#Master x Padawan | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aniharas · 3 months

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𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

pairing: anakin skywalker x padawan!fem!reader

summary: a flirtatious training session left anakin and his new student frazzled. but he knew that if she called, he'd drop everything and answer.

warnings: master/padawan relationship, sexual content, exhibitionism (if you squint)

wc: 7k+ oneshot

a/n: took some lyrics from agora hills and really ran with it. inbox is open for any suggestions! enjoy!

Their intentions were pure. She had caught Anakin on his way to his dormitory, begging him to train with her secretly. She and her master were being sent on their first mission together, and she insisted that she would meet her end if Anakin didn’t take her under his wing. “Please, Master Skywalker,” she had pleaded.

And how could he refuse? The poor girl was on her knees, tears pooling and threatening to stream down her innocent face. He agreed, only admitting that her master was indeed an atrocious teacher and that his own Padawan already knew everything he knew.

When their training started, she immediately realized that Anakin was an upgrade. He chose different approaches, not by the book. He pushed her harder, trained longer, and didn’t let her retire to her dormitory until her technique seemed flawless. Which is why on one particular day, Anakin had nearly torn out his hair in frustration. The moon was already high in the sky, seeming to taunt them as it loomed over the Temple’s garden. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why this simple lesson was driving them up the wall. To him, it was simple: to transition from lightsaber combat to parrying blaster shots. But to teach her was like teaching a womp rat to tango.

It didn’t help that they both grew irritable with each passing minute, and it was inevitable with how stubborn they both seemed to be. A subtle roll of the eyes or a scoff would set each other off. Their patience waned, evident through the hits they traded with their practice lightsabers becoming more personal, ending with both on dust-ridden ground, beat-up and breathless.

“Okay, okay, let’s just…relax,” Anakin instructed with a stressed exhale, his face twisted from exasperation. Wordlessly, he motioned for her to do the same, to which she reluctantly followed.

“Don’t act like you didn’t start it,” she hissed, wiping sweat from her forehead for what seemed like the twentieth time. “I don’t get it. It all happens too fast, I basically have to react before it even happens. It’s not fair,” she whined, almost childishly.

“That’s precisely it,” Anakin cut in as he dusted off his pants, rising to his feet. “You wanna stay alive out there? Feel it before it happens,” he repeated, holding his hand out for her to take.

When she was back on her feet, Anakin quickly took her practice saber from her hands. “Hey, what are you-” “Close your eyes,” he said, his voice low and soft, much different from the annoyed tone he had moments before.

It was humiliating how quickly she obeyed him, her attempts to ignore the heat that seemed to ignite her skin. The courtyard was eerily quiet, or at least as quiet as Coruscant could get, only adding to the growing awkwardness between them. It was only when she was about to complain once more that she felt an unmistakable energy emanating from a certain direction behind her. “Do you feel it?” he questioned, his voice low to not break her concentration.

A beat passed before she answered him. “Yes,” she breathed, anticipation seeming to tingle in her voice.

“Feel my presence,” Anakin urged, his voice gentle yet commanding. “Sense where I am without seeing.” He began to circle her silently, holding his breath so he wouldn’t compromise his position physically.

At first, she tried to sense him with mere sounds, a vibration from the ground, but it proved futile. The wind that chilled her to her bones helped to camouflage any breath or sound that would betray him, and she knew that he always seemed to carry himself as if he weighed like a feather. How could someone so tall and broad move like a lothcat? When she actually began to try, the air seemed to carry faint whispers, brief waltzes of energy that danced around in her mind that just so slightly guided her senses. “You’re there,” she said unsurely, pointing in his general direction. A barely audible sound of approval resonated in Anakin’s throat, a low grunt, confirming her guess. “Good. Take it a step further,” he suggested. “Focus on how it takes shape in your head. Feel my intention,” he instructed under his breath. His whispers somehow seemed to echo off the walls of the temple. “Tell me where my focus lies.”

Initially, it was a bit hard to center her thoughts. None of this was anything like what her master taught her. It was oddly…intimate. But there wasn’t a chance she would let nerves stop her now, she had already gone all this way. With each (notably loud) heartbeat, she sought out the rhythm of his focus. She tried to envision it like a beacon in the darkness behind her eyelids, beckoning her, calling her like a distant star. Something began to flutter around in her mind–a fiery sensation that seemed to extend its grasp from the darkness towards her. A tingling feeling began to nip at her right hand. That was it.

“My hand. You’re looking at my right hand,” she said with certainty.

“Close, but not quite. Be more accurate.”

Really? Will it really come down to knowing what finger my enemy is looking at? After taking a moment to think, she answered him again. “My pointer finger.” Unbeknownst to her, Anakin’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Good. Keep ‘em closed, let’s do it again. And put it together.”

She continued to list off different parts of her body where she could feel his focus linger from where he was. Her right shoulder, to her right. Her left knee, behind her. All reasonable places to strike in combat. He then trained her to sense where his gaze would relocate to. From her shins to her midsection. From her wrists to her foot. Perfect for sensing how quick an enemy can strike. It was becoming easy. From her neck to her chest.

She froze as the words left her lips, her heart quickening. Her chest, he was looking at her chest. Why was he looking at her chest? As if nature was asking her to relax, a gust of wind rattled the branches of the Great Tree that loomed over them, its yellow leaves seeming to shiver with her. The cold contrasted with the feeling in her cheeks as if urging her to think more rationally. Of course, how could she get ahead of herself? It wasn’t exactly the chest, it was the heart. It was a common place to attack in the heat of a battle, especially when aiming to kill. The Jedi try their best to not strike the chest, but many foes do attempt to go for theirs. It was crucial to sense in the heat of the battle, and Anakin was only helping her, right?

Anakin’s abrupt cough sliced through the silence culminating between them, causing her to wince at the abrasive sound. “Sorry– ahem, it’s just the cold. Making the air pretty dry,” he muttered in between the grunts that cleared his throat. He tossed her makeshift saber back to her, hiding the fact that the sound of blood rushing in his ears was deafening. “That was good. I think you’re good to take a break for now.” The sigh of relief that escaped her mouth as she caught the stick was nearly involuntary with how tense she felt. She could only hope that he saw it as relief from relentless training instead of relief from how nervous she felt under his gaze.

Despite this, she felt saddened as she watched him trudge off to the opposite end of the space. She couldn’t keep her eyes off him as he began to twirl the stick that was his makeshift saber around him in what looked like a flashy dance, something that she just knew he did regularly from how natural the movement was.

Unknown to her, Anakin’s thoughts were growing rather reckless. Physically, he was always in control of himself. Not one misstep, not one mistake. He could give the galaxy a thousand reasons, if not more, to respect him. But his controlling his mind? Anyone close to him knew this was one of his shortcomings. One of his only responses was to grow stronger, to grow more powerful to make up for that failure. Another was lightsaber training. He seemed to find solace in the hypnotic spin of the stick, the very image cutting through the stillness of Coruscant’s night. His face, usually one would describe as a representative of determination, was now etched with a more lost expression.

And she was amazed, how could she not be? To do such a complicated maneuver while his mind was elsewhere was something she could never hope to replicate. But that didn’t stop the urge to take it as a challenge, to attempt to mimic his fluid motions. She attempted the intricate moves, stumbling and dropping her weapon every so often, but that didn’t stop her either. It didn’t seem like anything could.

It was then that she felt it – that prickly, warm feeling, expanding over the dip of her waist. It slowly inched its way down and over the curve of her hips.

Anakin truly hadn’t meant for his attention to slip so carelessly. But how could he deny the way that she so adorably tried to replicate his signature move? The pleasure that was the curves of her silhouette against the city lights? Had he been so incredibly naive? Of course, she could sense his intention; Obi-Wan had told him that anyone from Coruscant to Tattooine could. A growing hunger for the silly girl stumbling over herself across the courtyard.

She quickly shifted her stance so he couldn’t see the petrified look that adorned her face, pretending to be too absorbed in securing her hair with a spare ribbon to notice. She felt winded from the mere thought of him looking at her; why did that bother her so greatly? Once again, she tried to rationalize this feeling. Maybe he was just observing her technique. Maybe it was someone else. Maybe he was testing her. But that it was so distinctly Anakin, so spine-shudderingly Anakin, she felt it down to her bones. And even if he was just observing, he wouldn’t need to be looking there. The sensation was also different; it was slightly more passionate. If his focus before could be compared to a poke, this feeling was more of a gentle caress. It seemed to pulse with more and more of that passion the longer it lingered in an area for too long. So if he was testing her, what was he looking for? So maybe, she wasn’t overthinking his gaze on her chest earlier. She definitely knew she wasn’t overthinking as she felt the sultry, unwavering feeling rake over her chest. The subtle warmth that filled her cheeks earlier was now raging, slowly inching its way down her body, like she had set her own skin on fire.

“Well!” She sputtered out, her Padawan braid almost smacking her in the face with how fast she whipped her head around. “I– uh, think we should start again. Maybe sparring?” she suggested, too hurriedly for her liking. She swiped a few strands of stray hair from her forehead in a desperate attempt to look nonchalant. The feeling was too much to bear, and she feared that if it didn’t stop, her thoughts would descend to something less appropriate.

Her sudden exclamation seemed to startle Anakin, ceasing his movements. His breath hitched as his eyes refocused to meet hers. The pensive expression was wiped immediately, replaced with the friendly smile and the crinkle of his eyes that she had grown accustomed to. “Of course,” he obliged, motioning for her to come close. “Let’s get your stances down first.”

She thought that by continuing with sparring, she could distract herself from that forbidden feeling. There was nothing more relieving than whacking down the very man that made evoking a physical response from her seem so simple. However, Anakin only continued to tantalize her. Get your stances down first, he said. You’re not doing it right, he said. It almost seemed like it was an excuse to close the distance between them, and she questioned if there truly was a smirk on his face as she froze up once more.

His cold, cybernetic hand made contact with her arm, just above her elbow, raising it delicately. “Could you keep it right there for me?”

“Yeah,” she answered breathlessly, holding her arm as steady as she could, trying to ignore what it would feel like if his hands were anywhere else.

“Could you focus while you’re at it?” Anakin chastised as he placed his hands on her midsection and the small of her back, straightening her out. She could’ve sworn his tone was challenging her, teasing her.

True to her hard-headed nature, she quickly slouched over again, undoing his previous work. “Could you be nicer?”

The curve of his lips was unmistakable now, his head tilting as he stared down at her in what seemed an endearing manner. “You seem to be fond of pushing my buttons tonight,” he remarked, though without a single hint of malice in his voice. His hand roughly pushed at her lower back once more, forcing a perfect posture from her. It took every ounce of self-control she could muster to stop herself from prodding further. And what if I pushed some more? She knew she would’ve had him. It was a dangerous game to be playing, but she knew that as well.

Even though she had bit her tongue, the mischievous glint in her eyes told Anakin nearly everything. Was it his turn to be tested? He could feel himself teetering on the edge of that forbidden, yet savory feeling that he had been trying his hardest to keep in check. But how could he as he was touching her like this, angling her body exactly how he wanted it to be? He began to adjust her upper body, yet his hands lingered, fingertips gently tracing down her shoulder blades. The heat was starting to creep back into her body. Yet, it was different this time, and it was an unusual feeling. She anticipated the rush to her cheeks, but this time, it seemed to travel much farther down. Though she hated to admit it, she couldn’t help but feel like it would be nice to succumb to it as a pleasant shiver slithered down her spine. At that moment, she would’ve given anything to know what he was feeling. “Can you sense where I’m looking?” Anakin asked in a low voice. It always seemed like he could read her mind. But if he were to continue, all he would see was a frenzied, jumbled mess as she tried to recollect herself. “N-no?” she murmured truthfully, keeping her voice as level as she could. She lied, but it wasn’t hard to tell where he was looking. His gaze was like a warm fire, so intense that it seemed to envelop her whole body. Anakin laughed softly, reveling in the way that she was reacting so strongly to him. As to when this happened, he wasn’t so sure, but he wasn’t one to complain either. He moved slowly to position himself behind her, then leaned in to delicately whisper in her ear. “Can I show you?” “Yes,” she said in a voice that barely escaped her lips, almost involuntarily. It wasn’t just the enigma of his movements, a mere dance of shadows that still captivated her. Nor was it just the velvety nature of his whisper, so tender yet so affirming that it seemed to electrify her nerves. Regardless, she could feel herself melting away. To her, it was as if the very air she was breathing was thickening, transforming the tingling feeling in her chest into a desperate, all-compassing ache. Her resolve was reduced to a mere candle in the wind. Despite this, she was determined to get even with him. An intense desire grew within her, a desire to make him crack and crumble, to turn his limbs into Andorian jelly, to have him begging for her the way she desperately wanted to beg for him. She would knock that arrogant, yet pretty smirk off his face. But he had rendered her so helpless under his teasing ministrations, it wasn’t fair to her. He overwhelmed her. Just when the weight of the tension between them seemed at its heaviest, she abruptly pulled away, ignoring the immediate embarrassment that chilled her bones. Avoiding what she knew would be his intense eyes, she began to mumble, her speech slightly jumbled from how frazzled she felt. “Uh- I was asked to report to my master early tomorrow morning,” she stammered, hastily smoothing out her robes. She hated how easily her voice seemed to betray her lie, so she turned and hurried away without waiting for a response. Her steps began to echo as she ran inside, ominously leaving the famed Jedi alone in the courtyard. As she disappeared into the shadows of the Temple, Anakin barely had the chance to utter a single word, watching with a troubled expression as an uncomfortable silence fell over the courtyard. Every moment that led up to then began to swirl in his mind; all the subtle contact and the teasing words began to replay in his mind at once. The thought of himself crossing the line with her gripped his very heart, aching the longer he stared after her. It had seemed like every time he allowed himself to indulge in the impulsive nature of his passion, he ended up pushing everyone he held dear away. Is that what it is he considered her to be? “Dear”? Whether that was true or not, Anakin couldn’t deny the sense of loss that had begun to gnaw at him the longer he was without her.

But who was he kidding? He would be lying to himself if he said that was a first-time occurrence. For the past few meetings, he found himself dreading the end of their secret training sessions more and more. His desperation to keep her in his presence was under the guise of excuses. “You’re not leaving until you get this down”, or “Meditate with me until you feel one with the Force”. All things that a perfect Jedi master would say, all by the Code. The teachings of the Code that had been drilled into Anakin's mind seemed to taunt him about his feelings, remembering Obi-Wan’s and Yoda’s cautioning against attachments, and yet, the Force seemed to unpredictably guide him to this very moment, yet remained elusive in offering guidance once he got there. Teaching a girl the ways of the Jedi had made him long for her; a sad smirk played on his lips as he pondered the irony of that sentiment. He sighed, the weight of the situation beginning to settle on his shoulders. His gaze fixed on the floor beneath him, inscribing lines and meaningless shapes in the dirt with his stick as he pondered over what to do. Maybe he could explain himself to her, tell her the truth. Was there still a chance to fix things? Would she feel the same way? Then, as if the Force finally answered somehow, a chilly breeze rushed past Anakin, scattering the drawings that he had been working on. He scoffed, almost having a mind to curse out at the wind. But he relented, admitting defeat silently. Perhaps it was best to leave her alone. He had gone too far.

–

She had tried her hardest to focus on her upcoming mission, but her blooming emotions seemed to overshadow all else. She craved answers, using her alone time to plan out her words, words she needed to breach the unspoken feelings between them. The alone time would include pacing around in her room, attempting to gossip with Ahsoka, or using her pillow as a stand-in for Anakin as she recited her speech. With all this effort she had put in, it only added to the sting of disappointment as she noticed Anakin’s evasiveness. A palpable tension hung in the air when their paths inevitably crossed in the hallowed hallways, and when his eyes always seemed to land anywhere but on her, her heart panged. His excuses to leave every time she entered the refectory felt infinitely worse. Of course, she knew things would have been awkward after she had left so abruptly, but she didn’t anticipate it would escalate that far. Had he taken offense to it? It was common knowledge that Anakin was extremely volatile with his emotions, and even more widely known that he lacked the discipline to control them. Fear of facing her again clashed with the guilt of abandoning their training, and it wore him down each time he saw her walk by. His chest would grow tight, his jaw would tense. It would be the easy way out to continue to keep his distance, to tell himself that he was living the Jedi way. But once the day of her mission finally arrived, he couldn’t help but think that the Jedi way was bullshit.

As the dawn of her expedition arrived, she stepped into a craft hangar of organized chaos. The hum of the ships, the mechanical voices of equipment, and the stampede of footsteps only added to the dizziness from all the nerves that she had built up inside of her. She stationed herself at the entrance to her transport ship as she awaited departure, her fingers tightly gripping the hilt of her lightsaber in an attempt to quell the nervous flutters in her stomach.

But it was no use as the doubts began to fester in her mind. What if she wasn’t quick enough with her parries? What if she couldn’t sense an enemy attack before it was too late? Her own master hadn’t even told her anything about where they were going, explaining that it was a “good learning experience to face the unknown”. She swore if she could ditch her master, she would in a heartbeat. On top of everything, the unspoken tension between her and Anakin was what seemed to distract her the most. Even if she did leave abruptly, she definitely did not deserve the silent treatment from him.

She was about to escape the distracting noise of the hangar, trudging up the ramp to her ship until a strong grip on her shoulder nearly made her stumble backward. She jerked her head around to see the idiot who had nearly ailed her.

“What the-"

Anakin stood there breathlessly, panting as a sheen of sweat decorated his skin. “Shut up. Take this,” he said as he extended a small device towards her. A personal comlink, with an extra modem attached. When he was met with a hard, confused look, he huffed in annoyance before speaking up again.

“It links to me,” he explained, gesturing to his own comlink that was securely attached to his belt. “I’ve rigged it so you can contact me as long as you’re near a Republic satellite.”

She eyed the device warily. “Why now, Master Skywalker? You’ve been gone,” she whispered, a mix of frustration and suspicion in her voice as she replied.

Anakin sighed in disappointment at his own actions, nodding once to agree with her. “Which is why I’m giving this to you,” he elaborated, his brow furrowing. He then took her hand and closed her fingers over the metal, tube-like device. “Please,” he begged as he held her hand in both of his, the tone becoming more desperate as he finally met her gaze for the first time in a while. “Just…use it. Whenever you need me, swear to me you’ll use it. I’ll help you.”

As much as she wanted to fight it, the sincerity in his words was unmistakable, and it slowly began to chip away at her defense once again. With all the questions she wanted to ask on the tip of her tongue, she nodded once, allowing Anakin to attach the commlink to her belt. It was noticeable how they both seemed to hold their breaths in anticipation, at the proximity of their bodies.

Once he had pulled back, he found himself desperately missing the warmth of her body. And with what was at stake, he couldn’t afford to miss another opportunity to act on this feeling. Wordlessly, he roughly yanked her towards him, the urgency of the action contrasting deeply with the tender touch that followed. He held her close, his body pressed tightly against hers and his embrace firm, almost as if she would disappear if his grip faltered for just a moment.

Despite initially stiffening up, she didn’t want to dissect the swirl of emotions that surrounded them as the hangar’s intercom announced the departure of her ship. She glanced up at Anakin, her eyes blown wide and afraid. “What if I-”

“No what if’s, okay?” he quickly interjected, giving her a reaffirming squeeze before pulling back to see her more clearly. She looked natural in a Jedi mission uniform, she looked pretty. He caught his eyes wandering towards her lips, refocusing shortly after.

“You’ve got this. I trust you, just trust yourself now.” Reluctantly, he gave her a gentle push up the ramp, gesturing for her to continue.

