his eyes twinkling with gorgeous mirth, "You can stay with me for as long as you'd like."

[selencgraphy]

— 𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐓

PAIRING: jake seresin x f!reader

PROMPT: prompt list used

33. “you are such a nerd”

TAGS: FLUFF, established relationship, self-indulgent fic tbh

A/N: omg i wrote this sooo long long ago because i just needed a little comfort blurb and was fixated on both top gun and obi-wan at the same time so i combined the two. it’s pretty short, but i hope you like it <3

masterlist

Have you ever been afraid of the dark? How does it feel when you turn on the light?

I feel safe.

Yes, it feels like that.

Out of everyone who was in The Hard Deck, you were the only person who was fixated entirely on their phone. You sat in the corner with both headphones in your ears near the pool tables as Jake and the rest of the pilots drank, talked, and played pool. You hadn’t intended to accompany your boyfriend out, but he insisted you come along. Something about loving your presence even if you were busy doing your cute nerdy shit, which made you laugh.

It was nearing the end of the episode when Bradley sat next to you and looked over at the screen of your phone. Being so invested in what you had been watching, you didn’t even notice he had sat down. “Whatcha watching,” he asked.

Startled by his sudden presence next to you, you flinched and quickly paused the show. “Jesus Christ, Roost. When did you get here?” He couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m watching the new episode of Obi-Wan Kenobi,” you answered.

“Obi-Wan… Like Star Wars?”

“Yes, like Star Wars.”

“God, you are such a nerd,” he remarked as he bumped his shoulder into yours.

From across the pool table, Jake called out. “Babe! Come here really quick!” Walking up to your boyfriend, you quickly pocketed your phone and headphones. As soon as you were in arm's reach, he pulled you into his arms and swayed as gave you a kiss to the top of your head.

“How’s the game with Javy going?”

When he replied, you could feel the smile that grew on his face. “Kicking his ass, as usual. How’s your show?”

“Good. It was really good. I’m surprised you didn’t catch me crying for a couple minutes. You know someday I’m gonna make you watch every Star Wars movie and show. Then before you know it, you’re just like me!”

Suddenly, Phoenix yelled out. “I’ll be waiting to see the day where our beloved Hangman turns into a Star Wars nerd as big as his girl!”

Jake groaned and sarcastically complained, “Do I have to see all of them?”

“It is a requirement if we are to continue dating, Lieutenant,” you said with a cheeky grin on your face.

“You got yourself a deal, darlin’,” he returned, his eyes filled with so much love. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” you whisper back, blood rushing through your face at his gaze. Tonight’s outing may have been out of your comfort zone, but with Jake by your side, you didn’t have to worry about a thing. He loved you, nerd and all.

[fangirlforeversthings]

So this is what i think happened at force ghost heaven after they all died.

*Narrator voice*

Somewhere in force ghost heaven after his death a tired obi wan kenobi sat down and prepared a cup of tea, ready to drink it and enjoy his finally well deserved peace and rest for all eternity to come as suddenly an ear pinching, to him oh so well known, voice disrupted the harmonious silence and before he turned his head he already knew who it was and started silently praying: "oh my force no please, please no." But it was too late: "Oooh maaaasteeeer. Guess who felt so sorry that they let him iiiiin." And before he knew a pair of familiar arms one of them metal hugged him tightly, squishing him. Obi wan twists his face in an annoyed, desperate grimace a familiar headache crawling up his head. "oh force no."

"Obi wan i missed you sooo much and also i an so sorry for what happened i know this makes it not better but: my bad. Yoou, are not angry anymore? R..Right? *traumatisedly remembering the pain after his master beat him up twice after losing his pantience* I mean i love you so i wanted to tell you that back on mustafar that i love you and you are my brother aswell *dramatic sobs*. And i am back now. And i have to tell you soo many stuff soo many years of storys and adventures i have to tell you, and Luke and leia by the way you met them, knew them, tell me about them luke is as strong as his father isnt he? *muffled sobs* AND HOW IN THE WORLD YOU LET MY DAUGHTER HOOK UP WITH A SMUGGLER? also dang how did you got so old like what happened to you you old hermit fart? hahaha and....." and he kept on talking and talking and talking without a point or taking a breath once. Having missed his beloved master so dearly. Cause the moment obi wan was gone he stood there, not having a purpose anymore. shure he wanted to defeat him but he had never actually really thought he would get that far and now that he was gone he was lonely and lost. "Naur. iF OBi waN iS nOt hEre I dOn't LIkE iT. Bye b*tches i'm out. Imma follow him🥰 maybe if i say that i am very very sorry they'll let me in👉🏻👈🏻"

meanwhile obi wan asked himself what he ever did to deserve this. He didn't knew if he should be happy and cry because his beloved brother and best friend was finally back with him as back then in their best days, as if nothing had happened. Or if he should cry cause he was back with him. FoR aLl EteRnItY TO ComE. He ultimately decided to cry.

