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anakinca · 3 months ago

Note

Hands down Anakin hates cold and showers in such hot water 😭😭 that boy needs to feel warm and would just curl into a caterpillar under the duvet to keep himself warm or just use us as his own personal teddy bear :((

—❝entirely yours❞

anakin skywalker x reader

tw ; nothing, just pure fluff

a/n ; AFTER 700 YEARS OF TRYING TO POST THIS, IT WORKED 😭😭 BUT ANYWAYS, i loved this prompt so SO much !! i was literally going to write something for this so i was so excited when i saw u requested this !! for anyone who's waiting on their request, i promise i'm working on them !! enjoy, angels <3

THE NIGHT HAD SETTLED LIKE A QUIET BLANKET OVER CORUSCANT. It was the kind of cold that seeped into every corner of the bedroom despite the hum of the heater. Outside, the city glowed faintly, the lights casting a hazy reflection on the large, fogged-up windows. But inside, the world was smaller, softer—a sanctuary where warmth existed in the form of tangled limbs and whispered words. Anakin emerged from the bathroom, a billow of steam following him like he’d walked straight out of the sun. His damp curls stuck to his forehead, and his skin glowed pink, flushed from the borderline scalding shower he insisted on taking every single time. Yet, as he padded barefoot across the room, he was already hugging his black, lounge robe to him tighter, a pout forming on his lips. "It's so cold," he muttered dramatically, collapsing onto the bed with a sigh as if he’d just returned from a harrowing battle in the Outer Rim—which, well, he had. You glanced at him, barely holding back a smile. "Anakin, you were in there for almost half an hour. I’m pretty sure you evaporated half the planet’s water supply. How are you still cold?" He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, with an exaggerated groan, he burrowed under the duvet, pulling it over his head in one swift motion. Only his eyes peeked out, glinting like little pools of mischief and complaint. He then turned his head toward you, his pout visible even beneath the layers of blankets. "The galaxy is cruel," he muttered, as if the cold itself was some personal offense against him. "You’re ridiculous," you teased, shaking your head as you turned back to what you were doing. But before you could take another step, a hand shot out from under the duvet—warm, surprisingly strong—and wrapped around your wrist. "Don’t you dare," he said, his voice muffled but insistent. In one quick movement, he pulled you onto the bed, wrapping the blanket around you both like you were part of his personal plan to survive the cold. "Anakin!" You yelped, laughing as you were unceremoniously bundled into his cocoon of warmth. "Shhh," he whispered as his lips curved up at the corners, already pulling you closer. His arms wrapped around you like you were the only source of heat in the galaxy, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. "You’re warm. Stay here." His curls tickled your cheek as he buried himself further against you, his body clinging to yours like a loth-cat determined to find the coziest spot in the galaxy. You could feel his breath against your skin, warm and steady, and his sigh of contentment made your chest ache with affection. "You know," you murmured, your fingers threading gently through his still-damp hair, "you could try wearing a shirt, or maybe putting on some socks. Normal people solutions, you know?" He tilted his head up to look at you, his blue eyes sparkling with teasing and something infinitely softer. "A shirt can’t hug me back," he said simply, his lips curling into that lopsided smirk that never failed to make your heart skip. "And socks don’t kiss me goodnight." Your cheeks burned hotter than the heater you’d accused him of overusing, but before you could respond, he tightened his hold on you, pulling you so close you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest—like he’s scared you’d disappear if he didn’t. "You’re the only warmth I need," he murmured, his voice so soft it felt like a secret. The way he clung to you was something you’d never get used to—not out of awkwardness, but out of the sheer intensity of it. His affection for you felt like it bordered on reverence, as if you were the only thing tethering him to the world when everything else spun too fast—and if only you knew that was exactly the case. The intensity of his affection never ceased to take your breath away. In his arms, the galaxy seemed smaller, quieter, like nothing could reach you here. You traced your fingers lightly along his bare back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch.

"Honestly, you’re impossible," you whispered, though your words carried no real complaint.

"And you’re perfect," he countered immediately, his voice muffled as he pressed a gentle kiss to your collarbone. "I mean it. You’re my sun. My own personal heater."

