#obikin wips

[palfriendpatine66]

Thirsty Thursday (?)

Aka your pal has no self restraint. Here’s the intro to the wiggles au - we should really call it something else - for now let’s go with Infinite Happiness

When I meet somebody new I say: How do you do? How do you do? How do you do? When I meet somebody new I say: how do you do? My name is Ben! It’s nice to meet you!

“You lost or trying to make your escape while you still have the chance,” a soft voice drawled from the dark.

Anakin jolted to a stop, arrested by the intriguing sound. He was lost, although suddenly a lot less concerned with that fact. He hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going, watching the final laps of the race he’d much rather be attending on his phone as he made his way to the bathroom before he was subjected to an agonizing two hours of nonstop Infinite Happiness - Live in Concert, his preschool twins most favorite singing group in the whole world. He’d just had to go and buy the concert tickets when Padmé said she hadn’t been able to get a hold of any herself, only thinking of the dual win of being the hero in their eyes and one upping their mother while he was at it, not stopping to consider the astronomical loss that having to sit through the concert would be.

Anakin caught sight of the shadowy figure who’d spoken from where they were tucked into a dark corner. Shining gray blue eyes captured his attention and threw all sense out the window and he said the first thing that came to mind. “I'd rather take a power drill to the temple than have to listen to The Happy Song one more time.”

A look of pure incredulity passed over the stranger’s face. They threw their head back with a laugh that drew Anakin in and had him smiling right along with him.

“Cheers to that mate,” the man said. He raised a flask in Anakin’s direction with a nod and then tipped it to his lips with several long gulps that drew Anakin’s eyes to the bob of his throat. “Only way to get through it.”

He held the flask out to Anakin with a questioning tilt of his head, and Anakin found himself step forward despite himself. “What the hell,” he muttered under his breath and brought it up to his lips without breaking eye contact. His eyes teared up as it burned its way down his throat, warmth blooming and spreading through his chest. A thought stuck in his mind as he handed it back - received with a cocky smirk and tossed back far more gracefully - was that those delectable lips were wrapped around where his had just been.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?”

Gorgeous. “Anakin.”

“Pretty name for a pretty boy.”

Anakin’s cheeks were on fire - and when had it gotten so hot in here? - when he was offered the flask again and drank far more deeply than was wise to hide his face and save himself from having to come up with a response.

What the fuck was happening here? He was a father. He didn’t day drink, for one thing, and not with strangers, for another. Certainly not at children’s concerts. And he hadn’t flirted with anyone since the divorce, let alone ridiculously attractive men wearing eyeliner in dark hallways who looked about ready to eat him alive.

His only excuse for what happened next was he was taken completely and totally by surprise.

Strong, thick fingers wove through his hair and together with the hand that sprawled across his lower back, tugged him forward to waiting lips. They met his own, strong and sure, and parted so that a searching tongue could dart out to lick across his own trembling lower lip, requesting access.

With a gasp Anakin responded enthusiastically, not just granting entry but sucking on the questing tongue that slipped into his mouth like he was starving and intended to swallow him whole. Moaning messily into the increasingly wet kiss, if the sloppy movements could even be called that; they’d already turned into something more, something obscene.

Obscene, Anakin repeated inwardly as his fists twisted into a leather jacket and tight black pants, demanding more and growling with approval when the man’s slighter frame pressed up against his own. Hips that just begged to be grabbed, Anakin only too happy to oblige, ground filthily against his thigh and left little up to the imagination.

[topwan-obikin]

Hello, there!

Here we are, finally opening our discord server!

The invite link will stay public for a month, and then us mods will decide if we should switch to dm only invites or go ahead for another month of free link. We'll see! The server is open to all obikins who'd like to join!

INVITE LINK

[lostinsnow]

Femme fatale?? 👀❤️

Modern WLW Obikin Au! Obi-Wan is Anakin's boss and a major filing error at the company has given Anakin the perfect opportunity to make her move.

Slight explicit warning hehe

With a strained, yet impossibly kind smile that illuminated her gentle eyes, Obi-Wan stepped back from Anakin’s desk and made to return to her private office. “Have a good weekend, Anakin.” 

“Wait!” Anakin shot up so quickly that her chair rolled back to thud against the wall. What am I doing? “I can help you!” 