In the meanwhile a well known, now metal, hand grips the hilt of his purple lightsaber tightly, trying to calm his rage down and stares with a dead expression in his infamous glare with two words on his mind: "skywalker" and "motherf*cker".

Yoda: "oh heck. No, rid off you we thought we got. Mace: " it was MY FREAKING HAND. if you had more patience M*THERFUCKER WE SOME DAY WOULD HAVE GRANTED YOU YOUR STUPID ASS RANK. Like i can't believ you murdered us all just because you had a bad dream and didn't got a rank. Yoda Was about to teach you force healing:"ThE POwEr tO SavE HeR" IF YOU PSYCHOTIC ASS M*THERFUCKING M*THERFUCKER JUST WOULD HAVE HAD A LITTLE MORE PATIENCE. And mental stability." Yoda Petting his leg trying to calm him. Anakin, hiding behind obi wan who is yet done again: "really? Oh. My bad then i guess heh sorry." Mace: " *eye twitching aggressively, heavy breathing* Aaaaaaaah........*distant long scream*"

But obi wan was just about, to have his yelling moment, and that was when his former master stood infront of him a nervous smile on his face waving him hello: "obi wan my dear boy i'm so happy you made it here. I meant to tell you i was there obi wan *putting his hand to his own heart* the whole time you were never alone." A slap and sharp pain caused through gui gons cheeks as he realised that obi wan had slapped him. "what was that for??" Obi wan: "I CALLED FOR HELP AT LEAST 200 TIMES AND NOT EVEN A SINGLE WHAT DO YOU WANT WHAT DO YOU NEED NOTHING!" "Listen here i.." "NO YOU LISTEN HERE YOU OLD FART I WAS BASICALLY STILL A KID MYSELF AND YOU LEFT ME WITH THAT SACK OF CHAOS -*pointing on anakin who looks up at them and smiles, waves happily at qui gon*- no how to parent your padawan book left for instruction NOTHING!!! what were you even doing? I HOPE THE MILK TASTED GOOD!!" "Hey don't yell at your master!! I tell you.." qui gon tries to defend himself but obi wan just continues letting his feelings out:" you cant bring that up on me anymore i am a master myself now!" Qui gon:"AS LONG AS YOU LIVE IN THIS HOUSE..!" Obi wan:"THIS IS NOT THE TEMPLE AND I AM A COUNCIL MEMBER." Qui gon *gasp*: "i can't believe you are bringing this up to me" *shocked* obi wan:"Well i'm sorry but you forced me to. its your fault all of this IS YOUR FAULT." Anakin interrupting him: "so its not mine anymore?" Obi wan: "Sh*t up anakin. The council told you he was to old we should not train him, yoda told you his future was clouded, i told you it was a bad idea BUT YOU HAD TO INSIST and now LOOK WHERE THAT BROUGHT US!!"

Moment of silence. Yoda: "right you are maybe his fault it all was not skywalkers." Mace having finished yelling at anakin: "eh you know what? You're right obes. *pointing at qui gon* YOUR FAULT IT IS M*THERFUCKER" *loud dispute starting.*

I desperately dare someone to make a comic pretty pls

[stationary-cycle-in-motion]

@augusnippets day 3: blizzard

tw: descriptions of physical pain, near death experience

Obi-Wan has lost all feeling in his fingers. It’s a merciful relief compared to the burning in his feet.

He staggers as the biting wind buffets him from side to side, shaking him like a ragdoll, and he can’t quite decide whether the nausea roiling in his stomach is from that, or from the concussion he likely got when Anakin threw him just a bit too forcefully out of the way of oncoming blaster fire. Squinting against the swirling vortex of white, Obi-Wan tries hopelessly to make out anything in the haze of the blizzard.

He can’t even see the Palace anymore, though he can’t be that far from it.

