#obi-wan kenobi one shots

[dracowars]

hello! i have had this scenario in my head for obi wan forever! little bit of background: reader and obi have been together for a while and the reader struggles a bit with her dark side. so the whole thing starts with obi and reader sleeping in bed when he has this kinda spicy dream about reader. she’s dressed up in a HAWT sith get up and is trying to get obi wan to join the dark side for her asking him if he loves her and please for me? in the dream he caves and nods not being able to say anything. when he wakes up he’s sweating and freaking out and is realizing he really would do it for her and it scares him but he’s more scared of losing her. sorry if that’s so long but i’ve spent so much time thinking about this🙃

her shadowed heart | obi-wan kenobi

pairing: obi-wan x sith!reader

word count: 1,3k

summary: where obi-wan gets seduced by the dark side

a/n: i love the dark side and i hope you enjoy this <3 feedback in any form is always appreciated!

warnings: angst, a bit creepy, mentions of blood

universe: star wars

Obi-Wan hears a quiet voice. He listens in more closely and finally realizes that the soft voice is saying his name. So soft, so tender, almost fragile. He listens to the whisper and opens his eyes, only to find that everything around him is black, complete and utter darkness surrounds him.

Turning in all directions, he tries to follow the warmth of the voice, but he can't see anything. His senses betray him. In fact, he does not feel anything.

"Obi-Wan", the voice says again, his name echoing around the darkness. "Come here, Obi-Wan."

As he turns in the direction of the voice again, he finally spots something in the distance, a faint light flickering. Carefully, he puts one foot in front of the other and the closer he gets to the light, the more he can make out the outline of something - of someone. The closer he gets, the darker the light becomes.

"Don't be afraid, Obi-Wan," he hears the gentle voice whispering inside his head, his focus on whatever lies in front of him now. I'm not afraid, he thinks.

He is now so close that he can see some kind of throne in front of him, a huge throne made of black stone, standing there like a fortress, completely indestructible. Taking one more step forward, he halts as he hears a silent splash. Looking down, he finds the throne being surrounded by a puddle of water.

"There you are at last, Obi-Wan. I've been waiting for you this whole time."

When he raises his eyes to look at the person sitting on the throne, his breath gets caught in his throat, his heart skipping a beat. With one leg thrown over the armrest, you look at him from elevated position, a gentle smile on your lips. Obi-Wan has to blink several times, reminding himself to breathe as his eyes focus on you. You look the same as always, somehow. But there is also something different about you. Your body is wrapped in a long black dress, with large slits on the sides that reveal the radiant skin of your thighs. The neckline of the dress is quite revealing, giving way to your cleavage, your collarbone. At your waist, the dress is held together by a corset with buckles and laces. The high heel boots peeking out from under your dress reflect the light. On your head sits a crown, jet black, with a shining ruby ​​in the middle.

"Y/N?", Obi-Wan hears himself ask in the distance, swallowing the lump in his throat. "What is going on? Where are we?"

"It doesn't matter now that you are finally here", you smile at him, your eyes sparkling. Obi-Wan watches as you get up, walking down the few steps from the throne until you stand in front of him. He looks into your eyes, mesmerized, but for some reason he does not find the warmth in them that he usually does. A cold shiver runs down his spine when your long, pointed nails stroke up his arm.

"You love me, don't you, Obi-Wan?", you suddenly ask in a whisper, leaning into his ear as you start circling him, your palm sliding over his back.

"Of course I do, you know I do", he answers, standing rigidly in one place. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't move. It is as if you had trapped him, and yet he doesn't feel helpless, he's not afraid. After all, you are with him.

"I know, but I don't know how much", you giggle behind his back and step out on the other side, your hand now reaching for his face. Once there, you place your ice-cold hand on his cheek and where your skin meets, Obi-Wan suddenly feels a burning warmth. "Tell me how much you love me, Obi-Wan."

"My love for you is so much bigger than the entire galaxy", he tells you vehemently, leaning into your pleasant touch as he looks at you. "Words can't describe how much I love you. I would do anything for you."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

Your face is right in front of him and upon his answer, your beautiful eyes are suddenly glowing in an eerie red. One corner of your mouth lifts, as if he gave you exactly the answer you have been hoping and waiting for.

"Oh Obi-Wan," you say softly, sliding your hand down his neck. Obi-Wan places his hand on top of yours, your eyes locking. "Will you join me?"

"Join you?", he asks, frowning but with a smile on his lips. You shake your head, smiling to yourself, and run your other hand through his soft hair, loosening a strand that then hangs in front of his face.

"On the dark side", you whisper and Obi-Wan's heart suddenly starts racing. Frightened, he looks in your eyes, searching for any sign that you aren't serious, but all he finds is darkness.

"Please. You said you would do anything for me", you remind him, intertwining your hands. "Please do it for me, Obi-Wan."

His head is screaming at him, that this goes against everything he stands for, what he fights for, and he can't keep a straight thought. But his heart, his goddamn heart, is louder, drawing him to you and he knows he can't say no to you. So he caves.

Bringing your hand to his mouth, he places a kiss on the back of your hand, as befits a queen.

"I will join you."

Laughter rings out around you, disgusting, spiteful laughter that painfully rings in his ears. Staggering back, he finds it difficult to breathe and you let go of his hand, your eyes red and the veins beneath them bloodshot. The veins on your neck stand out, your face turns pale and your skin turns black from your neck down. A tear escapes your eye, but it is made of blood. Before Obi-Wan knows what is happening, your hand gently rests on his chest.

For a moment he feels hope. He feels safe. But then you push him back forcefully, so that he falls backwards, into the water. Only it is not water, but blood.

The last thing he sees is his outstretched hand, trying to reach for you. In vain.

Gasping for air loudly, Obi-Wan sits up, breathing heavily as he finally feels air filling his lungs again. He is sweating, his hair disheveled and he can't think clearly. All he sees is you. Helplessly, he presses his hands into his eyes, trying to banish the images from his head while he slightly rocks back and forth.

A quiet sob escapes him as he hears your quiet breathing next to him. Freeing himself from the blanket that is trapping him, he bends over to your sleeping figure, slumbering away peacefully. Obi-Wan reaches out his hand, wanting to touch you immediately to reassure himself that you are there, that you are you. But just before his fingertips can reach your skin, he stops. He doesn't dare touch you.

What if he had a vision? A vision of what the future could look like. And he didn't even bat an eyelid when you asked him to join him on the dark side.

He wasn't lying when he said he would do anything for you, and that newly found certainty scares him to death. He knows how much you have been struggeling with the dark side. And in his dream, he allowed it to corrupt you. Corrupt him.

Finally he forces himself to shut off his mind and touches you gently, not too much since he does not want to wake you up. But your warm skin is a welcome contrast to the cold he feels, and he strokes your arm gently. He takes a closer look at you and can't find anything unusual. He just finds what he always finds: warmth.

And although this visibly calms him down, he can't shake the fear that he might lose you one day. That you will step out of the light and into the darkness.

In that moment, Obi-Wan makes a promise to himself.

If you enter the darkness, he will follow.

[kaminokatie]

Star Wars Masterlist

FICS:

Darth Maul:

You - One. 🌶️

Anakin Skywalker:

Is This Love. 🌶️

Baby-Trapping. 🌶️

Obi-Wan Kenobi:

Is This Love. 🌶️

Jango Fett:

Simple Pleasures. 🌶️

Kylo Ren:

Feelings. 🌶️

Headcannons:

Anakin Skywalker:

General Dating. 🌶️

Obi-Wan Kenobi:

General Dating. 🌶️

Armitage Hux:

General Dating. 🌶️

[hayden-christensen]

OBI-WAN KENOBI (2022) Cinematography by Chung-Hoon Chung

@pscentral event 26: minimalism

[phoenixyfriend]

Tony Stark & Natasha Romanova, now in Star Wars

IDK if you folks were ever MEGA into crossovers but did you ever engage with the kind that can more or less be summarized as "isekai but the person 'hit by truck-kun' is a character from a different canon?"

Because that's what this is.

Tony Stark isekai'd into Star Wars (random planet) after dying in Endgame. He knows the movies, but not the supplemental material, as even by the time TPM came out, he was thirty and fucked up and making a name for himself in war. Bad times.

Tony wakes up sixteen and with Nothing to his name but his skills. He does not speak the language. Mostly gets by doing shit like skinning potatoes for a kitchen and pulling weeds and whatnot while he catches up on Basic. (He is apparently fluent, or at least conversational, in French, Spanish, Italian, Latin, and Dari. So Basic would be his Seventh language, and while four of those can be lumped into 'if you learn one, the next will be easier,' Dari is wildly unrelated, so I'd say he could pick up Basic a bit faster than average, especially with 16yo brain elasticity.)

A toddler, two years old with intensely red hair, runs into his shins one day and yells his name very clearly. He looks down, is a little confused, and then a nearby carer from an orphanage jogs up yelling "Nat!" The toddler is Natasha Romanoff. She remembers everything, including dying, but is about twenty-five pounds soaking wet and NOBODY will take her seriously.

It takes some… effort, to explain the situation to the carer. Yes, Tony knows Nat. He worked with uh…. her 'older brother, a man named Clint.' Tony does not currently have the resources for anyone to legally give him custody of a toddler but he's got some motivation to secure housing and a stable income.

He does that. Gets Natasha with him because of course he has to do that. It's the one person he knows. It's Nat.

Turns out she's Force Sensitive, though. A 'natural extension' of her more skillgrinding abilities to read/manipulate people. Tony is not Force Sensitive but he DID recently have a medical episode that took him to a thankfully-government-funded clinic that informed him he has a Bad Heart and will require a pacemaker despite being seventeen.

A Jedi finds Nat while passing through and they Discuss Their Options. This is when Nat is about four. There is a heavy discussion about how her mind is older than her body, so the Jedi would need to be ready for that, but also Tony needs to discuss this with Nat, who was like thirty-nine(?) when she died and thus more than capable of making her own decisions.

Despite fandom generally painting Tony as the most selfish of the Avengers and Natasha as the most coldly practical, they are still heroes who put in some Fucking Effort to become better people, and they come to the conclusion that Natasha would do much more to help this galaxy as a Jedi than as some kid in poverty on a no-name planet. So off she goes!

She's like five years younger than Obi-Wan, the story reveals.

Tony is a bit aimless and the work he's BEEN doing (probably laying down electrical lines or something at this point, IDK, he got into construction or something) gets sideswept by Damage To A Tool. He knows how to fix the tool, but he does not have a forge.

There is a forge in town. He goes to it and says that he can't afford to ask to have it fixed, but he knows how to do it himself, so could he borrow access for a small fee?

This is a Mandalorian armorer. They say no. In fact, they tell him, that would be significantly more expensive than just getting it fixed.

Buuuuuuuuuut for Reasons, the armorer decides that Tony (now 18-19 physically) can do it so long as the Armorer supervises. Tony is competent Enough that the Armorer gives him a datapad and tells him to read it and come back in a week to discuss the topic. Tony warns that Basic is far from his first language and he doesn't have a whole lot of free time, so he probably won't have read it by then. That's fine, they'll just discuss what he has read.

It's about Mando culture, in a mildly propaganda-y way, and Tony comes back to Argue About Religion more than anything. He thinks the Armorer is proselytizing, which they kind of are, but they are also more than happy to discuss the lines between the Mando culture as ethnicity and culture and religion and so on.

This becomes a regular occurence. Tony has made A Friend who has started offering him a side gig doing Basic Village Blacksmith Work that the Armorer deems too menial, like "horse"shoes.

Tony is offered an apprenticeship that he did not expect, on the condition of Becoming Mandalorian.

This is. A heavy decision.

However. Tony is a guy who is at least partly defined by his cool armor. Mandalorians are defined by their cool armor. He has been told, several times, that there are multiple ways to be a Mandalorian. So he accepts, because he decides it's worth for the chance to be somebody who can make a difference in a way he currently can't.

Ten years later, 'Initiate Romanova' goes up to Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon as they prepare to leave, and neatly informs them that she has a feeling they are going to have a Bad Time on their mission in Mandalore, and that if they need emergency shelter from enemies, to go to an Armorer by the name of Tony Stark, because that's her brother so she knows that he's going to be friendly to Jedi. (Tony has sent her a small handful of messages, through channels both official and not, about big life events.)