Obi-Wan turned to her again, brows angled high and lips parted around a breath of shock. “Anakin, sweetheart,” she demurred in her perfect voice, sending a pulse of heat to Anakin’s gut, “that’s a very kind offer, but I truly can’t expect you to do that.” 

“I can,” insisted Anakin with a nod. Spending her weekend organizing papers sounded absolutely miserable, but if it gave her one extra minute to talk to Obi-Wan she’d suffer through it happily. “I want to. You shouldn’t have to sacrifice your weekend to fix someone else’s mistake.” 

“And neither should you,” asserted Obi-Wan. She sighed, free hand pressing to her jaw in a characteristic display of deep thought. Anakin squirmed beneath her gaze, feeling awkward still stood up behind her desk. “You’re sweet for offering, really, but I can’t accept. Even with the two of us, it will take all of tonight and tomorrow. I’m sure a young girl like you has better things to do on a Friday night. Besides, the cleaners require the office to be clear within the next hour, you’d have to come back to my apartment with me.” 

Were she any less experienced with restraining her desire, Anakin’s eyes would have positively fluttered at the idea of going back to Obi-Wan’s apartment with her. All manner of sordid fantasies bloomed in her mind. Falling into one another’s arms the moment they stepped through the door. Sleeping overnight to wake up to Obi-Wan’s firm and possessive hands on her body. Kneeling before Obi-Wan’s couch to eat her out beneath the tight fabric of her skirt. 

A single, shameful pulse of arousal between Anakin’s legs reminded her to remain focused. 

“That’s okay! I mean, if it’s okay with you,” she amended with a coy bite of her lip. Jaw lowered, she aimed a calculated expression of sweet innocence up at her boss. “Please... let me help, Mrs. Kenobi. You’re the best boss I’ve ever had, I want to help you.”

[topwan-obikin]

Lovely! And we are honoured that you have decided to participate in our fest as your first fest 🫶🏻🫶🏻

WIP Wednesday

This is from my @topwan-obikin fest fic––my first fest!

- - -

Obi-Wan had told him, many times, that Anakin would drive him to an early grave. It usually came after Anakin had, yet again, flung himself into danger in direct defiance of his Master’s orders. 

What Obi-Wan didn’t understand was that Anakin liked the way his Master grew frustrated by his recklessness.

He liked being the young one in the pair. He liked the way they looked in the HoloReels that occasionally played outside the Senate chambers, the two of them pressed back-to-back, the years between them marked. He liked how one time when they were undercover, he was offered a second sample at a food stall, the vendor smiling as she nodded towards Obi-Wan and said, “For your father.” 

Until recently, he hadn’t understood why.

“I like that you’re older than me,” he admitted to Obi-Wan, and he moved in close as he said it, closer than that senator from earlier. 

Obi-Wan had no response to that, so Anakin pulled in closer, reaching for a strand of hair at his Master’s temple.

“I like that you have grays. I like that I put them there.” 

He thought of all the times the other Masters smiled at the pair of them and told Obi-Wan, teasing and a touch sympathetic, he seems like a handful. 

He thought of the way his Master blushed each time someone said it.

“I like people knowing I put them there.”

[littlebreadrolls]

Emperor Sith!Obi-Wan comic

So I had this idea where Emperor Palpatine ruled the universe and he found child!Anakin and raised him his whole life to be his perfect right hand/fist. But only a few years after Anakin was old enough to begin performing his duties, Palpatine's rule collapses because Sith!Obi-Wan skips in and kills him. Now, Emperor Obi-Wan thinks Darth Vader would be a very useful weapon to have at his own disposal.

And Anakin, who's been raised in isolation his entire life and is kind of like a poorly socialized puppy ... well, he's kind of distracted by how soft and nice-smelling and pretty Obi-Wan is???

[albaydehset]

obikin moment

[holly-bearie]

pygmalion and galatea? perhaps?

[mayhemspreadingguy]

@magnusbae, not expecting I'd follow through, suggested to sketch Anakin but with cat fangs... Things got out of hand.

Also, look! Magnusbae gifted me with a most lovely fic inspired by my art (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) (fic under the cut, 3,800+ words).

That’s it. Anakin had resisted long enough. 

All through morning, noon and even dinner. He had done his Katas, had finished his chores, even went through his studies, all without so much as a single comment. He deserves to be commended personally by Master Yoda for being an exemplary Jedi. He deserves to be knighted right this moment seeing how he never even mentioned just how force karked awful his Master’s hair looked like for the past week. Sticking in all directions, it grows in uneven patches, the addition of a beard is somehow making his elegant Master look like a beggar from the streets and that, that is intolerable. 