Her eyes lingered on his face anxiously before making her way up the ramp. Once she was inside, she idly stood at the ship’s opening once the ramp began to eerily close, obscuring her view of him little by little. It was only then that she realized that she had to say goodbye. She could only muster a small, shy wave as the engine hummed to life, ignoring the calls of her master to accompany her as a co-pilot from the front of the ship.

"Make it back in one piece,” Anakin called out in response, giving a reassuring smile. “May the Force be with you.”

As the ramp fully closed and the ship began to ascend, she pressed her palms against the ramp door, almost wishing she could push it back open and he would still be there. Soon enough, the atmosphere of Coruscant began to slowly fade into a symphony of stars through the ship’s windows. She stared down at the comlink attached securely to her belt. Anakin’s lifeline to her. It shed a bit of light on how he felt, but now she was determined to make it back home, so she could uncover the whole truth.

–

The mission had been a success, unfolding with an outstanding performance from the Jedi girl. She anticipated every attack, adapted to the battle and terrain, and even helped devise strategies with the commanding clone of her unit. It left her master astonished, wondering as to when she had improved so much.

However, it didn’t go without casualties. She tried to warn her master about the disturbances she felt ripple behind her, hinting at danger. The warnings fell on deaf ears. As expected, the ambush of bounty hunters emerged from behind their ranks, resulting in a few clone deaths and an injured master. Luckily, she and her Clone unit helped escort him to safety.

She was more than overjoyed to return home from a mission success, unfortunately slightly marred by the recklessness of her mentor. She took pride in the fact that she was able to achieve the feat on her own, without having to cry for help. It made her itch for another mission, the nerves have turned into an addictive thrill. Upon their return to Coruscant, her master was promptly confined to strict bed rest, in turn, leaving her with nothing to do other than train and retire to her quarters, much to her dismay. The soft embrace of her duvet was enough to keep her captive in her dormitory for a while, a definitive upgrade from the stiff cushions of their transport ship. The drone of city life outside the Temple was slowly winding down to a hush, the occasional whir of a speeder zooming by. Staring up at her sky window, she glared at the stars in frustration. It’s not like she wanted to lie down doing nothing, but there was nothing she could do to help it. Yet another reason to despise her insipid mentor.

Besides, she found a better one.

Anakin. Anakin had crossed her mind for the first time since the mission, and she was unable to suppress the heat that flooded her cheeks upon the mere thought of him. He made her feel sane in the unhinged antics that came with their duties. The heat seemed to travel elsewhere when she remembered where their relationship had gotten to. She so desperately wanted to talk to him, to tell him everything that she experienced and more, but she didn’t have a clue as to where to find him.

It was then that she remembered something very important. The comlink. Her eyes darted to her laundry basket in the corner of her dormitory. She flung the blanket off of her body, scrambling out of bed and towards her laundry basket. She was glad no one was there to witness her digging like a feral animal for her Jedi uniform that she had discarded for nightwear. Eventually, she unclasped the metal device from the belt, cradling it in her hand.

Rushing back to the edge of her bed, she sat eagerly and fidgeted with the power switch. Then, a soft hum emanated from the comlink, and a sudden wave of nervousness washed over her body. Uncertainty colored her expression as she brought the mic up to her lips, contemplating the words she wanted to say.

Once again, she couldn’t convey much. “Anakin?” she began in a hush, glancing around nervously as if she was afraid about getting caught. She held her breath, wondering if he had even heard her. Her gaze was fixed on the comlink, unblinking. Impatient and as stubborn as she was, she began to grow tired of simply sitting there and waiting. With a frustrated huff, she began to put the comlink down until a static-like crackle sounded from it. Hurriedly bringing it back in front of her again, her heartbeat accelerating with each second that passed.

“I was wondering when you would decide to say anything,” his voice rang out, a subtle tone of amusement lingering. The moment she heard his voice, the air in the room seemed to shift, filling the space with relief and exhilaration simultaneously. She didn’t even notice her wide grin and a rose-like color filling the apples of her cheeks as she eagerly listened for him. “Congrats on your mission, by the way,” he continued, shifting to a more formal note, yet his pride for her was evident in his words. “Handled it even better than…well, that’s not the point, is it?”

The small jab at her master was enough to make a giggle escape her lips, covering her mouth in an attempt to hide it. After she composed herself, she brought the comlink to her lips again. “Thank you. I hope I didn’t worry you,” she hummed as she swung her feet off the edge of her bed.

She heard a scoff from his end. “Had me a bit worried since you didn’t reach out. An ‘I’m alive” would’ve been nice,” he playfully scolded, though she could recognize that the sentiment was very much real. “Well, is that all you wanted to tell me?” She hesitated, the words choked up in her throat. Truthfully, she had wanted to tell him everything – the rush of the battling droids, the ambush from the bounty hunters. She so desperately wanted a normal conversation where he was just her mentor. It was never as simple as that. He never was just her new mentor. The only thought that came to the forefront of her mind was the persistent heat that she felt whenever he talked to her. But how could she put that into words without sounding like an idiot? Suddenly, his words from before popped into her head. “You said- uh, to use this if I needed you, right?” she said daringly, though her voice barely audible to her ears. An unbearably long second passed until his voice returned. “Of course. You’ve got the floor,” he replied kindly, though his tone was a bit wary.

Taking a deep breath with her heart pounding in her ears, she decided to go for all the marbles.

“Anakin, it’s so lonely here,” she whined breathlessly, nearly regretting the words as soon as they left her lips.

“Lonely where?” he immediately interjected, an obvious strain in the way he spoke. “In my room.” She was immediately met with a long bout of silence, and it mortified her. Then, the brief sound of static followed by his voice once again. “Hold on,” Anakin said, sounding strangely distant. The line went dead, and she felt her heart fall to the pit of her stomach. She had ruined everything hadn’t she? Of course, Anakin was too nice to straight up reject her, but she would’ve rather him do that than leave her in such a panic. As she paced her room, chewing on her nails nervously, a tidal wave of overthinking crashed over her. Had she gone too far? Had he already gotten over her while she was gone? Was she too forward? Anxiety from potentially ruining what she had with Anakin clawed at her, each passing moment with the silent comlink gripped in her hand amplifying the feeling tenfold. Minutes later, a rapid series of knocks reverberated throughout her dorm. Startled, she nearly dropped the device from her hand as her eyes darted towards the door. The knocks grew in frequency and volume the longer she took to answer. They were urgent, almost frantic.

Scurrying over to the door, she was met with the sight of the man that she was tearing herself down over moments before. Her worry-ridden thoughts were quickly replaced with ones of concern. Anakin stood in front of her in his Jedi robes, panting like a madman, skin slightly sweaty with his hair disheveled. He had to take a moment to place his hands on his knees, using himself for support he attempted to rest himself. To say she was surprised was an understatement. She had asked him to come to her, and he did, evidently as fast as he could. “Anakin, you didn’t have to do that.” Anakin struggled to catch his breath as he took a step inside and shut the door behind him, yet his eyes shined with something that told a different story from the rest of his body. “Couldn’t …couldn’t stay on the comlink,” he admitted between breaths, his eyes unabashedly landing on her lips once again. “Not when you sounded like that.” Any doubt she had about his feelings immediately dissipated. She blinked slowly at him, her eyes blown wide, unsure of what to do. Maybe it was the way that her eyes resembled a lothcat’s or the way her lashes fluttered that seemed to spur Anakin into motion. Before she could even register it, her face was being desperately cradled in his hands, the contrast of the warm, calloused skin with the cold metal sending her mind into a frenzy.

In that instant, she was dragged into a heated kiss, the passion oddly feeling tender. The movement of his arms coming up to wrap around his neck only seemed natural as she returned his kiss, the whine that had been sitting in her throat finally escaping. She felt his teeth graze against her lips, nipping at them playfully. When on earth did a Jedi Knight learn to kiss like that? Was he smiling? And why was she suddenly being hoisted up into the air?

Her legs instinctively around Anakin’s waist to prevent herself from falling, relocating and tightening her grasp atop his broad shoulders. Turning them around, he pressed her back against her front door, the very action resulting in a small “thud”. The sound should’ve concerned both of them, but neither seemed to care in the slightest. His lips gravitated to her neck, the tender skin serving as the perfect way to mask his pent-up grunts that were now leaving his throat. It rippled vibrations across her sensitive skin, eliciting little sounds from her that rang like bells in his ears. Once he had learned that each kiss to her neck brought about a different sound, each one progressively grew more sloppy, more languid, more carnal.

Though she never had been kissed in such a manner before, she knew that no one else could rival Anakin. He was patient, testing and prodding at different parts of the skin on her neck to see what she would react to the most. She was already writhing at the mere feeling of his swollen lips dragging across her skin, his teeth coming in to decorate her fragile skin with a bruise or two.

She had a mind to stop him from leaving marks, to tell him that they would be caught otherwise. However, the thought of a bruise, born out of passion, displayed on her skin for the whole world seemed appealing. The thought of people knowing that he left it there seemed to rub her in all the right ways.

Her reverie was interrupted by the feeling of being dropped gently onto the floor. She looked up at him with a frustrated look. “Why’d you stop?” “Turn around,” Anakin grunted, shrugging the useless garments that were his Jedi uniform off his body. She followed suit and heeded his word almost immediately, but to him, it wasn't fast enough. His hands, large in comparison to her body, grasped her frame and twirled her around, her backside exposed to him. He admired the view in front of him, accompanied by the sight of her hands pressed up against her own front door.

"Anakin?" she called out softly, her head turned just enough just to catch sight of him.

"Hm?" Anakin asked in an equally gentle manner, differing from the low grunts that had just escaped his lips prior. He leaned forward, hovering over her to whisper back to her. "What is it, pretty girl?"

Shuddering at the sickly sweet nickname he had donned her with, her eyes locked with his. "Won't everyone hear if we're right here?" she asked. Yet the way she asked that very question didn't seem like it concerned her very much; it much rather seemed like a courtesy, if anything.

A dry laugh left Anakin's lips, his hands moving to adjust her body to his liking, a feeling that he knew she wasn't unfamiliar with. But now, all it took was for her to bend over ever so slightly, her legs parted just enough. "They can watch if they'd like."

It was all too much to register all at once. He was on top of her, all over her, inside of her. He gripped at her even tighter in a desperate attempt to bring her even closer than they already were before he even thought to start moving. Again, his lips traveled to wherever they could across her bare skin. Her skin was slick, glazing her skin in such an appealing way that made him eager to welcome the salty fluid onto his tongue. Not too long after he eventually started moving, she cried out as he seemed to repeatedly brush against a sensitive spot, and so he upped his pace.

He was certain if anybody had been walking in the Billet's hallway at that moment, they would've heard her. Judging from the look in her pleasure-ridden, tear-filled eyes, she seemed to understand this as well, and she only grew louder from that point forward.

It didn't take too long until the harmony of their groans and whines began to stagger, Anakin unfortunately growing aware of his approaching limit. His movements faltering, his body hunched over her, his grip growing so tight that he was certain he'd leave more bruises than just her neck. But he was determined, so determined to hold out for her, to give her precisely what she needed. Tangling his hand into her hair, he yanked her head backward so it lay against his shoulder.

"Tell me what you need," he hissed, this voice barely audible over all the obscene noises that their bodies were creating, noises he knew were easily escaping through the door. When met with no response, he yanked at her hair harder, resulting in a deliciously overwhelmed yelp. "Please, pleaseplease-" Countless begs escaped her plumped lips, her body beginning to shake as her hands helplessly clawed at the cold, hard surface of the door she was pressed against. That alone was nearly enough to send him over the edge, his breath held and his chest tightening in anticipation of it.

She turned to face him again, her head pulled back enough to display his artwork of red-purple bruises surrounding her jugular. "Please, 'nakin," she begged, her eyes nearly rolling back into her head. "Keep going-"

He suddenly felt a hot, squeezing feeling around him accompanied by a cry out for his name. She was undone, and he shortly followed, retracting himself in time for their mess to spill all over the floor below them.

The intoxicating feeling that consumed their bodies shortly afterward sent them into a daze. One moment, she turned around to pull him into a wet, messy kiss, the next, their limbs were tangled with each other in the velvety embrace of her blankets. She knew that eventually, they would face repercussions for the sounds that they had subjected everyone to in the dead of night, but those repercussions seemed distant, inconsequential to the way she had begun to feel about the Chosen One.

And she was certain, from the way he stroked her hair to the slow and soft kiss that was pressed to her lips, that she wasn't alone in feeling that way.

a/n: originally posted on ao3! first ani fic on this site and more to come. likes n reblogs are appreciated and inbox is open for suggestions or prompts!

#anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #fem!reader #clone wars #attack of the clones #revenge of the sith #master x padawan #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker x reader smut #oneshot #anakin skywalker oneshot

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thegreatwicked · 3 months

Text

Padawan

May I proudly present....! My first reader insert, I wrote this for all you lovelies who follow/like/reblog/comment on my stuff. This is for you! Obi-Wan/You/Reader Insert. Master/Padawan, SMUT. SMUT. SMUT. That is all. Or is it? Should I write more???