Split up, Anakin had said. I’ll circle around with the gunships as soon as I can.

As the screaming wind threatens to rupture his eardrums, Obi-Wan wonders dejectedly whether that was just another cleverly concealed lie.

I shouldn’t think that, he scolds himself. A Jedi should never assume the worst of a person, at least not without sufficient proof. His cynical outlook is simply the result of the bone-deep, all-consuming chill fraying his composure, nothing more.

Blinking his eyes dazedly back into focus (not that there’s much to focus on), Obi-Wan attempts to reorient himself.

Which way had he been walking?

The gale tears at his thin robes, snow drenching the cloth and his hair and his skin and his bones. His skeleton rattles with the force of his shivers, slamming his joints together painfully. The numbness in his toes spreads to his feet, his shins, his knees, and before he can comprehend what’s happening, his face buries itself in a mound of snow.

Get up. You have to get up.

His legs are on fire; he can’t locate his arms. The snow is clogging his throat, smothering, suffocating, and the icicles in the corner of his eyes might be frozen tears; he isn’t quite sure.

An endless field of white consumes his vision, and it looks a bit like how he imagines emerging into the light at the end of the tunnel.

Air rushes into his lungs, the sudden expansion painful, and he gasps and sputters like a dying man. Somehow, he’s lying on his back, though he doesn’t remember rolling over. A figure swims in his vision, in and out of focus, blue and white and blonde.

Rex.

“–you alright? General? Can you hear me?” Terror, absolute terror like a knife to the chest.

I need to tell him I trust him, that there’s no one better equipped to keep the senator safe. The thought slams into Obi-Wan, all desperation and teeth. I forgot to, before the ceremony, and he shouldn’t doubt himself, shouldn’t think he’s anything less than the greatest man I’ve ever had the fortune of knowing–

He’s being hauled to his feet, one arm slung over Rex’s shoulders, weight sagging helplessly.

“You’ll be okay.” Rex’s voice is soothing, and Obi-Wan closes his eyes, lets himself get lost in the comfort. “I’ve got you. I promise you’ll be okay.”

Obi-Wan isn’t worried; Rex always keeps his promises.

[aberrantcreature]

Loth Nyanakin and Obi-Wan Blurb

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan was quickly met with hissing from under his bed. “Don’t you hiss at me!”

“Stop trying to grab at me then!”

“Anakin. I am trying to go to sleep.”

“That’s fine. Go ahead.”

Obi-Wan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you really going to pretend like I’m not fully aware of you sneaking into my room last night and me waking up with you on my chest?”

“….You’re warm.”

“You’re covered in fur!”

“I thought most people liked tooka cuddles! What’s wrong with you?”

“In the rare event that I am around tooka, I like their cuddles just fine! You’re my padawan!”

“Technically-“

“Don’t start with me Anakin.”

Anakin huffs. “Come on! I’m small and soft and perfect for snuggling. Plus! Did you know that tooka cat purring is proven to reduce stress? With this war, you need to relax! I could purr for you, Master!”

Obi-Wan Kenobi choked on his own saliva before issuing the force to drag the dark, fluffy little menace out from underneath his bed. He tosses Anakin out of the room and shuts the door.

Only to let him in later to get the incessant scratching to stop.

“Are you happy now?” Obi-Wan grumpily asks the purring tooka on his chest.

“Very.”

[arbre-mes-espaces]

Me: Anakin, people actually think I’m funny.

Anakin, *scratching the top of his head with his foot*: No, I’m sorry, but you’re greatly mistaken. People think I’m funny.

Me, annoyed, *grabs a bottle of Ghoul Friend glittering, pop, bone crackling lotion and whacks him over the head with it*: I am too funny! I write all that stuff, they follow me, they’re my besties that I carry around, not you.

Anakin, yawning and rubbing his head: M’kay. If you say so, but they follow for me.

Me, hugging him: Is your head okay? Should they follow, like more follow us because you’re fumbly and it’s my tumblr?

Anakin: You’re a disaster. Follow her, or I’ll kill you all.

Me: Ani! *whacks him again with the Ghoul Friend lotion*: He’s just joking.

Anakin: I’ll  slaughter them like animals!

[tennessoui]

Anakin as Obi-Wan's Campaign Manager?? Say more right now please!

correction - anakin (19yo) as obi-wan (35yo)'s nonconsensual campaign manager

here's a bit more! all just set up, i have no idea what i want out of this fic yet word-count wise. structure wise. etc.