Anakin growls quietly, muscles tense. He knows his Master most likely can feel him staring holes through him, and yet he simply continues reading his datapad, not asking nor looking, radiating calm in the force. Anakin wonders if he could tidy that mess with the power of thought alone. Would that be considered a frivolous use of the force? Even if done in the service of the republic? After all, his Master’s good looks are the cornerstone of the… 

Obi-Wan scratches at the back of his head, clearly bothered and Anakin can’t tolerate this anymore, cannot accept this anymore. His tongue is itching something fierce, his hands are sweating, he cannot sit still like there’s fire ants filling his pants and crawling up his spine. He cannot tolerate this. If not for himself, he must do this for his Master. If not for his Master, then for the order. If not for the order, then for the Galaxy. If not for the Galaxy, then for the Force itself. For he can swear by all that he holds dear that the Force itself is embarrassed by his Master being so unkempt, so ungroomed. 

Unacceptable. This is absolutely unacceptable. His Master has to always look neat and nice and put together, smelling fresh and looking proper. That’s the only right way for his Master to be. Anakin will not stand for it being any other way. He will not. He will make it right. 

His Master ignores the first lick. He often does that, pretends to not notice in the hopes of Anakin stopping after catching himself at his instincts. Oftentimes it works. Oftentimes it is an accident. But not this time. This time it’s very much on purpose and very much intended to continue until Anakin is satisfied with the results. All Anakin needs is for his Master to continue pretending to not notice long enough for him to fix this mess. 

Two more licks, lower neck up the scratchy beard and—

“Anakin—” his Master stops pretending so suddenly that Anakin’s tongue moves over his jawline and across the beard in a way that tickles funny. Anakin likes how it feels, rough and interesting, makes him curious about how it’ll feel like to lick across the jawline, where the beard is the thickest.

Knowing he does not have much time before his Master attempts to stop him altogether, Anakin leans in with renewed urgency, tongue ready, mouth starting to water— “Anakin, stop!” a strong hand pushes against his shoulder, moving him a distance away without being as rough as to push. 

“Mrrphh!” Anakin protests, pushing against the hand but not fighting it actively. His Master can be so bossy when he gets like this, so unreasonable. The only way to win is to use his words, otherwise his Master might just walk off and hide in his rooms instead. Or worse, go meditate in the halls, where everyone will see this shameful disaster.

“You need the grooming, Master!” Anakin starts with the foundation and heart of his objection. His Master always teaches that it’s important to be able to pinpoint the problem early on and address it quickly so as to not let it fester and become bigger than it must be. Granted his Master spoke of interpersonal disputes however it absolutely does apply here. His Master simply cannot deny this reasoning, ergo, will not be able to dispute it as untrue. “So just let me!” Anakin adds, before his Master could somehow find a way to object.

Can’t his Master see that Anakin is offering him a service? Out of the kindness of his heart, no less. Him enjoying the way his Master’s flavor sits on his tongue, the way it makes all the small hairs on his body stand on end, how it fills him with excitement— His Master’s scent, rich and spiced and safe— how he favors it above all else even when the exotic teas make him sneeze and sneeze— the way a single point of contact would narrow his senses into a single point of focus, clear his mind of all worries— the way his vision relaxes, the way his nostrils flare and he inhales and inhales and inhales— the way his heartbeat peaks and then slows, the way his mouth goes dry and he feels thirsty, hungry even— all that, all that has nothing to do with his altruistic motivations. He’s just looking out for his Master. Obviously, duh. 

“Master.” He can hear his own voice, can hear how it takes a whiny note his Master often teases him for. It’s hard to care when he has a goal bigger than his own ego. “Just let me.” He demands, he can hear it and he still doesn’t stop himself from reaching for his Master’s flowing robes, claws catching on the material and making him shudder. Maybe he does need trimming just like his Master insists each time they spar. Maybe Anakin will allow it, if his Master is good and allows him this. Maybe he’d even let his Master groom him too.

The bewilderment in the force clues Anakin on the fact that yes, maybe he did forget to shield, again. He huffs through his nose, wrinkling it. He really doesn’t know what the big deal with this is, doesn’t understand the obsession everyone and especially his Master, has with hiding every single urge and instinct and thought they have. It’s not like he thinks anything he wouldn’t also say out loud. Maybe if the Jedi used less of those shields, it would have been much easier to communicate with them, to bond with them, and maybe then he’d feel less like an outsider, like an odd bird out of its cage.