Of course, shit hits the fan and the two plus Satine end up finding Tony's forge and he hides them in his Underground Bunker, which actually has a tunnel to a cave system that is safer than the bunker itself. Because reasons. (IN A CAVE. WITH A BOX OF SCRAPS.)

He has helper droids! They are named indirectly after friends from the Past Life, things like Spangles.

On their way back after the mission they swing by to say hi and he asks them to bring something to Natasha and it's a matryoshka doll set he made based on the Avengers (it goes based on age so the outermost is Thor, followed by I think Bruce, Rhodey, Tony, Clint, Natasha, Steve, Sam, Wanda, Vision), as well as a plushie he had custom made by somebody in town of a Bird With Archery Gear, even though she's too old for that stuff.

Even among the Jedi, Natasha is WEIRD and SERIOUS and everyone's pretty damn sure she's going to be a Shadow, or at least do a HECK of a lot of undercover work.

IDK how this plays out but Tony is definitely keeping an eye on politics so he can figure out the Palpatine rise to power and remind Natasha in case she's forgotten because when they first split they didn't, either of them, know what to expect in regards to her memory given the whole Baby Brain issue.

"Why is Tony an Armorer"

Okay some more thoughts!

I think Tony's aggressively atheist and consistently watching whoever claims to be Mand'alor with a critical eye in case he has to step in, and does not take any references to ka'ra with any real seriousness. That said. He's an Armorer now. A weird one who refuses like half his clients for Ethics Reasons, but technically a cultural authority figure who's allowed to argue with the Mand’alor.

@penpalpixie:

fsr the initial meeting scenario with the armorer bugs me,like would they really just let him" but tbf Tony knows how to steamroll people and could probably dissect the forge in an instant.

Which, yeah, in my defense, I put this together in about two hours so some of it's a bit wonk? BUT. @threebea had a good suggestion for how/why the Armorer had Tony actually do things in the forge instead of telling him to scram:

Maybe Tony has been doing some 'crafting' on the side maybe droid repairs or modifications which is how the Armorer first sort of hears about him and then one day there's the kid that people have been mentioning the Stars aligned here's a pamphlet. He can't make a living off gizmos in his situation since most of what Star wars has is advanced tech and to do anything impressive he would need more resources and more of an understanding of the mathematics of this universe (Stares at ceiling one night trying to figure out if the law of relativity would be a thing here). That might slow him down just like… his math doesn't actually work here so on top of language he would have to learn things to do complicated stuff that he could already buy for a credit. But with armory it's concepts he knows well and adding weapons to armor especially no lethal ones is something he also knows. Mandalorian armor with UNI BEAM

When it comes to canon, he knows THE big thing (Palpatine is Sidious) and basically nothing else. He thinks he remembers the clones being Mando? but he's honestly not even sure he remembers the original Fett's first name correctly. He knows the guy is a Fett, because Boba was a cultural mainstay for Tony's childhood, so like, it was nice to have some backstory, but he's honestly not sure how likely "that baby Mand'alor that went missing" is to being Boba's plot-relevant dad. Could be an uncle for all he knows, or just a guy with the same last name.

@firebirdeternal:

I feel like to keep things fair Tony should be able to scale up a little harder than the average Mandalorian. Yeah all his tech knowledge is a bit out-dated and he isn't likely to get an arc reactor running in a way that'll be more powerful than anything locally available, but I feel like he'd adapt pretty darn quickly to available tech and start Improving Things Nat's skills all translate extremely well, once she's not got stumpy toddler body she's basically back to her old level PLUS telekinesis and wibbly force nonsense although I understand if that's also not the focus of the fic, being less "And now there's some Avengers Here (Powerset)" and more "And now there's some Avengers Here (Attitudes and Characters)"

Nat is very excited to Break Into Tony's Cave.

NGL this was initially going to be a Tony Raises Nat thing but I couldn't ultimately justify her NOT going the Jedi route after I realized I wanted her to be Sensitive.

There was also a discarded plot idea about her being a little older and having gone undercover in death watch, because Tony got kidnapped to work for them and got through to her, where she gets to use her Bites as a teen but I scrapped it.

I do think she successfully argues to her Master to visit him at 14 to get light armor though.

Nat's the sneakiest little initiate and also. Very, very controlled in the scary way during spars.

Bea:

Natasha as a Jedi is so good. Like, she would probably have a bit of dissonance between Jedi training and the training she received as a child, and it might help her work through some things. Nat: I've known Yoda for three days but if anything happened to him I would kil-- wait uh (pivots) I would be very sad. She would try to sneak up on council members. It is like a kitten stalking a cat on the outside, but also she's a grown woman and wants to be that good. (AU of this If Quinlan ever saw this he'd adopt her: Quinlan: Tholme I found a new padawan sister. Get training Tholme: [literally just finished with Quinlan. Had planned to take a vacation. Meditate. Drink. He loves his kid but needs literally a moment here] Tholme: She's seven. Quinlan: I was four. Tholme: … Quinlan: She has a secret tragic background toooo I know you like that 😄 Tholme: [Sigh] Nat: …wait is he supposed to be Sherlock Holmes. I think he's space Sherlock Holmes. Need to ask Tony if Star Wars had Sherlock Holmes? lol yeah Tholme just feels like he could blend well with an avengers story, and a Black Widow story in particular)

Not joking when I say I considered if I could squeeze Tholme into the timeline.

Tony sends her music files that he thinks sounds Particularly Ballet to her because he remembers how much she liked dancing, as the main or even only positive thing from her Red Room training, and how she once said that if she hadn't become a spy, she thinks she'd have liked to be a ballerina.

The first time they see each other in person in years is her visiting for baby armor at 14 and is hesitant to hug him because like. Yeah he's her "brother" and there were a few years where they were acting as such and he was helping her with Basic Tasks that she doesn't like to think about too much because it's embarrassing, and they cuddled THEN, because she was Physically Baby, but they're just coworkers in reality, right? Should she hug him? If only to sell the bit to her Jedi Master?

Tony is also not the most huggy person and isn't sure if HE should hug Nat because he remembers jokey stabbing threats from when they were Avengers and like. Does she still feel that way, now that she's not a bumbling like tot?

They are both unsure of if hugging is on the table and it's the Jedi Master who says "you know, you're allowed to hug, if you want" under the impression that they aren't sure if the Jedi would allow it. And then the hug is very tight and loving because at least subconsciously they DID both want that.

The Jedi Master takes a pic.

Bea:

Jedi master: (aw) It's one of those "we've been in life or death situations together and also grew up together kinda sorta and also we're trauma bonded," and the first opportunity to solidify Family as their dynamic they both jump in feet first. And both of them were like. Extremely lonely children probably. In different ways but still.

(It's why the Hawkeye plushie didn't make her CRY, per se, but she does start keeping it in her bed even though she's Too Old for these things.)

When it comes to hugging, Nat is understandably concerned about overstepping and like. "Taking" Morgan's place. (I'm going with Tony and Nat being friends (or at least friendly) from A1 to A2, and during the blip she stopped by for dinner once in a while. Nat doing her best to bring Child Appropriate Gifts for Morgan (she misses being Aunt Nat for the Barton kids).) Or as Bea put it: Tony: Are you spying on me or are we doing people things? Nat: Can't it be both?

Anyway, their dynamic is a weird little midpoint once they're in Star Wars but then they get to a point in the armor making where Tony takes a break on a bench and she slips in under his arm to cuddle and it's just Nice (even though he's kinda sweaty and gross from the blacksmithing).

Bea:

Tony: ….. so……. is Yoda… does he look like… is he…. Nat: …???? Tony: You saw the Muppets right? Is he still a Muppet? Nat: [totally has seen the Muppets] what's a Muppet? Tony: You're killing your brother, Nat ;A;

Also the comedy of having MULTIPLE "secret languages" that nobody can translate.

It's handy, too. Between her and Tony, but also lots of languages to give different uses to. Can teach one to a specific faction for communication. OH, the poor Threepio units! She got stuck in a room with one once, and don't get my wrong, they can pick up a language fast, but they need to hear long enough sampling of it. Nat: I'm not teaching you stop asking I do agree too that Tony and Nat no matter their circumstances would be working towards stopping Palpatine. Like is this a real space is this a dream is this another dimension that just happens to be like a movie in ours? Doesn't matter the dictator is going down.

The Jedi Master is somewhat aware of the whole 'used to be an adult, sort of' thing. I don't know that they believe she's linearly matured but probably they think it's something like what I did in Jedi Babies It's definitely more explicit with a mind healer she got assigned soon after arrival.

She didn't decide whether to play it straight and "get help" or just try to game the system until she was actually sitting down. But she'd been having screaming night terrors about things she experienced in her first life, so.

Pixie:

She meets Anakin after TPM (if it's not avoided) when Obi-Wan's trying to settle him in and goes "ah, I know how to handle this kid." At some point Anakin and Tony end up sending each other various schematics.

[micahwrites16]

My Love, My Home - Anakin Skywalker

Note: While writing this I imagined y/n as Padme in AotC, but not actually Padme? Like she’s Senator and she’s with Anakin on Naboo, him protecting y/n, but you can picture her however you want. I don’t specifically explain the circumstances of why they’re together, but it’s along the lines of the scene where Anakin confesses, except I write it… a bit differently. Hopefully you understand, lol. It’ll make sense the further you read. Enjoy!

( Also, please bear with me, I’ve never written anything close to this before. Don’t be shy to comment and let me know what you think of it! I’m always open to suggestions. <3 )

TW: really sappy smut, first times!

5.6k words

I always imagined that love was something you earned; something you had to deserve.

Something that I would never be worthy of truly receiving.

And as I watch the Padawan sitting on the velvety, soft sheets of my bed, I feel as though I am shattering my own heart with every second I allow him in my gaze. It’s as if he is reaching his calloused, worn hands into my chest and brushing his fingertips against the rapid beating of it. One more millimeter and he could crush my life without a second thought. And even though he was the one who tore apart my skin, it was his hand preventing me from bleeding out. Sometimes I can’t help but feel grateful, which is a very clear sign that I lost my sanity long ago.

I am in front of him and I do not pull away. I don’t want to.

I have never felt fear quite like it.

Although Anakin’s hand is not quite in my chest, it might as well be. A measly twelve inches separates us, his eyes searching into me farther than I have managed to explore myself. His lips move as words leave them, but I don’t know what. I’m embarrassed to admit that the sight of someone’s lips can distract me so easily. I know those aren’t just anyone’s lips, however.

“Y/n?”

My eyes snap back up to his, his eyebrows scrunched softly in confusion as he waits for me to answer.

“Hm?”

“Force,” Anakin laughs and shakes his head, resting his elbows on his knees. The laugh isn’t of amusement, that I can tell. “You aren’t even listening to me.”

“What? Yes, I am. I just have a lot on my mind. Keep talking. I promise I’ll listen,” I reassure him. He laughs again, the sound not warming me like it usually would. His head falls into his hands, his teeth shining as he smiles. “Anakin,” I urge, “come on. I’m listening, I swear.”

“Are you?” He turns his head to look up at me, his smile gone and something swirling madly in his eyes.

“Yes.”

“Alright. Then, what did I say?”

I pause for a moment, searching my brain and hoping that I subconsciously picked up his words. It’s not that I was ignoring him on purpose, that’s never the case. I was just preoccupied with other strange things happening inside of me. “You know what, never mind. It was nothing, anyways.” Anakin stands up quickly from my bed and I rise with him. “It’s late and you should sleep. I’ll be in the bedroom across from you.”

“No,” I grab his arm softly through his Jedi robe as he moves to walk away. I’m not letting him run away this time. “Don’t do that, Ani. Just tell me what you were saying. I can tell it’s important.”

His eyes lock on where I am touching him, his lips parting slightly. He seems frozen, lost in something that I cannot grasp. Suddenly, Anakin’s eyebrows furrow again, ripping his arm away from my hand. His eyes meet mine again, fire and so many other emotions stirring in them. “No. You don’t do that, y/n.” Confusion washes over me, the slightest bit of hurt emanating from his face and bouncing off my heart. His voice quiets, a darkness along with a familiar softness coating his words. “I am in agony and you don’t even seem to realize.” Anakin steps closer to me, his neck craned so he can meet my eyes. He’s so close and I am frozen. I feel his breath against my lips, his gaze against mine.

