#sw fic prompt

[adhd-coyote]

“General Kenobi, you claim an assassin killed the Chancellor?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, neither I nor Commander Fox saw them, as they used a flash bomb to disorient us and fled too quickly for us to follow.”

“And where, exactly, did they flee? No one reported seeing anyone leave this office.”

“Why, they fled through the broken window, of course.”

“What broken window?”

“That one.” Kenobi points. The previously intact window shatters, as if hit by a very strong invisible force. Neither Kenobi nor the Marshal Commander so much as twitch.

“Are you alright, sir?” Commander Fox asks, all concern. “You must be very tired, if you didn’t notice the clearly broken window. You should go rest. It’s okay, General Kenobi and I can take it from here.”

“Yes,” Kenobi agrees, prim and proper. He raises a hand, fingers slightly curled, and his voice takes on a different note. “Go home and take a nice, long nap. This will all be handled by the time you wake.”

“I will go home and take a nice, long nap. This will all be handled by the time I wake.”

“Very good. Have a nice evening.”

[aemndxx]

𝒶.skywalker. ┆ belonging.

◟ ㅤᡣ𐭩ㅤㅤ ݁.﹒ first time writing for anakin in a min …n yes it's a modern au . <3 be kind, pls. !!!

anakin skywalker is a naturally dominant man, and we all know that, but, when you're sitting in his lap, like just now, all pretty and your glossy lips all pouty and kissable, doe-like eyes all innocent and dreamy, anakin cannot help but want to have you, to possess you, to own you in every way possible—completely.

he craves you, desperately, day and night, every second of every waking moment, and his dreams, they're so vivid—they're of you, because of course they are, and you're so beautiful, so perfect, the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen, or will ever know.

anakin knows he must have you, giving the sweet-smelling skin of your pulse point a soft, tender kiss, knowing you're a sensitive little thing, but he doesn't care, doesn't care that you whine and playfully swat at his thick, muscular arm, and he just wants you to understand, to understand that you belong to him—that you've always belonged to him.

"anakin," you mewl girlishly, so soft and sweet and naïvely beautifully, he cannot stand it, and he gives you a small, lazy smirk, his blue eyes sparkling as they slightly gaze down at you, watching you, watching your expressions as he wraps his strong, masculine arms around your waist, tugging you closer against himself on his lap, wanting to see how you'd react.

anakin loves your little reactions, always so shy and sweet, it makes him smile, how bashful you become around him, how you try to act as if your little cunt isn't quivering at just the mere sight of him, knowing your panties were already soaked with your sweetness, just waiting for him to lick you clean, happily and eagerly.

and anakin is more than happy to help you, to help relieve you, to relieve that ache you feel, and he wonders if you ever touched your sweet little pussy—good girl that you're, he doubts it, but he wouldn't know, you don't like talking about such 'naughty things' as you like to say, always too bashful around him to speak such lewd words aloud.

anakin has no such qualms, he enjoys discussing how he wishes to devour your sweet little pussy, to fuck you until you're numb and too dumb to speak, your limbs weak and needing his help to do basic things, like bring you snacks or bathe you—he'd do anything for you if you'd only ask, and even more.

"what's wrong, baby?" anakin croons lovingly, raising a large, tan-skinned hand and gently curling two long, calloused fingers under your chin, forcing your eyes to look up at him, making your belly flutter with a swarm of butterflies—and anakin cannot help but smile wolfishly, chuckling softly as he can feel the way your body trembles in his lap, needy and wanting, and if you'd only ask, he'd give you what you so desperately crave, what you need.

all you need to do is ask, and anakin skywalker is more than willing to provide that relief for you, in any way you desire—he is yours, yours to command, just as you belong to him.

[clone-wars-winter-challenge]

Last time for a would you rather before the prompts begin!

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Ok, this is so fun! Congrats again!

I'll pick...Hunter (shocked, I'm sure.)

How about: "I don't think I've ever seen you smile" and "Oh, don't be cute"/"Wait, did you just say that I'm cute?"

Thanks!!

Carol (@clonethirstingisreal)

Thank you @clonethirstingisreal - I hope you love this Carol, it actually brought a smile to my face as I was writing it.

Enjoy, love oo.

One Meal

Warnings: knife flipping, allusions to loss, slight angst, fluff. I think that's it, if I miss any please let me know.

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

Hunter flicked his knife back and forth in between his fingers, as he contemplated the next mission. Things were … different, since you joined. Not good or bad … just different. It been about six months, and yes, the Marauder was cleaner and didn’t have that lingering smell anymore, and yes, the meals had gotten better too, because you refused to just eat the ration bars the GAR provided. And … okay, it was nice to see your smiling face in the morning, compared to the miserable faces of his brothers. 

Yet, he still felt awkward around you. He wanted to laugh with you, like you could so easily with Wrecker, to have deep discussion, like you could with Tech, even philosophical discussions like you did with Echo. Hell, he’d be happy if he could just do target practice with you, like you did with Crosshair, but … every time he opened his mouth, he was curt, short tempered, and on edge. 

It wasn’t even your fault, it was just him. 

He stood from his seat, heading down the ramp and taking in a breath of fresh air. You were cooking dinner, doing your best to teach Wrecker that just because salt tasted good, didn’t mean he had to put in a whole table spoon full. 

It made him laugh a little as you tried to explain in your most patient voice possible, that you’d fix the dinner and Wrecker could go help Tech or Crosshair with something else. It was your polite way of saying ‘go away.’

Hunter tried but he couldn’t stop the smile on his lips, as he walked over to you.

"I don't think I've ever seen you smile" you pointed out as he walked up to you. “What’s got you so happy?”

“Oh, I just saw how you were very tactful with Wrecker. It was funny.”

You shrugged trying to fight back your own laughter as you tried to fix the stew, by adding more water, “He tried. I’m grateful he’s willing to learn.”

“Need help? I’m not completely inept when it comes to cooking.”

You looked a little surprised when he asked, not that his offering to help was a real shock, it was the fact you realized this was the first time you two had a proper conversation. “Um … yeah, if you don’t mind using your handy dandy knife there, that you like flipping around so much, to cut up some of these veggies so I can add them, that’d be great.”

Hunter chuckled at your description, as he nodded, taking a seat and getting to work, “Where did you learn to cook?” He asked, hoping to get to know you a little better.

“My mom and grandmother. They were adamant that I learn how to feed an army if I ever needed to …” you chuckled, “I had a big family, back home. Usually there would be around twenty of us for dinner.”

“Twenty? Did you have a lot of siblings?”

“No. It was just me. But I had uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, neighbours, anyone and everyone who needed a meal could always come to our place for dinner. We never turned away anyone in need of a good meal.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was …” a sadness passed your face, as you thought back to what had once been your home, until the Separatist droid army showed up, and destroyed everything you had held so dear. 

Hunter saw your smile slip, it pained him to see that you had been through so much, although he hadn’t heard about it directly from you, he did overhear what had happened when you were talking with Tech. “Well we appreciate all your efforts, especially when you’re trying to teach us neanderthals how to cook.”

You giggled a little, pushing away the sad thoughts that had encapsulated your mind for a split second, “You’re not neanderthals.”

“We’re not exactly proper either. Couldn’t say, we’re exactly suited for a posh dinner.”

You shook your head as you laughed, “You don’t need to be suited for a posh dinner, you just need to show up to eat.” You smiled as you turned to look at him, smirking as you saw how perfectly he cut each vegetable.

You walked over and grabbed the tray of veggies, and dropped them into the stew, “Thanks for your help.”

“Of course. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure”

“Why do you take care of us? I mean granted the Marauder smells a lot better, and the meals you cook are much better than the GAR rations, but … why do you do it?”

You stirred the stew as you contemplated the question, “I guess … because you feel like family to me.” You turned to look at him, truthfully, he was the only one that you didn’t think of as family, you wanted something more with him, something special, but seeing as this was the first time you two actually talked, it might be a bit far-fetched to imagine that could possibly happen. “And, I love seeing how my food makes you guys happy. Wrecker, has the biggest smile on his face, whenever he eats when I cook. Tech has this adorable blush, although he’ll never admit how much he enjoys my cooking. And Crosshair … well he always comes back for seconds; and frankly, between you and me, he needs to eat more. He’s too skinny. I could break off his collarbone if I needed.”

“I enjoy it too,” Hunter clarified as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “I might not say it, but I always look forward to your cooking.” He blushed and turned his head away, not wanting you to see how much of an effect you had on him, and not just because of your cooking. 

You laughed at his reaction, "Oh, don't be cute” you teased, “I might have to walk over there and pinch your cheeks.”

Hunter started to laugh, when he realized what you said, “Wait, did you just say that I'm cute?"

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @littlemisspascal @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal

[oceansssblue]

100 celebration — PROMPT 22 = FORCED TO SHARE HEAT/ONE BED.

PAIRING: WRECKER/F READER

WARNINGS: FREEZING TEMPERATURES, SUGESTIVE&MENTIONS OF WRECKERS BIG BOY BUT NO PROPER SEX SCENE (IMPLICIT AT THE END), PURE FLUFF 💖🔥

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

"Fucking pirates".

Your low, grumpy mutter echoes in the Starfall; your body slumping down on the pilot's seat like a toy whose battery has finally ran out. A deep sigh of relief follows your closed eyes; stress and adrenaline slowly disolving inside of you. You can still feel your heartbeat pounding inside your chest. This has been too close to death to your liking; and even with Wrecker at the gunship, the Starfall has not escaped unfased.

You let yourself breathe for five too short seconds before you're jumping out of the chair to run a check on the ship's system; brow inmediately frowning at the flickering lights and the myriad of warning signs fighting for your attention.

"How bad is it?" The thump of Wrecker's steps are tired and heavy as he climbs up from the gunship, voice echoing against the walls of the Starfall as well.

You take a glance at his worried face –the scars pulling at his skin– and study the system again. You inmediately start to tincker with your ship –you know it like the palm of your hand by now–; redirecting energy and efforts where it's most needed.

"We'be been badly hit. We can't jump into hiperspace as it is" you explain, humming distractedly while you continue to work on your ship. The light's stop flickering, turned off by now, and another set of softer ones replace them. You give him the bad news, voice full of dissapointment and resignment. "It'll take us two extra weeks to get back to Pabu. Apart from that, our main worry is gonna' be the cold. I've set the emergency heat reserve on, but it'll probably only last us a day or two".

Wrecker shrugs and grins. He had almost expected to hear that they had one engine less or a wing of the ship had been completely shut down; more time alone with you and a bit of cold isn't going to kill him. Hell, the worst part of this situation is probably how worried Hunter will be; and the cost of the repairs needed.

"Are coms still available?" He asks, hopeful.

You nod tiredly; at least you can give him that...

Wrecker smiles and pats your shoulder comfortingly.