“Oh Anakin..” Obi-Wan sighs, the tension loosening from his hold against his shoulder, rather than scolding, there’s the hints of the sadness his Master expresses each time Anakin feels alienated in this place. It is not his fault no one understands him, it is not his fault he is different than everyone. 

“Master.” Anakin chirps back, rolling his eyes. His Master has the oddest of tendencies to get hung up on the most particular of topics. Anakin not having enough friends, per his Master’s opinion, is one such topic. Nevermind the fact that Anakin had never seen his Master ever share a true conversation with a single person. Other than himself. Of course. His Master does talk to him.

His Master will get fixated on him instead of thinking about himself and nag him to half death. ‘Anakin get more friends’ and ‘Anakin don’t spread the droid parts all across the quarters’ and ‘Anakin I’m a grown man I can groom myself.’ And while some of those things might be true, obviously, the last one is not. “You look like a mess.” Anakin says it to his face, because he and his Master are real friends.

“Thank you Padawan.” His Master answer, no longer sounding sad, instead his voice is dripping with sarcasm. Anakin doesn’t like it, but he supposes it’s better than sadness. “I do not recall asking for your no doubt impeccable sense of— Ahnakin—!” his ranting stops mid warming up when Anakin uses the opening to dart forward and lick him again, from the lowest exposed spot of his neck, up the smooth skin, his rough tongue making a satisfying ‘shh’ sound as it catches at the hair of the beard and smooths it up with his lick. The flavor is… is… 

Obi-Wan had used some sort of balm… some sort of synthetic musk that makes Anakin’s brain swim funny and eyes to close and mouth to water even more. He has to swallow down the saliva lest he drool like a hungry Tooka. It’s hard not to, when his Master is so, so, so karkin yummy. He slams his shields up with a clumsy thud in the force, but maybe just a moment too late to cover up that last thought.

“Anakin!” his Master sounds properly scandalized, voice raising to a tone that always makes Anakin’s ears ring uncomfortably and the following lecturing tone is no better. “Cease this nonsense immediately, you must not—" 

Anakin licks again. The side of his neck and up to the point where skin meets ear. “Master.” He says there, voice dropping into a purr that morphs into a warning growl he didn’t even think of making, there’s no aggression, only the frustrated warning to not stop him in the middle of something so damn important. Grooming, is important. More than Katas or studies or meditations. Maybe even more than sparring. And Anakin loves sparring. 

All Anakin wants is for his Master to sit quietly and let him take care of him. The way he ought to, the way he was meant to do. It’s his job, after all, is it not? He is Obi-Wan’s Padawan, it’s only natural he would tend to his Master, that he would care for him, that he would help him. That just makes sense. That rings true in the force and that’s all Anakin needs to know.

"I will.” He declares, it is no longer a request nor a plea, it is a declaration of intentions. A declaration of intent. He presses his nose at the soft skin under his Master’s ear and inhales, deeply, the scent making him Master-stupid so he says what’s on his mind with no filters, with no thought. “Unless you hate me.” His voice drops softer, he can’t breath, having inhaled too much of the strongest drug known to him. “Then I won’t” he trembles, he waits, if his Master rejects him, if he does hate him for his care, he will, he

“Anakin, this is hardly related, I do not think that—”

The force between them sparks and Obi-Wan’s mouth snaps closed with an audible click of the jaw. There’s a tension and a heating of an eruption that is halted with the calming breeze of spring air, Obi-Wan’s Force Signature covering his own, soothing, embracing, calming. “Very well, Padawan.” Obi-Wan speaks with a voice of a man who’s been worn in battle, sighing out in exhaustion.b “Since you cannot resist your nature, I’ll allow it.“ He pauses, sounding not a little doubtful as he adds the obligatory “Just this once, Anakin.” A final form of giving in, one Anakin is familiar with. 

There’s an ‘You should be old enough to know better’ goes unsaid and so Anakin ignores it. It wouldn’t have mattered even if Obi-Wan did say it. He had before, many times, and it never mattered. Anakin somehow doubts it’ll matter even when he grows taller than Obi-Wan. And he will, he just knows it. He will grow tall and strong, and he will always take care of his Master, and Obi-Wan would not be able to argue with that. Because it’ll all make sense. It always does. Everything about them does. 