“Ani..”

“Can you not see how I am feeling? How I am practically begging on my knees for you to even look at me?” His voice is so low and I think my brain is short-circuiting and force, all it would take is the slightest movement for his nose to brush against mine. “You are the one instance I allow myself to feel anything at all, y/n. I couldn’t stop myself if I tried. And every moment that I am not with you, the worse my agony gets. It’s as if I am being torn apart. You are in my very soul, tormenting me. Every beat of my heart is throbbing for you, and I feel helpless.” He sounds so wounded, so seeking. “What can I do? I will do anything you ask.”

I am not usually at a loss for words. The thoughts in my head are cloudy and I feel dazed, almost as if my brain is trying to protect me from hearing what he is saying. I would rather die than allow that. Before Anakin, I had never let myself get attached to anyone or anything. I have duties that force me to be strong, independent. But he has sucked me in, and if I were to rid myself of him, he would take a large part of my person with him.

He looks into me like he’s searching for something, anything, and the pounding in my chest is increasing with every second of it. How are we both so blind to each other? He says that I do not see his feelings for me, yet he doesn’t see what I feel for him, either.

“I will get on my knees and beg for you, for any part of you, if that’s what you would like. Any part of you that you allow me to have I will worship. I already do.”

I have never felt the need to touch him more than I do now. I want to give him everything he’s asking for and more. I want to give everything that I have, everything I am, to him. I’ve been wanting that for far too long.

But I can’t.

“Anakin, we can’t do this,” I say quietly. I want to, I scream internally. I want to so, badly. “I’m Senator and you’re about to be a Jedi. We would ruin everything.” Nothing in his expression changes and I feel as though I am not doing a great job of convincing him, or myself.

“So you do feel something.” The corner of his mouth twitches just the slightest bit and I immediately curse myself for giving him hope for something that I can’t give him. “I don’t care about any of that. We can keep it between us and now that I know you feel anything, even the slightest bit for me, I will not stop. I won’t be able to. I will die trying to earn anything you will give me.”

He hesitantly reaches his hand to cup my the side of my face, his thumb stroking softly over my cheek. Am I dying?

“Don’t hide from what you feel. Don’t hide from me, because I cannot take it. I do not deserve you, I know that. But I will spend the rest of my life trying to. Don’t allow stupid, worthless rules to get in between this. In between us.”

Any resolve that I had before has now been thrown out the window. His voice is so gentle and pleading and an exact mirror of something that has been lurking inside of me since the last time I can remember. His thumb that is caressing my face is bleeding into me, filling my blood with a mixture of overwhelming fire, softness, and need.

“Anakin..” I close my eyes, fighting off my desires the best that I can. If I give in, everything will be destroyed.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, y/n. I will not let myself be your ruination.”

I want to fall. I want to lose myself in his deep, promising, dark blue eyes and never resurface. The longer I feel his touch the more I know that I am gone and I am not coming back.

And as I come to the realization that I will never be safer than where I am right now, that I will never be with someone who makes my heart pound as much as Anakin does, I lean closer.

I’m so close to him that I can see every individual blonde eyelash, every slight and rapid movement of his eyes as they flicker from my eyes to my lips. The only thing I see is Anakin. The only thing I know is Anakin.

Everything around us is still, as though even time has paused for us. The only sound is our soft breathing hitting each other’s lips, the crickets halting their chirping and leaving us in a loud bubble of quiet. He brushes his nose against mine, my breath hitching in my throat and my chest rising and falling harder with every second. Every action from him is small and hesitant, testing how I react.

My hand reaches forward, resting on the plane of his chest. He responds by snaking his fingers into my hair, tilting my head just the slightest bit, and causing my lips to brush against his just the smallest amount. A warm tingle flows through my body as I meet his eyes again. This time, there’s a question in them.

As an answer, I seal my lips against his.

I’m enveloped in a world of tenderness and warmth that I have never known before. As he just barely moves his lips against mine, I feel my heart shifting inside of me, flowing through the movements of my mouth. The first few moments are gentle, discovering. The next few are devouring.

He kisses me as if I was the last thread of life he was holding on to. As if I was the only light in a galaxy of darkness. In a planet of complete, utter beauty and peace, I have never felt so overpowered and overwhelmed. His lips are soft, searching into the deepest part of my soul.

He was wrong. I am not tormenting him, he is tormenting me.

Anakin tilts my head further, his tongue tracing my bottom lip and begging for entrance. I greedily let him in, wanting him to know places of myself that no one else has ever discovered. He sweeps in, tasting, caressing, and destroying me from the inside out. I trail my hand from his chest into his hair, my tongue now tangling with his, begging for as much of him as he now has of me.

A low groan rumbles through his throat, and I feel a fire inside of me that I have never known so intense than at this moment. His other hand grabs my hip, both of us stumbling back so he’s against the wall.

Anakin, Anakin, Anakin.

Anakin is now all that I know, and now that I have him, I don’t think I will ever be able to let go.

He kisses my lips until they’re swollen and pink. Until the room is no longer filled with silence, but the sound of his soft rasps and my small whimpers that I cannot stop from leaving.

Anakin’s hands are everywhere. My waist, the curve of my hips, my thighs, my hair, the sides of my face. It’s like he’s taking every bit of me insatiably, almost like he’s afraid I won’t let him do this again. This is all I’ve ever craved, Ani. This is everything I will ever need.

He groans again as I nip at his bottom lip, the sound stirring something deep inside of me. A fire is burning, and I don’t think it will ever be stopped. His lips move from mine to my jaw and down to my neck, sucking and tasting and torturing. I press my chest against him, needing to feel more. Needing more.

“Ani,” I moan, his mouth latching onto my collarbone. He lifts his head, his lips just as puffy as mine. He’s so, so, heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Tell me what you need, y/n. I will give you anything you’ve ever wanted. Anything at all.” His breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling harshly. “You have every,” he kisses under my ear, “single,” he kisses my throat, “inch of me. I am forever yours.”

His pretty words fuel me like nothing else. I’m sinking, falling into an endless abyss of emotion and ruin, of beginning and end and nothing at all, but everything at the same time.

“Everything. All of you,” I beg, and I can’t seem to care that I do. For no man, for no person, I beg. But Anakin Skywalker makes me want and crave things stronger than I ever have before.

My tone isn’t lost on him, his head dropping to rest on my shoulder. “You can’t say things like that, y/n. You destroy me.”

“I mean it. Don’t reject me now, Anakin.” My voice drops to a whisper, vulnerability hitting me harder than I would like to admit, “Please.” I am yearning for a touch that can only be fulfilled by him, and by the madness spiraling in his eyes, I can tell he feels the same way. I brush my lips against his, communicating something that I can’t say with words.

His head rises from my shoulder, his eyes softer than I have ever seen them before. They’re bright and shining with a million unspoken promises that I could adventure in forever. Comparing them to the moons and the stars that surround us would be an understatement of the complete and torturous beauty that they hold, and the fact that they are focused on me makes my intestines swirl and my stomach warm.

“I will never hurt you,” Anakin breathes, his fingers tracing the edge of my jaw. “I adore you more than you could ever imagine.”

My breathing comes out shaky, my legs trembling softly. I have never wanted to hide as much as I do now, to shy away from the intrusion of Anakin searching into me so deeply. I am scared to my core.

But, I also don’t think my heart has ever been in safer hands before.

“I believe you,” I murmur against his lips. Something passes through his face, an emotion deeper than I can understand, yet.

“Will you let me take care of you, then?”

“Yes.”

Anakin immediately scoops me into his strong arms, holding me like I am glass in his hands. He kisses my forehead tenderly, walking over to my bed and dropping me on it softly. I watch intently as he steps back, me following his every move as he works to take off his belt. His eyes are burning into my skin, but I don’t care. I am mesmerized by every inch of that he uncovers. He has sucked me in and now I am forever locked in the depths of Anakin Skywalker’s heart.

He unravels the many layers of his Jedi Robe until the tanned, sculpted plane of his chest is revealed. I drink him in like I am dying of thirst. I can’t bring myself to be ashamed of my eagerness. How can someone be so perfect? I would be irritated if I weren’t absolutely overcome with adoration and desire for this boy.

He walks forward, climbing onto the bed and hovering over me. I absorb every detail of his bare skin, the small, old scars that litter his chest and abs, the newer ones that stand out more than the others. Every detail is beautiful.

“If you keep staring at me like that y/n, this will be over before it even starts.”

My eyes snap back up to his, my cheeks warming at his insinuation and the fact that I was so obvious. “I’m sorry,” I mutter. My stomach squirms uncomfortably, a mixture of scorching heat and fluttering butterflies making me blush further.

His lips curl into a familiar smile, full of soft amusement. “Don’t be nervous,” he says gently, reading my expression. “I’m just as anxious as you. More, even,” He connects our lips again, the heat inside of me flaring. “I’ll make you feel good, I promise,” he assures me and rests his hands on the side of my hips. “You are everything I have ever dreamed of.”

I bring his lips against mine again, this time more urgently. I need him so badly I feel like I am going to burst into a million pieces. His hands eagerly explore every curve of my body, his fingers fumbling with the zipper on the back of my black dress, revealing that he might truly be as nervous as I am. “Is this okay?” Anakin asks as he slowly unzips me.

“More than okay,” I murmur against his lips, greedily attaching my mouth back to his. I touch every bit of his naked skin, feeling every possible thing that I can. Anakin pulls away as he slips my dress down, his eyes devouring me as more skin is uncovered.

“Force, you are so beautiful. So unbelievably perfect.”

I shiver as he brushes his fingertips against my collarbone, down the valley in between my breasts, across the rest of my torso, and pausing on my thighs. His eyes lock onto my black lace panties, and the amount of heat in his expression makes me want to run away and climb on top of him at the same time. His pink lips are parted and there’s a small blush that lines his cheeks and neck, causing him to look more ethereal than he usually does.

Anakin leans his head down, gently sucking on the skin of my lower abdomen. I gasp softly, my fingers running through his short curls as he continues mapping my skin with his lips. He looks up at me as he slides his hand beneath my back, finding the clasp of my bra. I nod, him immediately unclasping it and slipping the straps off of my shoulders.

I see the exact moment his eyes turn from bright, shining blue into pools of darkness as he looks at my completely bare skin. He curses under his breath, the sound hitting me deep in my core. His lips quickly move from my abdomen to my breasts, locking onto the sensitive skin of my nipple. I feel as though I could burst right then and there.

“Akakin,” I whimper, the stimulation he’s giving me affecting me more than I thought was possible. He kisses and sucks and worships me with his mouth, every flick of his tongue and movement of his mouth sending me higher than I’ve ever been. An overwhelming wave of need washes over me and out of pure instinct my hips push upwards, causing me to grind my softness against his hardness. He groans abruptly and I decide then and there that I will be trying to earn that sound from him for the rest of my life.

He starts grinding his hips against mine as he torments my sensitive skin with his lips, noises leaving both of our mouths relentlessly.

More, more, more, I need more.

It’s almost as if he hears my thoughts, him pulling away just for a moment to fumble with his trousers. He doesn’t even bother unbuttoning them, instead ripping them open and causing a couple of the buttons to fly off. Neither of us cares. I pull his lips back to mine, helping him pull them down. He quickly throws them across the room, leaving both him in only his briefs and me in only my panties.

“Need you,” he rasps, “so badly it hurts.”

“Then take me, Anakin. I’m all yours.”

“Oh, fuck,” he whines as his hips buck against mine.

I’m on fire. I’m engulfed in flames, my body pulsing and thrumming with desire that has been boiling inside of me for far too long. I reach for his briefs, pulling them down quickly.

Oh, Force.

I must have said that out loud. A grin appears on his lips as he watches me stare at him, absolutely dumbfounded. He must have been sculpted by a god. Sparks of straight lava go off in my lower stomach,something inside of me tightening. Despite that, worry shoots through me.

I can’t handle that.

“You can take it. I know you can. I’ll be so gentle, I promise, y/n,” Anakin says softly. How can I possibly burn even hotter than before? “I’ll take such good care of you.”