"Then we'll let them know what happened with those pirates and we'll take this as a small vacation break" he suggests, and even if you're exhausted and frustrated, it's impossible to stay grumpy around him for too long

At least you're stranded with Wrecker and not Crosshair, you say to yourself. Wrecker is a very easy-going person; and his positivity may make this delay feel less catastrophic than it is. You can't imagine how irritating two weeks of listening to the sharpshooter's dry sarcasm and complaints would be. He'd probably blame you for not navigating your ship good enough; even though everyone knows your piloting skills with the Starlight have no one to envy.

Well, there's nothing you can really do now. You'll try not to fret and follow your friend's advice.

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

The first night the temperature starts to drop, but the cold is managable and only really noticed after a sneeze or two and the need to throw an extra blanket on top of your current ones. On the second, the cold hits hard; your body shivering and trembling unconsciously throughout the night and making it impossible to sleep for more than a pair of hours straight without waking up. It starts to get dangerous on the third night; fingers hurting in small pin pricks of pain and muscles and joints loudly complaining with each move.

It's in the middle of that fitfull night when something carefully dropping on top of you makes you groggily blink awake. You try to scan your room in the darkness of the Starlight, barely making sense of Wrecker's figure there.

"Mm?" You manage to mumble half asleep.

"Sh... Go back to sleep, mesh'la. Just checking on you" Wrecker's soft voice inmediately answers back.

You're so exhausted you fall back to unconsciousness almost inmediately; your body relaxing in relief at the sudden extra warmth.

In the morning when you wake up again and find two extra blankets on top of you, you quickly understand the small interruption of the night. You push them aside in order to stand up; but the cold inmediately bites back, and you decide to pad over to Wrecker's small room in front of yours with two of them wrapped around you.

When you peak your head inside and see him trembling in his sleep without any blankets on, your heart clenches in gratefullness and affection. A bit worried too, you touch his forehead gently to check on his temperature; Wrecker inmediately groaning and catching your hand in his while he blinks awake.

"Your hand feels like an ice cube" he mumbles, and you apologise inmediately, taking it back.

"Wreck..." you sigh with a small grateful smile. "You shouldn't have given me all your blankets. You're cold too".

Wrecker yawns and pulls his body up in a sitting form. He rubs his face and then his neck and the top of his shoulders with his hand before focusing on answering you.

"Mm. I have my thermoregulator blacks on, and I always run warmer than you anyways" he explains gently. "You were unconsciously whimpering in your sleep from how cold you were, mesh'la. I couldn't go back to sleep after hearing you suffer like that".

"Thank you" you say, and you really mean it. Wrecker's one of the most selfless persons you've gotten to know. "You know... We could sleep in the same cot. It'll be a tight fit for sure, but we could share all the blankets together. That way we'll both stay warm".

While your voice is completely casual and unbothered, Wrecker's facial expression fills with genuine surprise.

"Oh... If you're good with that, mesh'la" he seems a bit hesitant, perhaps not wanting to invade your space or privacy, so you smile soothingly.

"I'll get us some nutribars to eat. Let's just try it out tonight, alright? If it doesn't work we can go back to how we were" You suggest, and Wrecker nods distractedly.

His eyes don't leave your retreating figure til you dissapear in the direction of the cockpit.

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

After a day of both interesting and just-to-kill-time conversations pass by, the night starts fairly well for the both of you. You're not really cuddling together at first; just laying on your sides and doing your best at fitting together in the same bed, trying to respect each others spaces as much as you can. Your natural body heats are enough to make the temperature under the four piled blankets warm enough; and for the first time in three days, you go to sleep without a single mind curse against the cold around you.

The kriffing cold doesn't take a respite, though; and perhaps because your body is no longer moving your temperature drops a few hours after and you wake up trembling again, swallowing your groans of dissapointment at the no longer functionating idea. Wrecker doesn't seem to hold the same problem; you can practically feel his body heat besides you.

You don't really think it through before you're slowly and quietly pressing closer to him; freezing toes trying to find a warmer spot below his legs.

Wrecker makes a small pained rumble with his throat, and you stop on your mission, glancing up at his sleepy face. He doesn't bother to open his eyes, though you know you've woken him up from his slumber. You fill a tiny bit guilty.

"Sorry" you whisper quietly. "Can I?"

Wrecker hums in reluctant acceptance, and one of his big hands plops down on your back, hugging you towards him with a mumble under his breath you can't even descipher even if you strain your hearing.

You shrug it off and enjoy the warmth of his body with a pleasant sigh, toes finding their perfect home under his body and hands being tucked in between your chests. You can feel Wrecker's deep sleepy breathing in front of your face. You're tempted to stay awake for just a pair of minutes if just to watch him in this relaxed state –one you've never really seing him in–; but you're so comfortable and tired you follow him into dreamland in a matter of seconds and you barely move an inch until late in the morning.

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

On night number five, you take the liberty of directly cuddling against him; hiding your cold nose in his neck and hugging him gently under the blankets.

"Mm" you mumble with your lips almost pressed to his skin. "This is great".

Wrecker chuckles and his hand tightens on you involuntarily.

"Yeah... Ur' so small. Fit like the perfect teddybear".

You grin and nuzzle against him. He's so big and warm, and such a good person... You've always felt safe around him.

"Mm, so I'm Lula's replacement now?" You joke around, and Wrecker's chest moves once again with his low chuckles.

"Only til I get back to her" he follows your joke, smiling in the near- darkness of the room.

You both chat for a bit til you start doing a competetion of yawns and you decide to call it a day; falling asleep with a smile pressed against his neck. This is starting to feel like a vacation, yeah.

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

A week after your unfortunate encounter with the pirates, movement wakes you up in the middle of the night. There's no day and night in space, really; but the lights on the Starfall are designed to dim with the hours until they completely turn off, so it helps you to keep track of the days that pass by.

You start making sense of your surroundings as your mind slowly drifts back to counsciousness. For once you're incredibly warm, and it pulls a satisfied smile upon your face. You stretch slowly, lazily. Wrecker mumbles behind you; pressing his body firmly against you. The movement pushes you forward slightly, not too far away because of the tight grip he has on your hip; and you inmediately understand –and feel– what exactly has woken you up, blushing in flustered embarassment. Wrecker's erection is iron hard –and so big, fuck– against your ass; his own hips slowly thrusting back and forward periodically.

You call him in a mortified rasp.

"Wrecker..." he doesn't react at all, so you clear your voice and call him more firmly, squeezing his forearm, voice loud now in the silence of the ship. "Wrecker, wake up".

The clone stirrs with a confused, disorientated hum.

"Mm? Whats'up?" He grumbles, breathing pattern changing and body finally stilling with his return to consciousness.

"Wrecker, you've been... You are..." you try to say, your cheeks on fire, and he suddenly processes the situation he finds his own body in upon openning his eyes.

He's aroused, and his erection is firmly nestled against your ass. He vaguely remembers himself moving while he dreamed of...

He inmediately backs off with a curse, back pressing against the cold wall behind his bunk.

"Kark, I'm sorry!" Maker, this is so fucking embarassing. He wishes the ground could just swallow him. "I-I didn't mean to... I was dreaming and..."

He tries to justify himself, cringing at how he's not really fixing the situation much. He suddenly grows a bit worried and anxious. He holds so much respect for you... What if you just lose it for him, what if you now see him as someone who'd take advantage of a situation like this, of you being asleep? Luckily for him, you don't seem to take it as an offense or anything of the sort; just looking as mortified as he is.

You try not to picture what he could be dreaming of and ignore your own warmth bubbling inside of you; turning around to face him in understanding.

"S'alright, Wrecker" you soothe his worries. "We all have one of those from time to time, nothing to be ashamed of. We're just happening to share a bed in a bad time for that".

You chuckle nervously, and Wrecker feels partially relieved.

"Maybe we can just cuddle the other way?" You carefully suggest. "Or do you want to..."

You let the ending of the sentence fall on him, and Wrecker inmediately shakes his head.

"I'm not going to rub one out in the bathroom" he winces at how crude the words sound coming out of his mouth, but he really doesn't want you to think worse of him.

Hell, this is uncomfortable as it is right now; he can't imagine how it would feel if he dissapeared for some minutes in the sonic before returning and joining you in bed again.

You try to ignore the situation and act unbothered. It's the best way to dissolve this awkwardness. It's not his fault, really. You're feeling a bit aroused yourself now, inevitably.

"Okay, turn around then" you encourage him with a grin. "I'll be the big spoon for once".

Wrecker sighs and gives you an unsure smile.

" 'Kay" he whispers, moving to face the wall and showing his back to you. "Jus' hit me if I make you uncomfortable, please".

You laugh quietly and settle on your side behind him.

"Noted" you whisper cheekily, and to your own surprise, you spontaneously gift his left shoulderblade with a quick affectionate peck.

Wrecker hums almost as a way of saying "thanks"; and you're left awake with a million thoughts and questions in your head.

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

It happens a few more times along the week –sometimes in the middle of the night, sometimes in the early hours of the morning–; til the point you both develop a kind of rutine out of it. You nudge him and gently push him away as he lingers between reality and sleep; both of you re-arranging your positions in the bunk quietly before losing yourselves to dreamland again. If it's in the morning you just stand up and check the Starlights' curse in the cockpit, update Hunter; while he stays alone in bed until he appears through the corridor with a tiny guilty smile on his scarred face.

"We'll be arriving Pabu tomorrow" you announce finally one day, shooting him a grin. "Not having to share a tiny bed with me much longer, Wreck. You're gonna' have your Lula back".

He gives you a hesitant smile. You don't know if you're seeing things after the recent sudden realisation of your own feelings or if he is indeed dissapointed by this.

That night when you cuddle in bed your grip on him is a little bit tighter than usual. You'll miss this.

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

Hunter is inmediately relieved upon your arrival on Pabu. Omega, already recovered from her injury –the main reason why they had stayed back this time– runs to greet you; and you chat with her while you answer all of her questions about your encounter with the pirates. Tech greets you politely and inmediately asks permision to take a look at your ship; and you don't think it twice before giving him full access to the Starlight. You know he must have enjoyed a bit of de-stress time with Phee; but also miss putting his incredible mind to the test. You'll let him entertain himself.

After two weeks without natural light and a permanent scenery, Pabu looks prettier than ever with it's colourful sunsets and the beauty of the sea. It'll be great to eat something other than nutribars as well.

That night, though, when you lay down on your bed in the bedroom you share with Omega, you can't help but feel a bit lonely. You're surprised at how incredibly quickly you've goten used to Wrecker's sleeping presence beside you; at how much you wish he were still here.

When at breakfeast he asks you if you slept well, and lightly comments on how good you probably feel with your big bed back, you hesitantly push the truth out there with the slightest bit of humour. You're not sure if he really likes you or if all of his reactions these past few days have been a result of needed closeness, and there's nothing more to look in there. You don't handle rejection well, you don't like feeling vulnerable; so you'll joke around it for now til you're sure of it.