If only his Master understood him better, he’d know that one doesn’t just grow out of wishing to groom those he cares and…loves. This is something that is forever and always. That is something that only grows and deepens, something to be shared and relished. Something he will always give to his Master freely, even if his Master maybe doesn’t…. Really share it in the same way as him. Which is fine. He had decided a long time ago. It is fine. 

It is enough that he gets to care for his Master. So he smiles instead and purrs out a sweet “Thank you, Master.” In that respectful manner he knows his Master enjoys hearing. He giggles when he feels his Master’s breath hitching, giggles more when nuzzling against the neck tickles his nose. “This is so horrible.” He complains, wanting his Master to know how strongly he objects to this change, and yet he cannot stop giggling. “Master!” he doesn’t even try to hide his joy from his voice, nevermind from the Force.

His Force Signature is a slow pulse of contentment, securely tucked beneath Obi-Wan’s still. When he licks small licks under Obi-Wan’s ear, he can feel his Master’s breath catching, can feel the way he stops breathing entirely and the soft gasp when Anakin licks at his ear directly, once, twice, a few more times just to test how committed his Master is to this session. Very, it seems. His Master doesn’t object even when Anakin grows bold and nibbles at his earlobe, tugging ever so gently. His Master is always so sensitive around this area, always so jumpy if Anakin stays too long at this spot. It always makes Anakin want to lick there until Obi-Wan loses his composure entirely.

He never does. 

At least not too much.

He does want to groom Obi-Wan after all, not only bully him into squirming because he is so damn ticklish there. That is not to say that he is above wanting to see his pristine Master squirming a little. So he licks there again, and when his tongue dips only a little into the ear, his Master finally jumps and moves away, breathing harshly and looking redder than his hair.

“Anakin I do believe that my hair is not located in that particular spot and—” his hands close on Anakin’s shoulders when he makes it to the ear again, wanting to nibble just one more time, just one last time… “Anakin.” His Master’s firm voice snaps him back into focus, tells him gently through the force to not overdo it. Fine, fine. He will not overdo it. This time.

"Just relax, Mastah.” Anakin pouts, the word slurring in the way his Master always corrects. Always, but not now. Anakin reaches for his Master’s wide shoulders and waits a moment until his Master’s grip loosens enough for him to actually move. It’s easy enough to shift to his Master’s lap. One knee over and sitting down in one smooth motion that has a practiced finesse to it. You either get to Obi-Wan’s lap swiftly, or you don’t at all. There is no room for hesitation for his Master will do enough hesitating for the both of them. So he sits down and nudges closer, right away. Inhaling, inhaling deeper.

Oh how he wants their scent to become one. They’re already nearly inseparable, living as closely as they do, using the same soaps, eating the same foods. Anakin wants more. Anakin wishes that they could smell and feel like one. United. Clearly bonded. Even more than they are through the force. He wants it so much that his fangs itch, itch, itch to bite and bite and bite. But no. No he is here to groom, to care. Not to bite, not to… mark. His cheeks are warm with it, knowing that he has, and is, constantly considering this. Wondering about this, curious about this. About marking his Master in a way that will be known, in a way that will be understood. He thinks about it, always. Luckily his Master has no clue. Luckily, Obi-Wan does not know. Or he wouldn’t let him sit here so carelessly, surely, he wouldn’t. 

“It’s part of it, duh.” Anakin says without truly knowing what he speaks of. The grooming, the licking, the biting, the sitting on the lap? He doesn’t know. He only knows of the happy, loud purr that fills his lungs when Obi-Wan doesn’t stop him from leaning back in, back to his neck, nuzzling, smelling, licking up that rough, funny tasting beard and to his hair, spiky and significantly softer than the beard. He giggles again, and purrs. It’s an odd combination of sounds he does try to stop but doesn’t manage. He is too preoccupied for dignity, or decorum, or class. He’s too karking pleased. 

When he licks at his Master’s neck again, the man tilts his head up and away, exposing his throat for him. Good. Good. Good, great, awesome.

His Master couldn’t have displayed his trust more plainly than this. No words could have conveyed the same level of commitment, of confidence and belief. Exposing one’s throat, Anakin thinks, is a universal sign. Even if his Master is less inclined to instincts as Anakin is, it still counts, it still matters a whole lot that he does it for him. His Master does it because he knows it matters to him and that— that matters more than all else.