Anakin’s POV:

I have never been in so much pain–so much pleasure–one time in my life. Desire is coursing through my blood, causing every inch of my body to ache. To ache for her.

As I hook my digits in her panties, I watch every shift in her expression. If there were even the slightest bit of doubt or regret, I would never forgive myself for making her feel that. As much as I have dreamt of this, fantasized about every small thing we could do, the last thing I would want to happen is for me to make her uncomfortable. I couldn’t stand myself if I did.

But as I look into her eyes, I don’t even see the slightest bit of hesitation. I see desire that is just as intense as mine, passion, and trust.

I pull her down her panties slowly, forgetting how to breathe. I’ve forgotten how to function.

So insanely perfect.

During the nights when want coursed through my mind, when I would think of her at the latest hours and in the naughtiest, sinful ways, I never could have imagined her so breathtaking. I was never even close.

I must be in heaven.

Hell, likely.

Her chest rises and falls quickly, the sight of her full breasts and peaked nipples sending me into complete overdrive. I trail my eyes lower, making sure to drink in every bit of skin. I spread her legs slowly, my gaze locking on to her bare core.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Hold it together.

I run my hands up her thighs, not looking away from the sight of her open wide for me. For me. I kiss the inside of her thigh, moving closer and closer to where I yearn to be.

“So pretty. So fucking pretty,” I murmur, kissing higher and higher.

“Anakin- Ani, please.” She hooks her fingers in my hair and I almost lose it. Her voice is so pleading, so soft, so full of heat. Please. She could ask me anything like that and I would do it. If she asked me to kill a whole army of men I would do it and I’d do it gladly. Fuck the Jedi code, she is what I obey now.

“Please what, y/n?” I ask lowly as she pulls me back up to her face, my body hovering directly over hers. My nose brushes against hers, our breaths mingling together. I can feel the heat radiating from her core against me and I genuinely have no idea how I haven’t completely lost it yet.

“You. I need you, now, Ani.” She grinds her hips up against mine, her drenched cunt brushing against my cock. I make a broken noise, my head falling against her shoulder. I’m gone. Absolutely gone.

“Anything. I’ll give you anything,” I pant. I force myself to look at her, softening my eyes. “You’re sure you want to do this? I wasn’t- this wasn’t what I was planning to happen. You don’t have to do this, y/n.”

I’ve never wanted anything more. Not only to have all of her but to give her all of me. I’ve been hers for a long time. I can wait longer for her to be mine if that’s what she needs. I’ll wait forever. From the moment I met y/n, I didn’t belong to myself. I belonged to her. My heart hasn’t been my own for quite a while and nothing would change whether she wanted to do this with me or not.

“I want to. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” She kisses my cheek and I practically melt into a puddle in her hands. I am at her complete mercy.

My forehead drops against hers, my hand moving to rest on her hip. I let out a shaky breath, positioning myself up to her core, but not allowing myself to touch her yet.

“Tell me to stop at whatever time, okay? If it hurts I want you to tell me to stop.” She nods and kisses me softly, my heart beating so fast I’m sure she can hear it.

“I trust you more than anyone,” she whispers against my lips and kisses my shoulder, and I would probably fall to my knees by the sweetness of it if I were standing.

I look down at where our hips are inches apart, grabbing my base and sliding myself up at down her heat, both of us shivering deeply at the feeling.

This is going to be over far too fast.

I meet her eyes one final time, looking for any indication she wants to stop. All I see is an intense look of heat and adoration, that I’m sure is on my face just the same.

I line myself up, unable to look away from our hips so closely together. I find a hard time believing this is real, even though I’m feeling everything so intensely. Being here, being like this with y/n might be the death of me. I’d be lucky to die like this. I’d thank the god that allowed me to be so close to her, only if it were for one time.

Both of us take one deep breath as I shift forward, taking that final movement to push myself all the way into her.

And then my world is shattered.

Y/n’s POV:

Anakin falls forward, his forehead resting against mine as he connects us completely. A choked noise falls from Anakin’s mouth, a noise so wonderful I would do anything to hear it again. I hold on to him like I’m dying because I think that I am.

He doesn’t move, letting me adjust to the new feeling. The truth is, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to adjust to this. I feel so incredibly, overwhelmingly filled.

The first thing I feel is fullness, the next, sharp, stinging pain.

It’s a kind of pain that I would go through over and over again.

“Are you all right?” Anakin asks, his voice so full of worry it makes my insides go even crazier than before.

I take a deep breath, the pain slowly subsiding into something else. Something more intense. “Yes,” I plead, “you can move.”

Anakin stays still for another moment, before pulling all the way out of me and then plunging back in. My face twists, a completely indescribable feeling hitting me so hard I lose my breath. My mouth opens into a small “o” shape, small whimpers leaving my mouth as he moves slowly.

He’s being so gentle I could cry if I weren’t on the brink of exploding into a million small pieces.

He brings his lips down to mine, searing me in a kiss that could end worlds, create entire galaxies. As he continues to move, the pain fades away, bleeding into pleasure so extreme it’s like he’s sucking my soul out of my body and pushing it back in over and over again.

The noises that fall from his mouth I’m sure were sent from heaven just like the rest of him. Some of them are deep and guttural and sometimes when my body tightens around his, a small, whiny sound leaves his lips, each and every one causing pleasure to spike through me.

“You feel so f-fucking perfect. So tight. I can’t- fuck,” he groans loudly as my cunt clenches around him. It’s like my body is trying to trap him inside of me, like it’s trying to prevent him from ever leaving. He’s practically molding himself into me with how much I’m being stretched, my walls constricting and tightening with every deep thrust.

“Ani, so- so full,” I moan, my fingers hooking into his short curls, my eyes not being able to leave the sight of him thrusting in and out of me.

“I know, I know. You’re taking me so well, doing such a good job, y/n.”

If I didn’t know for sure that Anakin was a virgin before this, I wouldn’t have ever believed he was. It’s like he knows exactly what spots to hit, how hard to go, and what will make me spiral.

Full is now not the right word. Complete is.

I watch his face as he looks at where his cock is impaling me over and over again, a complete look of awe on his face. His lips are parted and his eyebrows are scrunched, everything indicating that he’s in just as intense a state of pleasure that I am, maybe even more so.

His hand snakes in between our bodies, his thumb reaching my clit and pressing softly. My eyes squeeze shut, sparks going off and short-circuiting my brain. “Ani- Anakin,” I cry.

“Being so g-good for me. It’s like you were fucking made to take me, y/n,” Anakin groans as he slams his cock into me so deeply I feel like I’m being split in half. My eyes roll back, my back arching instinctively, pulling a sound that’s almost a whimper out of Anakin. “Beautiful, so beautiful.”

My pussy clenches around him so tightly I’m almost worried it hurt him, but he makes the loudest, most broken noise that I’ve heard come out of him yet.

“I- I- y/n, I can’t hold on. You feel too good, it’s too much.” His face falls into the crook of my neck, my arms cradling his head softly. He thrusts into me relentlessly while still keeping his movements gentle. I moan loudly into his ear, something in my lower stomach tightening and tightening. “Keep making those pretty noises, y/n. Please.”

The almost begging tone in his voice causes my heart to swell in my chest. He sounds so beautiful. I push my hips up to meet his, creating friction that causes both of us to let out excruciatingly loud moans. “An- Anakin-” His eyes roll back and his hips stutter, his thrusts becoming desperate.

“Fuck, fuck,” He hisses, “you’re squeezing me so fucking tight. Doing so, so amazing.” He rubs his thumb faster against my clit, my mind going completely blank. His groans turn into whimpers as his thrusts get sloppier, him clutching onto my hips so tightly they would probably leave bruises in the morning. I don’t think he realizes it, since he would immediately stop if he did, but I want to have marks. I want to have a reminder of what’s happening right now.

I feel this unexplainable tingling in my abdomen, the pleasure becoming so immense it’s like I could physically snap.

“Come for me, y/n. Let me feel you, okay? You’re safe with me,” he says softly, and the words make the rubberband inside of me tighten. I pull his lips to mine, both of our moans mixing. And as I wrap one of my legs around his back, he slides so deep into me it’s like I can feel him from my face to the bottom of my toes.

“Ani, I’m gonna- I think-” I cry out, sparks of white flashing behind my eyelids and my toes curling.

“Y/n, y/n, y/n,” Anakin pants as he pushes into me one final time.

And then, the world erupts around us.

My eyes squeeze shut, my fingers tightening in Ani’s hair as he slumps on top of me, his face nuzzling into my neck. My mind goes fuzzy, everything turning into a blur around me as I hold on to him for dear life.

Anakin’s body twitches and practically melts into my arms as he fills me to the brim, his hips still moving in and out softly, riding us through our insanely intense highs.

“Anakin, oh, force,” I whimper.

“I know. I know,” he mumbles into my neck. He presses soft kisses on my throat and collarbone, rubbing my hips with his thumbs softly. He pulls back after letting us catch our breath, a sudden look of worry on his face. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“It was perfect, Ani. Don’t worry, okay? You were so, so perfect,” I reassure him, kissing his jaw.

I notice the hint of vulnerability in his eyes and I bring my lips to his softly, wanting to wish away every bit of his insecurity. “You’re everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” Anakin whispers against my lips,

“You’re my love. My home.”

Note: I really hope this isn’t super insanely boring, lol. This was my first time ever writing smut or anything like this at all, so don’t go too hard on me! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! If anyone has any suggestions on things you want me to write, I’d be happy to do it. <3

[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!

[sendpseuds]

Same age knights AU where Obi-Wan is pretty sure Anakin is being groomed by a Sith Lord, even though they’ve been extinct for millennia and no one believes him.

He tries to warn his friend [well, they’re more frienamies but Obi-Wan’s not just going to let Skywalker fall to the dark side] but, unsurprisingly, Anakin doesn’t believe him. He calls Obi-Wan’s warning a pathetic jealous trick and “what do you know about the Sith anyway?”

Fine. Obi-Wan will learn everything there is to know about the Sith if it means he can stop this idiot from becoming an even bigger pain in the ass than he already is. He’ll learn their ways, confirm his suspicions, collect his evidence—

But there’s a problem.

The more Obi-Wan learns, the more sense it makes.

All he’d meant to do was prevent Anakin Skywalker’s fall.

He certainly hadn’t meant to trigger his own.

[make-me-imagine]

Worth Saving

Plot: When you are on a stealth mission in a rebel base, Obi-Wan must listen from a distance. When you are found out, injured and trapped, Obi-Wan races to save you, even when you tell him it's not worth it.

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Gn!Reader

Prompt: A is alone and hurt badly, they can talk to B through an earpiece/phone. Eventually A stops talking and B thinks they lost them. But they find them alive.

Requested By: Anonymous; this is a really old mystery prompt request lmao

A/n: I don't recall if they've ever even used ear-pieces in Star Wars except for with pilots in their ships, or if they just like...don't exist. But let's pretend they do lol

Warnings: Mild cursing, mentions of blood and death, wounds. Pretty angsty. Lack of a sense of self-worth from reader.

Words: 2.3k

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You tapped on the new piece of hardware hanging over your ear as you walked through the darkened backrooms of the base.

"Is this thing working?" You asked in a hushed tone.

"Yes, I can hear you just fine." You heard Obi-Wan's voice come through with a small amount of static mixed in.

"Oh good, now I can have your voice in my head telling me all the things I do wrong all the time now."

You could almost hear the smirk on Obi-Wan's face at your sarcastic remark before he replied "Perhaps this will stop you from making your impulsive decisions then."

"Don't get your hopes up."

Obi-Wan smiled again as he checked his scanners again. Even in these kinds of situations you could always make him smile.

He was nervous for you, being alone in a rebel base with no real knowledge of what you were actually looking for. And he hated that he was so far away, unable to get closer due to the base's ability to scan for ships.

So you snuck in yourself. Obi-Wan insisted on coming too, but you needed someone to be prepared to get you out fast, besides, if you got caught, there was a higher chance of him being recognized. You had a better ability of blending in, and no one knew your face, you couldn't be tracked back to the resistance.

"Damn"

Obi-Wan's heart dropped when he heard you curse, immedietely sitting up in his chair his hands hvering over the ships controls in case he needed to make his way to you.

"Y/n? What is it?"