Summary: After disappearing from your Master for thirteen years, the Clone Wars has brought you back to the same planet and a brush with death back into each other's lives. But you’re not his Padawan anymore, you’re a knight, right? No, you’ll always be his Padawan, and he, your Master.

~~~

He wasn't a fool; he had sensed your presence the moment you set foot on the planet, like a blinding light or the ring of a bell only he could hear. Of course, he could feel you—how could he not? At least, he could feel you for a while, long enough for him to be certain that he didn’t imagine it in a post-battle haze. You were here.

The first time your force signature vanished, his heart skipped a beat, and a cold rush of panic coursed through his veins and a horrible cold weight settled in his stomach, making him feel like he may be sick. Determined and distracted, he abandoned his conversation in a mad sprint. Searching. He tracked down anyone who had been alongside you on the battlefield, questioning them relentlessly, not caring how he came off as slightly unhinged as opposed to his normal calm and stoic manner, but each inquiry was met with disappointment and vacant glances.

It wasn't until he caught sight of the familiar sight of a blue and white lekku of Ahsoka that a glimmer of hope ignited within him, brighter than any lightsaber. Ahsoka, Anakin’s padawan. She was seemingly unaffected and greeted him with a smile as though she were seeing a dear friend or distant relative, and that in itself was calming. If Ahsoka wasn't distressed, it meant one of two things: either she hadn't heard of your demise, or, more optimistically, you were still alive.

A wave of relief washed over Obi-Wan as Ahsoka confirmed that you were indeed unharmed and engaged in another mission, your paths had briefly crossed long enough for friendly banter involving drinks later. You were not only alive but also hailed as a hero. Your proficiency with the light your orange, lightsaber had garnered admiration, and the news of your success spread across the battlefield.

As he processed this new information, Obi-Wan couldn't shake the questions that haunted him since the day you disappeared, thirteen years ago. What happened? Where had you been? Why had you left without a word?

Had he been too strict, too distant? He paced in his quarters, the weight of uncertainty pressing on his shoulders. Thirteen years of silence, and now he learned you were not only alive but thriving in the chaos of war. Had he been oblivious to your struggles and triumphs as a padawan? Had he overlooked something crucial?

His distress and confusion fueled his determination to find you, to understand the reasons behind your disappearance. The bond between Padawan and Master was meant to endure, but his had been severed without warning or explanation. The quest for answers became a relentless pursuit, driven by a mix of concern, guilt, and an unyielding desire to reconnect with the one he had lost.

Ilum's gift had bestowed upon you a most unique kyber crystal, weaving the essence of the Force into your arsenal—a radiant burnt orange lightsaber. Obi-Wan swelled with pride, recognizing that your exceptional skills not only ensured your safety but also turned the tide amid battle.

Sharing the tale with Ahsoka, Obi-Wan recounted the moments of uncertainty, the fear that gripped him when the disturbance in the Force signaled potential danger. Ahsoka responded with a knowing smile and a playful eye roll, acknowledging your tendency to dive headfirst into peril and emerge victorious as if it was the only possible outcome. Relief washed over Obi-Wan, mirrored by a grateful grin exchanged with Ahsoka, reassured that you navigated the challenges in your own distinctive way.

“She’s gotten quite good at cloaking, hasn’t she?” And with those words, all his nervous energy fell away.

The reality settled, Obi-Wan marveled at the intricacy of your Force signature concealment. Your mastery of the technique was so impeccable that it eluded even his well-honed Jedi senses. In moments of deep meditation, he attempted to reach out, seeking the familiar touch of your intangible presence, only to encounter a mysterious void. Your cloak, flawlessly executed, had transformed you into a Ghost—a moniker that, suddenly, filled him with pride for your evolving abilities.

Days melted into an endless procession of battles, the smoke of war shrouding the fates of those who entered its domain. Unable to locate you through the Force, Obi-Wan sought solace in updates from Ahsoka and the soldiers who served under your command, the Echo Squadron they were called. 'The Ghost,' a symbol of your evasive prowess, deepened his admiration for the padawan who had become an elusive figure amid the chaos of war.

Despite the promising news, Obi-Wan Kenobi's frustration deepened. Thirteen years had passed since he last saw you, his once-promising Padawan and the silence surrounding your disappearance gnawed at him. Pacing his quarters, he questioned the events that had led to this point. You had excelled in your Jedi trials, proving yourself worthy of knighthood, and yet, without a word, you vanished from his life.

The lack of closure weighed heavily on him. Had he failed you as a master? The memories of your training together, the countless missions you undertook side by side, haunted him. Had he missed something? Obi-Wan couldn't fathom why you chose to sever ties so abruptly and so completely. The bond between a Padawan and a master was meant to transcend time and distance even the Force itself.

His mind danced through potential reasons. Perhaps he had been too stern, too demanding, but he couldn't recall any unresolved conflicts or bitter disagreements. It fueled his restless pacing, so much he thought he might wear a hole in the floor. The war had claimed many, and the unpredictability of life in those times made such disappearances common. Yet, the absence of a farewell, a simple goodbye, perplexed him.

Obi-Wan stopped, staring at the transmission device on his desk. He contemplated reaching out through the Force, attempting to sense your presence, but a lingering doubt held him back. If you wished to remain hidden, he knew the Force would not easily reveal your location.

With a heavy sigh, he admitted to himself that he needed answers. The Jedi Master reluctantly accepted that, without your cooperation, he might never unravel the mystery of your departure. The internal conflict played across his features as he grappled with the uncertainty, the pain of an unanswered question tugging at his Jedi calm. ~~~

Obi-Wan flickered back into his senses, and he’d had enough, your Force signature, elusive and soft, presented a challenge to pinpoint. Yet, now seemed as opportune a moment as any to seek you out. He anticipated that the moment he reached out, you would sense it, and the possibility lingered that you might vanish as swiftly as you'd appeared. Despite the odds, he had to try.

For days, throughout his search, panic clawed at him as your signature exhibited erratic behavior—flickering, softening, going dim and occasionally blazing intensely. Unsettled, he worried about your well-being. Had something happened with your men or yourself? When news of Echo Squadron’s return came across his com, he decided on a more direct approach. The uncertainty fueled his urgency as he raced through the compound's halls, drawing closer to potential answers.

The revelations unfolded when the heavy blast doors swung open, and a chill gripped Obi-Wan's heart revealing a fractured company of clone troopers stumbling in, wearied from the throes of war.

Amidst the chaos, Obi-Wan's voice cut through the clamor, a determined command in battle's aftermath.

"You! Where is your Commander?" he bellowed to the nearest trooper. The man, a walking testament to the horrors he'd witnessed, appeared as if he had traversed through realms of death and fire. His gaze held the weight of someone who had glimpsed into the abyss, far beyond the immediate surroundings.

Obi-Wan called to the trooper, attempting to shake him from his trance, but it was evident that shock had claimed the soldier, rendering him useless for any immediate assistance. A surge of frustration gripped Obi-Wan, that familiar icy sensation taking root within him, he could stand it no more.

"Where is she?" he shouted, his voice cutting through the lingering echoes of combat. Heads turned in response, and a battle-worn trooper, fatigue etched on his face, stepped forward.

"General Kenobi," the trooper addressed him with a weary acknowledgment, capturing Obi-Wan's attention. With practiced discipline, the trooper began to relay the grim news that had been haunting his thoughts.

A surprise attack, swift and ruthless, caught the entire company off guard, unleashing chaos and claiming numerous lives. Amidst the chaos, your unwavering courage emerged as the linchpin that prevented even greater losses. The trooper, his voice tinged with awe, spoke your name with a reverence that echoed through the hushed murmurs of your fellow soldiers. Their expressions carried profound respect, acknowledging the pivotal role you played in turning the tide of the ambush.

The trooper went on to reveal a tale of resilience and determination. The men who managed to return from the battleground owed their lives to you. Your strategic prowess, coupled with an indomitable will, had become the catalyst for the survival of those under your command. The atmosphere grew heavy with gratitude and admiration as the trooper unfolded the narrative, and the unspoken bond between soldiers resonated with the unyielding spirit that defined your leadership.

“Injured?” Obi-wan breathed not wanting to believe it, “How badly?”

The trooper wore a solemn look before explaining; three. You had been hit by three blaster bolts and thrown back in an explosion that you had only barely managed to contain with your force shield, Obi-wan felt as though the breath had been punched out of his lungs. Murmurs of agreement sounded with troopers calling you a hero, and they would go into battle with you any day.

The trooper initiated the playback of the security holo, and the room was enveloped in the eerie glow of the holographic display. The flickering images revealed a chaotic battlefield, where your orange lightsaber danced in a brilliant display of skill, deflecting blaster bolts and cutting through the air. The scene, however, took a grim turn as the explosion unfolded.

The trooper's narration painted a vivid picture of your unwavering determination. Your face, illuminated by the glow of the lightsaber, displayed a fierce concentration as you called upon the Force. The protective barrier you conjured was a testament to the immense power you harnessed. Smoke, flames, and debris relentlessly assaulted the shield, crashing against it with an intensity that seemed insurmountable.

As the holographic depiction continued, the strain on your shield became evident. Each impact pushed you back, a slow and relentless retreat under the overwhelming assault. The trooper's commentary reflected the increasing tension in the room, capturing the collective breaths held by those witnessing the event. Finally, with a heart-wrenching collapse, the protective barrier gave way, and your motionless form was violently thrown backward by the force of the explosion, resembling a discarded puppet.

The disturbing imagery etched itself into the minds of those present, leaving a haunting impression of the sacrifice you had made for your comrades. The room fell silent as the holographic display faded, and the gravity of the moment lingered in the air.

“Where is she?” Obi-Wan’s voice a hoarse whisper.

The troopers exchanged puzzled glances, their expressions shifting from a state of surprise to one of guarded curiosity. Why did General Kenobi, the renowned Jedi leader, express such concern about the whereabouts of a single Jedi, especially one who hadn't reported directly to him? The very nature of Jedi loyalty was well-known, but this level of interest seemed unusual, especially considering General Kenobi had never spoken your name and had no prior connection with your company.

In the austere world of warrior monks, emotional attachments were often deemed a distraction, a sentiment echoed by the Jedi Code. The troopers, accustomed to the stoic and disciplined demeanor of their Jedi commanders, found it perplexing that General Kenobi, known for his wisdom and strategic brilliance, was showing a level of personal investment that transcended the typical chain of command.

As the trooper spoke, the realization hit Obi-Wan like a sudden gust of cold wind. The men, once indifferent, now wore expressions of awe and respect. He had been the mentor to their leader, the padawan of the legendary General Kenobi, and none of them had been aware. It was a revelation that changed the dynamics within the group.

“I apologize, General Kenobi, we didn’t know.”

Obi-Wan's confusion deepened. How was it possible that you had never spoken of your training under him? He couldn't fathom why you would erase any mention of your master, especially considering the strong bonds that typically formed between Jedi and their mentors.

“What do you mean? Has she never spoken of it?”

The trooper shook his head solemnly. His name had never left your lips. There was no connection with Obi-Wan Kenobi, and your silence regarding your master left him perplexed and troubled. What had transpired to make you erase the very existence of your training and relationship with him from your history? It was a mystery that left him with an unsettling sense of guilt and regret.

Dread settled over Obi-Wan as the clone recounted the events in the medical wing. The last remnants of the company had made it back, battered and bruised, their fallen comrades in tow. However, you were conspicuously absent, having been transported to the medical wing for intensive care due to the injuries you sustained. Without a moment's hesitation, Obi-Wan set his sights on the medical facilities.

In his urgency to find you, Obi-Wan maneuvered through the bustling corridors, barely sparing a glance for those he unintentionally bumped into. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the low hum of medical machinery. The chaos within the medical wing mirrored the turmoil in Obi-Wan's mind as he scanned the rows of occupied beds and the busy healers tending to the wounded.

He sought your name among the patients but found no trace. Panic tightened its grip on him, as each unoccupied bed intensified his worry. In the organized chaos, Obi-Wan grappled with the fear that he might be too late, that he had lost you in the vast sea of casualties.

"She’s alright. She was moved out of intensive treatment yesterday; she’s recuperating in private quarters on deck five."

Obi-wan's tension eased at Ahsoka's reassurance. The weight that had settled on his shoulders lifted as he absorbed the news. Ahsoka's brief but impactful update became a lifeline, giving him direction in the chaos. Gratitude filled his eyes as he nodded, silently expressing his thanks. The urgency to find you intensified, but now armed with information, he promptly set off towards the turbo-lift, leaving Ahsoka with the unspoken promise that he would find you.

Inside the lift, the monotonous hum did little to alleviate his restlessness, in fact, it made them worse. The usually swift elevators felt unusually slow on this particular day, and he entertained the thought that taking the stairs might have been a faster option. As he impatiently waited unconsciously tapping his boot, the seconds felt like an eternity. When the doors finally opened on the desired floor, he bolted out, the urgency in his steps reflecting as he raced down the corridor. This was the most cardio he’d had in days. His eyes darted around erratically, scanning the room names, and he eventually found yours.

Adorned next to the door like a beacon, and with a mix of hope and trepidation, he pressed the call button, but only silence answered back. He pushed it again. Then again. And each time the ominous silence was his only response. Mad with anxiety he pushed to override the security lock, a move usually foreign to his respectful nature.

The door slid open, and his heart stilled, there you were on a sofa bathed in daylight from the small window close to the ceiling. Relief surged through him, but it was fleeting; his heart remained uneasy and it would until he saw some indication that you were truly alive. Striding purposefully, he crossed the room, the force signature around you echoing your weakened condition like a medical monitoring device would communicate a pulse or heartbeat.

The aftermath of battle left its gritty mark across your features—bacta patches firmly affixed your shoulder and upper arm worked to make you whole though the tendrils of bruising could be seen around the borders. The marks on your skin were like a gritty painting, telling the vivid story of explosions, blaster fire, and flying debris. Scratches added rough brushstrokes to your face, tracing the chaotic path of the battlefield. Minor burns left fiery imprints on your neck, marking close encounters with searing heat. Bruises, like somber echoes, formed a mosaic on your arms and hands, narrating the intense dance with projectile-like debris.

Despite this, you lay in peaceful repose on your side, facing him, eyes closed in sleep; an elusive serenity amidst the chaos of war. Your head was cradled in your arms, one leg casually folded beneath you while the other stretched out, a blanket loosely entwined around your legs and gathered at your waist. As he crouched down to study you, he sought the familiar essence of the padawan he remembered. The passing of thirteen years had left its mark in the longer strands of hair and the refined, soft features that shaped you into a woman, a stark departure from the Padawan he once guided. No longer bound by the apprentice title, you had evolved into a Jedi Knight—a seasoned warrior.

A close call with death, all for the sake of your men who deeply admired you, almost snuffed out your light. But, your command and growing mastery of the Force made him prouder than ever at that moment.

A subtle shift in your sleep saw a strand of your hair falling gently over your face, just over your nose each little breath lifting it slightly, It brought a smile to his face, and for the first time in days, he felt a sense of tranquility, his pulse calming in the warmth of that precious moment. The chaos of the war outside felt distant within the confines of the cozy room.

Unbeknownst to him, his hand had instinctively reached out, delicately brushing the strand of hair away from your face, inadvertently prompting you to stir in your sleep, accompanied by a soft, sleepy groan.

Wakefulness pulled you from the warm embrace of sleep and instinctively you stretched, a grimace of pain crossed your lips as you moved, prompting you to recoil slightly into a ball once more. Then your eyelashes fluttered open gradually met by crystal blue eyes, quickly filling with a storm of fatigue, confusion, and curiosity.

"Hello, young one," he uttered, his voice a gentle murmur rich with affection, and his smile extended to the corners of his eyes, creating subtle crinkles.

"Obi-Wan?"

"Yes, it's Obi-Wan."

Was this a dream? It didn't feel like one. You scanned the room, casting a questioning glance at your surroundings and the unfolding reality. Your expression wasn't one of pleasure upon seeing him; instead, it bore confusion and distance, as if you were looking at a stranger. He couldn't ignore the palpable sense of disconnect. Hoping for a misunderstanding, that perhaps you had maintained secrecy for a mission, he observed the passing seconds, realizing it wasn't as simple as that.

"What day is it?"

Not the question he had expected, but he was so relieved to hear your voice, that it didn’t matter.

"Primday. You've been in medical for two days, released from the intensive treatment wing just yesterday."

Thirteen years melted away, and those familiar, brilliant blue eyes, so kind and warm. Nostalgia washed over you, and you couldn't deny the yearning for the comforting presence of your former master.

However, as the waves of reminiscence subsided, the reality you'd been avoiding for thirteen years resurfaced. Obi-Wan's knowledge about your condition, coupled with his intense worry, unsettled you, you had to get away from him. Sitting up was a struggle, and as you finally managed to rise, the blanket slipped away, laying bare the toll of battle on your body—a sight that triggered anger, and concern in Obi-Wan's eyes.

A large portion of your left thigh was concealed beneath a sizable bacta patch, and the same superficial injuries that littered the rest of your body continued, it seemed no part of you had been spared, your less-than-optimal state caught him off guard.

“You should be in a bacta tank! They released you like this?” Obi-Wan was flabbergasted, the worry etched on his face evident. “Come, I’m taking you back to the medical wing.”

“Absolutely not!” Your bold assertion caught him off guard and he stopped, there had only been a handful of times where you had defied your master. You adjusted your tone to a more calm and measured cadence before adding, “The bacta tanks are at capacity, and there are far more injured than I. –I’m fine. Just scratches.”

He blinked rapidly, his concern escalating. “Scratches? These are NOT scratches.” Oblivious to your state of undress, he gestured to your leg. “You were nearly killed! I saw the holo myself!”

Feeling the weight of responsibility on your shoulders, you searched for any excuse to put more space between you and your master. Ignoring his pleas for you to stay put, you tried to stand again, driven by your stubborn nature. It wasn't until Obi-Wan physically stepped in, restraining you, that you finally came to a stop.

“You can't go back like this,” he insisted, “You're in terrible shape, you need time to recover.”

You made a final attempt to push past him, but Obi-Wan wasn't having it. A firm but considerate hand on your chest gently pushed you back, and a wave of discomfort washed over you as the dull throb of your muscles crying out caught up with your exertions. Glancing to the side table, he spotted a hypo syringe, and without hesitation, he reached for it, eager to bring an end to your pain. However, you extended your hand and vehemently shook your head, intensifying his disbelief as you refused pain medication despite the evident discomfort you were in.

“I don’t need it,” you insisted, defiantly rejecting any relief for your pain. Obi-Wan couldn't fathom your refusal, considering the severity of your injuries.

“You were hit by three blaster bolts and blown up, and you refuse pain medicine?” His voice rose unintentionally, a mix of concern and frustration evident. He shook his head in disbelief, disappointed by your seemingly stubborn choices. He set the syringe down and rose turning away from you, hands on his hips trying to make sense of you but you’d never made it easy on him.

“And you expected to make it down the hall, into the turbo life through the halls, and into the squad bay like this?” He gestured vaguely to you and huffed out a breath The internal conflict of caring for someone who refused care etched across his face and he shut his eyes in exasperation. “What am I to do with you?”

The room settled into a calm stillness, and he could feel the Force flowing gently, like a quiet river moving past him. Eager to offer support, he laid a comforting hand on your shoulder, connecting his own Force presence with yours. A tranquil hush filled the space as you both embraced the ancient practice, seeking solace for the aches and pains that lingered.

The room filled with the soothing hum of the Force, a brief moment of relief washing over you like waves tickling at your toes, easing the discomfort. The pain began to melt away, replaced by a comforting warmth. Yet, as soon as you felt his added touch, your eyes snapped open, and you jerked back abruptly cutting off both the Force connection and the physical contact. It was as if you pulled back as if the sensation burned you. Confusion widened his eyes, hurt creasing his handsome features. He lowered his head into his hands, his voice tinged with a tremor of pain as he grappled with the mystery of your sudden distance and coldness toward him.

"What have I done to you?"

His eyes closed in unbearable agony, and his head bowed forward, hair cascading over his face.

"How have I wronged you? In what way did I hurt you so profoundly that my own padawan refrains from uttering my name to her company, or anyone else? That she remains a secret, that no one knows she was mine?"

His?

An ocean of hurt filled those beautiful blue eyes as he looked up, and for the first time, he saw you gaze back at him and actually see him.

"Nothing, you did nothing. Obi-Wan I–"

Shaking your head, you reached out to him, but this time it was he who recoiled, taking several steps back, attempting to regain control over his faltering composure. Pain welled up within you, the knowledge that you tried to follow what you believed was right, what you were taught was right, and still it had caused harm.

"I must have done something to you for you to treat me this way." His voice carried a hint of indignation now. "Was I too harsh? Unjust? A cruel master? What did I do to make you harbor such hatred towards me?" Hate?

No, no, no. This was all wrong. What had you done?

"I don't hate you," You pleaded, your voice carrying the weight of regret. "I could never hate you, Obi-Wan."

"Oh? What else am I left to believe? One moment I'm watching you being knighted, the youngest of your clan, my heart swelling with pride at knowing the galaxy will never see another Jedi like you. And the next, you're just gone! No goodbye, no farewells, no communications, nothing. As if the years I trained you were of no consequence, as if the bond that follows a Padawan and Master throughout life meant nothing."

Your heart hurt, and you weren't sure which was more painful: the idea that he thought he had wronged you so much that you hated him, or the realization that you had hurt him and continued to do so.

"That's not what it was."

Your voice was meek, and you struggled to explain but it felt useless, the damage had ben done, by your hand. You had hoped to avoid this conversation, knowing there was only one inevitable outcome: the loss of your relationship with your master, forever. Yet fate seemed determined to unfold it now.

“Then what? What, padawan?”

As he closed the distance between you, your internal turmoil heightened. You clutched the blanket tighter around yourself, a feeble attempt to shield not just your body but the vulnerability you felt at that moment.

"Please, don't call me that."

You sank into the protection of the blanket, avoiding the term that carried memories of a time when things were simpler, a time you desperately wanted to distance yourself from. The weight of the past lingered in the air, leaving you exposed and uncertain about the path this conversation would take.

He seemed both confused and offended now. How could such an important name hold such bitterness for you?

“Padawan,” You flinched at hearing him speak the word in what felt like spite, each syllable caressed by his thick Coruscatnti accent.

“Look at me, padawan.” His commanding presence made it difficult to resist, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, you just couldn’t. The last threads of resistance faded when he spoke as he had whenever you were in trouble, “You will obey your Master’s command,”

Of course, you would. You always would when he called, as instinctive a reaction to you as breathing. Painfully slowly, you looked up eyes still fighting it the whole time hoping he would understand without any further explanation, but stubbornness and snark was something the Great Negotiator was famed for, and he would not be denied any longer.

As your eyes locked with his, an unexpected vulnerability washed over you, and you felt more naked than you were. It had been more than a decade since you looked into those eyes, yet the magnetic pull was just as potent now as it had been thirteen years ago. You subtly shook your head, silently pleading.

As the seconds passed, realization dawned on him. Your face, colored by shades of shame and embarrassment, betrayed the unspoken truths. The hand reaching up to your temple was the final revelation, leaving you with nothing to do but let him see.

In the jumble of thoughts racing through your interconnected minds, fragments of him surged to the forefront. His deep blue eyes, the warmth of his smile, the soft touch of his hands—all tangled memories, causing a storm within. He saw the moment you grappled with the painful truth: the man you desired could never be truly yours, shackled by the rigid Jedi code and Obi-Wan's unwavering commitment. Faced with this agony, disappearing into the void seemed like the only refuge, a self-imposed exile to shield both of you from inevitable heartache. So, when you had heard Master Yoda speaking of a mission on the other side of the galaxy, you seized the opportunity. Leaving right away? Perfect. Despite hating the choice, it felt like the only way. You’d have done anything to protect him from yourself.

He understood now, that whenever he uttered "Padawan" the word brought you pain because it was as close as you could ever be. The pain reverberated, and he, peering into your thoughts, could sense it all. As he withdrew, his eyes conveyed not disappointment but a poignant sadness, leaving a lingering ache that cut deeper than any vibroblade could.

The emptiness he left in your thoughts was unbearable. Your head sank into your hands as you whispered apologies—apologies for keeping secrets, for causing him pain, for leaving him, for unintentionally making him believe you were angry or had betrayed him with these unspoken thoughts. The weight of it all overwhelmed you, and grief started to take hold.

"You ran away, for my benefit?" the weight of his words hung heavily in the air.

With a single nod, you admitted the harsh truth. And what good did it do? The heartbreak you'd been dodging finally caught up with you, but you’d given it one hell of a run.

You could hear him taking a cautious step back as if you were a dangerous threat to him, but then again, weren’t you? The impending void that would stretch between you two loomed now, and it would stretch for far longer than the span of a few years. This was exactly what you'd hoped to avoid—the door opening, him walking away, and leaving behind an emptiness that nothing could fill.

In the aftermath, you'd head back to your company, join your men, skillfully avoid their questions, and bury the sound of his name so deep it might never resurface. No more uttering it, not even in the quiet corners of your mind. The once-warm memories of your kind master guiding you in the Jedi ways would become bittersweet relics, stained by your own choices.