You laughed softly, shaking your head at his dramatics, but the warmth in your chest was undeniable. "I won’t run away if you let your grip loosen a little, you know." You teased gently, massaging his back lightly.

He hummed, his breath fanning over your skin as he nuzzled closer. "Good," he said, his voice already thick with sleep. "Because I’m keeping you forever."

"Forever sounds nice," you murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, his thick lashes fluttering closed from the action.

Outside, the cold night carried on, but it didn’t matter. The world beyond your little cocoon could have been as frozen as Hoth, and you wouldn’t have noticed.

Anakin’s breathing slowed, his body fully relaxing against yours as sleep began to overtake him. Even in his sleep, his arms remained locked around you, holding you close like the warmth of your presence was the only thing keeping him grounded to the moment.

You brushed a stray curl from his face, and held him just a little tighter. And as you closed your eyes, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours, you couldn’t help but smile.

Anakin Skywalker might hate the cold, but you secretly loved how it made him cling to you like this—soft, vulnerable, and entirely yours.

@thesassypadawan @anakinstwinklebunny @sydkneez @dessxoxsworld @nikiloveshayden @sweetcheesecakesblog @throughparisallthroughrome

let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the tag list, angels <3

#anakinca #angelreqs #anakin skywalker #hayden christensen #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen imagines #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x you #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin x reader #star wars anakin #star wars fanfiction #clay beresford #james kelly #star wars

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goosewriting · 6 months ago

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Glad to hear requests are open! I just wanted to say I love your inquis!cal fics :D

I was wondering if you could write something with Cal? Lovesick Inquis!Cal hunting an in-denial-of-feelings-for-him Jedi!reader is always a favorite of mine. Literally just Cal pinning the reader down and insisting how they’d make such a great team if only reader would join him. Just anything really, being at his mercy- ugh.

Feel free to write it or not, I don’t mind, just figured I’d put it out there :)

Loth-cat and Mouse

summary: as reader escapes from an inquisitor, old sparks might reignite despite the danger.

relationship: Inquisitor Cal Kestis x gn!Jedi!reader

warnings: mentions of death and murder

word count: 3.6k

A/N: top tier request anon, tysm! writing the whole force shenanigans was my favourite part tbh. i’ve been meaning to explore that aspect for so long, battle of the will and all, and i’ll definitely be doing it again! tell me what you think pls c:

[all masterlists] 🪶 [star wars masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Living in hiding when the galaxy thinks you’re dead is easy. It comes with the privilege of being virtually invisible in a galaxy that seeks to oppress and exploit every living soul.

Ever since escaping the Clones turning on the Jedis as a Padawan, and the rise of the Empire, you’ve lived in hiding, as most of the surviving Jedis did. And for a long time, you were successful. That is, until an Inquisitor picked up your scent and started hunting you down.

This went on for two years, and you somehow managed to evade her, always being a step ahead. You only came face to face with the Inquisitor twice: the first time, when you looked the purplish skinned Mirialan in her yellow eyes for the first time, and the second when you knew what you had to do.

Sitting in the dusty booth of a run-down tavern somewhere in the Outer Rim, your shoulders slump forward as you remember how you had felt her life essence vanish through the Force like a cloud of spores disappearing, carried away by the wind. You knew you couldn’t get through with it with your own hands, so you rigged an old warehouse with so many explosives that not even the strongest Jedi Master would be able to escape. Using yourself as bait, standing by the entrance to the building, that was the last time you’d see her. Your plan worked, and the whole thing came down on her. So much so that it almost took you out as well, but you survived despite the injuries. You hope that in the eyes of the Force, you had freed her from her pain. Maybe somewhere deep inside she was thankful.

Or that was what you’d keep telling yourself to be able to sleep at night.

It’s been a couple of months since then, and you’ve doubled your efforts at staying hidden, as you don’t think you can take another Inquisitor hunt. Not because you can’t win against them. You already did, and that’s the problem. When you first realised an Inquisitor was trailing you, you were afraid. But now, after defeating her, the thought of going out there and turning around the hunter and hunted roles suddenly seems… exhilarating. But that would make you no better than a Sith, would it? Your face contorts in discomfort as you can practically hear your Master’s disappointed voice at what has become of you.