"Someones coming, hold on." Your voice was barely audible, but Obi-Wan held his tongue, and his breath.

You snuck into a nearby room and leaned against the wall in the darkness. The sound of people walking past echoed through your ears.

Your heart was hammering as you held the handle of your phaser tightly.

"Y/n?" Obi-Wan's voice spoke softly, worry obvious.

"I'm good." You whispered and you heard an audible sigh of relief.

Looking around the room you had snuck into, you realized it was full of computers and paperwork. Looking closer, you saw drives locked up in a cabinet. Your interest piqued, you inched closer, wondering if the information on the drives might be valuable.

"I found a bunch of data drives"

"Any way of knowing what's on them?"

Breaking the lock, you took as many drives as you could fit in your bag. "No Idea but I grabbed some. I'm going to try and get into their system."

Able to hack in, you were only able to find one file on a potential weapon development for the rebels before you suddenly heard the door behind you slide open.

You dropped down, trying not to be seen, but you weren't fast enough.

"There they are!"

Through the comm's Obi-Wan heard an unfamiliar yell before the sound of weapons fire was heard. Obi-Wan immediately started the ship and made his way towards the base.

Hearing you grunt in pain, Obi-Wan's heart dropped "Y/n?"

"I've been hit" You said with panic in your voice as you fired your weapon at the rebels. Killing one, and wounding the other, you managed to get out of the room.

You raced down the corridors, your abdomen burning from your wound. As alarms started to blare through the base, you looked for a way out, but as the sound of running approached, you felt a sense of dread wash over you.

"I'll be there soon Y/n, can you get to the pick up point?"

"I'll get back to you on that."

Weapons fire filled the comm's again and panic coursed through Obi-Wan. He knew it was too dangerous to send you alone, he hated that he didn't go with you, he hated that he didn't risk the resistance being linked to the mission.

When silence came through the comm's Obi-Wan spoke "Y/n, what's going on?"

He heard your heavy breaths through the comm "I can't get out, they've got the place flooded with people. Obi-Wan, they knew I was here. They didn't just find me, they were looking for me."

Obi-Wan's breath caught in his throat "Are you sure?"

You nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see you "Yes, they knew"

Anger and worry coursed through him, who found out? Or, who betrayed you?

"Where are you?"

"I found a small storage room, I'm hiding in, I don't know if they'll find me. If they do, I'm screwed."

"How are your injuries?"

You looked down at your body and you swallowed. After the first hit to your abdomen in the control room, the ambush of rebels in the hall did more damage. You had been hit in the shoulder, arm and leg. It wasn't good, you already felt your body weakening.

Your clothes were burned from the phaser fire, the wounds were cauterized, but blood seeped from them due to your desperate escape.

"Not good."

Obi-Wan's stomach turned "I'm almost there, just hang on okay?"

"Obi-Wan, don't"

"Don't what?"

"Don't come for me."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm too far into the base, it's too risky. And I'm too injured. It's not worth it."

Obi-Wan let out a scoff of anger and surprise.

"You mean you're not worth it?"

You always had this mindset. You always threw yourself into dangerous situations so other's didn't have too, because you thought you wouldn't be as missed, that you wouldn't be worth as much, that no one would really care if you died.

And he hated it, he hated that you didn't see your worth. He hated that you didn't see how much he cared.

Your silence told him exactly what he already knew.

"How can you still think that?" He asked, his voice desperate "How can you think after all this time, after all the people you've saved, that you aren't worth it?"

"It's an occupational hazard I guess." You spoke softly, obviously in pain, but he could hear the forced smile on your face as you spoke.

You were never one to want to worry him, so you always made jokes.

"Even if I don't think I'm worth it. It's too dangerous for you. The base is flooded with people, you may be a jedi, but you can't make it through all of them to find me. You'll get yourself killed."

"I'm coming to get you Y/n, nothing is stopping me."

Your heart was hammering in your chest, and you weren't sure if it was because of the pain, panic, or the way Obi-Wan was speaking.

"Is this what it feels like to be you, when I make reckless decisions?"

You heard Obi-Wan let out a soft huff "Yes"

"No wonder you always get so upset with me."

"Occupational hazard" He mumbled as his knuckles turned white due to the grip of his hands.

He could hear your voice slowly getting softer, you were loosing strength.

"I'm getting close Y/n, just hang on."

You could hear the sound of footsteps nearby and fear coursed through you. You pointed you weapon at the door, prepared to fire if needed. Even if you'd die here, you wouldn't let them take you out easily.

The footsteps faded and you felt relief wash over you. You hissed as a jolt of pain shot through your stomach.

"Y/n?"

"Obi-Wan, it's too late." Your voice was softer now, as your eyelids grew heavier. Your clothes slowly soaked with blood, your wounds aching.

"Don't you dare say that. I know you're stronger than this, so just stay awake, I'm almost there!"

Obi-Wan could feel himself losing to his emotions, but he didn't care, not now. He couldn't lose you, he wouldn't.

"Always so worried about me, always caring so much more than others. Why?" You were mumbling but Obi-Wan could still hear you.

Obi-Wan felt his eyes burning, hearing the pain and worry in your tone "Don't you know?"

"Yes. But If I'm going to die I'd like to hear it at least once."

Obi-Wan shook his head, "You're not going to die. You're going to hold on, and I'll tell you in person. How does that sound?"

"So now you're trying to bribe me into surviving?"

"Anything to make you stay"

You didn't notice your grip loosening and your gun falling to the floor, or the way your body began to slump. You tried to focus on Obi-Wan's voice, to stay awake, but you felt yourself falling into darkness.

"I don't...think I h-have...a choice"

"Y/n? Y/n!"

When you didn't response, and he was only met with silence and static, dread washed over him.

"Y/n?"

Seeing the base come into view, Obi-Wan began to land his ship. Fear, anger and determination coursed through him. He wouldn't believe you were gone, not until he found you. And if- if you were dead, he wouldn't leave you here, not alone.

Obi-Wan managed to get half-way through the base before encountering rebels. After a fight, and a light wound to his arm, he made his way through the base again.

Reaching out with the force, he felt for your presence, any sign of you nearby. Feeling nothing, he felt his heart clench painfully in his chest.

Suddenly, just for a second, he felt a familiar presence, a sort of warmth washed over him, but then it was gone. But it was enough for him as he picked up his pace, and began running.

Finding a small door sort of hidden in a corridor, Obi-Wan knew it would be the sort of place you would go too. Going in silently, his eyes immediately spotted you at the back of the small room and his heart dropped.

You were still, no movement could be seen. Your phaser was lying on the ground beside you, your hands limp and head to the side. Your clothes were soaked with blood, as phaser burns could be seen.

Obi-Wan ran to you taking your face in his hands. He felt relief wash over him. You were still alive, though barely.

He knew it would e dangerous getting you out. He'd have to carry you, but he was not leaving you. Scooping you up into his arms, he made his way out into the corridor. He could hear the sound of footsteps nearby. Taking a breath, he started to run, to get you to safety, so save you.

--- --- ---

You weren't sure how long you had been in the darkness, lost and numb. But slowly, you started to feel as though there was someone in the darkness with you. Like you were underwater and someone was reaching for you, all you needed to do was take their hand.

"Don't go Y/n."

The voice was familiar, but you had trouble placing it. It was warm, it felt safe.

"I'm right here, we're almost out of this, just don't let go."

Suddenly, like a jolt of electricity you realized. It was Obi-Wan. He had come for you after all. But you were sure you were dead. Weren't you?

No. Not yet.

Darkness swallowed you again, but you felt lighter, as though you weren't drowning anymore, but floating, waiting to wake up.

When your eyes finally fluttered open, the room around you was unfamiliar, but the presence beside you was a comforting one.

Obi-Wan stared at you for a moment, surprised by your sudden consciousness. Relief followed quickly though as he leaned forward.

You met his eyes before you spoke, your voice soft "You came for me"

He smiled softly "Of course I did."

"Even though I told you not too."

"Yes"

Your eyes wandered to his arm, which was now in a sling. "You got hurt"

"Yes."

He saw the guilt cross your face and he reached out and placed his hand over the top of yours. You met his eyes again as he spoke.

"It's nothing serious. I got off a lot better than you did. You've been asleep for days."

You looked down at Obi-Wan's hand as it encased yours. "I heard you, talking to me. Telling me to hold on."

Obi-Wan smiled softly. He knew what you were referring too. When he finally got you back to the ship, he reached out to you with the force. He knew there was a connection to the force within you, even if you refused to acknowledge it. That was how you could hear him.

"And you did hold on."

You nodded softly, seemingly lost in thought. Obi-Wan squeezed your hand softly and you looked back to his face. Your eyes remained locked in silence for a moment before he spoke.

"You asked why I cared so much for you" He began, his voice uncertain, knowing the things he wanted to say were meant to stay a secret. Knowing he was going back on his own training and beliefs for simply feeling them.

You shook your head, stopping him "You don't need to tell me Obi-Wan"

Silence fell as your eyes remained locked. You knew how he felt, and he knew how you felt. But that was all it could be. And you both knew it.

In a moment of desperation, before you thought you were going to die, you wanted to hear him say it, just once. But now you were alive, safe again. And those words could no longer be said again.

"It's okay." You said softly, your emotion obvious in your voice "I know."

Obi-Wan smiled, but there was only sadness and regret behind it.

He wanted to tell you so badly, but both of you understood the consequences if he let those emotions take hold of him. You smiled at him, but there was sadness behind it. The same as he held onto.

You both knew how you felt, and you both knew that feeling was worth holing onto, worth saving until you could final feel it freely. But for now, it would remain unsaid.

xx End xx

Not sure how I feel about how this came out, but I hope you enjoyed it!

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @rexit-mo, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

Star Wars & Obi-Wan Taglist: @hoeforthefictional, @asgardianhobbit98, @agent-catfish-kenobi, @maellem, @locke-writes, @stargirl-05, @linkxneptune, @skylions-den, @sardonic-the-writer, @emptyflowerpots, @hoodedbirdie, @gatefleet

[padawansuggest]

Aayla and Anakin are the siblings beating the shit outta each other in the background of all of Obi-Wan and Quinlan’s holocalls and family pictures they are required to take whenever they’re all in temple to document their babies growing up. Ahsoka and Rex are the siblings committing WWE moves on each other but also if one of them actually gets hurt they either spoil the other, or bribe them not to tell Skywalker.

[z-socks]

Armored Heart

As the war trudges on, the senate's interest in protecting the existing Clones wanes, forcing Obi-Wan to find a solution that Cody doesn't originally care for, leading to a discussion that doesn't end the way either of them thought.

Or, a quick and bittersweet one-shot that addresses my headcanon about why the Jedi wear less armor as the Clone Wars goes on.

Also on AO3

Two and a half years. Two and a half years the war had raged on and the loss with it. Two and a half years of Clones - Brothers, men - left to rot in battlefields, names painted on their armor if any from their squads knew them. Shinies rolled out in a matter of hours to take their place. And now, now Obi-Wan and his commander were staring at a holo projection of a committee member representing the Senate denying his request for more plasti-bond to fix his men’s armor. Two and a half years of sending men, his men, into battle, two and a half years of undoing conditioning to offer his troops some semblance of personhood, and the Senate couldn’t even spare them a few credits to repair their most valuable display of identity!

“Perhaps you could source some plastoid from the dead.”

Obi-Wan heard Cody’s low growl from across the holo-table. “I’m afraid that solution won’t work for the men,” the Jedi offered, tone curt as he tried to release his frustration into the Force. “Their armor is too culturally intwined. To be stripped of it in death would be to label the fallen as traitors. I cannot make such a request to ones who have been nothing but loyal to the Republic.”

The committee member did not appear swayed, annoyed expression on their visage, blue and distorted on the patchy hologram this far out in the Outer Rim. It didn’t help they spoke with a translator, words garbled with the weak signal and delayed with the translation. “General, the Senate cannot afford to fund every request.”

Obi-Wan raised a brow. “This is a cost saving measure in the end. By repairing armor instead of replacing it-

“I’m sorry, general, but this is what the Senate has decided on.”

“Without consult of the troops, I’m sure.”

“Consult with the Clones is not required for the Senate to make wartime decisions.”

Oh how that rubbed Obi-Wan the wrong way. He grit his teeth. “Yet they’re the ones you send into battle for you.”