A profound hopelessness settled in as you rested your head against your hands, hair falling like a curtain. You braced for the tears, waiting for the sound of the doors to open and close one final time before you’d let them fall, shutting your eyes tightly to keep them in. Any second now.

However, the doors remained sealed, he was still there. Was he about to scold you? To make you feel more the foolish girl who should have had better control over her stupid emotions? Guess every wound needed a little salt, though, didn’t it? The situation seemed to only get worse and you found yourself wishing that the blast you struggled to hold back might have killed you instead, that you might be spared this pain.

His voice was almost a whisper, prompting you to glance up. "You don’t hate me?"

You shook your head vigorously, "How could I?"

Was there a chance to salvage this? In any way? You struggled to get back on your feet, your movements thwarted by a shooting persistent pain that would sooner see you fail in your attempt to reach him. And stumble you did, barely managing a few steps before you failed, but your master was right there, catching you before you could hit the ground. With his support, you managed to stand, though he still towered over you. His arm wrapped around you, a reassurance that you were safe. This shouldn't be happening, and he should have left, but he stayed. Why? Would this be it? It had to be.

Giving in to a momentary desire, you let yourself enjoy a small gesture—your fingers slipping through the back of his neck, remembering the softness of his hair. It was shorter now, and although it suited him, you couldn't help but miss the longer locks that used to invite such thoughts.

“What am I to do with you, padawan?”

His choice of words sent a shiver down your spine, but not in the way it used to. There was a strange undertone in his voice, something you hadn't heard before. You had no answers to his question, but it seemed like responses didn't much matter to him. Then, out of the blue, he stooped down and picked you up in his arms, something you'd only dared dream about.

"What're you doing?"

"Taking you to bed, where I can take you properly."

You froze. What did he say? Could he really mean what you thought he did? There had to be some misunderstanding. Your love-struck brain must be playing tricks on you. Your master wouldn't actually give in to those desires, right? Your blood raced, your heart thundered and your skin tingled as he effortlessly carried you, making your weight seem inconsequential.

The bed, though not exceptionally soft, transformed into the most comforting spot in the galaxy as he tenderly placed you upon it. Kneeling beside you the mattress dipping to accommodate him as well, he cradled your face in his hands, prompting a shaky "Wha-?" from your trembling voice.

"Stubborn girl," his words hung in the air, accompanied by that unforgettable tone, yes, it was slightly critical but there was something else to it. "You're not leaving this bed until you're fully recovered. Understand, Padawan?" Confusion swirled in your mind at hearing his command, but you managed a small nod. "You will obey your master's commands, won't you?" The authoritative tone was unfamiliar, prompting another slow nod from you. "Say it."

"Yes, Master."

"Good girl," he affirmed, drawing closer, and his lips met yours in an unexpectedly ferocious kiss.

His mouth quickly took control of yours, leaving no room for confusion about what his intentions were when he said ‘take you properly’. It felt like a tempest, threatening to engulf you, carrying you to the darkest depths but after thirteen years of wanting, and needing, the storm could do as it wanted, if he was the storm.

He smelled like blaster fire, adrenaline, smoke, and lightning—the aftermath of the battlefield sticking to him. Mingling with his scent, like the promise of rain, held traces of incense, taking you back to moments meditating in temples and deserts during your years of travel together. It was a smell that whispered safety and felt like home, a unique cologne you'd spend countless credits on. Something you wanted to drown in.

In countless dreams, you'd imagined moments where your master sought you out after hard battles, dangerous missions, or late at night, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you two. You dreamed of clandestine rendezvous with his hand covering your mouth urging you to be quiet.

Now, it wasn't just a fantasy; it was real. His lips moving against yours, licking at your lips, sucking on the tip of your own tongue, fueled by hunger as intense as that of a starving man, confirmed the reality of the moment.

During your trials, he had worn his beard and mustache, and it had long sparked your carnal curiosity about the sensations they might bring – a persistent tickle or a pleasurable burn? It turned out to be both, exquisitely and painfully so, surpassing the allure of any narcotic. The intensity of his mouth against yours was relentless, lips brushing yours before his tongue entered the equation. It delved into your mouth, leaving your usually sharp mind in a state of struggle, accompanied by shaky moans. Yet, none of it mattered. The moment he pressed himself between your legs, seizing the hem of your shirt, all rational thought vanished. Your hungry mind could only process the overwhelming realization that your master was kissing you, his tongue licking at your mouth, and he was pawing at you, undressing you like your clothes were an unforgivable offense.

His hands, leaving trails of smoldering embers, intensified the moment, but the euphoria came at a cost. When you moved to discard your shirt, a sharp pain shot through your shoulder, stealing a cry from your lips. Clutching your wound, you fought back the urge to cry.

The sudden sound shattered the enchantment, and his eyes snapped open. He pulled away abruptly, looking as if he were shocked to find himself in this situation with you. Clarity returned to his gaze, and a heavy feeling settled in your stomach as he stepped back, his features clouded with alarm, shaking his head.

"No, we can't," he uttered, releasing you abruptly. In an instant, it was over. A desperate breath escaped you as you reached out, but he vanished.

The urge to scream, cry, or tear down the walls clawed at you, but none of it could change what had just happened. Flopping back on the bed, your shoulder met the mattress with a wince. Anger pulsed through your core, fueled by both the recovering blaster wound and the missed opportunity.

He'd kissed you, and touched you, and just when the promise of something more seemed within reach, it slipped away, leaving a bitter taste of disappointment. The thought of his bare skin against yours, a tantalizing dream, now felt elusive. Despair settled in, but the sudden sound of hurried steps shattered the silence—Obi-Wan's unexpected return.

Before you could fully rise, he gently pressed you back down, his body covering you. His lips sought yours again in a softer, slower kiss, dispelling confusion but introducing a new layer of uncertainty.

He hadn’t left. "Master?" You could barely get the word out before his lips crashed into yours again, a hungry, intense kiss that made you forget about everything—the sudden exit, the unexplained return—all vanished in the heat of the moment. A sharp sting in your arm brought you back, and you pulled away with a surprised 'Ow!' Glancing down, you noticed the hypo-syringe in his hand and the red mark on your arm. "Wha-?"

He came back for another kiss, a hungry and urgent embrace that left you breathless. His tongue teased at your lips, an intrusion you found hard to be angry about. During this heated exchange, he murmured, "I'm sorry," between breathless kisses, his hand entangled in your hair, adding an electrifying thrill to the encounter.

His voice, heavy with sincerity and restraint, trailed down your neck as he continued the assault of hungry kisses. “I don’t want to hurt you,” The tingling sensation from the hypo spread through your body, replacing pain with a welcomed numbness. Now his words made sense – he had injected you with an anesthetic, he wasn’t going anywhere.

"But being gentle is not an option right now," he confessed against your skin, his lips sending shivers down your spine. "And I can't wait any longer."

And neither could you.

His presence enveloped you, a promise to soothe the ache that had haunted you. Rational thoughts and hesitations melted in the passionate exchange, leaving behind an urgent desire for his tongue to dance with yours, to savor the taste of you.

The pain became a distant murmur, overshadowed by the seductive cadence of his armor shedding away. The unmistakable sound of metal parts cascading to the floor filled the air, a harmonious unveiling that played like a haunting melody, laced with the promise of imminent closeness. Each metallic clink and rustle, orchestrated with practiced finesse, blended seamlessly with the mounting heat, composing a sensual symphony that underscored the unfolding intimacy.

"Padawan-” He sounded so full of need. “Have you waited this whole time to touch me, only to just lay there?"

No, you hadn't. Your senses snapped back into focus, and the relentless ache demanded action. Rising up with fiery determination, you seized his lip between your teeth, fingers tangled in his tousled locks. Leg wrapped around his waist, you provocatively thrust your hips into his, stirring a primal hunger. A low, appreciative groan escaped him, and the remaining shreds of restraint evaporated in the scorching intensity of the moment.

“Very good, padawan,” he whispered between searing kisses "Now, tell me what you want. Tell me every craving, every ache you've hidden from your master."

The legendary negotiator, renowned for his poise, eloquence, grace, and dignity in the heat of battle or the midst of a debate, was always portrayed as a polished and composed figure. However, the General Kenobi before you was a stark departure from that image—a persona that sensually grazed your neck with his lips, tenderly explored the curves of your breasts with his hands and moved his hips in a rhythm that ignited an intense passion. This wasn't just the great negotiator; it was the manifestation of a double life—a formidable lover hidden beneath the veneer of a respected leader.

His shorter locks proved to be the perfect handhold, their soft strands entwining with your fingers. The subtle roughness of his beard intensified the already electric atmosphere, adding an extra layer of intensity to the moment.

In the fiery dance of passion and longing, he'd always preached the power of actions over words. Guided by that intimate lesson, you eagerly set out to unravel the layers of his robes, with a gentle push, he rose back up to stand while you sat on the bed, your hands moving with a fervor fueled by desire. The belt surrendered first, dropping to the ground with a soft thud, the lightsaber noticeably absent, carefully stowed away. Urgently, the ties of his loose robe followed suit in the passionate race to undress him. The linen shirt glided away from his broad shoulders, gracefully descending to the floor, revealing the lush expanse of his bare chest. With unwavering determination, you committed every inch of your master's body to the canvas of your memory, each touch a sensual exploration of his lean, muscled skin, a sensory feast that ignited the flames of desire.

"This."

Your fingers traced the shape of his already hard length beneath the fabric of his trousers, coaxing a low moan from Obi-Wan against your neck. "Master, I want this." A firm squeeze elicited a shudder, coursing through him as you continued to tease through his clothing. "I want it in my mouth." His breath hitched, and his hips responded eagerly. Slowly untying the laces of his trousers, your hand slipped inside, embracing his him. The guttural groan that escaped him sent warmth rippling through your body. "Between my legs."

Your master's throbbing cock pulsed in your hands, radiating heat against your skin—hard and demanding. Each stroke elicited untamed pleasure, breaking through the disciplined walls the Jedi Order had meticulously built over the decades. The symphony of his responses played out in sensual notes: the quivers across his skin, the ragged gasps, and the vulnerable moans, all orchestrated by your skilled touch. Hypnotized by the power you held over him, you savored every moment, captivated by the way his body reacted to your every movement. How his hips surged forward in a hungry plea as your hand teased and retreated, and then faltered when you squeezed him with deliberate, unhurried strokes. An irresistible urge surged within you, a yearning to fulfill the fantasies that had simmered within your soul for a decade.

“Master, your padawan wants your cock.”

His hips faltered again at the sheer filth that you spoke of, the way your voice caressed such dirty thoughts, he twitched in your hand and you tried not to moan. Like a siren call you began to dip your head forward, desperate to satisfy the curiosity of how he tasted, your goal so close, a breath away from your lips when it was cruelly ripped away from you. His hand wrapped gently but assertively around your throat giving the softest squeeze that prompted you to rub your thighs together to still the full body shudder.

“My padawan will learn patience. I asked you to tell me your thoughts, not to carry them out.”

You wanted to cry, maybe he expected a submissive little padawan.

“Up, further on the bed.”

He let you go, and you followed his command, scooting back towards the middle of the bed. The intensity of his gaze made it challenging not to tremble. The sight of your master, shirtless, messy hair, swollen lips, and trousers hanging dangerously low on his hips, carried the knowledge that his hard arousal had been in your hands. Knowing you had driven him to that point made obeying his commands a fierce internal struggle. The difficulty only intensified as he knelt on the bed, crawling toward you like a predator closing in on its prey. His eyes held an unfamiliar, burning intensity, setting your own desires ablaze. How was it possible for blue eyes to burn?

His voice, low and commanding, demanded you to lie back, leaving no room for protest. The once-lacy barrier of your panties and bra felt like an unnecessary formality as he leaned over, his arms creating a delicious trap against the bed. Escape wasn't even a consideration, not that you wanted it. He peered at your shoulder, voice holding a hint of soft concern as he asked, "Are you in any pain?" With a shake of your head, A wolfish grin played on his handsome face. "Good. Though, you might when I'm done with you." Oh, stars. Denying you a proper kiss, his tongue traced the trail of desire from your lips down your jaw and neck.

“Going to have to punish you a bit for abandoning your master,”

What? He was going to punish you? Your heart threatened to burst as his lips drifted down your chest, lavishing every imperfection marring your skin with a sweep of his tongue and a caress of his hands.

Despite having command of the force all your life, the very notion that it may be used against you, that it could be unseen hands acting on Obi-Wan’s will, tearing the rest of your clothes off thrilled you. But he surprised you, it seemed he was more hands-on, the bra you wore was quickly gone and that hot mouth of his found its way to your nipples delicately teasing. Slow and purposeful swipes of his tongue coupled with the soft seal of his lips and the gentle scrape of his teeth made you arch wantonly into his waiting mouth with a whimper.

Was this what he’d meant about punishment?

He quickly answered that for you, the gentle vibrations of his moan passing through your teased nipples as he switched from one to treat the other to equal pleasure.

“Your punishment can wait though,” That eloquently talented tongue of his drew sensual circles that brought a choked sob past your lips. “First, I’m going to take care of my padawan. Make her come for me in all the ways she’s ever dreamed, so she’ll never leave me again,” Your heart skipped a beat, several in fact, “Till her body shakes and she can no longer bear not having my cock in her.”

He finally released your aching nipples moving down the soft flat expanse of your stomach tongue dipping into your navel. “My powerful,” he kissed your hip, “beautiful,” he sucked on the skin as his fingers tucked into your panties “Sensitive,” and pulled them down your legs. “Neglected,” His breath ghosted over your thigh, tossing the garment aside. “Padawan.”

Never again would the word Padawan cause you pain, never again would it represent ache and loss and missed opportunities. Your chest rose in shallow breaths and you were fairly certain you were going to have a heart attack. Your eyes fixed on a point on the ceiling before fluttering closed completely, listening to your master's voice, feeling his hot breath on your most delicate body parts. And for a few terrible moments he let you sit there feeling his breath, the occasional brush of his beard on your skin, the anticipation more horrible than a thousand lonely nights with only your fantasies and touch.

“Master.” You wished you hadn’t sounded so pitiful, so needy and pathetic but you were and you couldn’t help it. Naked on a bed with your master’s breath teasing you between your legs, you were ready to beg.

“Padawan,”

The word whispered, barely audible a fraction of eternity passed before you felt the sweetly sinful furnace of his mouth on your lips before his tongue swept past them to taste you. A shrill and sudden intake of breath shattered the stillness of the room, and your hips canted up against his mouth and you cried out in a drawn-out moan. Not in any pain but the desperate tens of thousands of lonely nights where you cried his name in your mind each time you came against your hand.

His strokes were sweet and slow and left no part of you untouched. You’re lungs seized up momentarily and your brain misfired too many impulses, the instinct to jump away upon the startling contact with his mouth warred the desire to watch him, which also struggled against the urge to seize his hair and beg him to take you right then and there.

All impulses crashed into one another with each broad stroke of his tongue against your pussy, you lay back practically panting desperately trying to remember how to breathe properly, but with every flick of his tongue saw to it that you forgot whatever it was you were trying to remember.

Your toes curled slightly in shameless pleasure when you felt his fingers stroking your entrance, teasing you with the promise of sublime ecstasy to be had if he would only use his fingers. The very ones calloused from years of wielding a lightsaber now brought blistering pleasure with every touch. The sounds of his breathing intermingled with deep groans as he lapped at you like he was dying of thirst, only adding to the symphony of sex you would play over and over in your head until the end of your days.

As you lay there losing your mind in the velvet embrace of your master’s mouth, Obi-Wan was studying you, learning your pleasure through each taste, stroke, and flick of the tongue. Committing to memory how you reacted when he licked hard or sucked softly the cadence of your breathing and the buck of your hips, what drew sweet whimpers or unabashed moans. He found a rhythm, long, slow broad strokes, that made you gasp each time no matter how often he did it, you could never get used to it. Followed by the quick teasing flutter of his tongue on your clit, fingers sweeping gently along the length of your lips throwing fuel to the fire he that was beginning to rage out of control. The hot lazy hunger of his mouth was better than anything you’d ever felt and it was impossible to keep your eyes open for any length of time, it just felt so good, as if your brain was struggling to keep up with what was happening it would occasionally rapid-fire messages to you as though you were unaware of exactly what was going on.

‘Master’s mouth is between my legs.’

‘Stars! He’s licking me.’

‘He’s going to make me come!’

Somewhere in the back of your mind you registered the soft sound of a deep and throaty chuckle, the reverberations stole your breath and sidetracked your thoughts.

‘Yes, padawan, you will come for me. Until I grow weary of the noises you make.’

The words played out in your mind as if they came from everywhere echoing off the walls of your thoughts, but when you glanced down, Obi-Wan was focused on you. Not even a teasing expression, his eyes seemed closed in rapture as though he were enjoying an exquisite, delicacy catered to his palette only. And enjoying it thoroughly.

When not dancing teasing touches to your entrance, his hands stroked the inside of your thighs opening your legs further each time, mindful not to agitate your wounds, his touch so delicate that it made your skin tingle with sensitivity.

It was unbelievable how quickly he’d gotten you so close to cumming but then his voice in your head tell you the most wicked thoughts aided in that considerably.

Never before did you ever think such a thing would happen, your master hungrily feasting on your pussy. It had to be a dream, it was too good, any moment when you were nearly ready for the rolling torrent of orgasm to crash upon you, you would wake up and cling to the remnants of this dream while hurriedly bringing yourself to climax while muffling any sounds into your pillow.

“No, my padawan, this is no dream. I’m going to make you come for me now.”

His mouth found your clit again, giving it a series of slow licks and gentle, open-mouthed kisses before spreading your lips open giving you no reprieve from that masterful mouth of his. Then he truly went to work on you, stimulating that little bundle of nerves by flicking the tip of his tongue over and over increasing in speed until you could scarcely breathe and your body was writhing on the bed, the moans tumbling from your mouth. Your wails combined with your desperate pleas carried through the room with lick, swirl, and suckle.

Obi-wan’s voice continued calling to you whispering so many salacious things to you; that he loved how you tasted so sweet to him, “My darling, padawan, your taste is divine, so sweet.”

That your moans were what he would play in his head when he stroked himself if he couldn’t have you, “Yes, sing for me, tell me how good I’m making you feel,”

How he knew you were going to strangle his cock when he finally let you have it, “S’going to feel so good when I bury my cock in you, isn’t it? Going to strangle me, aren’t you?”

How gorgeous you looked like this for him and it was only for him, “So, beautiful all laid out for me, only for me, aren’t you?”

And for each whispered thought in your mind you moaned a ragged “Yes, master! Yes! Yes!”

This was it, he was going to kill you, this was how you would join the living Force, wildly in the throws of orgasm. You couldn’t even manage his name, barely able to utter the first syllable, voice raising in pitch, your body growing rigid as it all culminated towards an exquisite peak. It was the sound of Obi-wan’s half breath, half moan, and the demanding cadence of his order sounding in your mind rising above all other words; the command to come for him, and you did. The thick throaty satisfied moan of a man who wanted to be no other place than between your legs, reverberating through your flesh and raced up your core.

Waves of fire, hotter than any star, more molten than any lightsaber, radiated from your thoroughly stimulated pussy overtaking your body as his mouth worked you over slowly teasing out every ounce of pleasure he could, wringing it from you like water from a rag.

Repeating the word "Master" like a mantra, a symphony of desire and surrender as you writhed against him. No longer in control, you became a willing captive to the relentless pulses dictated by Obi-Wan. The euphoric journey continued an unending cascade of sensations and shared ecstasy. And it didn’t stop, like a fire it grew more and more intense, shocking you, never before had you experienced sensations like what he was giving you. You just kept coming.

Would it ever stop? The overwhelming wave of pleasure seemed boundless. It was intoxicating, almost too much. As the peak of ecstasy subsided, it left behind little electric shocks of overstimulation with each additional stroke of Obi-Wan's tongue, trying to coax out a little more. The intensity lingered, a sensation that bordered on both pleasure and sweet torment.

The sweet agony of pleasure mixed with the sting of overstimulation was a cruelty of human physiology. You wanted more, a hungry desire pushing him to give you everything. But your body rebelled, aching for a momentary escape from the relentless assault. Your hips wriggled and began to buck trying to throw him off in a wordless plea for him to ease the intensity. Yet, he pressed on, undeterred, as you grappled with the conflicting sensations, lost in the dizzying dance of pleasure and pain.

“Master! Please! No more– I-I can’t!” The way your words sounded so weak and your voice nearly broken seemed to finally reach him and he slowed to a stop, depositing one final deep kiss and drawing an unadulterated moan from you before he finally released your overworked, quivering flesh.

Your body shivered as he moved up the bed to kiss your lips. The lingering scent and taste of your orgasm clung to his mouth—a mix of sweat and satisfaction, intensified by the unique aroma coming from him. It was potent enough to make you teeter on the brink of another climax, a fortunate secret he remained unaware of.

For some reason you felt like you needed to thank him, which was ridiculous, thank him for what? For giving you the most amazing orgasm you’d ever had? It seemed a bit awkward and out of place but somehow given this new dominant side of your master, he might enjoy that.

He breathed in deeply as if savoring the aftermath of a fulfilling workout. But the look on his face spoke of more than just exertion; it was a blend of delight and contentment.

You, on the other hand, felt a bit like you'd had one too many drinks. The air seemed to swirl around you, and his disheveled hair falling over his face only added to the effect. His smile was downright criminal, it seemed almost unnatural for a man to look so good wearing nothing but a smile.

"Thank you," you mumbled, the word sounding feeble even to your own ears, but Obi-Wan's pleased expression suggested he appreciated the sentiment.

“Did you enjoy that, my little padawan?” The endearment sent a shiver down your spine, and all you could manage was a nod. As his lips met yours once more, a wave of euphoria washed over you. Soft, powerful, firm—his kisses were everything you'd hoped for, stirring desire in every part of your being, and the knowledge that he’s just used that mouth on you made your heart race and your cunt ache.

“Tell me, before I take you, how many?” The question hung between you, a mix of desire and curiosity in Obi-Wan's voice. You were a bit baffled, trying to figure out the context of his question. Orgasms? It wasn’t something you kept tabs on. Sensing your confusion, he clarified, “Men. Lovers. How many?”

An awkward lump formed in your throat as you replied, “None.”

His eyes widened, and he licked his lips. There was a momentary flicker in his expression that could almost be mistaken for anger, but his subsequent fervent return to kissing dispelled that notion. “None? How is that possible? That I am the first to ever touch you like this?”

“The first man.” He froze, his expression shifting to shock at your admission. The truth was, you couldn’t bring yourself to be with a man when the one you desired was out of reach. Women, however...

“I’ve had lovers, just not any men; I didn’t want them.”

“You’ve taken female lovers?” he asked. You nodded, hoping he wouldn’t disapprove. His grin returned, now carrying a wolfish quality, and his mouth found its way back to your breast. His kiss turned fierce, hungry—a prelude to the kind of passion that precedes throwing someone onto a bed and ravishing them. “Naughty thing,” he murmured. Relief flooded through you, quickly followed by euphoria. “Did you enjoy that? Letting other women touch you?”

"Sometimes." He appeared puzzled, and you nonchalantly shrugged, steering clear of his penetrating gaze. The notion of accepting disappointment felt like a subtle form of judgment.

"Women can be selfish lovers too." The idea of your satisfaction not being guaranteed seemed to trouble him. He shook his head slowly, 'tsking' you, as though imparting guidance on what was and wasn't acceptable.

"That won't do at all," he declared, lowering his lips to yours in a kiss that sent electric shivers down your spine. "I’m going to erase every memory of anyone who’s ever touched you." His tongue danced over your nipple again, barely tasting it and he stopped to savor your little breath. “Going to fuck you until you cry out my name, going to make sure you’re never left wanting again.” With a flick of his tongue, his hand started massaging your other breast, “Would you like that, padawan, for your master to make you feel good?”

“Yes! Please, Master! Please!”

“So respectful when you’ve had your cunt devoured, aren't you?”

Those words, oh, they hit you in all the right places. You never thought he had it in him—the raw, unfiltered sexuality. Suddenly, you weren't just yearning for his touch; you wanted to be the one to make him quiver and groan, to do to him, what he did to you. To see how your words and caresses could unravel the composed Jedi Master. It wasn't just about fulfilling your own cravings; it was about sharing a dance of passion and exploring uncharted realms of desire together.

Strength surged within you, not the physical kind, but a potent force you had at your command. Calling upon the Force was as natural as breathing, and with a graceful wave of your hand, Obi-Wan found himself unceremoniously tossed onto his back, a look of astonishment etched across his features as if captivated by an unexpected dance. Yes, you had just harnessed the Force against your master.

The sight of your master supine, his bare chest rising and falling with each breath, hair tousled in disarray, trousers precariously low on his hips, and all because you had put him there. His eyes held a mesmerizing blend of surprise and desire, mirroring the emotions flickering within yourself. Seizing the moment before he could recover, you took a daring leap and went in to lay siege.

Obi-Wan, caught off guard by your bold moves, sank into the softness of the bed. Your fingers danced through his hair and beard, jerking his head back to expose his neck, ensuring he wouldn't forget this moment. A low, appreciative purr escaped his chest, silently praising your audacity. With each kiss and playful nip, he seemed to yield to your lead, responding with soft sounds of approval.

You savored the blissful aftermath of victory, those suspended seconds lingering in the air. In that fleeting time, your senses buzzed with playful thoughts, tempting fantasies, and desires long confined. He might have allowed the moment to stretch a bit more, but then came your teasing nips, tracing the spots that made him flinch with delightful sensitivity.