"I don't know, Wreck. You make a good pillow" you smile at him, and Wrecker answers with his own personal grin.

Un-noticed by the two of you and having his breakfeast in silence, hip pressed against the kitchen counter and bandana abandoned in his nightstand for once, Hunter studies you in quiet surprise.

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

That night when you're unable to fall asleep again, mind always spinning in the direction of the man sleeping in the adyacent room, you make up your resolve and quietly pad to Wrecker's door. You open it as carefully as possible; scanning his sleeping form while nervously biting your lip. He's awake, thankfully; taking a glance at the door sleepily to see who it is.

"Hi" you whisper, adding in a shy, unsure tone. "I'm cold. Can I..."

You're beginning to think this was not a good idea. It's definitively not that cold. There's no excuse anymore, and maybe you've read it all wrong and...

Wrecker opens the single blanket to the side and makes a lazy gesture for you.

"C'mere" he answers, interrupting your spiral of thoughts, and making you sigh in relief.

You climb in bed with him and melt onto his welcoming hug.

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

Every night after that one, once Omega falls asleep, you quietly move to Wrecker's room; the clone always inmediately making the space for you to lay with him. He doesn't ask, and you no longer explain; both of you tip-toing around your growing feelings, just a tiny bit hesitant to take the final step.

Summer starts to arrive in Pabu. First you both abandon the warm blanket; then the bedsheet, and finally swith to short-sleeved pijamas. You're a bit wary and nervous about the lack of an excuse; but Wrecker chuckles and softly tells you that you can go cuddle with him even when you're not cold. You give him a happy smile and your lips slowly press against his cheek; Wrecker blushes, and you grin. Everyone notices the slow progressive development between the two of you; the rest of the Batch arching eyebrows and glancing at each other while they try to remain patient in their expectancy.

The next lazy morning, when you wake up spooning and feel his erection again, you bite your lip and squirm involuntarily. Wrecker wakes up with the shuffle –not jumping away anymore at the realisement–; and mumbles a sleepy "sorry" before moving to turn around to face the other side of the bed.

You're quicker than him. You feel your body burning in affection and heat. You grab his hand so that he stays as he is; and turn around to look at him. You finally sigh and give in.

The kiss is slow, sweet and soft; yet deep and heartfelt. Wrecker makes a tiny surprised sound with his throat before he's completely melting in the bed; hesitantly resting his right hand on your hips and gently tugging you towards him. You hum in delight and welcome him; one leg going over his own hips so you can press your bodies closer together, feel him against you. You kiss him more intently, heart beating furiously inside your chest and impatience growing; Wrecker's hand finally cupping your ass and pulling a small pleased moan that makes him groan as well.

You take a moment to breathe and bite your lip. Wrecker makes another low sound with his throat; glancing at them before looking at you in the eyes.

"Not fair for you to be this sexy this early, mesh'la" he whispers in a raspy voice.

Your cheeks flush, but you smile suggestively and caress his scarred cheek affectionately.

"I can show you sexier if you wanna' " you whisper back at him.

Wrecker's big hands gently squeeze your ass before he's pulling you on top of him in a smooth movement. His smile is radiant while they travel upwards to caress your back.

"Oh, I wanna' " he chuckles, joining your lips together again inmediately, and you grin into the kiss.

I'll have to thank those pirates for this, you think, some minutes later, while you lose yourself into the bliss.

THE END.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Here we have the first prompt of the 100 celebration! Hope y'all liked it. 9 more to go!

Xx,

Blue.

PS. You'll be able to find all my other prompts under the tag "100blueprompt" or in this list as I publish them (I recommend saving the following link and check it from time to time):

Or You can also let me know if you'd like to be tagged in any/all.

In the mean time you've got a lot of other stories in my sw masterlist!

<3

[kybercrystals94]

Anything

Read here on Ao3!

Summer of Bad Batch | Week 3 | Prompt: "Forget I asked." | Bonus Prompt: "Can you braid my hair?"

Rated: G | Words: 1190

Crosshair wakes to a snuffling sound, and turns over to find his sister standing next to his bed. “Omega? What’s wrong?” 

“I got sick,” Omega mutters, and her breath trembles. She’s crying, softly, quietly. 

Crosshair reaches over and clicks on the lamp, bathing the room in a warm glow of light. But the warmth does not extend to Omega’s face, her skin pale and eyes red rimmed. She blinks rapidly, and a tear escapes, creating another shiny track down her ashen cheek. She does not look well at all. 

Of all the times for Hunter and Wrecker to be gone on a supply trip for the island. 

Sitting up, Crosshair asks, “Got sick where?” He really hopes he doesn’t have to clean anything up. 

“I made it to the fresher,” Omega tells him, “but I still feel awful.” 

“Alright,” Crosshair says, nodding. “Let’s see what we can do about that.” 

He guides Omega out of his room, a hand on her shoulder. Even through her nightshirt, he can feel that she’s unusually warm. Not a dangerously high fever, he decides, but enough to make her feel miserable. The common room has a couch and a chair, and he gives her a gentle nudge towards the couch. “Lay down. I’ll be back.” 

Crosshair goes to Omega’s room and finds her blankets in a pile on the floor, hastily discarded in her flight to the fresher to throw up, he imagines. He picks up the thickest of the blankets and drapes it over his right arm and then grabs her pillow. He notices the red tip of Lula’s ear peeking out from under the bed, and after a second thought, snatches the tooka stuffy up too. 

When he returns to the common room, Omega is laying on her side on the couch, knees drawn up to her chest and shivering. She looks pitiful, and the twinge of sympathy Crosshair feels reverberates deeply in his chest cavity. “Here, I brought your pillow and blanket.” 

Omega lifts her head and lets Crosshair shove the pillow under her. He then drapes the blanket over her, and props Lula beside her. Omega watches him dully. “Thanks,” she whispers. 

“We have tea. It might help with the nausea,” Crosshair says. “Do you think you could take medicine?”

Omega nods. 

Crosshair retreats to the kitchen to try and find where Hunter keeps the tea. He and his brothers are typically caf drinkers; however, housewarming gifts from the islanders had supplied them with enough tea to last several clone lifetimes. He puts some water in a kettle to boil and then spends the next five minutes digging through every cupboard before he finds where Hunter stashed the stuff. Crosshair isn’t really sure what kind of tea helps nausea, so he just chooses the one that smells the best, dropping the teabag in Omega’s favorite mug. 

After letting the brew steep for several minutes, he takes the steaming beverage back to the common room. Omega smiles wanly and pushes herself up to sit cross legged, arranging the blanket over her lap before taking the mug of tea from Crosshair. “You’re pretty good at this taking care of sick people stuff,” she says, putting her nose to the brim of the mug to inhale the steam with a sigh. 

Crosshair rolls his eyes. “Surprised?” 

“A little,” Omega admits with a grin.

Crosshair huffs and leaves to search for medicine. When he returns, Omega looks like she’s going to be sick again. Quickly, he takes her mug and she stumbles to her feet, briefly getting tangled in the blanket, before stumbling back to the fresher. 

Crosshair follows and arrives in time to find her kneeling over the toilet and emptying whatever is left in her stomach. He hesitates a moment before stepping inside and awkwardly gathering up her hair with his left hand, holding it at the nape of her neck. The long seconds drag into several minutes before Omega finally leans back. Crosshair releases his hold on her hair and hands her a towel to wipe her mouth. 

“Ugh,” Omega growls. “I hate being sick.” 

Crosshair agrees with a hum and helps Omega to her feet. She rinses her mouth out in the sink before shuffling back into the living room and collapsing on the couch. 

“Do you want to try your tea again?” Crosshair asks. 

Omega shakes her head. “Not yet.” 

Crosshair nods and sits down next to her, picking up the puddle of blanket from the floor and tossing it over her lap. Omega reaches up and brushes back her hair. “Could you…” she starts, but cuts herself off, frowning and dropping her hands. 

“What?” Crosshair asks. 

“Nothing,” Omega mumbles, “Forget I asked.”

“No, tell me. What do you need?” Crosshair insists. 

Omega sighs. “I was just gonna ask if you could braid my hair, but…” 

Oh. Crosshair had braided Omega’s hair before, back when he first came to Pabu after their escape from Tantiss. Hunter and Wrecker had gone to find Fennec Shand, and Omega had asked if he knew how. With the tremble in his right hand, the braids had been loose and messy; however, Omega had proudly worn them all day.

He stares down at his singular hand, nondominant and clumsy when it comes to more intricate efforts. Besides, braiding hair took two hands, not one and a stump. And while it isn’t his fault the simple request can’t be fulfilled, Crosshair feels like he’s failed. 

“I’m sorry,” Omega says, “I forget sometimes.” 

Crosshair doesn’t like the guilt in his sister’s voice. “Welcome to the club,” he says, hoping to ease the tension. 

It doesn’t. 

Crosshair stands up. “I’ve got an idea…but I’ll need to borrow something.” 

Omega looks at him quizzically. “What?” 

“I might only have one hand, but between the two of us, we have three. I think I can make due.” 

The girl immediately brightens. She tells Crosshair where to find her hair ties and brush in her room, and soon Crosshair is brushing through a tangle of blond locks and creating a careful part down the middle. Under his direction, Omega offers up her right hand to hold whatever strands of hair Crosshair puts in her fingers, as he sloppily weaves a braid down from her hairline. Crosshair’s snippy instructions are taken in the spirit they are delivered, Omega giggling and outright laughing as she tries to follow blindly along, acting as Crosshair’s literal right hand. Crosshair smiles at the sound. 

After nearly an hour of effort, Omega has two lopsided braids, bumps of unruly hair poking out where the coordination effort fell short. 

“Do they look nice?” Omega asks sweetly. 

Crosshair snorts. “They look like kark, but they'll do the job.” 

Omega laughs. “Thanks, Crosshair.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Crosshair says. 

“I think I’m ready for my tea now,” Omega says, “but it’s probably cold.” 

Crosshair heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. I’ll make you a fresh cup. Anything else, m’lady?” 

Omega considers. “Maybe some crackers?” 

“Of course, anything for you,” Crosshair retorts, but the sarcasm is muted by a soft smile, and the reality that he really would do anything. 

END

✨Let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list!✨

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @groguandthebadbatch @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @maeashryver @baddest-batchers

[ireadwithmyears]

You’ll learn to bounce back just like your trampoline

written for the summer of bad batch 2024 challenge, week two. @summer-of-bad-batch

word count:1.4 K

prompt: injured

A swimming lesson on Pabu goes wrong. Luckily, Omega has great brothers who are there for her when her attempt to do something beyond her skill level to look impressive backfires. (Title lyrics are from Robin by Taylor Swift)

Tags/warnings: descriptions of minor injuries/blood, minor descriptions of medical procedures/stitches, fluff, hurt/comfort.

also read on AO3

Omega, I need to see it, kid. Just let me have a look.”