The committee member simply checked their chrono and sighed. “General, we are at war. Everyone has to pitch in.”

Pitch in. Pitch in? Obi-Wan had sacrificed his very ideals as a Jedi to lead in this war. His men suffered and died every campaign for the Republic. Pitch in. How many hours had he and Cody logged in planning battles to prevent loss of life across the galaxy? How many Clones volunteered their very souls to bring safety to civilians in the middle of enemy fire?

Pitch in.

The committee member couldn’t even sacrifice the time to extend this discussion. How was that ‘pitching in?’

Well fine.

With practiced ease, Obi-Wan unfastened his chest, upper arm, and leg armor, dropping it on to the holo-table before the committee member. Cody stared at him wide-eyed from behind the projection.

“If you would please,” Obi-Wan began with strained politeness, “inform the committee we have found a source of plastoid to melt into plasti-bond.” He leaned in. “Oh and do feel free to explain to the press why one of the Republic’s high generals is without armor.”

The committee member scowled but ended the call, leaving only Cody’s tight jaw and tendon-showing neck.

They’d taken the call on the bridge and several officers, Clones and nat-borns alike, were suddenly reinvested in their work. Too interested, really, especially for the night shift.

Obi-Wan took a breath and pointed to the plastoid mound on the table. “Cody, please have that sent to Lipp. I believe he has a processing station in the quartermaster’s office.”

There was no yes sir, just a sharp nod, a clear sign that Cody was seething. Instead, his commander barked an order for Boil to take the armor to Lipp and Cody followed Obi-Wan off the bridge. They stayed near lock-step the whole journey to Obi-Wan’s quarters. Obi-Wan could feel Cody’s emotions through the Force, a tight, red-hot thing that sat unnamed in his gut.

“Tea, commander?” he offered, maybe as a distraction, maybe as a disguise, an excuse to prolong the inevitable words Cody would tear into him.

Again, Cody stayed silent and only followed Obi-Wan through the door. It barely closed before Obi-Wan put up a hand to stop whatever barrage was coming his way. “Not a word, Cody, please.” He crossed to the tiny hotplate and kettle, setting the temperature. “I know you’re upset. I know you think I’m being reckless. But I’ve fought for years without any armor. And if it means the men can repair theirs,” he threw his hands up, “without having to strip the dead, Forcesake, I still can’t believe that was an actual suggestion.” He watched the first of the bubbles appear in the kettle. A sigh, a huff of a thing that blew loose hair from his forehead. “So please, please just….” Another sigh. Heavier, harder. “I’d rather they have their armor. It’s theirs. And it keeps them safe and-“

A finger under his jaw had his gaze turning from the boiling water. The contact was burning, but not as smoldering as Cody’s amber gaze, pupils dark pools that ate up the brown with every blink.

“I love you.”

“Co-“ he was cut off by a press of lips. Rough, needy, wanting, and a bit sloppy in the way a first kiss tended to be. Obi-Wan leaned in closer - Cody still unpracticed but very quickly learning - angling his mouth, repositioning to allow the kiss to deepen, now soft. Warm. Barest moisture.

A moan escaped his throat and it had Cody’s hand curling around Obi-Wan’s waist and pulling him closer. Obi-Wan brought a hand to Cody’s cheek, thumb brushing the trailing end of his scar. His hips hit something. The counter. Cody had backed him up to the counter. The hand on his waist slid lower, and lower, and-

The kettle whistled, a blast of reality to pull them apart.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, still feeling Cody’s breath ghost his lips even as he pulled farther away. With a rough swallow, Obi-Wan attended to the kettle, motions rehearsed and automatic as his mind raced to catch up with what had just happened.

Cody had kissed him. Kriff! He’d confessed his love and-

The overfilled cup burned his hand with the hot water. Kriff, kriff, kriff.

“I should leave,” Cody murmured.

Kriff, kriff, kriff.

“Cody, no. Stay. I…” You what, Kenobi? "I'm sorry.” No, that wasn’t right.

Cody didn’t meet his eyes. “I should check on Boil.”

“Cody.” His hand found Cody’s of it’s own volition. “I… I want this.”

Cody’s gaze was so bright, so hopeful. It killed him to add the rest of it.

“But we can’t.”

Cody nodded, slowly, pain rippling through his sunrise Force presence. “I know.” He slid his hand out of Obi-Wan’s grip and rested it for a moment on his Jedi’s chest, right over his heart. “Should’ve kept your armor.”

“Cody.”

“It’s such a big target.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes again, regretting the moment Cody removed his hand and slipped out the door.

[dracowars]

Hi love! Could I request an obi Wan X reader where it’s late at night and he finds her reading in a library and he joins her?

peaceful | obi-wan kenobi

pairing: obi-wan x jedi!reader

word count: 0,6k

summary: where obi-wan joins y/n in the library

a/n: enjoy <3

warnings: mentions of war

universe: star wars

With your face bathed in a soft bluish glow, you scroll through the pages of the holobook that sits on your lap, only reading the titles of each chapter to see if there is anything relevant to you. Sitting with your legs crossed, you lean against the back of the armchair, which is located right by a large round window and has recently become your new favorite spot. It is only here that you can finally rest, letting your mind wander, and enjoy the rain gently pattering against the window, hiding the dark and busy city beyond.

Coruscant never sleeps and, apparently, neither do you. Especially not these last few days, considering you only have one day left until you embark on one of your longest and probably most dangerous missions so far. For this reason, you try to acquire as much knowledge about the planet and its habitat and inhabitants as you can in the short time since the Jedi Council gave you the instructions.

It is always hard to keep your cool in times of war, but it is moments like these when you can just sit here in the Jedi archives, alone, thinking about everything and nothing. For some inexplicable reason, it gives you a sense of security. The mission will probably cost you the last of your strength, but the end of the Clone Wars is in sight, and if this single mission can bring you a little closer to the end, then you will do just that. Giving your all and fighting for your values, for what is right.

Your eyes get caught on a chapter you find useful, and it is only when you change your sitting position that you suddenly feel a change in your surroundings. You do not even have to look up to know he is here.

"Still out and about at this hour?", you tease him, carefully putting the book aside before looking at him because let's face the truth, you can't take your eyes off of him for more than a few seconds. As soon as you do look at him, however, your heart aches in your chest.

The man in front of you has seen a lot of terrible things in this war and it only makes you want to end it even quicker. His hair is disheveled, probably from tossing and turning back and forth for hours to get his well-deserved sleep, which was obviously not granted to him in the end. Obi-Wan only returned to Coruscant today after being sent out to Kamino for several days, and has to leave again tomorrow, with you. Which is why you made it your task to spare him as many difficulties as possible, dealing with the necessary information intensely.

"I knew I would find you here", is his answer as he sits down on the armchair next to you, a small smile on his lips as he can't help himself but to softly run his hand over your head. "And before you tell me to leave and get some sleep: I can't."

"I know", you respond sadly, only knowing too well how it feels to run on low fuel and still not being able to fall asleep, letting the misery of this galaxy behind. Grabbing his hand, you push your palm against his before closing your fingers around it, squeezing lightly.

Reaching over you with his other hand, Obi-Wan grabs another holobook that you have carefully searched out a few hours ago, leaning back in his seat. But not before placing a soft kiss on your hair, whispering 'I'm proud of you' along the way.

Your heart painfully beats for this man. You know that all of this, everything you have build up, can be over tomorrow, and yet he does not disturb the peace you have built around here. He fades in perfectly and, with your hands intertwined, reads on, the soft glow illuminating his beautiful face.

You can't wait for all of this to be over. Because once it is, you will finally make him yours. And he will finally make you his.

[cinnamon-galaxies]

Jealousy and Principles (Obi-Wan x reader)