“Want to taste you,” You muttered, fairly certain you hadn’t imagined that little ‘oh.’

"Padawan..." His voice, a touch hoarse, accompanied the journey of your fingers down his ribs and along his toned stomach. Moving closer to the tantalizing waistband of his trousers where your prize awaited you, the desire to feel him in your hand became almost unbearable. Yet, you found justification for a bit more teasing. Fingers dipped just inside the band of his trousers, close enough to feel him twitch and buck at your almost-touches, it was too delicious to only do once.

Perhaps you shouldn't have pushed your luck.

Because, like the fabric of Jedi robes, his patience wore thin. It was then that your Master's restraint snapped, like a stretched cord finally giving way.

In an instant, he grabbed your waist, executing a swift and aggressive flip that left him looming above you, pinning you down on the bed. His body pressed into yours, and a sly grin hinted that the game was about to get a lot more daring. The air hummed with anticipation as he shook his head, capturing your mouth in a kiss that left you breathless.

"What were you thinking, Padawan?" His voice, low and husky, carried a thick layer of desire, each word steeped in need. His intense gaze locked onto yours, silently questioning.

"Touching your master without permission?"

Stunned. You struggled to form a response, your lips moved, and no words broke free. Was he serious? After the intoxicating dance of his mouth had just brought you to an unparalleled climax, he expected you to ask permission to touch him? It felt absurd.

Questions raced through your mind. Was this some kind of test? A dominance play? Your stomach dropped. Maybe this was the punishment he’d spoken of, an exercise in humility? Searching his cerulean eyes for a hint of jest, the intense atmosphere from before remained, now layered with a different kind of tension. He simply shook his head slightly. The weight of his expectation hung in the room, leaving you torn between the impulse to surrender and the desire to meet his challenge with your own fiery response.

"Yes, I do. I expect my padawan to remain obedient and respectful, no matter how she hungers."

His fingers lingered just above your cheek, a subtle reminder of his ability to pluck your thoughts effortlessly, like plucking a flower from the grass. However, you had long since outgrown the status of a padawan, having ascended to the rank of Jedi Knight. If he expected pleading or begging, he was in for disappointment. A steely determination cast a shadow across your features. With narrowed eyes, you threw down a challenge. If he sought access to your mind, you were prepared to offer more than he had bargained for.

A coy smile danced on your lips, causing his own smile to falter ever so slightly. That mischievous glint in your eyes was a familiar precursor to something daring, and you had no intention of disappointing your master in this unexplored realm. Shutting your eyes, you tilted your head, letting his fingers brush against your face, shifting the battleground from the physical to the unseen.

Instead of engaging him through physical means, you chose to confront him on the mental plane, projecting your thoughts with an intensity that demanded attention. He took a sharp breath, caught off guard by the rush of images, thoughts, and sounds hitting him like a brisk breeze. The unexpected depth of your mental communication briefly disrupted the seamless flow of the physical connection.

This wasn't just a subtle act of rebellion; it was a declaration that you were no longer the Padawan he once trained. As a Jedi Knight, you wielded more than just a lightsaber—you possessed a will of your own, armed with a bag of tricks beyond anyone's expectations.

Though he could still address you as Padawan to elicit a reaction, you were so much more. Long-concealed thoughts, years hidden in secrecy, surged forth, intertwining with stolen glances and intimate moments—all now laid bare before Obi-Wan.

A mosaic of self-indulgent pleasures unfolded—whispered calls of his name amid moments of personal bliss. Stolen encounters, and lingering desires, all painted a picture of your yearning. The once-private fantasies, meant for the sanctuary of your thoughts, now exposed—a checklist of desires you had secretly harbored for him.

Breathless, he found himself caught in the private corners of your mind, imagined scenes unfolded, that saw you in a passionate dance, bodies entwined, covered in sweat, exploring countless positions. An insatiable hunger for him, even if he lay prone and exhausted, pleading with him for more.

The many ways you wanted to touch him, to pleasure him, and hear him echo your name as you had cried his— to render him powerless and explore his body until he succumbed to climax after climax and could give no more.

He shivered with excitement, lost in the fantasy of the intense bliss you painted in his mind. Those throaty moans of pleasure felt so real, almost like he could taste them. Surprised by the raw intensity of your craving to taste him and drink him, he moaned your name in the tangled passion, every drop of his essence landing on your eager tongue as he lay back lost of the haze of sex and stimulation.

It wasn't merely about satisfying him; your desire surpassed that. There was an unquenchable hunger for him to seize control, to witness him unrestrained and consumed by passion and dominance. Whether he threw you onto the bed or pressed you against the wall, positions that brought a delightful twinge of discomfort on your end, all aimed at bringing him ecstasy, standing unassisted became an impossible task. The profound intensity of your yearning unfurled like a revelation, taking him by surprise.

The cat was out of the bag; the secret lay bare. Now, with an untamed glint in his eyes, it seemed you might have ventured into territory beyond your expectations.

"Padawan, my sweet, sinful, Padawan," His lips dipped to your ear, and the warmth of his breath sent shivers down your spine. "Perhaps I should enlighten you with some of MY thoughts."

Composure became a fleeting notion as he placed his hand firmly on your temple and a rush of sensations overwhelmed you, powerful enough that the right touch might send you into another blinding climax, akin to a torrent of whitewater tossing a stick of dry driftwood.

His unfiltered thoughts surged into your mind, a river of forbidden fantasies and suppressed desires. In the shared space of his consciousness, visions unfurled like an intimate tapestry—a clandestine gallery of how he yearned for you, each scene a seductive exploration of passion.

In one vivid fantasy more powerful than your own, you found yourself pressed against the cold metal of a ship's wall, arms held captive overhead by an unseen force naked while he still wore his full robes. Your leg draped over his shoulder, he knelt before you, entirely at the mercy of his desires, and he had none. He skillfully coaxed orgasm after orgasm from your quivering form, every touch and caress hearing you cry out and wail his name until you were hoarse. Overwhelmed by the sensations, until you were rendered speechless, too weak to utter the word "Master" as pleasure consumed your senses.

Then the landscape shifted with your master now behind you, his hands exploring your body with practiced skill. Fingers danced between your legs, teasing your aching clit, perfectly synchronized with the slow, deliberate thrusts of his hips. In the shared intimacy, he praised you, “Such a good girl” and admiring your patience in holding back on coming until he granted permission. His voice, a velvety whisper, encouraged you to hang on, promising to reward your patience but only after he had cum inside you, again.

“You think your desires are greater and darker than my own? So innocent of you…”

His words hit you like a revelation, unraveling a new side of Obi-Wan Kenobi that forever changed the way you saw him.

Another shift of vision saw you in the High Council Chamber, he sat naked in his seat, his strong thighs spread wide, and there you knelt before him. His hand gripped your hair, guiding his cock down your throat, and you obediently swallowed it all. With a gritty grunt, he demanded you not waste a drop, telling you to swallow all of it, praising your beauty as you served your master on your knees.

Your body pulsed and throbbed with each vision he gave you until the sights, sounds, and sensations grew so powerful all it took was the gentle stroke of his fingers between your legs to set you off. You threw your head back into the bed and moaned as the strength of your orgasm was amplified by your connection to your master as his most private thoughts continued playing in your head.

As he let you go, the fantasies slowly faded, and you found yourself returning to the tangible present. It was like your vision was coming back to focus, bit by bit, from the edges to the center. The room's immediate surroundings started to replace the lingering echoes of those intense daydreams.

In that moment, it was clear—he had won. The sly grin on his face revealed a man who knew he was about to get what he wanted. It was the look of someone who had conquered and was eagerly anticipating claiming their prize.

“Tell me, Padawan, are you ready to ask your master if you can touch him?”

But there you were, a flicker of fight still dancing in your eyes. Trying to push against him to sit up, that burning desire to kiss him ignited, fueled by a longing to make him yearn for you. You wanted to kindle the flames of passion until he begged for your touch. Yet, your Master had other plans. Suddenly your body refused to cooperate, stubbornly resisting your every attempt. Even the simplest tasks, like wiggling your toes, proved to be impossible.

As your efforts were thwarted, Obi-Wan's grin grew, taking on a dark intensity. His stormy eyes promised something profound, something that transcended the physical. His gaze seemed to revel in the power he held over your immobilized form, piercing through the struggle within.

“Use the Force on your master to tease him, will you? Let us see how you like it?” His lips ghosted over your breast, barely warming your nipple, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. “You will ask permission, Padawan. I can wait.” His mouth enclosed over the hard bud lazily stroking, teeth occasionally grazing as your pathetic little whimpers danced in the air.

He seemed perfectly content in his torturous teasing, but he had to be aching himself. Had to want to fuck you as badly as you wanted him to fuck you. This wasn’t fair, this wasn’t fair!

"Life is never fair, padawan," he murmured, as if reading the turmoil in your mind. "I had a very different plan for you until you chose to utilize the Force on your master. Now, you'll beg for the privilege to touch me."

His words sent shivers down your spine, and as he continued his fervent exploration, his hands tracing paths on your body that bordered on pain due to the lingering sensitivity from previous climaxes, you couldn't fathom how he remained so composed. The dichotomy of your desperation and his controlled demeanor only added to the maddening allure of the moment.

“You have no idea how much I want to sink my cock into this tight, perfect cunt,” His fingers grazed your lips and you were powerless to stop him, you could barely tremble at his touch. “How badly I want to feel you squeeze my cock, but I’ve not achieved the rank of master without considerable discipline.”

He returned to your breast sucking harder, as his fingers employed a more delicate touch between your legs, which you were powerless to close, soft, sweet strokes on your thighs, and your lips but cruelly or mercifully avoiding your clit. Your lips trembled at the delicate touch, and in that moment, the unfairness of it all struck you like a tidal wave.

For years, he had been your mentor, teaching you the art of patience and urging you to play the long game. "Be patient," he would say, "gauge your opponent."

But in the whirlwind of your desires, the very lessons he drilled into you seemed to crumble. Impatience surged, a desperate yearning for instant gratification that clashed with the wise teachings of your master. He offered to fulfill your every desire, promising pleasures beyond imagination. Yet, in your haste to assert newfound power, eager to prove you were more than just his padawan, you discovered there were still lessons for him to teach, more wisdom to share.

Your urgency led to a clash of power dynamics, revealing your master still held the upper hand. A soft sob of frustration escaped, breaking his focused demeanor. His once passionate cerulean eyes now held a glimmer of concern and curiosity as he paused.

"Say the words, padawan," His voice entreated gently, a soft call laced with a plea that tugged at the strings of your stubborn pride. You might have resisted longer if not for the unsaid words that reverberated in the echoes of your mind. "Padawan, please!"

Your eyes shot open, scanning the room for any hint that the desperation in Obi-Wan Kenobi's gaze was just a figment of your imagination. Yet, there it was—a pleading look that intertwined compassion and desire in a delicate dance across his face.

At that moment, it dawned on you: you had won. The silent struggle between you and your former master, the unspoken battle of wills, had reached its conclusion. The walls you'd built around your emotions had crumbled in the face of that unspoken plea. It wasn't about conquest; it was a surrender, and the victory was yours.

You might be the first to say the words but he was the first to beg.

"Please, Master," Your voice, a sweet melody of desire, reached into the core of his being. His gaze narrowed, and he froze, the invisible bonds around you weakening, his resistance giving way. "Let me touch you, Master," You pleaded sweetly, your words dripping with need. "I want you," You added, turning up the heat until the bonds snapped completely. “Let me taste you, let me have you.”

With their release, he was on your lips again, kissing you with a desperate hunger, untamed and wild. Yet, despite your newfound freedom, you lay still beneath him, a silent presence he couldn't resist.

"Padawan! Are you going to touch me or not?"

His outrage was amusing. A playful grin toyed with the corners of your lips, hinting at your delight.

Feigning innocence, you shot back, "You haven’t given me permission to touch you."

His eyes widened in surprise, a jolt of anticipation coursing through him as a deep, appreciative groan escaped him, acknowledging your skillful play as his Padawan.

"Darling, please, touch your master,"

With a surge of passion, you seized the moment, fingers seizing his hair with purpose, jerking hard enough that he cried out, a pull that danced on the edge of sweet pain.

Defying the limits of control, you launched a fervent attack on his lips, reclaiming the kiss with an intensity that screamed desire. Your tongue demanded entry, a forceful and unapologetic dive into the depths of his mouth. A low grunt slipped from him, a mix of surprise and a hint of surrender, adding fuel to the blaze sparking between you. The dance of your intertwined tongues became a symphony of passion, a primal declaration signaling the end of any lingering boundaries.

Your hips rolled into a painfully hard erection, and any trace of Obi-Wan's usual witty banter vanished into the charged air. The playful banter was replaced by a more primal language.

Pushing him onto his back was effortless now; he offered no resistance. Finally. The tension that had once held him captive had melted away into bliss. His half-lidded eyes, lost in a dreamy state, promised memories that would keep you warm for days to come.

With deliberate intent, you explored every inch of his chest, savoring the taste of his skin. His deep breathing echoed in the room, accompanied by the subtle sounds of contentment that escaped his lips. As your journey continued downward, tracing the path of pleasure, you encountered the nearly pained expression that adorned his face. His chest heaved with anticipation as you approached his trousers, the memory of how close you had been to having him earlier playing in your mind. A grin danced on your lips, fueled by the sharp gasps escaping him, as you mouthed his cock through the fabric.

You couldn't wait to have him, the urgency taking over. The waistband tugged down in a hurry, your mouth watering in anticipation. Your hand wrapped around him, and he stuttered at the touch. His cock, just as perfect as you'd imagined—long, thick, and undeniably eager to be touched—and positively leaking. It felt like the room might collapse when your tongue licked at the pearlescent precum gathering from his weeping cock, you swept around his swollen head, savoring every delicious drop. His hands shook, gripping the bed in an immediate white-knuckled hold. As you kissed it and slowly swallowed the crown of his cock, he howled in ecstasy. The salty taste of him filled your mouth and he wept at the exquisite, wet heat. Jolting with every swirl of your tongue, each lick, and suckle, the delightful vibrations echoing from the back of your throat to his cock.

“Yes!”

His body arched, his signature flickering wildly, and then you truly went to work on him. Wanting to show him exactly how much you had thought of this moment. With each eager motion, you took more of him, brushing off the impending jaw ache. Your master was sprawled on your bed, fervently chanting your name, but coherent words were out of reach. He tasted just perfect, filling your mouth just right. You traced the veins on his cock like an old familiar map, committing every detail to memory. As you slid over his head sucking gently like one would enjoy a sweet treat, his hips surged, and he let out another wild moan of pleasure.

“Padawan! Padwan! Padawan!”

But you had more, oh so much more to give him, but you wouldn’t tease him as he had you, you gripped firmly what you couldn’t swallow, and aided by the slickness of your own saliva you stroked and twisted his length in your hand. And your other hand? It didn’t sit idle, no, it reached into his trousers to offer gentle almost tickling caresses to his neglected balls. Lesireuly massaging and softly squeezing. Surely, someone must have heard the moan that tore from his chest, it was primal and almost powerful enough to make you come again.

The flood of sensations overwhelmed him, a storm of desire and vulnerability that left him at a loss for words. Normally eloquent, his tongue now stumbled in this unfamiliar territory. His disciplined mind, usually a stronghold of wisdom, faltered under the onslaught of passion. Every muscle rebelled against his rational commands, caught in a moment of indecision the muscles of his stomach flexed and contracted wildly. The composed master was briefly overshadowed by raw, primal forces, his tense muscles reflecting the battle of a man surrendering control to overwhelming desire. He became a disheveled mess, mouth hanging open, eyes wide and then tightly shut, breath hitching in short, irregular gasps as if he kept forgetting how to breathe smoothly. His lips clumsily grazed the edge of words, catching and then losing them amidst the whirlwind of sensations.

“Oh! Maker!”

Oh, another word? Impressive. His disciplined nature must be paying off. Using the last bit of strength he had, he propped himself up on his elbows, determined not to miss the spectacle. There you were, between his legs, your lips wrapped around his cock, all slick with your saliva, disappearing into your mouth. It hit the back of your throat in a way that made him shudder from head to toe. He could watch you do that for as long as the stars lit up the sky. It was something else—beautiful, the way you handled his cock like his pleasure belonged to you.

You were determined to extract every ounce of pleasure from him, poised to take him to the brink, so close to tasting him completely, but your mission hit a pause when his hand gently grasped your jaw, urging you to meet his gaze. His needy “Please,” didn’t go unnoticed either. A slender strand of saliva linked your lips to his throbbing length, and the disbelief in his eyes was palpable. It was as if he couldn't fathom witnessing what lay before him. A ragged breath escaped him, followed by a hard swallow. Redirecting your attention from his pulsating, slick arousal, he steered you into a deep, passionate kiss, one you didn't resist.

“Darling, enough foreplay. I need to feel you on my cock. Tell me that’s what you want.”

His eyes sparkled when you whispered, "I want it, Master," with desire glowing in your own. It made you wonder if anyone had ever been so upfront with him, if anyone had looked into those captivating eyes and just said, "I want you." Had he ever known how it felt to be so openly desired before?

"Good girl, now, up you get."

He effortlessly lifted you onto his lap, surprising you even more because he didn't employ the Force; it was the strength of his own muscles at play. Observing them flex and shift beneath his skin was nearly as gratifying as witnessing him in the throes of pleasure. He held you over his lap for a moment, lips tangling with yours, muttering against them.

“Look at me, want to see you properly.”

How could you ignore a request like that? Oh, no, you couldn’t. And with a nod from you, he began to release you.

Never had anything felt as exquisite as the moment his cock slid effortlessly into your pussy. The sensation of that satisfying first stretch surpassed any pleasure you had ever known—far superior to the touch of your own fingers, toys, or any previous lover. As gravity took its course, guiding you down onto him, there was nothing left to say or do. Your head rolled back and you moaned his name. His chest rose and fell with measured breaths, every ounce of strength dedicated to maintaining control. Surprisingly, his energy remained entirely serene.

The experience was a symphony of wetness, heat, tightness, and perfect slickness. His arms enveloped you, pulling you close, mirroring the way you squeezed his cock. It was perfect. You would ache for this later, he was right, you’d be sore to the touch everywhere he’d touched you but it would be worth it for the exquisite ecstasy you felt right now.

Damn the code, to hell with forbidden attachments; the High Council could go up in flames for all you cared. In this moment, he belonged to you—every inch of him. His response to your body defied description. He was unequivocally yours.

He uttered your name, his mouth tracing up your neck in search of your lips. "Darling, kiss me."

Not padawan, not master. He called you by your name.

Your lips met his, as he’d asked, sweetly, gently as lovers did. The high of shoving your tongue into hi mouth was wonderful but not so wonderful as this simple brushing of lips the added heat and girth of his cock buried in you, there were no more barriers. You kissed him like that for a few minutes until your cunt throbbed demanding more, then you shifted, rising up savoring the way his lips parted in shock before sliding back down slow enough you could see his eyelashes flutter. “Again,” His voice was so full of need and heat, how could you deny him? The warmth of his breath against your skin was like a balm, soothing every ache, alleviating every burden, and imparting tranquility to long-standing wounds.

As his arms encircled your legs, lifting you up to help you along, a surge of emotions overwhelmed you. The dichotomy of wanting to sing or cry left you unable to suppress the whimper rising in the back of your throat. His name escaped your lips again.

His arms held you securely, and he buried his face in your neck, releasing a deeply contented breath. With deliberate slowness, he began to thrust upward. Your hands found their way into his hair, pulling him up for another smoldering kiss, swallowing his moan.

Passion surged like wildfire between you and the man you had yearned for over the years. The connection between your bodies was intense, each thrust an urgent proclamation of desire. The air was thick with the mingling of hot breaths, punctuated by the sound of lewdly slapping skin and fervent kisses exchanged in the throes of lust.

His movements were powerful and rhythmic, and left you gasping for more, all you could do was hang on. With every thrust, he hit that perfect angle that sent shivers through your entire body. The sensation was electric, a tantalizing dance on the precipice of pleasure.

As your breaths intertwined, the shared rhythm hinted at the imminent climax, drawing you both closer to the edge.

In the throes of passion, your murmurs of his name reverberated against his lips as he quickened the pace, both of you on the precipice of an imminent release. The urgency in your voice only fueled his desire, and he nodded in approval as you moaned:

"Obi-Wan…"

Encouraged by your compliance, he implored you for more, his hunger evident. "Again, darling, say it again!"

In a cascade of breathless utterances, you willingly complied, chanting his name with increasing fervor.

"Obi-wan! Obi-wan! Obi-wan!"

With a fluid blend of strength, grace, and skill, he effortlessly tipped you onto your back. The swift change momentarily took you by surprise, but before the disorientation settled, he surged back into you with newfound intensity. Each movement reached deeper, and he committed his entire weight to each forceful thrust, immersing both of you in a realm of heightened pleasure.

His frame shook with each thrust, and with every motion, he felt a piece of himself slipping away, lost in the fervor of the moment. Desperation marked his every move as he teetered on the precipice of oblivion, but determined to hold off just a little longer. The urgency in his actions spoke of a desire to witness you unraveling in the throes of pleasure, to experience the cascade of ecstasy like a tidal wave crashing over him.

His fingers laced with yours, holding a connection that transcended the physical, while his kisses conveyed a hunger that mirrored the intensity of the act. Amid groans and the forceful snap of his hips, he dropped his lips to your ear, breathing hot against your skin.

"Come, darling, come for me!" He moved with an increasingly wild and intense rhythm, his passion reaching new heights. The affectionate term "Padawan" slipped from his lips like a whispered plea, an irresistible command, urging you to surrender to the pleasure he was offering, to climax for your master.

And you did, your body arching in response to the unrelenting intensity, hips bucking wildly against his, meeting his every thrust. Lips locked with his, you welcomed the furious pace he set each time he bottomed out, your bodies entwined in a dance without inhibitions. He threw his weight behind every motion, determined to make you feel every bit of him, to give you everything he had.

His desperate cries of "Padawan!" grew louder in the heated air, a mantra underscoring the intimacy of the moment. The repetition of the endearing term only served to heighten the exquisite pleasure, acknowledging a connection that surpassed the physical act. As he reached the pinnacle of ecstasy, a shudder ran through his entire body, and a helplessly primal howl escaped his lips. The heat of his seed spilling deep within you was the final catalyst, triggering a powerful climax of your own that rocked your entire body.

The Obi-Wan Kenobi you knew, with all his composure and eloquence, had vanished into thin air. In his place was a man, wild and satisfied, fucking you senseless, thrusting his erupting cock hurriedly back into your cunt as though he might die if he stopped. It just kept coming, he thrust harder with each rope you pulled from him until his body had nothing left to give and he began to still after one final hard thrust.

His breaths slowed, and he fought to stay upright. The only thing keeping him from melting into the mattress and pulling you into him entirely was the awareness of your injuries. Thankfully, the pain that had plagued you earlier had quieted down during your passionate love-making, granting a brief moment of relief. His cerulean eyes shifted from the storm of passion to their usual cool and compassionate state. The aftermath unfolded a scene of vulnerability—echoes of shared passion and lingering concerns for your well-being.

He wrapped his arm around you, drawing you close, and skillfully rolled both of you onto your sides. With his arm firmly around your waist, he stayed seated, still in your warmth, unwilling to leave it just yet.

In the ensuing silence, the room was filled only with the sounds of your shared and labored breathing.

"Are you alright?" His voice returned to its soft and warm timbre, the familiar hum that felt like a safe, warm home. When you remained silent, he shifted slightly, concern lacing his words, "Darling, is your leg in any pain?" Despite his own exhaustion, his concern for your well-being was touching. The way he called you darling further added to your sated state, and it made you smile.

"What leg?"

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, a comforting warmth you hadn't felt in ages. Shifting to a more serious tone, he inquired again about your injuries, but the light-hearted demeanor lingered.

"I don’t care. Ask me in the morning," You replied unbothered, arms wrapping around his neck. Nestling into the comforting warmth of his chest, you threw a leg around his hips, pulling him closer. His gasp of pleasure, maybe mixed with a hint of overstimulation, brought a satisfied smile to your face, ignoring the subtle throb echoing through your body. It was worth it—the pains, the frustrations—just to lie in your master's arms, his cock still buried in you basking in warmth, safety, and a newfound satisfaction.

"Mmm, Master?" You murmured, your voice laced with the weight of drowsiness.

He chuckled bashfully, "Darling, you don't have to call me Master, anymore."

"Just trying to be an obedient padawan," you teased, planting a kiss on the sensitive spot on his neck, earning a delightful twitch from his cock.

"Careful, darling. I still owe you a punishment for abandoning me," He playfully reminded, his words hanging in the air. "What was your question?"

"If I abandon you again, and you happened to find me. Would you follow through with your 'punishment' against the wall on a ship?"

The recollection of that fantasy, coupled with the echo of his playful threat, coaxed a deep groan from him, as both of you relived those shared fantasies. "Please, Master?" You breathed against his neck, your request underscored by a subtle roll of your hips.

His arm wrapped possessively around you, the warmth of his breath tingling against your ear. A soft growl slipped past his lips, melding with the restrained rhythm of his hips, you could feel him driving into you once more wringing out a moan from your lips. His voice, tinged with both amusement and authority, whispered,

"It seems my Padawan still needs a bit of instruction."

Why, yes, there's more...