Echo’s voice is kind and even, but still holds the signature arc trooper “that was an order” tone that he uses when he’s asking for something non-negotiable. It holds absolutely no room for argument, in spite of how much she wants to

Hunter, for his part, is holding her in his arms, feeling her sniffling and whimper against his chest, and wondering what the hell happened. 

It had been a simple, straightforward swimming lesson, beneath Pabu’s serene skies and warm sun as they swam in calm waters. Omega already knew how, but her technique and endurance could use work. On an island, surrounded by water and waves and the opportunity, she had excitedly jumped at the suggestion when Tech had proposed it, seeing it as an alternative to her normal educational study time. He could tell that being surrounded by nature and so many new things to explore was making her antsy and unable to focus on her normal tasks. So this had been his compromise.

A compromise that he was quickly coming to regret, as he joggs back towards the Marauder to retrieve their medkit. 

They had taught her how to properly jump, off the side of the dock, always under careful supervision for now so that one of them could check the alignment of her toes before she jumps, to ensure its success on the takeoff. 

He cannot begin to understand what, exactly, had possessed her to attempt jumping off the side of the dock backwards when everyone’s back was turned, nor does he pretend to. 

“Come on, ad’ika. Echo just wants to have a look, that’s all,” Wrecker encourages, gently coaxing her face upward by cupping her cheek in one of his large hands, being very careful to avoid her chin.

Her chin that is now split open by a large gash from when it had collided against the hard dock, the result of not pushing back far enough when she had taken the jump.

Wrecker cringes at the site, letting out a sympathetic hiss and ruffling her still wet hair.

Echo, for his part, winces but is otherwise unfazed, having seen much worse as he carefully inspects the damage. “It’s deep enough to need stitches,” he reports, gently tilting her head back.

Her eyes, that had up until this point been leaking with silent tears, quiet sobs occasionally escaping her lips, go wide, and she sharply turns to bury herself back against Hunter’s chest, seeming to shrink and attempt to hide against him.

“No,” her voice is high-pitched and frantic with fear. “No. Hunter, I’m sorry, please don’t be mad. I didn’t mean to, please I don’t, I don’t want stitches please.” 

Her cries are insistent and pleading, words escaping in a rush that he’s pretty sure he can only understand because of his enhanced senses, and his heart breaks for her, even as he shakes his head regretfully.

“Hey, no, hey, shh. I’m not mad, Omega. I promise, no one is mad at you. You just made a mistake, kiddo, that’s all, happens to all of us,” he soothes, words whispered softly against her forehead as he holds her to him, gently rocking her back and forth. “But, kid, there’s no avoiding stitches. It won’t be able to heal properly without them.”

“B but that still means needles,” she whimpers, and he’s not sure if she’s trembling so violently because the water has made her cold, or if she’s genuinely that scared. Regardless, before he has room to answer, Tech is there, unpacking supplies with a practiced, familiar ease of someone who’s done this many times before.

“Which is why I will ensure you are sufficiently numbed beforehand,” he interjects.

She doesn’t mean to flinch away from Tech, really, she doesn’t. She knows it’s Tech, it’s her brother, and he’s going to keep her safe and ensure that her injury is treated with the upmost of care.

But being raised as a Kaminoen science experiment, the familiar sound of the catch the medkit makes as it opens makes her entire body go rigid, stiffening within hunters arms as she hides her face against his shoulder, heedless of the blood. She must make some sort of noise, some pathetic whimper that she is beyond caring about, because Hunter, his hand gentle as it cups the back of her head and smoothes over her hair, speaks softly.

“Come on, ner cyar,” he coaxes, gently shushing her noise of protest as he moves to re-situate her in his lap, holding her with her back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapping around her securely. “Tech isn’t gonna let anything bad happen to you, sweet,” he promises, only feeling her settle when his lips press to the top of her head, leaving several soft kisses just to pull The ghost of a smile out of her.

“I d didn’t mean to,” she repeats, sniffling softly as she looks up at Tech, eyes watery.

“I would imagine not,” he says dryly, using a cotton pad to gently dab numbing gel over the long, jagged cut. “One would assume that you would not intentionally smash your chin off a hard wooden dock while attempting to jump off the side of it backwards,” he quips, and there’s an amusement in his voice that makes her giggle in spite of herself, his lips almost imperceptibly pulling into a smile when he hears it.

Her cheeks flush with embarrassment, and she averts her eyes.

“We all make mistakes and errors in judgment, Omega,” he says steadily, carefully beginning to clean the wound, removing small splints of wood and debris from the dock with a set of tweezers, observing her face for any signs of discomfort as he works.

“You don’t,” she points out, raising a sceptical eyebrow at him.

Tec Looks thoughtful as he responds, gently dabbing at the cut with a disinfectant. 

“Perhaps, the errors I make are not as frequent nor perceptible discrepancies now,” he allows. “But that does not mean that I am in fallible. I can assure you, I am not above making mistakes, despite my exceptional mind often times preventing me from making such errors,” he says with a smile. “And perhaps Wrecker can regale you with some of my most noteworthy risks that I thought had been calculated at the time, but in hindsight, were not as well thought out as I had initially intended.”

Wrecker, who is a naturally energetic and engaging storyteller, takes the hint, observing his brother reaching for the local anaesthetic. He leans forward with a mischievous gleam in his eye, gaining the child’s focus and holding it so well that she doesn’t even notice when Tech

Injects around the cut with the numbing agent. 

Tech issues a soft warning as he prepares to thread the needle through, asking her to tell him if she feels any discomfort Beyond slight pulling and pressure, so that he may administer more local anesthetic, if needed. She nods, eyes nervous and wary, but as promised, she has been sufficiently numbed. 

They get through the sutures easily this way, his brothers occasionally chiming in to add in details, or Tech, eyes never leaving the wound as he closes it intently, corrects something one of them had said that was, in his opinion, extremely over exaggerated, or factually just entirely wrong.

The brothers, all working together to describe their days as cadets, outlining their own mistakes they had made and stupid injuries they had gotten as a result, are so good at keeping her occupied, that at several points, Tech has to remind her to keep her chin still in spite of her urge to laugh or smile, patiently pulling the sutures through her skin.

When he’s finished, expertly tying a knot at the end of the row of sutures to hold them together, he gives her a smile. 

“Well done, Omega,” he says softly. “You did well.” 

She sniffs, giving him a small smile and a knot before pressing her head back against Hunter’s chest, looking up at him after a moment with pleading tooka eyes, still watery with the remnants of tears and even before she asks, he knows he won’t be able to say no to whatever she’s about to beg for.

“Did did I do well enough to deserve an ice cone as a treat?” She asks, voice small and hopeful.

“Yes,” Tech is the one to respond, voice matter-of-fact but pleased smile on his face. “I believe that an ice cone would be an acceptable reward.” 

Hunter lets out an exaggerated grown, pretends to roll his eyes and smack a hand against his forehead in defeat, then picks her up into his arms, holding her close. 

“If it’s ice cones you want,” he grumbles playfully, gently bouncing her just to hear her laugh and smile. “Then ice cones you shall have.”

[magnusbae]

Hi! What about "Can you stay with me?" (and if you'd like it my bonus prompt is "drunk") 💗

The initial draft was written while I was quite literally fainting late at night & the second one fully rewritten while I am dazed and out of it. I would say that I was method writing Obi-Wan who is indeed very much drunk in this one, dearest anon. Thank you for the prompt~ 😊💖

+++

Obikin || 4,004w || Drunk Obi-Wan is agonized by the prospect of his freshly knighted Padawan leaving him behind— and more. 😌 Some flavors of gentle lime in this drink, very light, very sweet. 🍋💖

▾▾▾

"Can you stay with me?"

Obi-Wan Kenobi sounds properly pathetic and he knows it. Grasping at Anakin’s Tabards as he is, mind swirling in hazy circles around the notion he was doing his very best to avoid thinking about for the past few months. It is not long now that Anakin would look at his Master and see him for what he really was. Perhaps even today. Inebriated as he is, he makes for a good serving of disillusionment. All Anakin needs to do is look, and see, and then…

It seems inevitable—his Padawan will leave.

Former Padawan. Anakin is no longer his Padawan, and that is the heart of it, isn’t it? The severed braid was the firs step. Them having each a battalion of their own, stationed light years away from each other with only the occasional joint mission, a second. The third and final step would be for Anakin to finally open his eyes and look, and see.

It won’t be hard to unveil the carefully crafted Jedi Master facade Obi-Wan had cultivated for the past decade. No, it won’t be hard at all. If Anakin were to stop glorifying him, stop shaping him to be what ever form of idol he had needed for while growing up, if only he were to take an unbiased look at him…

There will no longer be, Kenobi and Skywalker.

For the naked truth was, Anakin had outgrown him, had become more powerful and capable than his Master. There’s little left that Obi-Wan could still offer, still teach. He should be proud. The only one still refusing to see it, is Anakin himself. Once that revelation comes to pass however, it will be complete. A true break, as befitting the Jedi way. Obi-Wan finds no peace in the thought, no completion nor satisfaction in the successful completion of his Padawan’s training—a symbol of his own Mastery.

Not when it means losing him. Not then.

Given his state of drunkenness, words slurred and feet unsteady, he thinks that it’s worth putting to question whatever or not he was a good Jedi at all, least of all a Master. Try as he might, he finds it hard to ponder further. His choice to look inward is as always an avoidance, an escape. An easy detour from looking outward, from looking at Anakin. Anakin who’s eyes he can feel like a physical touch, boring into his very soul.

Obi-Wan’s avoidance is nearly as strong as Anakin’s natural magnetism. One is counseling him to avoid looking, save himself the pain of witnessing the exact moment in which the realization dawns upon the boy. The second, stronger still, demands his undivided attention on him, demands him to look. Demands him. 

Obi-Wan looks up, he meets those eyes, his demise.

Anakin’s eyes widen and he blinks, endless blue clearing as if coming out of some sort of shock.

“Can I—” Anakin splutters “—Obi-Wan, even if the council explicitly ordered me to go save the entire karkin universe just now, I wouldn’t be leaving your side— stars you’ve any idea what you look like right now?

Obi-Wan’s tongue is heavy but he parts his lips to answer, something clever to be sure, he always finds something to say.

“No, never mind.” Anakin cuts in before he could speak. There’s such decisiveness in his tone, such confidence. His former Padawan stands tall, his arms are strong and sure as he handles Obi-Wan closer, making him lean more of his weight against his chest. It’s broad and firm. Obi-Wan should not be noticing those things, should not be aware of those things. It is a further evidence that his Padawan is well and truly grown. Further evidence of his own failing as a Jedi, as a Master, as a…man. Obi-Wan should not be inhaling and smelling home. Should not be leaning closer, itching all over for more, more.