“I thought I taught you better.”

You sigh. Yeah, you did. But you trained me to be a peacekeeper, not an outlaw. It’s a kill or get killed world out here. It probably always has been, but we were shielded from it, had a roof over our heads, clothes to wear and food on our plates. You smile bitterly to yourself, the hood of your cape casting a shadow over your face as you twirl a toothpick between your fingers. Who’d have thought that we had it better during the war than afterwards.

Your motions come to a sudden halt and you involuntarily snap the thin piece of wood in two as you feel the air in the tavern change, turning impossibly cold. The constant chatter doesn’t stop though, the few customers currently in the tavern continue on unaware of the shift.

Rising up to your feet quickly but without making a noise, you beeline towards the bar, turning a sharp corner into the kitchen and then towards the back exit you know of. You can hear some modulated voices back in the main room; Purge Troopers. And where there are black armoured troopers… you don’t need to look to know what else is there.

Once out of view from the main area, you quicken your pace, exiting the place with one goal in mind: getting as far away as possible. With your mind reeling, you skilfully evade every person and droid in your way so as not to make a fuss or cause noise by something falling to the ground. Mentally, you go through every interaction from the last several weeks, trying to find where you did something careless that gave you away. But you’ve been so thorough with your recons, moving every few days, never staying in one place too long.

How did they find me?

This question echoes through your mind over and over as you take step after step. The destination of your brisk walk doesn’t really matter, you just need to put as much distance as possible between yourself and whatever hound they’ve sent after you.

It isn’t until you suddenly feel your burning lungs and aching legs asking for a break that you realise how far you’ve walked, and at what speed. You ran all the way back to your hideout. Agh, stupid! you reprimand yourself, smacking your hand to your forehead. it must have been an automatic response to come to your current “safe spot”, but if they find you here, you wouldn’t be able to come back to retrieve your supplies. In the few days you’ve been here, you’ve collected several machinery parts that you were planning on selling, but that plan just went down the drain. So you pack up whatever you can carry, mentally saying goodbye to not only the place and everything you’re leaving behind, yet again, but also the potential money you could have made which you desperately needed. With a sigh and a mental promise to do better next time, you head out to the port. Not the nearest one, though; the troopers probably have that one surrounded and monitored. You’re going to the one two towns over. It will take a while to get there, but it’s the safer choice.

The whole way there, you do your mental meditation exercises to keep your Force signature hidden. The familiarity of it also helps you calm down a little and recentre yourself.

After what felt like half an eternity, you’re finally at the port, and you go to buy a ticket off the planet. You’re relieved that at first glance there don't seem to be any Stormtroopers doing patrols out here. There is a bit of a line at the ticket shop though, so you stay a little further back by some crates and equipment waiting to be loaded into the cargo ships. Hiding out of sight, you wait until you can approach the window directly.

One by one you watch the people in the queue leave, and when there’s only one person left, you take a quick look around to make sure no Imperial has arrived. The coast is clear, and you take a step in that direction. Except that your boots remain stuck to the ground. All at once, you’re surrounded, no, enveloped in that cold, eerie aura from the tavern earlier, which holds you in place. You take a gulp of air much like a fish out of water, and you try to turn your head around when you hear a modulated chuckle behind you, but you’re frozen in place.

“Going to the port further away even though it cost you more time. Bold choice,” the modulated voice of a man says, and your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your throat.

This is it. They found me, you think to yourself, trying your hardest to slip your hand to your belt underneath your robe to reach your weapon, but to no avail.

“Don’t worry. All the troopers are probably still by the tavern searching the whole village,” he says, and you can feel yourself slowly being turned towards him. You were ready to spit in his face and curse him out, but the image before you catches you completely off-guard. While the red visor of his sleek helmet is practically unmistakable regarding his line of work, he threw on some sort of poncho to cover his armour. It’s almost comical, and were it not for the imminent danger you find yourself in, you probably would have laughed a bit.