~~~

If you would like to see more stuff like this (reader inserts) let me know and let me know if you'd like to join the tag list! For my faithful Obi-Wan content readers! @split-spectrum (you helped inspire this!), @heyhawtdawgs. @pickleprickle

Alright! I need a cigarette!

#fanfiction is life #i have too many stories #star wars #obiwan kenobi smut #general kenobi #obiwan x reader #obi wan x reader #reader insert #x reader #obi-wan x you #sweet smut #master x padawan #master kink #Dom obi-wan #master kenobi #clone wars #needy obi-wan #wounded reader #all the smut

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little-zabrak · 2 years

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A snippet for only adults to read about an AU where San the zabrak is a horny padawan. I always write zabrak horns as intense erogenous zones.

"Master," she said. San sank to her knees between his legs where he sat at the side of his bunk. "I've never felt that before. Please. Touch my horns again."

Her eyes were enormous and earnest. While she was clearly nervous about asking, there was no hint of apology in her. For once, San actually knew what she needed.

To keep herself from moaning when his fingers met her horns, San shut her eyes and leaned in, pressing against her master's abdomen with his crotch at her neck. San's little groans passed through his cloak to his skin, and in moments she wrapped her arms around his waist and pushed against him.

"Oh master," she whispered. "I wish you had horns. I wish I could touch you like this."

#master x padawan #star wars OC #zabrak

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unspuncreature · 2 months

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obi-wan should’ve been at the club!!!!!

#thinking about obi-wan only really ever being alone after the fall of the republic #from padawan to master overnight. someone was responsible for you and now they’re gone and you’re responsible for a whole person. good luck #been chewing on this a lot lately #if you have very young parents then you understand #obi-wan was so young and he spent all of his best years living for someone else #and as complicated as the feelings might have been he loved it and wouldn’t have traded it for anything #who he is as a person is inextricable from his responsibility to anakin #he was a master first and obi-wan second in the same way #that you become [x]’s mom/dad first and yourself second the moment you have a kid #these thoughts aren’t going anywhere i just need to get this out of my system lol #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #star wars #scout.txt

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themistymountainscold · 1 year

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anakin: would you love me if i was a worm?

obi-wan: actually, worm brains don't always produce hormones to induce love, so the real question would be would you love me if you were a worm?

anakin: for once in your life, can you just answer the fucking question-

#star wars #star wars: prequals #prequals #anakin skywalker #obi-wan kenobi #obikin #anakin x obi-wan #anakin and obi-wan #can take this as master and padawan or ship idc #both works #incorrect quotes

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sabictlali · 1 year

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At this point it is difficult for Obi wan to hide his interest in his master

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vladdyissues · 11 months

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Danny Phantom + Star Wars = The Phantom Menace

#danny phantom #vlad masters #danny fenton #dp x sw #star wars #phanart #danny phantom fanart #dp fanart #hjbenderart #jedi #master... masters lol #and padawan fenton #something something vlad gets turned to the dark side #and becomes darth plasmius #and only his former padawan knows how to save (or destroy) him

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split-spectrum · 6 months

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Water and Rock

Chapter 10

Pairing: Obi Wan/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: slow burn, explicit content, mild violence, character death

Description: There are only so many excuses a master and padawan can make to kiss under "extenuating circumstances" before circumstances stop arising and start being created. You are an expert at your craft - a Jedi knight in service as a spy for the Republic. When your former master Obi Wan joins you on a mission, it's clear things aren't the same as they once were. The trials you face together may break your bond, or turn it into something else entirely.

☆☆☆

Several years ago, in the gardens of the Jedi temple on Coruscant...

"Please, Master. Be honest."

His eyes seem to snap back into focus when the tone of your voice goes up at the end of the question. He'd been looking at you, you realize, and you don't know for how long. The way he reset his posture before answering, he'd almost seemed... uncomfortable? On edge? You can't quite place it. Perhaps, you think, he senses your uncertainty. Your weakness.

With each second that passes before he responds, your anxiety increases. He shifts on the bench, sliding his gaze to the foliage in front of him, a whisper of a smile on his face.

"Often I am told," he says softly, "that these final days before one's padawan completes the trials are celebratory. Peaceful and reflective..."

You widen your eyes a bit and tilt your head, expectant - knowing he's feeling the tension of you staring at him without needing to look in your direction. But he does, eventually, turn to face you, dropping the act of the put-upon master.

"The council believes you are ready. They would not have asked you otherwise."

"That's not what I asked."

He holds your gaze. "I know you will pass. I have every confidence in your abilities."

You break eye contact. "Thank you. But that's not exactly what I asked, either."

He gives you a wry look. "Then perhaps you could clarify precisely what question I'm answering?"

You're tugging a loose thread at the end of your sleeve, hands in your lap. "Do you truly believe I'm ready?"

Your fingers still, stopping their fidgeting when you force yourself to look at him again. "Is it not normally the master who approaches the council when a padawan is ready for the trials? Isn't it unusual for the council to make a request like this?"

His brows raise in acknowledgement, and he nods slightly. "It is indeed unusual. But these are unusual times. And you possess a unique gift. The council does not make these decisions lightly."

"You still haven't answered my question."

The corners of his bearded mouth tip up into a melancholy smile. "Whether I believe you will pass or that you are ready may be two different questions, but my answer changes nothing. As Jedi, we have a responsibility to protect life and serve the Republic. You have been called upon, and if you are capable, you must answer." His expression becomes more sincere. "And you are capable."

You try to mirror his smile, but your stomach is upside down. "I understand."

You watch another pair of Jedi as they stroll through the greenery in the distance, seeming to take much more pleasure in their surroundings than you presently are.

Silence hangs between the two of you, and it's a kind of silence that's never been there before. You're on the precipice of something, and it's not just the trials. Something about him in this moment is different. It's in the way he's looking at you; the way he hesitates before answering. He's not just thoughtful, or pensive. It's something else.

But then, something has changed in you, too - ever since the council shared those fated words.

You venture another question, your voice even quieter this time.

"Once I'm... no longer your padawan," you begin haltingly, "is it still permitted for me to seek your guidance, if I need it?"

As you tense your shoulders in anticipation of his answer, he just offers another smile. "You have my guidance whenever you are in need of it."

His words might have brought you comfort, if he'd left it at that. But he goes on.

"Even if I were to fall in battle tomorrow, the lessons I have passed on will always remain, as a part of you." He places a hand very gently at the side of your shoulder. "The teachings of generations of Jedi are within you. You need only ask for guidance, and you shall always have it."

He's rarely this affectionate, and it forces the rest of your words to stay wrapped up tightly inside you. It seems ungrateful, now, to ask whether you can still bother him for tea and meditation.

You bite back the question you'd really wanted to ask - the one that had been on your mind ever since your first discussion of the trials: Even when things were different, would you still be a team?

You pull your mouth into a tight smile that lacks the proper strength. All you can do now is nod.

Then, you do as he's always instructed - as you always have - and reach out into the force, releasing your feelings.

"Thank you, Master. You're right. I am ready."

Several years later, approaching the Separatist outpost on Asar-2...

"Are you alright?" Obi Wan asks after your second sigh permeates the silence in the cockpit.

The closer you get, the more reality is setting in, and you're struggling to hide it. Your initial thought is to lie, but it occurs to you that you're both in too far at this point to turn back. You tell the truth.

"I'm nervous."

A beat passes. He flips a couple of switches and you can't be sure whether he's silent in response to your answer, or just because he's concentrating on flying the ship. You squirm, just slightly, but enough for Obi Wan's muscles to stiffen. Yet again you have to remind yourself to stay still, and more words tumble out of you.

"The time pressure, and what's at stake... If we don't..."

"Commander," he interrupts you softly. "You have made your decision. Now you must be at peace with it."

This silences you. He's correct, as he usually is. And after this morning's heated discussion regarding your part in the mission, you can't have expected him to comfort you.

But he does anyway.

"There is no emotion; there is peace," he reminds you, his voice decidedly calm and even.

All at once, everything - the noise in your head, your buzzing nerves, the tense air that surrounds you - all of it begins to fade. The familiar mantra leaves your lips in answer to him. "There is no ignorance; there is knowledge..."

You finish the lines, and he helps you, murmuring the words just behind yours, as he moves a gloved hand here and there to keep the ship on course.

"There is no death," you complete the last line slowly. "Only the force."

There is no death...

"We'll be landing in a moment. Remember, we approach from the West. That means landing South and walking over that ridge, there." He gestures through the windshield and your eyes follow. "You'll need to deactivate the lateral thrusters for me. I can't reach them with you sitting like this."

He points again, to a switch just above your knee. You lean forward. "Alright. Just tell me when."

His breath is shortened, his voice strained when he answers. "Thirty more seconds."

You shift between his legs, only now feeling how the curve of your ass is pressing up against him. You move again, trying to sit forward and away, but it's impossible in the small space. You only manage to grind up and down, over the fabric covering his lap.

You keep your head tilted down, blinking rapidly in embarrassment and trying to keep your focus on the switch, listening for his instruction.