“You’re so wasted that I am surprised you’ve even recognized me at all.” Anakin continues talking, as if the universe is not shifting beneath Obi-Wan’s feet as it is him who finally looks with his gaze unbiased. “The drunken messages though, those you will be seeing tomorrow” there’s dark mirth in that dear voice. “I bet you wanted to send them to— someone else.” Anakin glances at him, eyes narrowed.

Obi-Wan’s offenses at Anakin’s assumption he could ever not recognize him dies over under his gaze, dark and rich, his eyes are captivating. Before Anakin, he did not know that a blue can hold such multitudes. Both the clear morning sky, and the moon lit sky. Beautiful. They loosens his tongue as well as any truth serum would. That or the bottle he had finished on his own finally soaked through.

“I will always—”  His voice comes out so thick that he coughs, starting Anakin from his dark contemplations, whichever those might be. His eyebrows furrow and he quickly snatches a cup of something clear off of a passing robo-waitress’s tray. Irritated with the distraction, Obi-Wan accepts it and drinks if only to make way for the words to follow. He will not let it go. Not now that he’d started. “I will always recognize you, Padawan Mine, drugged, beaten, or otherwise preoccupied— I will always—” “Drugged?!” Anakin cuts in again, arms tightening around Obi-Wan and strangling the annoyed huff at being cut again “You did not mention anything about being drugged, what the kark’ Obi-Wan?!”

Obi-Wan’s mouth is dry, similar to how being drugged would feel. His mind swims and all he sees is Anakin. There’s warmth in his chest, there’s a burn in his gut, there’s a tug in his— 

“It’s hard to tell” he says sheepishly, embarrassed, eyes straying away from Anakin’s strong jaw and up, up to the lights on the ceiling. He should not be thinking of how Anakin’s proximity is enough to replicate a strong drug. How out of orbit he feels around him as of late. “They all start the same, so…” 

Anakin is hardly listening. Instead he is surveying the club with a look of fury that is bordering on homicidal, freeing one hand to rest it on his lightsaber. There’s the distinct feeling of Anakin stretching his force signature out, covering the room, no doubt attempting to locate anyone within their proximity who might have dared drug his former Master. Oh if only he knew that he was the culprit all along. 

Obi-Wan snorts, finding an odd sense of humor in it.

Anakin’s gaze darts back to him, sharp and accusing. He looks so handsome under the colorful, dim lights. He looks so… 

“Ah-nakin.” Obi-Wan sighs out and shuts his eyes lest his spinning head forces him to sober up in the most un-jedi manner.  

“Stay with me,” the request comes so easy, what was it that he was so afraid of? It’s so easy, too easy. Frighteningly so, to reach and touch Anakin’s forearm. There’s skin beneath his touch, warm and human, tense muscles beneath. “Ah” Obi-Wan sighs out in realization. Anakin had rolled the sleeves, so very unofficial for a Jedi and yet so very Anakin of him.

Master Windu would have hated it. It wouldn’t surprise Obi-Wan if this was exact reason why Anakin did it to begin with, after all, he was most adept to handling heat and was not bothered by it even while all else were. Obi-Wan really should have reprimanded the boy more often, should have stopped Anakin from executing all those harmless little vendettas of his while growing up.

If only he did not find them to be so endearing, so amusing. If only he was a better Master, a proper Master. He would have. 

His brain is foggy and he had already forgotten what was it it that he had hoped to achieve by touching Anakin, only that his fingers are circling his wrist and touching the spot at which he can feel his life pulsing. What a terrible habit it is, being intoxicated while negotiating. You should only ever drink enough to appear drunk, never more. How is he to get what he wants, when he has no ideas what it was? 

Obi-Wan’s eyelids are heavy when he tries to blink them open and focus on Anakin. There’s the signature frown, so familiar Obi-Wan can’t help but smile. Anakin is chewing his lips, a compulsion he had never managed to rid himself of. He looks torn between the need to locate and deal with the ‘enemy’, and…. Obi-Wan. 

The way Anakin looks, that should not be reminiscent of the targets Obi-Wan opts for charm as the main form of negotiation with. Should not stir the excitement of a hunt, of a game to be won. Obi-Wan should not use his looks to achieve his goals, he should not use them to get what he wants, he should be a better man than that.

Obi-wan is not a better man. 

Licking his own dry lips, he let’s go off of Anakin’s wrist and reaches for Anakin’s cheeks. There’s a tremble in the touch, his, Anakin’s? He is not certain. 

“Dear One, you can chase your enemies tomorrow.” He speaks in a hushed murmur, he hopes he sounds soft and alluring “Tonight, will you guard this drunk Master of yours?” he looks up, through his lashes, breathing shallowly, feeling hot, hot, hot all over. 

Anakin let’s go off of the lightsaber. It’s an answer enough to what he had picked. It still is deeply gratifying to feel the boy’s hand cover his own, guide it until he wraps his arm around Anakin’s shoulders. It’s an awkward angle, with Anakin being taller than he— he cares very little for it when Anakin wraps an arm around his waist. 

“Let’s go.” He is tight lipped and determined, guiding Obi-Wan out and into a speeder that is parked not far off. If Obi-Wan was even slightly more aware, he’d realize just how much attention the pair of them had draw, how all of the eyes had followed them out. Sometimes he forgets, how famous they had become during this accursed war. Sometimes, he is glad to not remember. 

Anakin is terribly efficient at getting them to the Temple. One blink of an eye they’re flying through the busy highways of Coruscant, the next he is tossed unceremoniously onto a bed that feels and smells familiar. His bed.

They’re in his quarters. Their quarters until very recently. He is breathing harder and he does not dare to think of why. If he does not think, it does not exist. He is self aware enough only to feel how disheveled his robes feel on his body, how messy his hair is, how hot his skin feels all over. He is a mess. 

“Dear one?” he questions. He refuses to acknowledge how his own tone drops, refuses to admit he is rolling his vowels in a way he knows thickens his accent in the most attractive of ways. He doesn’t know why he is flirting with Anakin Skywalker when the boy is barely out of his knighthood and is Anakin. His Anakin, his Anakin on whom he just looked in a way he really should not be looking at, through his eyelashes, with a heavy, wanting gaze. 

The redness of Anakin’s cheeks is evidence enough that he hears and understands the situation well enough. That he is very much aware of what his Master is doing. That he is… perhaps affected. 

Obi-Wan swallows, trying to push himself up to his elbows. He needs to sober up, he must tell him that he is merely jesting, that it is all a little tease, a little laugh, nothing more, just….

Anakin cuts him to it. Before he can excuse, or joke, or explain.

“Not while you’re drunk.” Anakin bites, sounding frustrated, lips swollen red from biting. Obi-Wan startles, surprised. 

What did Anakin just say? Imply?

Blatantly threw straight into his face, more like. 

Yes, but not while he is drunk.

Absurdly, a swell of pride fills his chest to the brim. Anakin’s manners and chivalry surprises him, pleases him. He had raised him well after all, he did not fail him, at least not in this.

His pleasure must bleed into the Force as Anakin regards him with a dark, baffled look. It’s so dark, most would find it intimidating, but for Obi-Wan it’s… dear. He can see the gentleness in that look, the care. There’s warmth in the force when Anakin insist on tucking him in, fingers methodical in the short, careful gestures. Tucking him in as if he was a child. Him, his Master. Former. 

Obi-Wan was tucked in only once in his lifetime, at least as far as he can remember. His first night in the Jedi Temple. So tense he was, so out of his depth, that the he was taken pity of, tucked in with a quiet promise of everything making sense soon. It helped.

It had never happen again. 

“Ahnakin.” he tries to protest, tries to pull a face of offended indigence. It’s hard to do when he is practically shining within the force. A single look from his apprentice is enough to quiet him down. 

“Master.” Anakin replies, and there’s a little eyeroll there. His cheeks are still flushed but he seems as determined as Obi-Wan to not address the Bantha in the room. “You really should be more careful” he lectures him in a way Obi-Wan can distinctly remember doing a few years back, when Anakin had gotten drunk for the first time. 

He leaves then, without a word. Obi-Wan’s throat closes and there’s a pang of pain in his heart. No this. He remembers now. Him. Leaving. That was the whole reason, that was why—

“Master?” Anakin sounds concerned, a glass of water and a container of what looks to be painkillers in his hands. “Are you sick?” a few strides and he is by Obi-Wan’s bed again, placing he glass and container at the bedside table. He looks well and truly worried. 

Unthinking, Obi-Wan sits up. So sudden that he does feel sick from the motion. He ignores it. He reaches for Anakin’s face with both hands, cupping his cheeks with a grip that is too strong, too desperate. A Jedi should not hold onto things with such fervor. 

All it takes for him to lean is to Anakin, is to stop resisting if only for a moment. Anakin’s pull was always there, stronger and stronger until it had become a daily challenge to ignore it, to pretend he does not feel it. All it takes is to stop resisting and his lips find Anakin’s, pressing against that plush softness, inhaling his exhale and finally, finally feeling anchored, inside the orbit he was always meant to circle.

He tilts his chin, leans in, knowing his beard will scratch pleasantly against the smooth jaw, kisses in deeper—

“Mahster—!” Anakin gasps into the kiss, a pang of shock and uncertainty clouding the force around them, sipping through the open nerves of their broken bond.  He does not want to take advantage of his Master, does not want him to end up hating him, does not want him to wake up and be disgusted, appalled— but he wants, he wants so badly. 

“Oh, Anakin.” Obi-Wan breathes out, unsure if it’s endearment of relief that fills him up with warmth, with lightness. One thing he is certain of, no one had ever been, or will be, as sweet, as kind, as dear as Anakin is to him. “I could never hate him.” There’s a drunken lisp to his voice, he needs a moment to correct himself. “You.” He manages, meeting Anakin’s eyes and not blinking, not wanting to miss a single moment. Wanting to see the exact moment in which Anakin realizes he is serious, that he is the most honest he’s been in years. 

Anakin seems to be realizing it too, his eyes widening and cheeks coloring a deeper red than before, he bites his lip.

“I might be…” Obi-Wan’s gaze drops to Anakin’s lips and he thinks about… “intoxicated…” he forces himself to look up, away from temptation, away from sin. “Drugged, possibly.” He is still not fully certain if he is, or it truly is just Anakin with a touch of alcohol. “But I am very much aware that…” he smiles before completing the sentence, it widens so much further with the words to come “…my Padawan simply cannot take advantage of his Master…” there’s really no need to be using this many terms of belonging, especially when they are outdated and irrelevant, but he just cannot… “On the contrary, I am the one who should be deeply ashamed for…mnnn-” 

Anakin’s lips quiet him up, he was never a patient listener, never could hear his Master finish a thought. This is the most effective he had ever been at cutting Obi-Wan’s line of thought, by far. He kisses him in a way Obi-Wan would have never guessed him capable of— it’s soft, sweet, patient. A tender thing, careful, loving. Obi-Wan gasps. Thinking, dazedly of how Anakin will grow to be an amazing lover, so attentive, a beast holding back his fangs in favor of gentle lips… 

The thought sets a burning coil of arousal deep in Obi-Wan’s gut.