His own purring is deafening, drumming in his eardrums and filling his chest with sound, he used to try to hide this in the past when he realized that most Padawans did not purr at every one of their Master’s compliments or gestures of kindness. He no longer bothers. He pulls and licks and purrs some more. He takes his time, licking small, measured licks, taking care to put that awful messy beard into something much neater, dignified.

“Maste-rrr.” He draws the ‘R’, nuzzling again under the ear and grinning when his Master shudders but doesn’t pull away, he always gives him a chance to be good. So he will be good. He does not nibble, instead he wraps his lips carefully around the bit of skin where no hair touches. Oh he wants to suck, to mark, to taste. Oh he does, so much. But he doesn’t. He will be good, because his Master believes him to be good, and proper, and nice. So he will be. 

His cheeks are fire hot when he thinks about what else he would have liked to be doing instead of the promised grooming. That is not something he should be thinking of, nor something his Master would ever permit, but…

Thinking is not illegal and he is not good at not thinking. 

So he imagines it. Imagines how his Master’s hands would feel on his hips, imagines his Master yanking him down to sit properly on his lap, Imagines his Master wanting him to lick elsewhere and—

“Ahnakin—” Obi-Wan protests, so strongly it rings in the force with his words. He feels and looks scandalized, even more so than before. He looks like he is considering all his choices and decisions. He looks like he’s about to call quits. He looks like he’d push Anakin away, he— places his hands on Anakin’s hips and pulls him down, to sit properly. 

The whine that escapes Anakin’s lips is nothing short of mortifying. It’s a needy, surprised thing, he feels like a proper youngling, confused and shy. He seeks the refuge of his Master’s neck and hides there, nuzzling while whining again, complaining, scandalized too by his Master’s audacity to follow his dreams up like this. He can’t mean it, he simply can’t! It is a mere coincidence, his Master would never follow his fantasies, he didn’t even hear it, his shields are up and proper, he’s sure of it, he’s sure of it, he’s… 

“Sorry…” Anakin murmurs out, because if he’s honest, he is not sure if his shields are worth anything with how excited he had gotten. Maybe his Master did hear, maybe his Master did feel something. Maybe he did push a little too hard. He doesn’t want to push too hard, he knows that sometimes his Master gets nervous because of his thoughts. Not angry, never angry.

He doesn’t want to make his Master nervous, he can feel the tell-tales of it in the force. Despite his Master’s secure hold on him, despite his Master’s unmoving frame. He can feel the building up hesitation. He does not want his Master to feel that way with him. 

“I’ll stop.” He promises his Master, assures him. He’ll try to, anyway. For his Master he’d try to go against his nature, even if his nature does tell him to think and do all sorts of things. Sometimes, in the quiet of the night when he can’t sleep and he thinks of his Master and every word they had ever passed, he does wonder about this. Is this truly his nature, his instincts that drive him to act as he does, or is it simply how he is with his Master? He suspects he knows the answer to that, but it’s easier for the both of them to call it instincts and be over with it, so he never disputes it. “Really.”

There’s a charged silence and then, blessedly, his Master says the two words Anakin loves more than anything else in the world, the two words for which he, not jokingly, thinks he might be willing to die for. 

“Good boy.”

The Coruscanti accent is thick and rolling, he sounds almost distracted, he sounds… 

Anakin shuts his eyes and bites his tongue, fangs digging into the soft flesh. He must not think of exactly how he imagines his Master sounding. He should not think about how his hands feel warm and human on his hips. He should not think about the lingering flavor on his tongue nor how his lungs are full of Obi-Wan, of his Master. He should not, is not allowed to. Promised not to. Instead he wraps his arms around his Master’s neck and hugs him, pulling the larger man to himself, having his head against his chest for a few long moments in which he is sure Obi-Wan hears just how fast his heart goes. He surely can feel it through the bond, it’s going crazy, ba-dum, ba-dum. 

He can feel a distant echo of his own heartbeat, almost imperceptible to his senses, and yet there. An answer. Thoomp-thoomp.

When he leans back, he moves his hands to cup his Master’s cheeks and makes him tilt his head up, to face him. “You look good now,” His fangs stretch at his lips as he grins wide enough to hurt. “Master!” he adds, cheekily.