"Almost," he says tightly.

You nod in response, reaching out to rest a finger on the switch, and the slight movement of your back makes his legs tense.

"Now."

You reach all the way forward, flipping the switch. The combination of your movement along with the ship's rapid loss of speed presses you hard into his lap, your left hand involuntarily gripping his knee.

You arch your back, trying to get away from him, cheeks flushed with heat, and you can feel him suck in a sudden breath.

"Stars," he whispers, so softly, so seriously.

But you must have misheard.

Because if he had said that, in that voice, against your neck, you wouldn't be able to hold it together. And you desperately need to hold it together right now.

So you definitely misheard him.

The ship sets down without another word passing between you, and you quickly exit, nearly bursting out of the cockpit when the latches release. You hop to the ground, feet skidding across the metal fuselage and dropping into powdery grey dirt. With your back turned to Obi Wan, you let out a long-held breath and center yourself for the challenges that await.

When you turn around, straightening the creases of your uniform, you watch him switch on the R4 unit, instructing it to stay onboard the ship and pilot back to base if discovered. He'd had it powered off for the inbound flight, presumably to limit the number of detectable electronic devices on approach. You could swear the beeps in response to his instruction are a bit haughty - the little droid almost seems indignant at being left out of action and expected to catch up quickly. It brings a smile to your face. Droids take after their masters, they say.

Turning back to you, Obi Wan brushes his palms briskly down his stomach and tugs at the sides of his uniform. Then he raises his wrist. "Captain Shrike, we've landed. Heading to the entry point now. Status?"

"No changes, sir," comes the modulated reply. "No sign they're aware of a communication interruption with the remote base."

"Very good," Obi Wan replies, turning to follow you as you begin to make your way up the ridge, but your feet slow when he calls after you, "Just a moment."

He catches up, reaching a hand to the back of your collar.

"There," he says, untucking the curled fabric. You try not to think about your jacket collar crumpling under his chin when he'd pressed it against you, or his beard scratching across the nape of your neck. You also try not to notice that your clothes smell like him, now.

You do notice the way his eyes don't match the tenderness of his touch. His gaze is hardened and distant at the same time. You squint, trying to read his expression, and tilt your head just slightly when you can't.

"What is it?"

He blinks. He seems just on the edge of saying something, and you can almost see it disappear from behind his lips when he decides against speaking. He glances in the direction of the listening post. "Nothing. Let's get going."

He doesn't give you the chance to ask again, restarting the hike over the ridge. You walk a few paces, and as the sight of the Separatist station comes into full view, your moment of doubt is swiftly put behind you. Years of training surface all at once, and the instant you set foot into enemy territory, your body no longer holds any space for uncertainty. You won't lose your focus, because you can't. It's as simple as that.

As you walk, you consider the clone captain's update. There wasn't any indication they knew of Storne's infiltration. Additionally, there was no indication he was successful in disabling the extra security measures. But no one, including you, cares to acknowledge that part.

If he's disabled backup communications to the base in orbit, the only danger lies in what's in front of you. If not, the moment something is reported out of place, it could trigger an alarm that would bring down ray shields faster than you could hope to jump out the nearest window. You may be marching into a death trap, and you won't find out until it's too late. All you can hope is that the plan is working as intended as you approach the main security checkpoint.

The imposing metal walls of the outpost reach high above your heads, jutting up dramatically from the bleak, rocky surface of the moon. There are no guards posted at the front, not even droids, which is to be expected. It's not as if you're on an inhabited world. Still, it gives you an eerie sense of apprehension to walk up to a blank wall without a hint of what's on the other side.

You find yourself falling naturally into a more military gait as you get close, Obi Wan in nearly perfect lock-step with your stride. When you reach the main entrance, a set of heavily armed blast doors, you pull out a key card from the interior pocket of your uniform. Obi Wan tugs at the front of his cap, straightening it as he watches you. If you didn't know better, you would read his expression as uncertain; almost nervous.

You let out one last breath before the plunge. "Ready, Commander?"

He turns to face the door, smoothing his expression as you swipe the card. "Let's not keep them waiting, Lieutenant."

The scanner emits a low beep, and the blast doors open. You step inside to a secondary checkpoint, this time meeting with a human guard. Your shoulders stiffen as you present yourself for check in.

"Code cylinders, please."

You get the impression from the woman's delivery that the 'please' wouldn't be there if you weren't a higher rank than her. You reach again into the interior pocket of your uniform, fingers brushing the lightsaber tucked there, and produce your code cylinder, handing it over. Obi Wan retrieves his from the blaster holster hanging from his side.

The security guard glances up as she slides the first cylinder into the computer's interface socket. "Are we under inspection, sir?"

Obi Wan wraps his hands behind his back, waiting patiently, almost looking a bit bored with the process. "Not formally, no. There are some upcoming personnel transfers in this sector. We're here to review the last six months of transmissions and determine the necessity of this outpost's crew numbers."

She finishes the first upload, removing the cylinder and handing it back to him, then loads the second one. "We just had a transmission review nine rotations ago. You're inspecting them again?"

He raises an eyebrow, just barely. "Yes - I recall. There were some details that weren't included in our last inspection."

She looks up from the data screen. "You did the last inspection? I don't see your code in our records."

Your jaw tightens. Obi Wan has been an unquestioned Jedi war hero for too long, it appears. He's forgotten what it's like on the lower levels of military rank, still subject to so much scrutiny.

"We were provided the records after the inspection," you interject. "But the commander found the data... lacking."

Her mouth quirks to the side. "I can assure you, any reports from this post include all requested records. I can provide you any copies you may need."

You'd hoped to avoid conspicuous use of the force this early in the mission, but you can see it's becoming unavoidable. Perhaps, though, you can use the situation to your advantage.

"I'm curious," you begin, making a show of flicking your eyes down to her badge number. "Are all of your personnel so insubordinate?"

Her eyes widen. "Insub-" she trails off in shock, darting a half-frantic, half-insulted look over to Obi Wan. "Sir, please inform your lieutenant that I was only-"

He raises a hand. "You will address the officer speaking to you."

You give a reserved smile, just bordering unprofessional. Glancing behind her, you can see a few heads turning in your direction at the raised voices. Good.

"Ma'am, I only meant that-"

You stop her short again. "As the commander has already said, the data was lacking. Now, tell me, are you calling him a liar, or just illiterate?"

From the corner of your eye, you catch a tooth escaping Obi Wan's lips in the beginnings of a smirk, before he drops his jaw back into place, rigidly fixing the security guard back under his stare. Not for the first time, you're reminded that while he has many strengths, controlling his expressions isn't one of them.

"I beg your pardon?"

The guard's voice has reached a new level of volume and looking around, you can see you've achieved your goal of drawing enough attention. Time to put an end to this.

You lean in, lowering your voice. "That's enough. Calm down."

Her face twists into a combination of confusion and indignance. But she does as you instruct, and stays quiet. You reach down in front of her and remove your code cylinder from its socket. Then you let the force flow through you as you say your next words.

"This is an unlisted inspection - well above your pay grade. You’ve done your duty, and I commend you on your adherence to procedure. I assure you, your diligence will be rewarded once we've completed our reports."

Your eyes stay trained on hers as you impart your thoughts into her mind.

I do my tasks as instructed. I will be rewarded with a well-deserved promotion.

Often rather than changing someone's mind, you can redirect them toward another strong emotion with more success. This time proves to be just as successful as the rest.

Her gaze becomes a little duller as she slowly looks from her data screen back up to your hand, which is tucking your code cylinder back into your pocket.

"Your cooperation will be noted," you tell her, not giving her time to respond as you stride through the narrow doorway that leads into a wider control room, filled with monitoring stations, droids, and soldiers. Obi Wan gives the guard a curt nod and follows you into the bustling room.

There's no time to pause in the doorway to catch your breath. You immediately step to the side, letting Obi Wan, your commanding officer in both fiction and reality, take the lead again. As you make your way across the main floor to the turbolift at the back, you cast your eyes and your mind around the two of you, glad to find that your gambit was well-played. The rest of the soldiers in the immediate vicinity seem to be making a point of minding their business.

It's a trick you've used often - getting confronted and being let on your way by one individual is much better than convincing a large group. Most people have very little interest in doing their jobs. They simply need to appear as if they are. And once you're confronted in public and cleared, no one else has a reason to concern themselves with you. Now, all you have to do is maintain that disinterest.

I'm not concerned with what anyone else is doing.

You radiate this thought as you walk behind Obi Wan to the turbolift, avoiding eye contact with the pair of security guards talking amongst themselves as they patrol.

You give yourself a moment to catch your breath once you've stepped on board the turbolift and the doors have closed. Glancing over to Obi Wan, you briefly lock eyes before you turn to stand beside him in silence. His chin is jutted upward, shoulders back and down, looking every bit the Separatist, even when out of direct sight. You mirror him, knowing the turbolift - and probably every square centimeter of this outpost - is likely under surveillance.

When the doors open again, your breath catches. You knew the base had a significant number of human crew, but you hadn't expected quite this many. There must be a full platoon on this floor alone, in different modes of work behind desks and stations. Several dozen pairs of eyes glance in your direction, and you instantly lock into your role as Obi Wan leads the way forward.

I'm busy. I have a lot of work to do. I'm not interested in what others are doing.

It's becoming strenuous, pulling the weight of so many thoughts and emotions at once, but it's nothing you haven't dealt with before. You keep your focus and allow the force to lend you its strength. Before you realize it, you've reached the door to the comms center, having been following Obi Wan in a nearly trance-like state. He takes out his key card and you plead to the force that it works. Your intel sources were good enough to get you into the base. Hopefully they won't fail you at this critical point.

To your immense relief, the keypad beeps and flashes green. The door slides open, and just as you're about to enter, a voice calls out from a few feet away.

"Sir? Excuse me?"

You tense, frustrated with yourself for your momentary distraction. You'd let your concentration drop just for an instant when watching the keycard swipe.

Obi Wan turns around to face him. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry, sir - that area is restricted to level six officers only."

Obi Wan's face remains neutral. "That's quite alright. I am a level six officer."

While still maintaining your connection with the rest of the nearby personnel, keeping them disinterested, you turn your direct attention to the mind of the officer in front of you.

He is a level six officer.

The young man's eyes drop to the insignia plaque on Obi Wan's chest. He answers slowly, as if having trouble putting his thoughts together. "I, er, thought..."

Your mind is torn, keeping the dozens of soldiers behind him complacent while also trying to send a very specific thought into an unwilling mind. Either task on its own is manageable, but holding both at once is almost physically breaking you down. Your breathing is labored, a thin line of sweat beginning to dampen your hairline.

The young man stares at you. He's left you some room to work. He's still uncertain. You repeat the thought over and over in your head, envisioning it radiating directly outward.

His glazed eyes squint, still looking at your uniforms. "...thought only generals and above were... level six."

He is a level six officer.

Obi Wan regards him with something akin to annoyance, possibly disdain. It's a look you've seen on the face of many a superior officer in Separatist command. "Your thoughts are of little interest to me."

He turns back to enter the comms room again, and the young officer reaches for him, not actually touching him, but blocking his path with an arm.

"Sir, I think you should come with-"

You let go of the thoughts of the surrounding officers and direct all your efforts onto this one.

I have no authority here. I'm uncertain and afraid. I need to let them go.

His face drops, and you catch Obi Wan glancing up to the rest of the room. A couple of pairs of eyes are starting to pull in your direction. He seems to realize what's happening and raises a hand in concentration.

"You will let us on our way."

You feel Obi Wan's presence in the force radiating a little brighter. The uncertainty on the young man's face evaporates and he turns and begins walking in the opposite direction, leaving you behind.

You slip out of the young officer's consciousness and turn your mind back to the rest of the room, redirecting their attention to their tasks as you step into the comms center and close the door.

As the door slides shut, Obi Wan immediately begins searching through stacks of data tapes, and you take a moment to extricate yourself from the half-meditative state you're in, taking in a shaky breath. You want to thank him for stepping in, but it was risky enough for him to blatantly use the force, saying his command out loud. You don't know how many droid systems are monitoring your every word.

You try to quiet your panting breath as you look around the room. Folding your arms behind your back, you try to play your part as a Separatist lieutenant for any cameras currently watching.

The minutes pass in tense silence as he inserts and removes data tapes from the computer terminal, listening to each one with a headset held to one ear. He pages through screen after screen of information and suddenly, more quickly than you'd expected, he jerks up from the station, dropping the headset. He brings his wrist to his mouth, speaking in a low voice.

"Captain Shrike, do you copy?"

"Yes, General, go ahead."

Obi Wan's eyes meet yours as he speaks, and your heart is in your throat.

"The transmission was intercepted, but they were unable to decode it. Report back to the main fleet: The attack will go on as planned."

For a brief moment, you feel the immense weight of the mission leap from your shoulders, held aloft by the turn of events. It feels like it's been ages since anyone's had any good news in this war, and you hadn't realized until now how desperate you were to finally hear some.

"Roger that, sir. Sending the transmission now."

You can't help your smile as you turn to follow Obi Wan back to the door. You quickly activate your own commlink, raising it up. "Captain, has Storne made it back out yet?"

"No, Commander. He's on the fourth level."

Your brows furrow, and you look up at Obi Wan. He gives you a blank look in return, as if to say he doesn't know about the change of plans, either.

"Do you know why?"

"No, sir," he responds to you. "He's been going up level by level. I thought-" His voice is replaced with the crunch of static, and you catch the end of his statement. "...ut it wasn't."

You bring your commlink closer by reflex, knowing it won't make a bit of difference in the signal. "You're cutting out. Say again?"

"...can't... el... either..." More static.

"Captain Shrike, do you copy?"

There's a long pause before he comes through again.

"... packing up base." His words are mostly garbled, and then one phrase gets through clearly. " ...I've got a visual on the ship."

Obi Wan's head snaps to the side, his gaze suddenly tense. "What did he say?"

"What ship?" you press.

"Can't hear... -th. ...try to- "

Suddenly the unmistakable sound of an explosion bursts through the speaker. An ear-splitting electronic squeal pierces the air and you jerk the commlink away from your face. You're reaching to turn it off when the screeching ends. You lift it back up.

"Captain?"

Silence.

"Captain, do you copy?"

You send a wide-eyed glance over to Obi Wan, your voice tightening. "Shrike?"

Nothing.

Obi Wan's mouth opens for a moment before he speaks, as if he's finding the right words. "There could be interference."

You blink. You lower your arm. "Right."

You turn to the door, knowing that commlinks don't just stop working - interference or not. Your signal was scrambled intentionally. And that sound...

"We should get moving. The longer we're without communication the more dangerous this becomes."

"Right," you repeat, voice hollow.

The door clicks open again and Obi Wan steps through it without hesitation, slipping seamlessly back into character. You follow suit, blanketing your consciousness over every solider in your immediate vicinity. You make your way back to the turbolift, thankfully seeing fewer officers in the area this time.

In fact, the room seems almost empty compared to the bustling activity you'd seen earlier. You cast your consciousness out a little further, trying to feel for the missing soldiers, and you find them - guarded, seeking, hostile.

You open your mouth to speak as Obi Wan pushes a button to activate the lift, pulling back his fingers just in time for a spray of sparks to erupt from the control panel, blaster fire searing across the surface.

You both whip around, then immediately duck as more blaster fire fills the air, pouring relentlessly out of two hovering security droids, which are closing in fast.

"Intruders located, level fifty-two."

Obi Wan pulls his own blaster, firing back as you punch at the buttons on the lift, quickly realizing the panel won't respond. You duck and dodge, turning down the nearby corridor to find another way out. The droids pursue, one sent spinning off to the side when Obi Wan's blaster bolt pierces its metal.

You're fighting the urge to reach for your lightsaber. Right now you're just a couple of Republic spies, which is why he's chosen to use the blaster. You've agreed not to reveal yourselves to be Jedi unless absolutely necessary. But you certainly wish that Lieutenants were allowed to carry blasters outside of combat zones.

As you turn the corner, a sickeningly familiar sound approaches - the rolling bodies of droidekas. Peeling into view, they raise their twin blasters and light up the hallway with lasers concentrated on your annihilation.

Absolute necessity arriving much more quickly than expected, your hand grips your lightsaber, ripping it out of your clothing and blocking several shots all in one fluid motion.

"Well, I'd say that's our cover sufficiently blown," Obi Wan remarks, casually illuminating his own lightsaber and dual-wielding it between returning blaster shots.

"Did you have another option I don't know about?" you grit, slicing through the air to bat a laser away from your face.

He spins ferociously and sends a double volley of blaster fire straight back at the remaining security droid, dropping it to the floor. "No, Commander, but perhaps next time you'll consult me before altering the plans. Again."

You raise an eyebrow, caught off guard by his tone, but unable to respond before human voices start to echo down the hallway, and your retreat turns into an all-out run. You take turns covering the firestorm behind you as you barrel down the hall, turning whichever way looks most like an exit. Obi Wan veers off into what looks to be a maintenance hangar, and you follow closely.

"I didn't exactly-"

The air around you suddenly shimmers, engulfing you in a rippling cylinder of light. You both skitter to a stop, hands pulling up to avoid touching it.

Ray shields surround you. It's not unheard of, using them on such a small scale, but it's definitely a surprise to see one set up as a trap. And you now realize the droids were driving you straight into it.

Training a weapon pointlessly on you, a human Separatist officer enters the room flanked by droids on either side.

You keep your lightsaber at the ready, knowing there's nothing you can do to pierce the shields, but hoping against hope that someone will be foolish enough to lower them.

The man sneers at you as he approaches. "Might as well put away your weapons, Jedi. They're of no use to you now."

Neither one of you moves an inch, the low hum of your sabers filling the quiet room.

"Oh, we're quite comfortable, thank you," Obi Wan responds, his voice mild but his eyes deadly. "Though I am curious about your plan. You must realize as soon as the shields are lowered, you'll need to finish the task of disarming us. A task at which, so far, you've been less than successful. "

Grinning, the man leans toward the pulsating shield. "Your concern is appreciated." He meets Obi Wan's gaze steadily. "But not to worry. I'll leave that task to Count Dooku."

You freeze, suppressing the urge to look over at Obi Wan in shock. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand tighten slightly on the hilt of his saber, but he says nothing more. Not missing a step in his pace, the officer circles you as if observing animals in a cage, then makes his way back toward the doorway.

"He'll be here momentarily. Don't go anywhere."

The door slides shut and the room goes dark, save for the dim maintenance lights in the distance, the swirling glimmer of the ray shields, and the lightsaber you're now gripping to the point of pain. You push the pressure sensor, extinguishing your blade, and drop your defensive stance to turn and look at Obi Wan.

"Dooku..." you breathe the name, looking around as if it could summon him.

Obi Wan's lightsaber still glows between the two of you, his stare penetrating the darkness as he looks past you. "Yes, I can feel it. He's here."

You don't know if he's responding to you, or just talking to himself. You calm your racing thoughts and try to focus. And then you sense it. A dark, malicious presence. A clear signature.

"Why would he be here? How could he have known?"

Several beats pass in silence. He drags his eyes from their distant stare to place them directly on yours. Then his blade collapses into the darkness. It's much quieter in the room, now, and he doesn't need to raise his voice above an icy breath to be heard.

"I should think that much would be obvious."

You dip one brow, again confused by his tone. His words hold the same edge as they had earlier, but you can't place where it's coming from.

"Not to me," you invite his explanation.

"We've been betrayed," he says lowly. "He has an informant."

When your expression goes slack in surprise and you're clearly looking at him for more, he answers your unasked question with a carefully controlled mask of calm. "Your friend. Storne."