Pairings: Obi-Wan x GenderNeutral!Reader Warnings/Tags: Jealousy, light swearing, dispute Summary: The reader is a former Jedi who's left the order many years ago! You and Obi-Wan are on a mission to obtain information from a high-ranking Separatist. In a cantina, which according to rumors is supposed to be his retreat, you decide to use advantage of your flirty skills which awakes jealousy in Obi-Wan. Words: 1.4k A/n: This is my first Obi-Wan x reader one shot. English isn't my first language so I'm sorry for any possible grammar or spelling mistakes! But I hope you enjoy it and let me know if you're interested in a part two!

~~~~~~~~~~

Thick, hot air hit you as you and Obi-Wan entered the cantina. The noise of loud voices talking over one another, laughing, and loudly clinking drinks was a stark contrast to the quiet outside on the near-empty streets of the small town on the Outer Rim planet you visited. You and Obi-Wan had a mission to complete, as there were rumors that this cantina was the home retreat of a high-ranking Separatist who was hiding information useful to the Republic.

“I think we should order a drink,” you said as you and Obi-Wan sat down at a table in one of the corners of the room.

Obi-Wan's eyebrows furrowed critically. But before he could say anything, you continued. "To blend in with the other guests."

Obi-Wan nodded in understanding. He didn't seem too keen on the idea because he knew you were someone who was likely to take a look too deeply into the glass. But after all, you were undercover. Disguised in civilian clothing, you might look like ordinary citizens but anyone who sat in a cantina without drinking anything gave a questionable impression—at least to the staff.

You looked around and raised your hand as you made eye contact with one of the waiter droids. His cylindrical form rolled towards your table and made a loud beeping noise.

“Two of those blue drinks, please,” you ordered and the droid beeped again and then rolled away.

"That guy over there with the gray jacket and the beard. That must be him," Obi-Wan stated, pointing with his chin at a small group of humans and aliens chatting and enjoying their drinks.

You followed his nod and located the group he was talking about. Your eyes scanned every single face, not only to identify the target, but also to check out his companions. They seemed inconspicuous. Like normal civilians. It was the same disguise you and Obi-Wan wore. But since you and Obi-Wan had both saved an image of the Separatist on your data pads, you knew exactly that this man, sitting in a group like a normal person, was unmistakably the target you were looking for.

"He looks much more attractive in real life than in the photo," you said jokingly, your eyes not leaving your target's frame. Tob be honest, he was surprisingly handsome. What a shame he was one of the bad guys, you thought.

By staring at the strange man, you didn't notice Obi-Wan grimacing. "I don't think that-" he started, but was interrupted by the arrival of the beeping waiter droid that brought your drinks.

“Thank you,” you smiled at the little droid as you took your drinks from his tray. They were way bigger than expected. Not as usual as in a small glass, but more like a whole cocktail. With a shallow smile on your lips, you toasted Obi-Wan and took the first sip. Your throat immediately burned as the strong liquid ran down your esophagus and you immediately felt even warmer than you already were in the hot canteen. Then your gaze slid back to the separatist and his handsome face. And that's exactly what gave you an idea. "I know how we can get information out if him," you stated.

Obi-Wan took his glass to his mouth as he listened.

“I’m going to seduce him,” you explained.

Obi-Wan paused his sip, on the verge of choking. “Excuse me?” he asked incredulously, feeling his heart beat going faster.

"You heard me right. If there's one thing that can influence a man, it's a charismatic, stupidly-faithful Y/G."

Obi-Wan, far from enthusiastic about the idea, didn't respond. The tension in him was obvious, but you didn't notice. You were far too convinced that your plan would be successful.

"Y/N-," Obi-Wan began, but by then you were already standing up, pushing the empty chair to the table and walking over to the Separatist.

Obi-Wan sighed. Clutching his drink tightly, he took a sip and watched you on the way to that man. He couldn't quite explain what he was feeling as he observed from a distance as you sat down next to the target and engaged in a flirtatious conversation. He struggled to reconcile the mission's necessity with the unsettling feeling that gnawed at his core. All of this felt so wrong to him. In many ways. Of course he was aware of the fact that you weren't a Jedi and haven't been for many years. So the rules of the order didn't apply to you. But the uncharted territory of your alliance collided with the principles deeply ingrained in his Jedi upbringing and his jaw tightened.

The melody of your hauntingly enchanting voice reached Obi-Wan's ears. He wasn't able to understand a single word you said from his distance so his mind made up it's own conversation between you and the separatist that was both exaggerated and also not very unlikely to happen. After all, Obi-Wan knew who you were and what you were capable of.

His chest hurt in a way it never hurt before as a feeling of jealousy covered his senses. Shocked by his own thought he took nother sip from his drink, his hand trembling as he reached for the glass. He wasn't jealous. He couldn't be. His inner conflict definitely had to have something to do with his Jedi principles and your inappropriate behavior.

Obi-Wan watched you lean far towards the target. A seductive smile on your face underlined the shimmer of excitement in your eyes. You seemed to be truly interested in the separatist's narration, in a way that exceeded the whole idea of the mission and your attempt to seduce information out of him. And the Jedi fcking hated it.

It felt like the whole night has passed when you finally stood up from your seat next to the separatist and strolled back to Obi-Wan.

"I was successful," you said with a slight smile on your face, your cheeks still red from the flirty conversation.

Obi-Wan, who still suffered from the echo of that awful wrenching feeling in his guts, didn't give any attention to what you just said. Instead he took a deep breath and shot his blue eyes to yours. "Was that really necessary?" he asked with a bitter tone underlining his voice.

"What do you mean?" you replied confused not understanding what was wrong with your success.

Obi-Wan stared at you with a cold expression and a feeling of discomfort and concern awoke deep inside your chest. "The flirting."

You blinked twice as you stated at him with confusion and before you were able to open your mouth Obi-Wan continued his examination. "This was not the Jedi way. You just broke the code in one of the most inappropriate ways possible and went against the most important of my Jedi principles."

The moment his words entered your brain the feeling of concern turned into anger. "Are you kidding me?" you replied harshly. "I just degraded myself by flirting with one of our biggest enemies and you're sitting here being displeased by my practices instead of being satisfied with the outcome? I'm not a Jedi, Obi-Wan!"

"But you've been a Jedi before," Obi-Wan stated.

You took s sharp breath, furious because of his absolutely dim-witted stubbornness. "And?What's the point of your arguments? I've left the order years ago and you, out of everyone, should know best that I don't give a damn shit about neither the code nor the Jedi principles!"

"And that's exactly the problem!" Obi-Wan replied, his voice becoming louder. You saw a flash of anger in his eyes and felt even more offended by his audacity to criticize you for breaking a code you don't follow while he, in the exact same minute, did the same by letting himself be guided by his emotions.

You took a deep breath before calming your voice to a level that reflected both your weariness towards this conversation and your feeling of disappointment because of the ungratefulness the Jedi confronted you with. "You knew exactly what I am when we started our alliance."

With those words you left the cantina ans entered the darkness of a starless night. You felt like even talking to a wall would have a more productive outcome than this conversation. Obi-Wan was supposed to be a good friend of yours but right now your efforts don't seem to be appreciated. And it also doesn't seem like he truly accepts you for who you are.

[hayden-christensen]

What have you become? I am what you made me.

OBI-WAN KENOBI: PART III dir. Deborah Chow | released June 1, 2022

[phoenixyfriend]

Secret Son of a Disgraced King

Read on AO3

Anakin Skywalker does in fact have a biological father! Now if only someone could get the man to pick the up the damn comm so they could do a paternity test to confirm!

Initially brainstormed on tumblr here.

--------------------

Shmi is twenty-seven years of age, in transit as chattel, on the day she meets Jango Fett. They do not share any duties, as Shmi has been deemed more useful as a face to sell for maid work or bar service than in the hold, processing spice. Not pretty enough for a brothel, maybe, but enough for service. They still want to get some use out of her, for time she is with them, and so she is set handle the injured until they see fit to sell her.

Jango is what they deem 'strong-willed' and 'poorly-behaved.' Words better suited to an eopie than a sapient being. He is punished more often than the other slaves, and sent back to work twice as soon. Shmi sees him over and again to bandage him with diluted, expired bacta, to stitch up broken skin and press ice to bruised eyes. She is no true nurse, but nobody expects her to be. Not the slaves, and not their masters.

"If you ever get out," Fett tells her, "You could probably get a degree in this. Be a medic. Your hands are steady enough for it."

"There is no getting out," Shmi says, "not for the likes of us."

She will change her tune eventually, but this, now, is a low point in her life. Not the lowest it'll ever be, no, but she is not yet climbing out. It will be years she stops digging.

"It'll be a damn long time before I give up my dreams of vengeance," Fett tells her. He says it with a mad grin that doesn't meet his eyes. "It's what keeps me warm at night."

The sleeping cells are freezing at night, in contrast to the hellish heat of the spice processing room.

"There are other ways to stay warm," Shmi says.

She thinks nothing of it at the time, but when she heads to bed, Fett grabs her wrist and raises a brow.

"Staying warm alright?" he asks.

She considers, then, "I'm looking to get some more sleep, I'll admit."

(Continue on AO3)

[leapingbadger]

The Deserter - A CodyWan One Shot

His feet were heavy as he waded through the deep sand. The twin suns beating down on him. His armor had started the chafe as his sweat itched under his blacks. The Bantha had tossed him a few kilometers back, leaving him the arduous task of continuing on foot before the desert sunset brought his inevitable death.

He was close now though, although he didn’t know how he knew. Could he sense it?

The first sun had started to disappear behind the horizon as Cody made his way to the top of a sand dune. Silhouetted against the scarlet sky was a dwelling, sand beaten and worn. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it was uninhabited, but he knew it wasn’t. Again, he was not sure how he knew.

Boyed by the promise of his destination finally within his grasp after years of desperate yearning, Cody continued on. His steps steadier, stronger than they had been before.

He reached the final peak; it was all downhill from here. Cody took off his helmet to wipe his face, noticing a figure standing outside of the dwelling for the first time. He smiled to himself, of course he knew. He’d probably known he was on his way for a while.

Cody tucked his helmet under his arm and continued on, not taking his eyes off him. He felt an invisible electricity as the man’s bright blue eyes looked into his own, even from this far away.

They were ten meters apart before the cloaked figure raised a blaster. Cody froze.

“Are you here to finish the job, my dear Commander?” Obi Wan asked, a hint of humor in his voice but steely determination in his eyes.

“I…I…came to apologize, Sir,”

Obi Wan didn’t lower the blaster and closed his eyes.

“Don’t,” Cody said and watched as Obi Wan’s eyes shot open again, “I want…I need you to trust me. Without…without looking with the force. I…” his voice trailed off. Who was he to ask such things? To set such terms? Obi Wan had every right to be cautious. Who was Cody to ask so much of him? His beloved General.

Cody’s hand went to his blaster, his hand fast as he grabbed it and threw it away into the sand. Obi Wan didn’t flinch, didn’t even move as he did so. He knew. He had to know, Cody thought.

Obi Wan finally lowered his own blaster, a wry smile covering his lips, “I always hoped you would come,” he said, turning back into the small, round dwelling, beckoning for his Commander to follow.

“Here,” Obi Wan said, shoving a cup of water into Cody’s hand as he crossed the threshold.

The first sun had escaped the line of the horizon now, buried in the sand. The second sun’s amber glow illuminated Obi Wan’s house, the white walls transformed into a golden shrine. It might as well have been for Cody. It was where he had come to find absolution anyway.

Cody watched as Obi Wan busied himself, flitting from small room to small room, avoiding eye contact as he did so. It was so unlike him, Cody thought. His General was always so direct, so sure.

As he walked back into the same room as Cody, their eyes met. The blue pools of Obi Wan’s eyes hadn’t been dried up by the desert planet he now found himself on, but the rest of him was a shadow of his former self. His skin tan and worn, the hair once so cropped and neat hung long and shaggy. The grey streaks that had been visible at the end of the war had taken over the copper hue, each color battling for supremacy.

This was Cody’s doing. Cody and the empire.

“General,” Cody said, hoping to gain his attention. He had come such a long way. So many years of searching.

“I am no longer a General, Commander.” Obi Wan said pointedly.

“And I am no longer a Commander, Sir.”

They paused and gazed at each other. “Very well, Cody.” Obi Wan said. A warm smile erupted on his face.

How many years had Obi Wan wanted to call Cody by his name in public and in private and never be able to? Cody knew it was probably as often as he had longed to call him, his Jedi, Obi Wan.

“Obi Wan, I…” Cody stumbled over his words. He’d rehearsed this so many times for so many years over and over in his head. It was the silent thought that lit him from within. The one thing that kept him going on mission after mission. It was the one thought that made him leave the empire. It was Obi Wan, the ghost of him that had done that.

Obi Wan stood in the doorway on the other side of the room. His ragged robes discarded, now clothed more casually than Cody had ever seen him, but still every bit the Jedi. Even if he wasn’t allowed to be one anymore.

“I can’t explain it. What I did. I didn’t want to; I knew it was wrong, but I still did it…I am so sorry, General. And I’m so relieved you survived,” The last sentence spilled out in a guttural sob. Cody felt the knot in his chest loosen.

He didn’t know when it happened or how but Obi Wan had crossed the distance between them quickly, his arm resting his Cody’s shoulder. “I fear we were all pawns in a game we had no hope to win, Cody. I trusted you with my life…” he paused, head lowered but eyes raised to his former Commander, “…and my heart. I have no doubt I can do so again.”

Cody would have collapsed in relief had Obi Wan not caught him. Tangled on the floor of the hovel, Obi Wan held the commander as he wept. The years of anguish and self-hatred slowly seeping out.

“Thank you for finding me,” Obi Wan whispered, cupping Cody’s face in his hands and kissing him gently on the forehead.

Obi Wan’s strong arms encircled him, calmed him and with the fading light of Tatooine’s last sun, Cody could finally looked into his lover’s eyes once more and smile.

[micahwrites16]

Not Even the Force - Anakin Skywalker

TW: smut!

3.3k words

One thing about Anakin Skywalker is that he is possibly the most protective person you will ever meet.

If there were even the slightest bit of danger, he would lock you up if he could.

It's not necessarily out of possessiveness or over-protectiveness, but more fear of losing someone he loves. After his mother died, a part of him broke and no matter how hard you can try to love it better, you can't, and that's something you have had to come to terms with for a while now.

Just like his unwavering defensiveness, the wish that you could take all his worries away doesn't leave. All you can do is love him, and hope that it is enough.

Although you are just about as good with a gun as Anakin is with a lightsaber, you somehow end up stuck inside his ship every time he goes off on a mission. And of course that isn't enough, he has to leave Artoo with you just in case. So, you spend hours on end rambling to Artoo and listening to his sassy robotic replies, trying not to think about what Anakin is doing.