“Everything has been so boring lately,” he continues, rolling his head back and to the side to make his point. Then, his visor locks onto your face, and he stays silent for a moment. “When I read what you did to the Eleventh Sister, though, I knew I had to come check you out for myself.”

“W-why,” you manage to croak out. His Force grip is starting to get tighter and it's getting harder for you to breathe.

He slightly shrugs, one of his shoulders leaning onto the big supply crate that shields you both from view. “As I said, I was bored. And you get a head start, so…” He pulls the poncho over his head, letting it fall down to the ground unceremoniously. “Entertain me.”

As he turns on his heels, he finally lets go and you can fill your lungs again. You don't know what just happened, but you’re not about to waste this chance to escape, so you beeline to the ticket shop and buy your way off the planet. Before boarding the ship, you take one last look over your shoulder; the Inquisitor is nowhere to be seen. Or felt.

From then on, a strange game of Loth-cat and mouse starts. You’d escape, the Inquisitor somehow following your trail, even though you took great care to stay anonymous. Only days after arriving at a new location, you’d find his Purge Troopers looking for you. Every time you thought you might be able to get a break and rest at one place a little longer, the Inquisitor would reach out in the Force, poking at you ever so slightly, just as a reminder that he’s still there.

You’re exhausted.

People who aren’t Force-sensitive emit a certain aura, while those who are able to tap into and manipulate it, manifest in different ways. Most seem to have an extra set of long, immaterial limbs, able to scan their surroundings. Sometimes it’s like a flowy cape, fluttering around the person with grace; sometimes it’s more like thick and heavy vines, dragging themselves around and scratching everything with their thorns.

Inquisitors have a very strong and rather aggressive presence in the Force, but you’ve never quite felt a signature as distinctly intense as the one currently hunting you. His whole essence feels like an icy mist, spreading quickly around him and seeping into every corner, looking for his victims. It starts out slow, unnoticeable at first, but by the time you realise what’s surrounding you, it’s too late. Once the victim is found, the mist solidifies into ice, sticking their feet to the ground, rendering them unable to move. The Inquisitor stretches out his arm in their direction, and the mist becomes more dense, constricting their airways, squeezing out every last drop of oxygen agonisingly slowly.

At some point, his presence starts haunting you at night. In the few hours of restless sleep you allow yourself while on the run, you find him to be there more and more often. Worn down by how long the chase has been going on, your guard starts to fall. Suddenly you don’t dread it anymore, the cold shudders as you walk through a market, and the icy mist following you into your dreams. Not just his Force signature but his whole presence as a whole, it’s so strong, it’s almost intoxicating. The more he keeps finding you, the more you keep catching yourself almost looking for his presence.

Much to your surprise and not delight, you realise his manipulation game is working.

It doesn’t take much longer until you finally come face to face with the Inquisitor. You know it’s too late to escape him, and you don’t know if you can hold your own against him in your current state, but you have no choice.

As if the exhaustion wasn’t enough, you’re currently stuck in a tropical forest, and you can feel the dirt and debris after running through the thick vegetation sticking to you, a thin sheen of sweat on your skin. The only sound you hear is your ragged breathing and the sounds of the jungle. You know the Inquisitor is not far behind you, but he’s been moving surprisingly silently given his armour. More than ever, he feels like a predator.

Arriving at a clearing in the forest, you stop. Deep in your gut you can feel it: it’s time. Whatever happens, only one of you will walk out of here. So, after taking a deep breath and wiping off your face with the back of your sleeve, you turn around.

All this time, you’ve tried not to imagine what he looked like underneath his helmet, as you knew it would only humanise him and make it harder for you to fight the man. So when you’re met with a face instead of a red visor, you’re surprised. Whatever mental image you might have had of him, you were not expecting him to look as handsome and young as he did. There’s also a strange air of familiarity which you can’t place, but decide to ignore for the time being.

Sizing each other up from either side of the clearing, you merely stand there, looking at each other. He moves his hand and you instinctively reach for your sabre, but he casually adjusts his gloves, weapon stil sheathed.

“You know,” he says with a slight chuckle. “I only ever came after you because I recognised your name. I personally requested to pick up where the Eleventh Sister left off.”