Not good. Beyond not good. He should…. 

The thought is present and yet he licks at Anakin’s lips, asking for permission. He is granted one without resistance, without hesitance. Anakin’s lips part and he can taste him and oh, oh. Obi-Wan groans, muscles tensing as he shifts to sit straighter, moving a hand to Anakin’s nape and pulling him closer.

He nearly chokes when the boy sucks on his tongue, arousal shocking him into near soberness. 

“Anakin…” he knows, there’s not enough alcohol in the universe to convince him that this is not going too far, he knows and yet… 

He kisses Anakin again, a little hungrier, a little more wanting.

He must stop this madness. To think that he had started it, to think that he had taken advantage of his trusting, sweet—

“No, Master.” Anakin answers, and Obi-Wan wonders just how much of his shields is truly left if his thoughts can be read so easily, so plainly. “You’ve asked me to stay, and I will stay.” That assuredness is back, firm and leaving no space for argument. This is the same man who leads men on a battlefield, who commands, who leads. Obi-Wan finds it impossibly, undeniably, devastatingly attractive.

“You will sleep.” Anakin decides then, tearing his eyes away from Obi-Wan long enough to gesture at the lights, turning them off with the force. “And I will stay with you.” His eyes land back to Obi-Wan, dark mirth dancing in what Obi-Wan can still see of him. “To keep you safe, Master.” He is teasing him, the little devil.

“How will it even…” Obi-Wan doesn’t want to mention how narrow the bed really is, Anakin would know, with his constant complaints about how leg room and…��

“Don’t worry about that.” Anakin answers, confidence so cocky, so boyish that Obi-Wan huffs a surprised laughter, breaking into giggling when Anakin practically falls on top of him. They struggle like that, laughter mixing, limbs tangling, hair in a mouth and fingers against sides— Anakin captures him then, they’re on their sides, Anakin’s back is firm as he pulls Obi-Wan all the way to himself, forming….

“Absolutely not!” Obi-Wan’s voice raises and breaks a little, attempting to wriggle out of the trap he inadvertently fell into. There’s still some pride life in him. He will not permit this Jedi Knight, his former Padawan no less, big spoon him, 16 years his senior and former Master. Force be his witness, he will not allow it.

Anakin makes a suffering, exasperated exhale when Obi-Wan manages to slip out of his grip— only to be yanked back by the force. All he manages is a choked gasp of protest before the air is knocked out of him, his back hitting a firm chest a little too hard. There’s a vindictive sort of satisfaction in hearing Anakin chokes out a surprised exhale too, clearly, he did not account for the impact being this strong.

“Karkin’ hell…” he hears the boy muttering and snorts out, laughing even while Anakin wraps his mechno-arm around him, pulling him back into the not-as-offensive as before little spoon position. Fine, he thinks. He’ll allow it, just for this one night…. 

His eyes close and he shudders when Anakin’s nose press against his nape, he can feel the slow, deep inhale— can feel the content exhale that follows. 

“Finally.” Anakin breathes out, as if he was waiting for this moment longer than the few minutes  just now. Like he needed it, himself. Like it was not Obi-Wan, pathetic and alone, messaging his former Padawan while drunk beyond reason that led him here, but his own needs, own wants. Like he needed this too, him. Like he needs him. Obi-Wan. 

“Oh Force…” Obi-Wan calls upon it without realizing, without meaning it. Only the force can stand witness to this moment, judge it, measure it. Guide him, tell him right from wrong. “Force.” His voice trembles with it, realizing for the first time that Anakin does see him, in truth, does and still…

“It’s fine with it.” Anakin remarks, nonchalant, amusement coloring the timbre of his voice. “You don’t have to shout at her, I don’t think she like it very much” Anakin refers to the Force differently every time, Obi-Wan suspects he does it simply for the joy of throwing off the younglings.

It unsettles Obi-Wan as well, he will not admit that much, though. Anakin’s connection with the force was always stronger, always different than anyone else’s. If he’s saying that the Force is not finding this offensive…. Obi-Wan will trust him. Anakin enjoys messing around at times, stretching the truth about how the Force works, but he’d never lie about this, not to him. 

Obi-Wan’s body relaxes so completely that he practically sags into Anakin, relief, so much relief. It feels…. Good. There’s rightness to it that even without the Force humming pleasantly in his ears, he’d recognize. Like sharing a sleeping cot in the war zones, minus the blood and gore and pain… it feels secure, it feels…good…. 

He feels himself being lulled to what he suspects will be a long and restful sleep. Such a luxury as of late. “Mnh..” He jolts a little when a hand moves across his side, resting at his hip bone and then back up to his side. He should not permit Anakin this much leeway with him and yet…. He likes it… oh he likes it.

So he doesn’t comment it, allowing him to continue, to stroke him and care for him, and hold him. He is not leaving. 

Sleep comes ease, as easy as an inhale. One moment he is aware of all that surrounds him, the scent and warmth, the weight and touch. The next he is sinking into the open embrace of rest. Distantly, he feels the touch of a Force Signature he knows as well as his own. It is the only half of it, after all. Accepting it, is as easy as breathing too. 

There’s a distant shift, even in sleep he can feel the bond snapping back into place, like moons falling into a familiar route, circling a singular sun. Maybe it was not Anakin who was the sun around which Obi-wan was revolving all along, but their shared….

[splosh-crime]

Star Wars: Galaxy-Wide Slave Rebellion

By the time the Disaster Trio are sent to Zygerria to be enslaved for an undercover mission to save the Togrutans, each of the trio already has intimate experience with slavery. Obi-Wan on Bandomeer, Anakin on Tattooine, and Ahsoka on a Trandoshan moon.

Palpatine made a mistake in manipulating the re-traumatization of Anakin and his family.

The trio had known the clone army were slaves but believed themselves helpless in the situation.

Being re-enslaved and liberating themselves and the Togrutans had been a shock like ice water, chilling to the bone but revitalizing.

The jedi family refused to stop at freeing the Togrutans, to hell with mission parameters. If being a Republic Jedi means being a slaver, they refuse to remain so.

Obi-Wan, Anakin, Ahsoka, the 212th, & 501st leave the Coruscanti Jedi and the Republic, going rogue. They will free the entirety of Zygerria and when they’re finished, the galaxy’s slavers better watch their backs.

[happy-beeeps]

Missed Communication

accidentally shadowed my last fic so I’m writing through the pain😭 nothing better to heal it than this beautiful man.

prompt from @promptsforthestrugglingauthor !!!

pairing: Poe x mandalorian!reader

WC: 1.5k

Warnings: suggestive content, but nothing explicit! Canon typical violence and some language.

Summary: Poe attempts to confess his feelings. What he doesn’t anticipate is the blaster fire he gets in response.

"I didn't say I don't love you!"

There’s blaster fire whizzing past your head in dazzling streaks of red and green, and you can barely hear the response Poe yells at your back.

"Well you certainly didn't say it back!" You turn just far enough to see him shift his weight and spin slightly backwards, sending a shot square at the chest of one of the taller troopers quickly gaining on you.

“This isn’t really a great time!”

“I was trying to be romantic, you know, confess my love to you right before we die! But no, maker forbid you let me die happy!”

“We aren’t going to die,” you hiss, tapping the side of your helmet to attempt to get the scanners to work. A shot that ricocheted off your bucket earlier had the systems acting haywire, and right now you needed a place to lay low.

Poe has caught up beside you, feet slapping against the clay roads of whatever city you’re in, Er’Kit isn’t the largest system, and you can’t help but feel his huffing is only half from the strain of running.

This wasn’t really supposed to be a huge mission. An old contact had simply arranged an exchange of information (which was largely outdated) and you and Poe had been assigned to basically pick it up and bring it back to base. His X-Wing was still waiting for one more part to be fully functional and he figured joining you on the small ground missions you were now running was better than office work.

Things were going fine until, in an attempt to haggle down the price of a scarf he had wanted with a street vendor, he caught the attention of the small strolling squad of Stormtroopers in the square.

That’s how you ended up here, with shots bouncing off your armor and barely grazing his head.

“I thought we really had a good thing going, you know? We stopped hating each other, we makeout, we’ve fuc-”

“Poe, I mean it.” You grit, turning and firing a shot towards the troopers. It lands, obviously, and the number of troopers has now been reduced by two. They must not have known Poe was coming on this mission, to send such a small squad.

He ignores you, if he even hears you, and is attempting to coordinate a pickup with Finn on his comms. Finn’s voice comes out scraggly and unclear, and it becomes even more evident that the two of you are completely on your own in this mission.

“Kriff, shit.” You mumble, opening up your vambrace and attempting to run a diagnostic on anything.

“Are you done playing?” Poe snipes, but his words lack the venom he attempts to throw at you. You can tell he’s hurt, emotionally and potentially physically, and you almost halt at the sudden strike it sends to your chest. It’s not that you don’t love Poe, in fact you most certainly do, but the last thing you need is an exclamation of love that he’s only saying out of fear.

You move your head to say something until a chime on your arm distracts you. The thrusters in your Phoenix are back on. You know realistically it can’t hold both of you, at least not for long, but you don’t need long. What you need is a boost.

“What are you thinking about?” The panic is palpable, and you realize Poe has been dodging behind your beskar clad body as the shots from the Stromtroopers, shockingly, make their mark.

“I need you to trust me.”

“Do I even have a choice?”

He didn’t, and he knew that. A long outstretched piece of metal poked out from the top of one of the buildings you ran past, and you angled your arm up to send your grappling hook around it. Poe grabbed your torso and the metal wire launched the two of you towards the air. Using the boost, you fired your jetpack and managed to fly up, up, and over a block of buildings. The shots of the troopers died out, and you did your best to land the two of you in a decently secluded block, admittedly not far from where you just were.

Ground met your feet a little roughly, but Poe let go of you quickly before running halfway down the alley and working open a door, before ducking his head in. “This one’s clear.”

You follow him into the small room There’s no windows to the alley and the door, while old, is thick. Instead of windows, small carved out pieces of clay along the front and back walls near the ceiling send beams of warm, bright light into the box of a place.

“It used to be someone’s home.” He states, walking towards one of the overturned, dusty stools and pulling it up right, tentatively putting a hand on it before trusting it with his whole weight.

“How can you be sure?”

He gestures towards the windows, “The Er’kit use small windows for light during the day, that way their homes can stay cool but they don’t need to use excess energy.” He sighs, his head drooping in his hands. You’re both exhausted, and Poe seems to be in some degree of distress.

You walk towards him, kneeling between his legs and placing a hand on his cheek. He looks up at you, brown eyes meeting yours, and you toy with one of the floppy curls that tickles your finger. “You’re pretty smart flyboy.”

He doesn’t say anything, just offers a hmph in response and a soft, sad smile. Your run your hand down from his cheek, over his shoulder and arm when you notice the red spot beneath his beige tunic.