The Kenobi thing happens accidentally, honestly. Anakin isn’t even sure how he got into it, but at the end of September, Padmé had mentioned how formative canvassing had been to her own political outlook, how impactful it had been to help out on a campaign, and Anakin had thought—that’s it. I can do that, and then she'll see we have things in common and then she'll fall in love with me. And that night, he’d gone to his apartment and researched upcoming local elections. He’d found the list of people running for the city council, and he’d chosen one at a random. Obi-Wan Kenobi was thirty-five and up for re-election. He’d first been elected four years ago, at thirty-one, one of the youngest city councilmen in the history of Coruscant, running—as far as Anakin could tell—on the issue of city infrastructure and misuse and diversion of funds away from public goods like pothole-less roads to drive on. Even just reading the summary on the guy’s past campaign had been boring as hell, but he’d won, is the thing. He’d won, which means he has a good shot of winning it again, which would make it incredibly easy to help him along. Not many people vote in city council elections—fact. Not many people vote for names they don’t recognize, and they have a higher chance of recognizing an incumbent’s name over a challenger’s—fact. It’s only impressive to canvas for a campaign if the guy you’re canvassing for is elected—fact. So Obi-Wan Kenobi was a safe choice. A stellar choice. Anakin hit the books that weekend, printed out a bunch of blurbs on what the guy’s done—apparently it’s been mostly advocating for filling in potholes on what Anakin would bet his tuition money on is the guy’s commute to work—and hit the streets to drum up support for him. The election is in the middle of November, and today is October 2nd. Half the doors Anakin knocks on remain unopened, a fourth are closed in his face, and the remaining percentage are either not registered to vote or seem lukewarm to the idea of voting in a city council election at all. Three different elderly ladies have asked him if Kenobi is running for president. Hell, next time he’s just going to say yes. —--------- But Ahsoka isn’t wrong. Anakin hates to admit it, but he knows he has to. She’s not wrong. Something needs to change in his strategy because he’s not getting the numbers he needs. Honestly, this whole adventure has made him lose faith in the effectiveness of democracy. Maybe dictatorships aren’t so bad. It’s not like these people are voting anyway. He’s smart enough to keep this observation to himself, of course, but he wonders what could have been so eye-opening about Padmé’s time canvassing when Anakin’s having a hard enough time making this whole thing door-opening.

[kenobers]

kenobers masterlist ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ ⋆ ⭑ but first free palestine !!

check out my spotify (ft. diagetic playlists made by characters) all works are female!reader unless marked otherwise all sexual content is afab!reader unless marked otherwise 》 18+ ❱ Explicit

★ Obi-Wan Kenobi ★

☆ Gangs of Coruscant | AO3

Mafia AU; 23-year-old reader gets a fresh start in Coruscant after landing a sign language interpreter gig at one of the biggest hospitals in the galaxy. However, that plan flatlines after reader's attempts to be punctual land her somewhere she really really shouldn't be, where she sees something she really really shouldn't see. As luck would have it, that something just so happens to be the business of the most terrifying (and strikingly handsome) man in the city. Fem!Reader

Chapter One: Dire Straights

Chapter Two: The Godfather Espresso Blend

☆ Wholesome Headcanons

❃ Jason Todd ❃

❃Sionis!Reader

magic hands | AO3; Your regularly scheduled hook-up session with Jason Todd is rudely interrupted by the arrival of your period. As tragedy strikes, you have to ask Jason to buy you pads, perhaps throwing a curveball in your still emerging relationship.

is this love? | AO3; You started hooking with Jason Todd, the second eldest Wayne child, so that both of you could royally piss off your father, Roman Sionis. Now that you've accomplished that, you're still hooking up. And spending the night. Frankly, you aren't quite sure what this is anymore. But you know you like it. 》

tremble & shake | AO3; Jason doesn't show up for your hook-up. You don't think much of it until he comes barreling through his window in a distressed state. He's desperately in need of your comfort and you don't have a clue why, but you can't stand to see Jason Todd hurting. 》

❃blurb: what would a bat do; Jason finds you crying and does what a bat would do. no gender mentioned for reader

❃General Headcanons

❃Romantic Headcanons; no gender mentioned for reader

❃ NSFW Alphabet ❱ | w/ Fem!Jason ❱

❃Jason Todd's Bookshelf