Your brows furrow at his confession, which feels very much misplaced. He talks like he’s expecting you to be flattered or honoured at his words.

You deny ever having seen him, and he seems a little dejected at that. Kneeling down, he picks a little blue flower from the shrubs, and takes a couple steps in your direction. Offering it to you, he calls you by a nickname that you haven’t heard in what feels like several lifetimes.

That’s when you suddenly remember: you had met him once, on Coruscant, when Padawans from all over the galaxy would go to the temple and be shown the archives. You were from two different home planets, there was no reason for you to have ever crossed paths, yet fate would have you attending the tour through the archives on the same day. All Padawans got to spend some time together, mainly to train and spar with each other. You can’t really remember anyone else you met that day, and the events are pretty blurry as is, but you do distinctly remember a Padawan with wild copper hair and freckles that looked like the constellations the Jedi taught you about. You and him would steal glances at each other the whole day, until finally he approached you, offering you a little white flower he picked somewhere. Where exactly, you had no idea, given the lack of green spaces on the planet.

“Cal. Cal Kestis,” you say as his name comes back to you, like it’s always been on the tip of your tongue, dormant.

“Ah, so you do remember,” he smiles a little at that. You don’t take the flower from his hand though, so he flicks it away without a second thought.

”What did they do to you…” You shake your head in disbelief.

You mentally compare the sweet little boy with fiery hair that you had met that day, and try to superpose that image with the man now standing before you, and it’s just not possible. It’s not the same person any more. His eyes, once the colour of oceans and clear skies, now glow an angry yellow, his gaze piercing right through your soul.

Since coming face to face in the clearing, Cal’s presence in the Force has been as unmovable and strong as ever, so you had no choice but to mentally and emotionally shield yourself, like hiding behind a rock in a snowstorm, trying to avoid the relentless icy wind clawing at your exposed skin. But now that you know who he is, you’re certain there has to be something left, even if very deep within him. So you dig deep in your own heart for that short connection you had felt with him that day on Coruscant, and bring it back to the surface, holding onto it for dear life. You dig out the warmth, the safety, the certainty that those days used to have, using them as a shield to part the cold wind as you take step after step in the metaphorical snow towards Cal.

Feeling the shift, Cal straightens up.

“What are you doing?” he questions.

You don’t answer immediately, holding his harsh gaze the best you can.

“I’m reaching out to you,” you say after a moment, the light of your Force finally strong enough to allow you to approach him without being knocked back by his icy aura. The dry leaves crunch under your feet as you take a step towards the Inquisitor.

To an outsider, this interaction would have looked like an intense staring contest. But if you allowed your dynamics in the Force to have an impact on the physical world, you two would have flattened the terrain around you both in an instant.

During this battle of will and determination, which seems to go on forever, you shorten what little distance separates you from Cal. His whole body is tense, trying to keep his wits as you’re blinding him with your light. You wonder if there is a part in him that wants to give in, and that’s exactly what you’re trying to find within him. Stretching out your hand, you carefully cup his face. He flinches slightly in surprise, but doesn’t pull away.

“It’s not too late, Cal,” you say. Your voice is soft, contrasting the intensity in both your gazes. “Please come back.”

Now that you’re so close, you decide to drop the metaphorical shield you were holding up, exposing the warmth and joy from before to him. His icy wind almost knocks you back a couple of steps, but you let it wash over you. You inhale sharply as you let everything he’s throwing at you bounce off; his hate, his anger, his pain.

“Stop,” he demands almost breathlessly.

But you bring your other hand to his face too, holding him, as you cling onto the memory of your first meeting with him and try to emanate that light through his own shield wherever you find cracks. And you succeed, feeling how, for a split second, all his walls come crumbling down and all you’re left with is just a boy, scared and alone.

“Stop!” he yells, as his own hand reaches out this time, swatting yours away and harshly grabbing you by the throat. Pushing you back several steps until your back hits a tree, he holds you there, your own hands clawing at his wrists in an attempt to ease the pressure of his grip.

“Stop,” he repeats, much more collected this time.

“You’re so deep in that dark cave, you forgot there’s an exit at all,” you say. “You don’t have to stay there, you know. Let me help you get back to the light.”