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s a scratch.”

“It’s really… not.” It’s nothing fatal, but a cut this deep shouldn’t be exposed to the sand and air of the system. You grab the scarf from around his neck and he groans, his head picking up and dropping back dramatically.

“Maker forbid I get to keep that scarf.”

You roll your eyes as you wrap it tightly around his arm, working quickly as possible to minimize his discomfort. Satisfied with your work, you pat his arm softly and scooch closer between his legs, so your torso is pressing against him.

“Did you mean it?”

Poe’s brows furrow a bit, as if he has no idea what you could be talking about, “Mean what?”

“Do you love me?”

He scoffs, as if you’ve just asked him something inconceivably simple, like if BB8 was the world's cutest droid, or if Rose makes the best ration cocktails. “I’ve been in love with you basically since the moment we met, figured it was kind of obvious.”

Your heart flutters, chest blooming with warmth as you stretch your hand up to stroke his cheek again. Poe has the softest eyes, big and brown, and you could get lost in them. In fact, you’re not certain you ever want to leave this tiny house, you’re going to live here forever, in this moment. You’ve been scared of a lot with him—scared to lose him, scared of what it means to be with him. You know at the end of the day, he’s it. There will never be anything else like him.

And honestly, you wouldn’t want it anyways.

“I absolutely love you, Poe,” you whisper, fighting the fear of loss, the fear of rejection, grounding yourself in his big brown eyes.

You can practically hear his voice catch in his throat as he smiles, his eyes squeezing shut. He turns his head to kiss the hand that’s currently resting on his cheek, and picks up his uninjured arm and reaches to hold your head. “Thank fuck. I wasn’t prepared to have to tell BB8 why mom doesn’t talk to dad anymore.”

You smack his shoulder lightly, and he laughs into it, easy and clear. Everything with him is easy and clear. You aren’t sure why you expected anything else.

Poe is quick, even injured, and he pulls you close to him and barely gives you a moment to catch a breath before he kisses you. That’s another thing about Poe, you swear you could kiss him for the rest of your life—literally, this man is intoxicating.

The kiss is slow, sweet, but it builds quickly. Quicker than you were expecting. In a moment he’s standing, pulling you up as he goes. Poe’s hands are everywhere, your hair, your waist, as he walks you towards a wall, your back pressed against the smooth stones.

“Love you s’much angel, you’re s’perfect, love you so much, want you so bad.”

Honestly? You’re about to go through with it, whispering sweet nothings back in his ear, fumbling with the buttons on his pants.

Your hand brushes something in his pocket and suddenly, the comm crackles to life, the room now full of Finn’s frantic voice.

“Poe? We’ve got your coordinates, sending you a clear path out now.”

The path comes through on your vambrace, and it’s not a far walk. Poe looks it over, then looks at you, eyes gleaming.

“Copy that, we’ll be at the rendezvous in twenty.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him, running a hand through his hair, “they’re just at the edge of town, it won’t even take us ten minutes to walk there?”

He grins, wicked and wonderful and so him, “Sure, thought I’d buy us some time.”

[tomicaleto]

All the prompts sound sooo good, but I'm going to ask you for your take on the "best friends sibling au" for Obikin?? I looove that concept

Vel, I apologise for how long this took me! I promise each day I didn't answer I was haunted by this prompt kshlgdjsgs Now for real I struggled to come up with an au to fill this one (mostly I struggled on who was going to be the sibling and such) and then once I came up with one I took too long writing it because I'm a human disaster but here it is!

SEND ME A SHIP AND A NUMBER AND I'LL WRITE A SHORT FIC

21. best friends sibling au

I hope you like this! This is an Argentine AU, with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan being brothers and Anakin being Qui-Gon's best friend. Unedited because I wanted to share it with you :) Also what a coincidence that I'm posting this at the beginning of July because:

Obi-Wan walked through Ezeiza’s airport shiny floors, his stroller behind him as he searched for his brother. The morning was cloudy and windy, a combination that fit the beginning of July perfectly and made him let out a sigh of relief at being back to the season his body was used to during the middle of the year. 

“There you are,” Qui-Gon’s voice made him look behind him. His brother was holding a little board with Obi-Wan’s name just like a cliché from a movie. He even seemed amused by the fact, as if he couldn’t believe himself that he was doing it. Obi-Wan wouldn’t have thought twice about it, but there was something about the way the board was decorated, with small spaceships and planes surrounding Obi-Wan’s name that spoke of a story for it that made Obi-Wan curious enough. “I was afraid your flight had been delayed. Come along, I have my car parked outside.” 

They caught up as Qui-Gon put Obi-Wan’s luggage in the trunk, and as they drove away from Ezeiza, the highway thankfully was not full. “We can’t be late, I have a previous arrangement.” Qui-Gon had explained. 

“And what that arrangement may be?” Obi-Wan teased, a smirk on his face as his brother huffed a chuckle and changed lanes. “Has your husband finally decided to be a romantic?” “We both know Dooku would never.” Qui-Gon shot back. “No, Anakin is coming over today and I want everything ready before he arrives.” 

The name sparked something inside Obi-Wan. “You still meet with him?” Anakin had been Qui-Gon’s student when he was in high school and they had bonded over the subject Qui-Gon had taught back then. As he grew up, he often kept visiting the man even after graduating, seeking advice and comfort. Eventually, a friendship had been established, with Qui-Gon often inviting Anakin for tea while he studied in university. Both Obi-Wan and Dooku had been dubious about their strange friendship, but Qui-Gon had always been great at ignoring everyone and doing whatever he wanted and it seemed like Anakin had benefited greatly from Qui-Gon’s guidance. 

“Even more now than before, his kids love colouring with me.” 

“He has kids now?” Obi-Wan had met Anakin eventually, and had understood why his brother had taken him under his wing. Temperamental and moody, the then nineteen-year-old seemed to soften under Qui-Gon’s calm demeanor. And in turn, it seemed like Qui-Gon rejoiced in sharing conversation with someone that matched his interests in mechanics and engineering. He may have enjoyed talking literature with his husband and philosophy with his brother, but Anakin also provided Qui-Gon with something related to his own field of study. 

“Yes, he got married two years ago. Sadly, his wife passed away during childbirth. I don’t think being a single father so young must be easy so I’ve been offering extra support.” “Only extra?” Obi-Wan wondered. “Is he getting help from somewhere else?” “Of course, his stepbrother took him back in when rent became too expensive and I think he has a cousin that babysits here and there.” Qui-Gon explained. “The children also go to kindergarten and swimming class. And of course, they come to play sometimes.” 

Obi-Wan thought back to the cardboard decorations back in the airport, it all made sense now. “It’s wild to think about Anakin with children and a life now.” 

Qui-Gon didn’t answer, just chuckled and nodded. 

—

The bell rang as Qui-Gon turned off the gas and dropped the water into the thermos. “That must be Anakin, can you let him in?” 

Obi-Wan got up from the stool he was sitting in and let Qui-Gon grab the yerba and the mate. 

He heard childish voices from the other side of the door, among a much deeper one answering, and checked the peephole by reflex before opening.

“Hi, Anakin, it’s been a while,” he began, as the man looked up from his children and blinked confusedly at him. The two kids at both of his sides had fallen quiet at the sight of Obi-Wan, most likely shy at the new stranger. 

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked, unsure like Obi-Wan had never heard him before. 

“In the flesh,” he answered, opening the door wider and gesturing with his free arm. “Please come inside, I don’t want you three to get cold. Qui-Gon is inside.” 

Anakin looked down at his children, who were gripping his pants like their life depended on it. “Come on, say hi like I taught you.” 

“Oh there is no need—” He didn’t even get to finish the phrase, the kids had already slipped by him without a word. Anakin sighed and shook his head, before letting himself inside too. 

“I’m sorry, we're working on being polite with people they are not familiar with.” He explained, taking off his coat. “It’s taking a while.” Obi-Wan laughed good naturedly. “We all go through that stage, I refused to kiss my aunts hello for years! My mother did not appreciate it at all.” 

Anakin answered with a small smile and it tugged at Obi-Wan’s heart. He remembered Anakin at nineteen. He had had more baby fat on his cheeks then, but even at that time, he had been a gorgeous young man. He was sure Qui-Gon had tried to play matchmaker but it had come to nothing. While admitting Anakin was beautiful had not been particularly hard, Obi-Wan had refused to act on his attraction, their age difference something he worried about. People already commented on Qui-Gon and Anakin’s friendship to add a wild romance with the remaining brother to the mix. 

He had grown taller in the years that had passed. His hair now fell in wild curls to his shoulders and his features had become more refined, though Obi-Wan did not miss the deeper bags under his eyes, probably a result of being a single parent of twins. 

“Give me a second and I’ll be polite myself,” Anakin teased, before putting a hand next to his mouth and loudly saying: “Luke! Leia! Come and get your coats off before bothering Qui-Gon!” 

Obi-Wan heard twin groans before the pitter-patter of their feet running towards the door again. Anakin rolled his eyes at Obi-Wan with a complicit smile before kneeling down and catching the first kid in his arms as he crashed against his body. “Hi, Luke, let’s take this off so you can go play, alright?” 

The boy nodded eagerly and hummed under his breath as his father helped him out. His sister had arrived in the meantime, and she was looking up at Obi-Wan less fearfully now. Obi-Wan smiled and exclaimed “Hello there!” She startled a bit and stayed quiet, until his father turned to look at her. “What do we say, Leia?” With the tiniest voice, she waved back as she said: “Hi!” before quickly hiding her hands behind her again. By that time, Anakin had finished with Luke and gestured to her to get closer. Luke stayed standing close to his father, not looking up at Obi-Wan at all. 

“Now, Luke, it’s your turn.” The kid shook his head and pouted. Anakin frowned but didn’t turn towards him, instead keeping his focus on Leia. “Come on, he won’t bite you.” The second push didn’t work either. Obi-Wan was about to tell Anakin that, really, he did not mind the children ignoring him but Anakin was faster. “You don’t want to make Qui-Gon’s brother sad, do you?” It worked like a magic spell. Both kids looked at Obi-Wan, the new information piquing their curiosity. And then, hiding a bit more behind his father, Luke said “Hi.” 

“Hello, Luke, nice to meet you.” Considering the niceties done, the kids turned and left for the kitchen where Qui-Gon still was. Anakin got up and smiled at Obi-Wan again. “We’ll work on the kisses next time.” 

–

Heavy rain poured down making anything hard to be seen. With that in mind, Obi-Wan drove with special care, even when the streets were almost empty. As he stopped at a red light, movement on the sidewalk caught his attention. Two kids were jumping around in heavy raincoats, uncaring about the rain or the cold weather. A couple of steps behind them, their parent held two colourful umbrellas over a curly haired head, taking advantage of the children’s eagerness to play. 