His Master’s eyes are a bright blue, the deepest, calmest pond. He rolls them shortly, then looks directly into Anakin’s own eyes and smiles at him, sarcasm dripping with fondness as he says “Thank you. Ah-nah-kin.” With the most accented tone Anakin had ever heard. There’s so much black in his Master’s eyes, a beautiful, wondrous thing that makes him itch all over and want to see more of that soft darkness no one else gets to see. 

No one else, but him. 

[paracosm-draw]

Clingy

(an inch of distance is unacceptable)

The brainrot is brainrotting extra hard rn, send help

[samstree]

when we talk about obikin first kiss it’s always anakin being possessive or rough or jealous… but what if… obikin first kiss but anakin is so so careful because his dream is finally coming true. what if he’s had a crush on obi-wan since he was ten and has been dreaming about kissing him for years. and the day finally comes and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands and mouth and oh god obi-wan is so close and so patient. he’s gonna do it wrong because he’s too young and inexperienced and obi -wan must have had far better kisses because he is popularTM. what if anakin builds it up so much in his head that he ends up kissing so gently and carefully and he’s trembling when they part. what if it’s the sweetest first kiss in obi-wan’s life, and he’s so endeared but also finds it hilarious that he teases anakin for years to come… what then…

[human-rocket]

quick- tag what they’re arguing about

[oh-biwan]

Touch my lungs, take my breath

Inspired by @predator-padawan's pleasure, little treasure 🖤 The thought of using the Force to touch the insides, the utter invasion, nowhere to recoil from it, and instead just taking it... this fucked with my brain on so many levels and snugly rooted itself in a dark corner of my mind.

[tennessoui]

wip wednesday (first look)

It’s funny, Anakin thinks, mostly because if he doesn’t think it’s funny then he may just lose himself to the unfair, rage-inducing irony of it all. 

So it’s funny. 

It’s funny that when he’d finally bitten the proverbial blaster shot and allowed his hands to cup his master’s face in a decidedly non-platonic, unmistakable, we’ll-talk-about-this-or-I’ll-kill-us-both-don’t-think-I-won’t-Obi-Wan sort of way, he’d had the stray thought that the only thing that would ever have the power of removing his hands from his master ever again would be the man himself. And when Obi-Wan, eyes wide and face flushed, had gripped the back of Anakin’s neck so tight that it’d hurt and then smashed their mouths together as if he’d been waiting a century to do so, Anakin had thought—well. That was it then. All that was standing in the way of Anakin and Obi-Wan and a shared life of hedonistic and long overdue mutual pleasure (Obi-Wan’s hereto unknown feelings on the matter) dissolved into nothingness in the scant space between the press of his master’s lips against his.

Which, he’d thought in the moment, meant that Anakin would be able to touch his master, kiss his master, love his master for the rest of his life. Pretty much whenever he wanted. 

He’d thought. In the moment.

So it’s funny, at least a little bit.

Because while Anakin was surviving through long and boring peace talks with the Separatists by entertaining himself with lovesick daydreams of never letting go of his master’s hand and waking late in the mornings to find his master curled up along his back and going on romantic excursions into the Lower Levels of Coruscant and picnicking in the High Street City Gardens and pressing his master down into a bed of expensive silk in the Open Circle colors, suitable for war heroes, Obi-Wan was, presumably, standing two Jedi down from him and watching Chancellor Bail Organa sign the peace treaty and thinking, apparently, I should really get another padawan now that the war’s over and such.

[teaandjumpers]

Senate Gossip Ficlet

“Well?” demanded Anakin, needing to know what the senator had said.

“She said—” Padmé hesitated and lowered her voice to a whisper. “She said he was an ass man.”

She paused again. “And that he—he,” she gazed at the wide-rimmed glass in her hand, gently swirling its contents in an effort to avoid looking Anakin in the eyes.

“He what, Padmé?” he asked, growing impatient.

They both glanced at the man in question. Obi-Wan was speaking with two other senators, Mon Mothma and a man Anakin didn’t recognize. 

Padmé had been regaling him with some recent gossip about his Master—apparently the Jedi were a favorite topic at senatorial retreats, the more scandalous the tidbits the better. 

It seemed that Obi-Wan was brought up on a late night talk with some other like-minded politicians. A woman, the senator from Cantonica, had mentioned that she had it on good authority that his Master was a very giving lover.

The thought didn’t sit well with Anakin, the thought of a group of snivelling senators, Padmé excluded of course, gossiping about Obi-Wan. 