“Why would I want to leave?” He chuckles darkly. “Let me show you the way into the dark instead. There’s more here than you could ever know, so much power to be tapped into that you’re missing.”

He takes a moment to study your face, loosening his grip on you ever so slightly, which allows you to take a gulp of air.

“Come with me,” he offers. ”You’ve already proven how powerful you are. Imagine how much more we could both accomplish if we joined forces.”

“Me? Become like you?” You scoff. “I’d rather you kill me now.”

Cal hums, as if considering your suggestion for a moment. But he remains silent, with you still pinned to the tree. He doesn’t let go of you nor does he tighten his grip, leaving the next move to you instead. Your head spins, trying to figure out what to do.

He raises a brow at you, urging you to do or say something. You frown, conflicted.

“All this time I thought you were just playing a twisted game, coming after me until you got bored. And then you’d kill me. Now you’re trying to recruit me?”

“If I wanted you dead, you never would have even seen me coming,” he retorts with a bit of a snarl.

Then he reaches out for the lightsabre at your belt, and one of your hands protectively grabs onto it before he can. Cal gives you a smug look as that’s exactly what he wanted, and placing his hand over yours, he guides your weapon up, pressing the unignited end into his ribcage. He’s essentially saying, ‘if you don’t want to come with me, you’ll have to kill me right now, right here.’

“Quite the conundrum we find ourselves in, huh,” he says after a moment, giving your hand a squeeze. “What’s stopping you?”

“…Hope,” you answer rather unconvincingly, cringing at how corny it sounds.

He scoffs and lets go of your hand, which falls to your side still holding onto your weapon.

“Don’t worry, I can fix that.”

Cal suddenly leans in, placing a lingering kiss on your cheek.

“I’m looking forward to our next encounter,” he whispers into your ear, and a shudder runs down your spine.

He lets go suddenly, your legs giving in, and you fall to the ground with a grunt as you take a couple deep breaths now that your airways aren’t constricted anymore.

As he walks away, Cal doesn’t turn back once. He picks up his helmet where he discarded it earlier, putting it on and disappearing amongst the trees.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

A/N2: part 2 anyone? 👀 let me know how you’d like the story to unfold!

A/N3: the amount of times i’ve written reader getting choked by inq!cal…….. i think i need to unpack something there

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @dybynyght, @galaxtic-writings, @kalea-bane, @soka-writes-things, @padawancat97, @ivelostmyabilitytoeven, @alternatescififandomelover, @riddikulus-obsessions, @optimisticprime3, @starilicious, @lovelyygirl8, @cathyket, @wildefire, @ghostkestis, @reckoning-star

#goose feathers #cal kestis x reader #star wars cal x reader #jedi fallen order x reader #jedi survivor x reader #inquisitor cal kestis x reader #inq!cal x reader #star wars x reader

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paracosm-draw · 11 hours ago

Text

Obikin Slave AU - Scars

"Anakin, did you want to- Oh."

Obi-Wan stops on the threshold of the ship's tiny kitchen, words spluttering and dying on his tongue as his eyes fall on Anakin.

It's a common occurrence, these days, that the first thing on which his gaze lands upon when he enters a room is Anakin. No matter where he decides to spend his day - generally somewhere in the main room - is the place Obi-Wan's eyes will be drawn to immediately, in case he did miss the miniature sun that was his presence in the Force.

Keeping an eye on Anakin is making sure that he's doing alright, or at least that's what Obi-Wan likes to tell himself. Anakin won't ask for food, so Obi-Wan has to make sure he eats thrice a day. He won't tell when he's cold so Obi-Wan leaves clothes in evidence in all the rooms. He won't ask to use the 'fresher so Obi-Wan has to remember the last time he proposed him to do so. He won't ask for anything. So Obi-Wan has to observe and guess and remember. Yes, he probably doesn't have to stare at him as much as he does but it's for the young man's good. And for his defense, Anakin stares twice as much.

That's why what he sees when he enters the kitchen rattles him to his core. After spending so much time (five days) looking after Anakin, how could he haven't notice that ?