If either of you have one thing in common, it's worrying about the other.

As the only person out of you, Anakin, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka who knows the slightest bit about medicine, you're pretty much always dragged along. You really wouldn't mind if they would allow you to do something, anything, but no. You're not a Jedi, so apparently the only thing you can do is wrap injuries and check bruises.

Even if you couldn't fight or use the force like them, you were still part of their team and they treated you like it.

Currently, you're on Hoth, a planet of complete coldness and ice. You don't know the complete specifics of the mission yet, you just came to be with Anakin like always. It made you feel better that if he were to ever be hurt you could help him, even if you had to go through up to hours of boredom to do it.

You spin around as you hear the ship's door open, Artoo beeping and moving in front of you. You slowly back up and pull out your gun. Your finger moves to the trigger, ready to fire at whatever creature or droid or sith that might pop out. The door to the cockpit opens and right as you are about to fire, the gun is propelled out of your hands, hitting the wall of the ship with a loud clunk.

"Just me, my love," a deep voice calls, a shaky breath finally leaving your lips as you realize who it is. You relax as you see familiar waves of dark honey and the Jedi robe that you have stripped him of countless times before.

"Maker, Anakin!" Your breaths come out as soft pants as your heart calms down. "You can't just scare Artoo like that! Look at him, practically shaking." Both of you look at Artoo, and if a droid could roll its eyes that's what he would be doing right now. He beeps quietly, the sound almost annoyed as he rolls away from us. Anakin chuckles, closing the distance between you and cupping your face in his hands as he kisses you softly.

"I'm sorry for scaring Artoo, that was very inconsiderate of me."

"Yes, very," you mumble quietly as you melt against his lips. Damn him and his perfectness. He brushes hair behind your ear as you pull away, the soft gesture warming your heart. As you finally get a clear view of his face, you gasp when you see a large gash stretch from his hairline to the middle of his cheek, mirroring the scar on the other side of his face. The skin around the cut is irritated and red, blood dripping from the laceration.

Anakin sees the intense worry in your eyes and quickly says, "It's okay, just a small cut. I can clean it up after we get off this dreadful planet." He kisses your forehead as he sits down in the pilot seat, turning the ship on.

"Wait- Anakin, it might need stitches," you follow him, him brushing off your concern as he lifts the ship off the ground. You let out a noise of protest, but quickly sit in the seat next to him, not wanting to be standing as he takes off.

"It can wait a few minutes, y/n."

You roll your eyes at his negligence, Anakin buckling you in with the force and blasting into space.

Once he sets the ship into autopilot you unbuckle and grab supplies to clean his wound, along with bandages and a needle and thread. You walk back to Anakin and straddle his hips, facing him so you can get a good look at his injury. He automatically rests his hands on your hips, shifting you closer to his chest.

"What happened?" You ask as you start cleaning the blood with a damp towel, being cautious not to hurt him further.

"Wampa. It got lucky. I was distracted," His eyebrows furrow slightly and you smile softly, the expression on his face almost looking like a pout. Sometimes you have no idea how this man is the most powerful Jedi in existence.

"Hm, okay. Well, it doesn't look like you'll need stitches, but it might leave a scar for a little while." He nods slightly and you grab something to clean his cut, pouring it on the cloth. "This might sting a bit," you warn as you press along his cheek. The only signs of his pain are his hands squeezing just the slightest bit harder on your hips.

As you continue cleaning his gash, you feel his eyes burn into your skin. His hard gaze used to make you uncomfortable, the intensity of it making you itch and want to crawl inside yourself. It was always like he was staring into your soul, taking every mark on your face to memory. Over time you got used to it, though, and learned to let him do what he wanted. You used to always hide from him, digging your face into the crook of his neck so he couldn't see. He would always pull you back and kiss your jaw, reassuring you with whispers of how beautiful you were. How he would stare at you all day if you would let him, just because he was so mesmerized by you. Then he would make love to you, once again taking every inch of your skin to memory and showing how much he appreciated you with every kiss and caress of his fingers.

Through your concentration, you don’t notice the sudden shift in Anakin, how his eyes gloss over and his hands tighten on your hips even further. You don’t notice how he seemed to have gotten lost in his mind, something in his head swirling darkly.

You finish and bandage his cut, giving it a soft kiss and putting your supplies back in your med kit. "All better," you smile and move to get off his lap, but instead you get pulled back into his chest, Anakin's face digging into the crook of your neck and his arms wrapping around your waist.

His hold is tight, almost desperate. A different kind of worry and surprise hits you at his sudden movement, your arms wrapping around his neck. "Ani?" Your eyebrows furrow, your fingers holding onto the ends of his hair. "Hey, talk to me," you say softly, his arms securing you tighter against him. You feel a shaky breath hit your shoulder, dread curling in your gut as the possibilities of what could've happened swirl in your mind.

"Y/n..." Anakin murmurs against you, his eyelashes fluttering softly against your skin and his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt. You can practically see dark swirls twisting around his body, emanating the emotion pouring through him. You always felt like you could understand and feel him on a level that's deeper than you should, especially in times when something is bothering him. And when something's truly bothering Anakin, it's deep and dark and it's almost as if you can feel it infecting his mind and blood. You have absolutely no idea what happened or what changed in the past five minutes, but you can almost feel him sinking into darkness.

It's so unbelievably scary.

"Anakin. Look at me, please," you plead in the gentlest voice you can manage. You tilt his head up, your eyes finding his.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me," Anakin murmurs, avoiding your gaze.

"Nothing's wrong with you." You search for words that could get him to open up to you, but you come up empty. Instead, you kiss his jaw and keep your gaze locked on him. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"I..." His eyebrows furrow again, a look of genuine confusion crossing his face. He shakes his head like he's forcing something out of it. "I felt something."

"Felt what?"

"I don't know," Anakin murmurs, almost like he's lost in his head. "It felt so real. It felt like a memory, but I didn't see anything. I just... you..." You notice his eyes start shimmering and you rub your thumb back and forth on his cheek, waiting patiently for him to continue talking. "It was like grief. Like I was feeling grief for something that hadn't happened yet. Like the nightmares I had of my mother, except a feeling."

"Grief?"

"Yes. I just knew not to let you leave. Not... not now," Anakin mumbles, his face falling back into the crook of your neck. You feel a wetness hit your skin, a piece of your heart cracking for him. If Anakin's really getting a premonition like what he got with his mother, then it's definitely not good.

"I'm not leaving. I never will," you whisper, hugging him even tighter than before. "I'm right here." You feel him sigh and his lips against your shoulder, his teeth nipping and sucking softly at the sensitive skin as his tears continue to drop onto you.

"Need... need to feel you," Anakin pleads quietly, his hands roaming up and down your back, along your hips, and up to cup your neck as he places kisses on your throat. "Need to know you're here."

"Ani..." You sigh as his lips find the sensitive spot under your ear. And although you want him just as he wants you right now, you're not sure this is the best idea. You can tell something serious just bothered him, and brushing it off with sex might not be the right thing.

"Please, y/n." His hips roll up to yours gently, a small gasp leaving your lips as you feel his growing hardness against your softness. "Need to feel all of you."

You can feel the lust radiating off of him with every brush of his lips and dominating grab of his hands, but more than that you feel his yearning and desperation for not specifically intimacy, but closeness. You decide you'd do whatever it takes to make him feel better.

You try not to dwell on the fact that it seems like it was you who he was grieving.

You pull his lips to yours, rolling your hips against his and pulling moans out of both of you. His lips are conquering and the swipe of his tongue against yours is needy, begging silently for something that you would give him over and over again if that's what he needed. His hips rut up into yours, causing your fingers in his hair to tighten and the boiling lava in your stomach to burn brighter.

Anakin's hands pull up the fabric of your shirt, his metal hand causing you to gasp at the coldness as it roams across your uncovered skin. "Now. Need to fuck you now, y/n," he begs against your lips, his fingers hooking on your pants, quickly lifting you up and pulling them down.

His dirty words stopped surprising you long ago. Now, all they do is fill you with an indescribable heat.

You quickly find the belt on his Jedi robe and take it off, throwing it on the floor beside where he carelessly threw your pants. His flesh hand presses against your clit through your panties, causing you to moan and buck your hips into his hand.

"Already so wet for me, baby. So fucking perfect," he mumbles as he sucks on your jaw and pulls his boxers down, his aching cock springing up and hitting his abdomen. You slam your lips against his again, him grunting sharply as you swipe your thumb over his tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum leaking desperately from him.

"So pretty," you murmur absentmindedly as you take in the sight of his rock-solid cock standing proudly, the tip slightly flushed and begging to be touched. You watch as his cheeks bloom into a dark red, his head falling onto your shoulder once again.

"Baby..." He sighs as his dick twitches, desire and the need to be connected to you overwhelming every one of his thoughts. He presses his thumb against your clit again, sending a shockwave of pleasure through your veins. He hooks his fingers in your panties, pulling them down and brushing his cock against your naked core, causing both of you to shudder. "Are you going to ride me, my love? Going to take me like the good girl I know you are?"

"Mhm," you whimper, your voice filled with lust as you position yourself above his cock, sinking down just so his tip is inside of you. Anakin grunts, his head head falling back against the seat. You slowly slide down, taking him in inch by inch until he's buried all the way inside of you, your walls stretching pleasurably at the intrusion.

"Oh fuck," he groans loudly, holding on to your hips tightly, no doubt leaving marks. "Your pussy was made for me, y/n. Taking me so well."

You moan, rocking your hips against his and reuniting your lips. Your walls clench at his words, causing another grumble to fall from his lips and in turn make your arousal grow at the sound. He guides you up and down his cock slowly, your pussy squeezing around him like a vice as he fucks into you, hitting that spot that only he knows.

Even after the many, many times before that you have been connected like this, you never get used to the size of him. Of being absolutely full, almost feeling like you could explode because of pleasure and completeness. And even though lust is overwhelming both of you, the thing both of you are enjoying the most is being so close to each other. Loving someone so deeply sometimes isn't enough, you have to be one with the other to achieve the level of intimacy you both long for.

"Anakin," you cry out, your fingers desperately gripping onto the ends of his hair as he fucks abandonedly into you.

"I know, I know, y/n. Doing so- so well for me," he praises softly, placing encouraging and loving kisses on any part of your skin he can reach. Your forehead, cheeks, nose, lips, neck. He would devour you whole if he could. Sweat glistens on his forehead as he puts all his energy into making you feel good, wanting nothing more than to replace every one of your senses with pleasure. With him.

You latch your mouth onto his throat, feeling his Adam's apple bob beneath your lips. Fire burns beneath your skin, every pulse of your heart meeting his. His groans and your whimpers bounce off the walls of the cockpit, the dirty, wet sound of you connecting causing a deeper flush to paint your skin.

"Look at you, so unbelievably beautiful on top of me," Anakin mumbles as his cock slams into that deliciously pleasurable spot inside of you over and over again. He reaches his thumb in between you, rubbing in small circles over your clit and making you cry out sharply. Your insides tighten and tighten, your toes beginning to curl as the stars are no longer just in space but behind your eyelids. He speeds up to a bruising pace, your legs faltering as you no longer have the strength to continue rocking your hips. Sweat makes your hair stick to your forehead, your throat going raw with the amount of strangled noises that he's pulling out of you.

Anakin could get drunk off the sound of you lost in pleasure. Every noise and slap of his skin against yours causes his heart to beat frantically and desire to flare inside of him painfully. You could stab him in the heart and he would thank you just for even touching him at all, and the fact that he gets to have you in this way never fully seems real. The way your perfect pussy sucks him in like it's trying to swallow him whole, how it seems like you burn for him just as much as he burns for you, makes everything in him roar with love and lust and every feeling you could ever feel for someone. Every thrust of his hips into yours makes him feel alive, almost like he's finally whole after a lifetime of missing something. Of missing you.

Your head falls forward onto Anakin's shoulder, his hand cradling your head and rubbing your scalp soothingly, holding you through the intense waves of pleasure the both of you are experiencing. His hips stutter as you whimper, your release coming closer and closer.

"Gonna come for me, sweetheart? Gonna let me feel you?"

"Yes," you whine, your eyes squeezing shut. His head rolls back again, his mouth opening and letting out the most beautiful groan as his cock swells inside of you. His hips twitch again, letting you know he's exactly where you are. "Wanna- wanna come with you, Ani."

"I know, baby. I'm right- right there with you," Anakin gasps, bucking upwards into you, his breathing ragged and his face flushed as he staggers towards blissful oblivion. You cry out Anakin's name loudly, your walls fluttering around him as your core throbs painfully.

And all it takes is one more unsteady, forceful thrust of Anakin's hips for both of you to fly off the edge.

Both of your bodies tremble and quiver with the intense force of your release, your noises mixing into a song of ecstasy and desire. Anakin spills himself inside of you, filling you to the point where thinking is no longer possible. The only thing you can feel is Anakin. Pleasure floods through your veins, every limb in your body going still as you ride out your release.

"F-fuck, y/n. There you go baby," he praises encouragingly as you continue to cry out. You hold onto Anakin tightly until your senses start returning and the white light fades from behind your eyes. You press your lips to his again, this time softly and as an act of complete love. He murmurs gentle "I love you's," into your ear as you both come down, both of your hearts swelling as you clutch onto each other for dear life.

"Thank you," he whispers as he kisses your forehead, rubbing his thumbs on the tops of your thighs.

"For what?

"I just... needed to have you. To know you're here, with me." Anakin's eyes fall shut like he's trying to rid something from his mind, and you press your puffy lips against his again, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Don't think about it, okay?" You search his eyes as they open again, pulling his hand to rest over your heart. "Do you feel that? I'm here. Right here, with you. I'm not leaving. I won't let anything take me from you, Anakin. You know that, right?"

His eyes lock on to where his hand is feeling your heartbeat, his eyebrows pulling together softly. His eyes meet yours again, the worry in his face fading.

And at that moment Anakin knew that nothing could take you from him, not fate, not force. You wouldn't let it, and Anakin would die a thousand deaths before he let it. You were his, and he was yours, and if the force was going to take you from him, they would rip it from his cold, dead, "chosen” hands.

"I know."