But—

Anakin needed to know more.

Obi-Wan had glanced at Anakin a few times throughout the night, giving him warm, secret smiles. It warmed something in his chest, and he smiled back without thought, happy to have his Master close even if it meant attending a stupid war-time fundraiser. 

He watched Bail Organa walk past Obi-Wan, clapping a hand against Obi-Wan’s shoulder before making his way towards Padmé and Anakin. 

“Bail!” exclaimed Padmé, looking relieved. “What was it that Senator Sellale said about Obi-Wan?” 

Bail looked at her with surprise, then glanced at Anakin with uncertainty. 

“He wants to know,” said Padmé.

The man took a deep breath and sighed. “I believe the good senator’s exact words were that ‘he loves to eat ass,’” said Bail with little fanfare.  “And that he ‘eats it well.’”

Having delivered his proclamation, Bail spread his hands out in a what are you gonna do gesture and left. 

Anakin’s mouth dropped, and for a time, he and Padmé regarded Obi-Wan silently. 

Obi-Wan must have felt their attention fix on him, because he shot them a curious look, quirking a questioning eyebrow at Anakin.  

Padmé made a choked noise, burying the lower half of her face in her glass. Anakin distantly thought, with fondness, that it was the most undignified he had ever seen her. 

But he couldn’t even tease her about it, not when a sudden image of his Master, face buried between someone's cheeks, beard sopping wet with his own saliva as he eagerly laved at some whimpering senator’s hole, staked its claim at the forefront of Anakin’s mind.

It played on repeat, Obi-Wan humming against the sensitive skin of someone’s entrance, pulling back to admire his handiwork, and then diving back in, ready to paint some politician’s quivering hole with his spit. 

“Well, fuck,” said Anakin.

[magnusbae]

The first time they share a bed, actually share, not collapsed after a feverish fucking or exhausted into nothingness after an endless battle, but a real get ready for sleep, bedtime routine and all—Anakin cannot stop moving.

Restless and uncomfortable, he is hyper aware of every dent in the mattress, every ruffle of the sheets. His mind is not numbed by an orgasm or a complete fatigue, instead it's left to boil with awareness, with unrest.

"Anakin." Obi-Wan sounds only a little annoyed. The man is exhausted, Anakin doesn't need their bond to hear that. He is tired and in need for sleep. "What is the matter?" he still finds it within himself to ask, sounding genuine enough, concerned enough.

"Noth—" Anakin begins, and thinks better of it when Obi-Wan's silhouette tenses up, a barely there shift in the shoulders. Tonight is not the night in which he wishes to test his Master's patience, not when they both are so clearly not up for bickering.

Anakin sighs, admitting, with no small amount of embarrassment in his hushed voice "—I usually sleep on the right side…" It's close enough to the truth, he thinks, cheeks warming.

A moment of silence is broken by a muffled and genuinely amused snort. His Master doesn't even pretend it was a cough. He just laughs.

"Oh Anakin." Obi-Wan sighs once his shoulders stop shaking with his silent mirth, sounding painfully affectionate.

"Master! You—" Anakin's protests are cut short by a pair of strong hands, maneuvering him easily to the right side of the bed. Anakin can practically feel the huff of laughter against his neck when he is drawn closer, back pressing snugly against Obi-Wan's chest.

"Better?" his Master purrs against his ear.

Yes. Yes, better.

"Thank you, Master."

The smile in his voice is so obvious, laid bare. He sounds like a besotted fool. With how easily a mere hug could easen all of his uncertainties, lighten all of his concerns— perhaps he is.

"Good." his Master takes it for the answer that it is, pressing his nose against Anakin's nape and exhaling a gentle: "Good night, Dear One".

The wrong side of the bed was the least of Anakin's worries and even that is forgotten in the sleep that soon follows. So easily. He smiles.

[nolouvreart]

Your artwork is genuinely stunning. I can't stop staring at your young Obi-Wan pieces. Not sure if you're an Obikin fan but do you have any fanfic recs? I just found the ship after rewatching the prequels for the first time in years and would love to read some more.

Thank you!!🤍 And well… I rather enjoy it!! Even have this WIP but there too much to clean up💀

There are few fics that I read about them and that I actually enjoyed: “Second Chances” by Lorixjake, “Needing/Getting” by chapstickaddict and “Streets of Gold” by BarmaDumet