Anakin has his back to him when Obi-Wan finds him ; he looks focused on trying to figure out the kettle's functioning, focused enough to miss the sound of Obi-Wan's footsteps, and with the whistle of the boiling water it's only when he talks that the boy realizes that he's there. He jumps and jolts around like a loth-cat caught red handed stealing some cream. His mechanic hand doesn't follow, getting caught in the handle of the kettle and the movement makes it fly and clatter to the ground, splashing hot water all around the kitchen floor and Anakin's bare feet. The boy yelps in pain but before Obi-Wan can even intervene, he's already on the floor trying to fix the mess, a litany of distressed apologies pouring out of his mouth.

It takes a second for Obi-Wan to react to the scene, and his reflexes kick in when he sees Anakin reach out for the kettle with bare hands. Other Jedi would call it improper use of the Force but he's too far away and Anakin too panicked. He pushes the kettle on the other side of the room and gently holds Anakin's hand in the air with the use of the Force long enough to reach him.

"Are you okay ?!" He asks, worry taking over the rules he imposed himself when he takes Anakin's hand in his own to check for burns.

The skin is unharmed, gold and smooth, calloused on the fingers when Obi-Wan turns it around for further inspection.

"What about your feet ?" He asks then because he can't see as Anakin is sitting on them. "Are you burnt ? We have to get you to the shower. Can you walk ?"

After a few seconds of silence, Obi-Wan stops his frantic checking to actually look at Anakin. The boy is starring straight ahead with wet, wide eyes, chest heaving rapidly. He looks on the verge of crying. Obi-Wan's heart misses a beat.

"Are you in pain ? Does it hurt bad ? Wait, I'm going to help you to the shower. We'll put cool water on your feet and I think I have enough bacta-"

He's interrupted by a loud sob and next thing he knows, Anakin is crying, curled up on himself in the middle of the kitchen, in a puddle of water. Obi-Wan doesn't know what to do. It must hurt really bad for Anakin to cry like this but he can't help him if he doesn't want to move to the bathroom. He thinks about getting his first aid kit but as soon as he makes a move to stand up, Anakin starts muttering between two sobs.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I- I didn't mean to, I swear ! I'm sorry, I- I..."

Obi-Wan frowns, and then he understands and the realisation makes his gut form into a tight knot. Anakin doesn't cry because he's hurt, he cries because he thinks he's done something wrong. Obi-Wan thinks about what he saw when he entered into the kitchen and he feels sick.

"Anakin..."

Gently, he wraps his fingers around the boy's wrist, detangling the hands he got clamped inside of his curls and tries to coax him to his feet.

"It's okay. Everything's alright. Accidents happen. I don't care about the kettle, I care about your feet. Let's go to the bathroom."

It takes a minute for Anakin to stop resisting, but then he follows Obi-Wan to the fresher. Still half-sobbing, half-muttering apologies but he follows.

Later on, after Obi-Wan convinced him to take the bed in order to apply bacta onto the burns, he's stopped crying but he has gone mute, watching the Jedi take care of him with a mix of wariness and disbelief clearly written on his features. Obi-Wan is trying not to care, being extra cautious with each of his touch.

"There, you're all patched up. It should be gone until tomorrow." He says softly, gathering the empty bacta packets in order to throw them out later. "Feeling better already?"

Anakin's jaw twitches nervously. His eyes travel from his feet to Obi-Wan's face, not knowing where to land. When he talks, it's really small.

"You're not going to punish me...?"

It's Obi-Wan's turn to feel something in his face twitch.

"Of course not. It was an accident. Actually it was my fault, I surprised you, I should have announced myself."

"You don't have to do that." Anakin frowns. "It's your ship."

"And you're my guest." Obi-Wan says. "I want you to feel as comfortable as possible. I'm not going to punish you for anything. Never. Nobody is going to punish you ever again, alright ?"

It sounds a little bit too much like a promise, but it feels right when he says it. He doesn't care if Anakin doesn't believe him yet. He will, eventually. Because Obi-Wan will make sure nobody ever raises a hand on him again. And the scars on Anakin's back will serve as a constant reminder of his promise.

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