Could someone be embarrassed from recognising someone by their hair? Obi-Wan pondered about it as he lowered the right car window and leaned over to scream “Anakin!,” making the man turn around and almost drop one of his children’s umbrellas when trying to wave at him. “Do you need a ride?”

Five minutes later, he had two kids in his backseat, soaking the seats while cheerfully arguing on how to put on their seatbelts. Anakin had thanked him profusely before he told Obi-Wan where to go and focused on calming down his children. 

The kids had loosened up around Obi-Wan since that first meeting at Qui-Gon’s. It had helped that Obi-Wan had been there the other two times Anakin had dropped by and that his colouring skills had been deemed appropriate for the twins. 

“You must stay for a coffee after that favour, Obi-Wan,” Anakin told him as they stopped in front of a building’s glass door. Behind them, the twins cheered at Anakin’s proposal and Obi-Wan sighed. 

“Only a coffee, I don’t want to impose.” –

Anakin’s apartment was much tidier than what Obi-Wan would have expected from a single man living with two young children, but then again, Anakin had always been neat in his own spaces when he wasn’t in the middle of an exam period. 

Luke and Leia scrambled away, probably hiding in their room, as Anakin led him towards the kitchen and made him sit on a stool. He began setting the coffee machine up while humming under his breath and Obi-Wan relaxed against the wall. 

“This place is lovely, Anakin,” Obi-Wan commented, signalling for one sugar when Anakin showed him the sugar can. 

“All thanks to Padmé,” Anakin shrugged. “I mean, we chose the decoration and furniture together but she was the one with enough money to actually find us a place to buy instead of renting.” Qui-Gon had filled Obi-Wan in regarding Anakin’s dead wife situation so he could avoid messing up when talking with the man but he hadn’t expected Anakin to so casually bring her up. 

At his silence, Anakin turned and quickly deduced what had quietened Obi-Wan. He smiled sadly. “Qui-Gon told you about Padmé, I see. I miss her dearly but I’ve been working through it with my therapist.” He turned around to grab two small mugs and continued. “Don’t tell Qui-Gon, though, I’m not ready to admit to him that I’m going yet.” 

“I don’t think he would judge you, he’s your friend, after all.” Obi-Wan jumped in to defend his brother. 

“Oh, I know, it’s just that I still can’t believe it myself so I need a bit more time.” 

They moved on from that as Anakin made them move towards the sitting room. Obi-Wan told Anakin about some of his trips, and he in turn filled the holes in Qui-Gon’s retell of their shared history since Obi-Wan had left. 

“You know,” Anakin began casually, staring out the huge window where rain still fell with fury. “I used to have a huge crush on you when I was younger.” 

He side-glanced at Obi-Wan to gauge his reaction. And for a moment, Obi-Wan was not a much older man drinking coffee with his own brother’s much younger friend, but a single, lonely man who had returned to his home country because he missed it and had a gorgeous man saying he used to like him so long ago. 

So, as any sensible person would do, he choked on his coffee and had to cough for a while as Anakin chuckled at his misery. It took him several minutes to compose himself, straightening up as Anakin gently patted his back. He took a deep breath and then risked another sip of what remained of his coffee before turning towards Anakin again. “Used to?”

Anakin’s eyes widened as Obi-Wan realised what he had actually said. Blushing, he clumsily thrust the almost empty cup into Anakin’s hands and stood up. “Well, I have overstayed my welcome, I need to go back home, Qui-Gon must be waiting for me and…” “Obi-Wan,” Anakin interrupted his tirade of excuses, standing up as well. “If you’re interested we can…” He paused, unsure on how to continue. “I mean, that is to say, maybe we could actually go out, uh, for a drink?” 

He cringed at himself and looked down towards the cup. “I mean, nevermind, I didn’t actually….” “I would like that.” Obi-Wan cut him off. “I always thought your relationship with Qui-Gon was a bit strange.” He began, doing his best to ignore how Anakin cringed again at his words. “But he always told me I would have to get to know you before making my opinion. And seeing your bond remain after all these years, even becoming stronger with your children… I think I may enjoy getting to actually know you, Anakin.” 

Anakin finally looked up at that, cheeks pink but an earnest smile on his lips. They stared at each other and then Anakin handed him back his cup. “You still have to finish your coffee, why don’t we start now?” 

[thesmollestnerd]

OKAY YES Codywan Moulin Rouge AU is the obvious play.

BUT HAVE YOU CONSIDERED:

The 212th accidentally finding out Obi-Wan can sing by stumbling in on him singing "I need a Hero" during Jedi Karaoke night????

[clone-wars-winter-challenge]

So.... Apparently I forgot to do the last poll for a week and it was only a day long..... So with that being said ..... I shall give you one more since i clearly didn't look at my post hard enough 🤦🏽‍♀️🤣

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Mimi ❤️!! Congratulations on hitting 450 followers 🥳!!

If you'd like, could I suggest Commander Wolffe and the prompts: 18 and/or 35?

😘

Awww @ulchabhangorm thank you, love!

I realized on my previous post, I didn't put a warning. Oops. Anyway, I'll include a warning this time.

Enjoy.

Just Breathe

Warnings: anxiety, slight panic attack, mentions of death, broken finger, surgeries, medical procedure, kissing.

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

You took a deep breath, needing to calm down your mind. There’d been just too many injuries, too many bloody soldiers, too many you couldn’t save. It was just all too much. You just needed peace and quiet. Needed to remember you were more than just someone who stood by and watched soldiers die. 

Wolffe was looking for you, he knew in battles like this, you always suffered the most. You always made sure everyone else took the time to recoup, while you ploughed through the difficult carnage. He smiled when he saw you standing outside of the camp looking up to the stars, he loved the way the moonlight illuminated your face, your bright eyes that were full of sadness pulled on his heart strings.

“You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

It was the only reprimand he would give you on a day like this, he walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you in close to his chest. 

“I know. I just … I just needed to breathe.”

He rested his lips on the side of your head, pressing a gentle kiss, “Hmmm, and did you?”

You swallowed the anxiety, fighting back the tears, “I think so…”

“Doesn’t sound like it”

A shuddering breath escaped your lips; you hated how much Wolffe really knew you, how much you tried to be strong. You turned in his arms and held him close, burying your face in the crook of his arm and shoulder, wanting to escape from the reality that was this world.

“It’s okay, cyar’ika. I got you.”

You simply nodded, letting your tears escape, and finally finding the comfort you had been so longing for, as you felt Wolffe bury his face in your hair, his breath on your neck, and his hand rubbing your back up and down. 

You shifted when you realized he kept his left hand elevated and away from you. You wiped your tears as you looked into his warm eyes that would always be your home.

“Wolffe, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head, ignoring the pain in his hand. He looked at his cyar’ika’s face which told him you didn’t believe him. He let out a sigh, he didn’t want you to be worried about him, “It’s nothing, don’t worry about it, cyar’ika.”

“Now, I know there’s something wrong,” you pulled back and looked at him, holding out your hand for him, “Show me.”

“Cyar’ika, let’s worry about you. I can wait.”

“I’ll keep standing here, and not saying anything until you show me your hand.”

“Well, I can play that game too, cyar’ika.”

You nodded, and stood in front of him, hand raised, keeping your eyes locked on his, with an unimpressed face. You stood there staring at each other for a good ten minutes before finally he caved, “Alright, alright. Here.” He placed his left hand in yours, his glove was off, his middle finger  bent at an odd angle.

“Wolffe, your finger is broken!”

“Like I said, not a big deal.”

“I swear…” you started mumbling under your breath as you looked at his finger, “you need to thank the force, you didn’t have a pinched nerve or something. Otherwise, we would’ve had to amputate this, you do realize that!”

“As I previously stated, not a big deal” he smirked as he looked at you. He knew how much it drove you crazy, when he downgraded an injury, simply because he wanted to see how angry you got. Plus, it had the added benefit of making you stop thinking about your anxiety.

“Come with me,” you took his other hand in yours, interweaving your fingers. Shaking your head as you walked back to the med tent. Forcing him to sit down, as you tried so hard not to laugh at his best, ‘What did I do?’ face. You grabbed your supplies, pulling over a cargo crate so you could sit on it. 

“Just so you know, this is going to hurt, okay?"

“You always say that, but how can it hurt when I’m looking at the most beautiful face in the galaxy.”

You smirked as he tried to distract you, “Keep it up.” You challenged him, as you looked in his eyes and held on to his finger.

“What, you think, you can make me cry?”

“I don’t think. I know.”

“Not possible, my most beautiful cyar’ika. Your eyes are … AHHH! Son of a nerf herder!”

You laughed as you straightened out his finger and braced it, wrapping the splint around his finger. “You’ll have to keep this on for three to four weeks, and no strenuous activity for two weeks after.”

“Doesn’t really work on a battlefield, cyar’ika.”

“Hence the splint.” You smiled as you leaned forward pressing a kiss to his lips, “Better?”

“Mmm, I think I need a little more” he threaded his good fingers through your hair and pressed your lips to his again.

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @littlemisspascal @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal

[hidey-writes]

wip wednesday

In the drifting silence of his empty apartment, Shen Wei presses the door shut, turns the lock. And then, like his body was waiting until he was alone, his legs give out. Shen Wei tips/topples against/into the wall, sinks down to sitting on the front mat/in the entryway. He sits there for a long time, curled into himself with his arms around his knees. The whole time, his body braced for the sound of Zhao Yunlan’s door opening, the sound of footsteps crossing the hall. Waiting, again, for Kunlun to return to him.  But no sound comes from outside his door. At last, Shen Wei tips his head back against the wall, lets out a soft, streaming sigh. The sound trembles in the still air. It’s the closest he’s come to crying in years, that he can remember.

from the up draft of the answer fic. im cutting it veryyyyyy close to the deadline this time ahahaha (nervous!) but the writing is going relatively smoothly (knocks on wood) and i think it'll turn out pretty delicious!!

[totallynotobsessedwithfandoms]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex & Ahsoka Tano, background Anakin Skywalker/Padmé Amidala Characters: CT-7567 | Rex, Ahsoka Tano, Mentioned CT-27-5555 | ARC-5555 | Fives - Character, Mentioned Anakin Skywalker - Character, mentioned Obi-Wan Kenobi - Character, mentioned Padmé Amidala - Character Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, CT-7567 | Rex & Ahsoka Tano Friendship, CT-7567 | Rex Needs a Hug, Ahsoka Tano is a Sibling to the Clones, Ahsoka Tano Needs a Hug, CT-7567 | Rex and Ahsoka Tano are Siblings, Order 66 (Star Wars), Happy Ending, well the happy ending isn't written but we know they survive order 66, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, comfy-vember 2024, No Beta We Die Like Clones, Found Family, i did not look at the script for order 66 lmao i went off memory alone Series: Part 6 of comfy-vember prompts Summary:

@comfy-vember on Tumblr's day six prompt: trusting

Rex didn't trust the new commander. Not at first.