You pull your head back in disbelief. "What?"

He sets his jaw, slowly and quietly continuing. "This mission was kept secret from everyone but the most necessary operatives. He is the only one that hasn't been completely vetted, and the only member of this mission whose whereabouts have been unknown for extended periods of time leading up to now."

You shake your head, at a complete loss. "It isn't possible. You don't know him."

"Apparently, neither do you," he quips, a little too quickly.

You can see the immediate regret on his face. But the damage is done. He softens his voice, adding, "He's a mercenary."

You step a little closer in the already small space between the ray shields. "I do know him. He's not as much a mercenary as he is a con artist. Who... kills when he has to. He isn't capable of doing something like this."

"Look at this from a logical perspective." He speaks over your last few words, staunchly refusing to let go of eye contact. "On Oba Diah - the bar where he sent us to get information... did we ever get the information? How were we discovered?"

"Any number of Black Sun members could have reported us."

"And on Keoth," he continues. "When he came to our aid - how convenient for him to be tracking our transponder."

You shake your head. "What possible reason could he have for saving our lives and then handing us over to the enemy?"

"An informant would have every reason to keep us doing the Republic's bidding. The more of our activity he could report, the more we would be worth to him."

You drop your gaze, unable to look at him and speak at the same time. "I would have sensed his deception."

"I'm certain he would have kept his motives well hidden."

"Not from me." You snap your head up. "People can't hide their true intentions from me."

You're staring at one another, and you take in a breath, then let it out. "Obi Wan, I know he wouldn't do this. I've worked with him for so many years. I've known him even longer than that. I'm not asking you to trust him. Just to trust me."

His steeled blue eyes are still fixed on you. He looks as if he's fighting not to look away. "I trust that you will do what you believe is right." And then he does look away. "My faith in your judgment is... another matter."

You're speechless for a moment, stomach wrenched. "My judgment?"

Several long seconds pass before he speaks again.

"When we were on the ship, Storne mentioned a specific time when he seemed to know exactly where we would be. It wasn't discussed during his briefing, and yet, he knew." He pauses, watching for your reaction. "How did he know?"

Your chest is pounding. "Because... I told him. Because I sent him the details of the plan while we were enroute."

"So you don't deny it?"

Although you're nearly shaking, you manage to keep your words steady. "I work in secrets. I know the value of classifying information. But I also know the value of a well-informed team. The captain was instructed to keep the plan compartmentalized, but if Storne needed to escape, or to help us escape-"

"Do you realize you could be arrested as a traitor?"

Your face is heating in frustration. It's like your words aren't even reaching him at this point.

"I told you, on my missions, sometimes I need to bend the rules to get things done. You taught me to follow my instincts."

"I did not teach you to disobey direct orders."

"No, but you taught me to use my own strengths and trust my own judgment. The captain is bound by chain of command to protect classified information. I would never get approval to share it." You hesitate before continuing. "Just like I often don't get approval from the council for certain aspects of my missions. If I'm going to be considered a traitor for getting results, they should have arrested me years ago."

"This isn't a joking matter." His voice cuts sharply through the forced lightness in your tone.

"I know. I'm aware of what's at stake," you say, dropping all your false bravado and letting the earnesty come through. "That's exactly why I knew we couldn't afford to leave Storne in the dark."

"And look where it's gotten us," Obi Wan bites out, his calm expression finally breaking. "Where are your senses? Blindly trusting-"

"It isn't blind trust!" You match his growing tone. "It's rational, well-earned knowledge."

"Your judgement is clouded, young one." His voice holds a dangerous edge which he's never directed at you before. "This mission was doomed from the start - a mission you were never meant to be directly involved with. There's every chance we have just sent thousands of soldiers to their deaths."

His words settle in your stomach like lead, poisoning your bloodstream. You blink rapidly, trying to maintain what's left of the slipping grasp you have over your emotions.

"I-" you croak the syllable, interrupted by an opening door.

A heavy, commanding voice puts an abrupt end to your conversation.

"Obi Wan Kenobi."

Your head is still reeling from your argument, but you no longer have time for emotion. As Dooku approaches, the huge maintenance hangar suddenly seems like a much smaller room.

Your lightsaber is lit again, back in your hand, your arm raised before the rest of your mind can catch up to your reflexes. You watch as he paces slowly up to you, and you sink deep into the force to let go of your inner turmoil.

Dooku's chin is held high as he inspects you. "And the young apprentice. How... unexpected."

He turns back to Obi Wan with a glint in his eye. "We can end this swiftly, my friend. For your padawan's sake, I hope you choose the right path."

Obi Wan's eyes are locked on him. "She is no longer my padawan. And you have nothing of value to offer us."

He arches a brow, looking back at you. "Really."

You can feel him sensing you through the force, and while you close yourself off from him, you can't help but feel him dominating the space between you.

Hearing Obi Wan say you're no longer his padawan stings. You aren't sure whether he means to dissolve the history between you, or if he simply means that you are a Jedi knight. Perhaps it's both. Regardless, you try to keep your focus on Dooku's cold, hard stare.

"A pity, what the war has done to the Order."

Neither of you gives him a response, and though his words are insulting at face value, you can't help but wonder if he means them sincerely, sensing that you're out of your depth.

"Come now, Master," Dooku drawls, directing his attention back to Obi Wan and letting his condescension drip through. "We need not fight a battle which is over already. Surrender your weapons and you will be brought before the Separatist council to discuss your release."

The reverberation of Obi Wan's lightsaber coming back to life echoes through the hangar. "The galaxy is filled with the remains of civilizations who chose to believe in your empty promises, Count."

There's a heavy silence, and Dooku nods to a soldier standing in the doorway. "So be it."

The soldier flips a switch and the ray shields dissipate. Everything next seems to happen in the blink of an eye.

Dooku extracts his own saber, and as Obi Wan melts into his familiar Soresu stance, your muscles barely have time to react before Dooku is striking at you, baring down with clear intent to kill.

You manage to dodge one of his blows, and his second connects with your blade, the sheer power of which nearly knocks it out of your hand. Obi Wan attacks him from behind, drawing him back for an instant, before he whirls on you again and uses the force to send you soaring across the room.

All the air leaves your lungs and you slam into the wall, the intensity of his blow leaving you to gather yourself momentarily. You watch as Dooku turns his full attention on your master, the two of them trading devastating strikes as if it's nothing. The air almost seems to be crackling; glowing within the force.

You crawl back up to your knees, then manage to get your legs beneath you once more. You know you have no hope of challenging Dooku, but Obi Wan does, and you need to do everything you can to give him an advantage. Taking a breath and giving yourself over to the force, you leap forward again and swing at Dooku's unguarded back.

Without missing a beat, he parries Obi Wan with a particularly savage blow, then whirls on you with a look of disdain. Slicing elegantly through the air, he meets your blade with such an impact that it rattles through your entire body. Your saber clatters to the ground, and Obi Wan's next strike is the only thing that keeps Dooku from piercing straight through you.

With a curled lip, Dooku turns on him again and drags his saber down the length of Obi Wan's. "I will not ask you again for your surrender."

Obi Wan answers with a polite smile that's betrayed by the ferocity of his blade. "Good. It was getting tiresome."

The two enter a new phase of the fight, their lightsabers clashing so brutally and quickly that you can hardly follow it enough to get a single strike in. Each time you swing, Dooku rebuffs your attacks seemingly without effort. He's pressed Obi Wan into a corner, and you're helpless to stop him when he finally breaks through his defenses to send his saber skittering across the floor.

"No!" the word wrenches out of your mouth involuntarily, and just as he pulls back to deliver the final blow, you swing your blade toward Dooku's neck, forcing him to turn and face you.

He's still holding his saber over Obi Wan, but his scowl deepens as he raises his other hand toward you. Force lighting erupts from his fingers, and you don't even have time to consider blocking it. It saps the strength from every muscle in your body, pain shooting through you in every sense of the word. You can feel your flesh burning, and just as painful are the deep shocks of pure hatred driving through the force.

Your limp body slams against the wall again, and before your head connects with duracrete, the last thing in front of your eyes is the bright red glow of a lightsaber aiming straight for your master's chest.

It's dark, now.

Your lungs ache when you try to draw breath. Everything aches. Even your eyes hurt when you blink, squinting through the darkness and seeing nothing.

Have you been blinded?

You reach for your lightsaber, but it's not there. The hazy memory of it falling from your hand comes into your mind, but fizzles before you can really picture it properly.

There's a sound. There's been a sound, and you're just starting to register it. Someone is calling your name.

"Can you hear me? Please, answer."

Your arm throbs as you bring your commlink to your mouth. "St-Storne?"

"You're alive!" the muffled voice answers. "Yeah, it's me. Listen, there's not much time. I think you're in a holding cell, and I think I can get you out."

You get halfway up from the ground, leaning over your own arm, a thought screaming into your mind when you're reminded of your surroundings. "Obi Wan! Where is he?"

"I... don't know. We lost track of him. But we can get you out, and we'll figure the rest out later."

You swallow, a different kind of pain enveloping you. Exhausted, you can barely gather the strength to look out through the force. You can't sense him. Your heart flutters, slamming inside your ribcage so hard you're afraid it will break you open. You can't sense him.

A few more panicked seconds pass before you remember to speak. You clear your throat, trying to keep your grip on reality. "Who is 'we'?"

"Backup. Captain Pais sent in clone troopers and took out the orbital base. Unjammed the comm signals, too. But we still can't get around the ray shields. Only chance we have is to blow up the entrance on the east side of the outpost where there are no ray shields and hope we take out enough walls to get to you."

Your mind is still spinning, and you're only taking in about half of his words. "What do you need me to do?"

There's blaster fire in the background as he answers. "Get on the west side of the holding cell and stay there."

You look around. "I can't see anything. I don't know which side is which."

He pauses and you can hear rumbling outside of wherever you currently are. "Then just... cover your head. And wait."

You let the words echo inside your pounding head. "Roger that."

"Three minutes. Be ready."

"Wait! Storne. Have you talked to Shrike?"

There's a heavy silence. "Three minutes."

The background noise cuts out, leaving you alone in the dark, fighting to stay conscious when the world is black no matter whether your eyes are open or closed.

Things happen very quickly. You realize when you hear the explosion nearby that you actually have been losing consciousness. Ten seconds seemed to pass, and the promised destruction is already happening. You scramble to the opposite side of your cell, trying to get away from the sound of laserfire.

You open your eyes. It's light now. There are clone troopers pouring into the cell. The smell of burnt flesh fills the air. Powdered duracrete dusts your skin.

You open your eyes. You're being carried on a stretcher to the edge of a cliff, near the water. It's brighter still. You can hear the crashing of the waves. A clone gunship is hovering nearby. There's so much shouting.

You open your eyes. The clone ship is pulling away from the cliff's edge, engines roaring. You sit up. You're still on the stretcher, facing outside. Below you, back on the ground, there's a body being dragged by two clone troopers, legs limp and head hanging. The face is too bloody to make out any features.

Then, you sense it. It's not a body - it's a being. He's alive in the force, and he's looking back at you now, head raising weakly from his shoulders. When he seems to register you, his eyes snap upward and he struggles against the troopers to stand up.

He calls your name.

"Obi Wan!" His name rips out of you raggedly, and you scramble to get off of the gurney.

"Commander, no," the clone medic next to you reaches for your arm. "You can't sit up right now."

Some part of you is aware that you're badly hurt and should listen, but he's alive and nothing else has the space to enter your mind right now.

Suddenly, you hear a high pitched tone and everything goes white. The last thing you feel is Obi Wan reaching out in the force, his mind searching for yours. Disoriented, urgent, pleading...

You awaken, finally and properly, to the living world, back on board the Republic cruiser.

Captain Pais is the first person you see, standing at the side of your bed. You stifle a groan as the full extent of your injuries make themselves known.

"Welcome back, Commander. How are you feeling?"

You roll to the side, sitting up a bit and looking over at the glass of water on a nearby table. He jolts, realizing what you're looking at, and hands it to you. You gulp down a few swallows, then catch your breath.

"Thank you."

He nods, and you pull back your bedding to sit up all the way. "I'm... alright. Where is-" you stop just short of using his name. "Is the general okay?"

"He's fine. Back on duty already, in fact."

You blink, thinking of the battered, bloody wreck you'd seen him in. "How is that possible?"

The captain shrugs and smiles. "You know General Kenobi. He didn't stay in the tank for long. He came to see you, of course, but you were..."

He indicates the stark white medbay bed, and you nod. "Right. What about Captain Shrike? And Storne?"

The captain gives a hard, tight look. "Captain Shrike... managed to alert the main fleet before Dooku destroyed his base on arrival. It's the only reason we were even aware to set up your extraction."

"And he sent R4 to get me, which was a plus in my book, if that counts."

Storne gives you a smile as he enters the room, arm bandaged but otherwise in one piece. Relief floods you at seeing him alive. "Yes, that counts," you tell him.

"He was a good man, and he'll be remembered," Captain Pais finishes solemnly.

You feel a deep pang of guilt at Shrike's loss. If you hadn't taken his place...

"That he will," Storne agrees. "But you'll be glad to know, our efforts weren't for nothing. The blockade is expected to fall soon."

You turn to the captain, his face affirmative. "Indeed. We should reach the people of Aaloth within two standard days."

"So the intel was-"

"Was good, yes. We launched the attack as planned and the Separatists had no forewarning."

Your body sinks back into the bed, immense weight lifting from your mind. "Thank the force."

"Yes, I very much agree," the captain tells you. "We will be on our way to join them shortly; finishing preparations now. I understand it's been recommended that you do not join us in your current state, Commander. I've arranged for your ship to be prepared to leave within the hour."

Back to Ilum. You nod, taking in the new information. You have to go home. What next? What comes after this?

Your pounding head tells you not to think that far ahead. "I see. I'll get ready." You hesitate. "Is, uh, is the general available?"

"He was called to join the attack on the blockade as soon as he was ready. He left a few hours ago."

"Right," you brush it off, keeping your tone as even as possible. "Thank you, Captain. For everything."

"It was a pleasure to serve with you, Commander."

He inclines his head in respect, then turns and leaves, with Storne taking his place at the side of your bed. You scoot to the edge and place your feet on the floor, and he reaches out with his good arm.

"Here, let me help."

Thanking him, you take it, and he helps you get to your robes. They're dirty and torn at the edges, but nothing that can't be repaired when you get home. You pull your hospital clothes over your head.

"Turn around," you tell him, arms waiting halfway up.

"How about I cover my eyes?" he asks playfully, slipping his unbandaged hand over his face and then breaking his fingers apart, looking at you through the gaps.

"How about you leave the room?" you retort, rolling your eyes.

He chuckles and turns around until you're dressed, then helps you down the long hallway to the turbolift. You find your ship prepared just as the captain had said, and Storne opens the hatch for you to board. When you finish the calculations for your flight path home, you turn back to face him.

"I can't thank you enough," you tell him, a mix of emotions in your voice. "I guess I owe you my life twice over, now. You'll have to call me when you want to get even."

He smirks. "I'll call you either way, sweetheart. And you can pay me back by making sure I get triple the normal rate, as your Jedi bretheren promised."

You smile and roll your eyes. "Of course. But you can stop with all the sweetheart stuff - we're alone, now."

He glances around the ship's interior. "Right. Sorry, hard habit to break. Besides, you know you like it."

You give a genuine laugh at that and he returns a genuine smile; the first time you've interacted alone in a long time.

"Anyway, I'll make sure you get your proper pay. And tell Tasana I hope she's well."

Tasana is the wife Storne has hidden from the galaxy since their marriage many years ago. You've known and cherished her as much as him, and you've gladly protected her identity by playing along with the incorrigible flirt Storne has chosen for his fake persona. Even during your "marriage", it was heavily implied that his infidelity had lead to your parting of ways, as he just couldn't keep to one woman.

As his childhood friend, you're privy to a story not many other people know. He prefers to keep it that way, and his secret will always be safe with you.

"She is, and I will," he says, backing toward the closed hatch. "Take care of yourself out there, master Jedi."

"Not a master," you call over your shoulder as you make final adjustments to your flight controls. "Just a Jedi."

He snorts before hopping out of the hatch. "Whatever you're calling yourself these days."

You lift off shortly after he closes the hatch and gets clear of your ship. The stars greet you as you exit the hangar bay of the massive cruiser, and you release a heavy sigh, beginning the long flight home, alone with your thoughts.

Somehow, the darkness of space seems emptier than it ever has before.

It's been two standard days since you arrived back on Ilum, and it's been two standard hours since you received a report of a nasty ice storm approaching your small home on the outskirts of nowhere. After you'd received the latest weather update on your long range holocomm, you certainly hadn't been expecting company anytime soon.

Which is why you nearly leap out of your skin when, over the howling wind outside, you hear a knock at your door.

You set down the drink you'd been holding, rising from your seat to cautiously approach. Looking through the little window at the top of the door frame, you can just make out the fur of an unfamiliar parka through the furiously whirling snow. Beneath it, you catch sight of a brown hood, and beneath that, a pair of eyes that you'd never mistake for anyone else's.

You throw open the door.

"Obi Wan?"

He stands there, squinting through the wind, and yet, still unmoving.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, the words falling out of you in shock. Quickly, your thoughts turn to the worst. "Did something happen on Aaloth?"

He gives a distracted half-shake of his head. The frost is sparkling in his beard and the arches of his brows when he raises them. He looks achingly beautiful with his blue eyes reflecting the cold. "No. No, everything went according to plan. I just... needed to reach you. Needed to speak to you."

"About-" you cut yourself short, realizing he must be freezing while you stare at him stupidly, mind not yet convinced that he's really here. "I'm sorry - please, come inside."

He almost seems relieved at your invitation, as if he hadn't been expecting it. He still stands hesitantly in the doorway once you've gotten the door closed with him on the inside of it. Lowering his hood, he runs a hand down the front of his beard, smoothing it and raking out the snow.

"Thank you."

"Of course," you respond, still too stunned by his presence to really speak. "You came all this way to talk? Why didn't you call?"

He blinks, halting the hand that had been running through his messy hair. "Historically, I've had difficulty reaching you."

The saved messages play over in your mind and you flush a little with embarrassment. "Right. Sorry."

He brings the hand back down, waving it in gentle dismissal of your words. "No, don't apologize. It's quite alright. In fact, I am the one who should begin with an apology."

Now you're truly speechless. An apology? After what you had done?

"I owe you an apology for my outburst during the mission. And I owe you a debt of gratitude for your actions. Had you not involved Storne, we both may have lost our lives."

You swallow, dropping your gaze to the side. "I don't know if anything I did was right or wrong. Things may have turned out differently if I had never come. We don't know for sure."

"You're right," he allows. "We don't. All we can be sure of is that we provided the intel that was needed to save lives, and we escaped with ours. And that is thanks to you, whether you will take the credit or not."

You don't say anything back, still not able to agree, but unwilling to argue.

"But that is not what I came here to say."

He unclasps the front of his parka and removes it, setting it on a bench near your door. You wait patiently for him to continue, watching his chest rise and fall beneath his robes as he passes a long breath. Then he turns back to you slowly, expression withholding; tentative.

"When we fought Dooku, I believed I had prepared myself for any outcome. As in any other battle, the will of the force mattered over all else, and I never considered-"

He stops talking, seeming to gather his words. You let him, having no idea what he's trying to say. "When I saw them drag you from the room... I could no longer feel you in the force. I didn't know you were only unconscious. And I..."

You knit your brows together, hanging on his every breath. His eyelashes are dark; wet from the melting snow, and they cast shadows over his face when he looks down. "I managed to escape from Dooku by using techniques of which I am not proud. I felt things I should not have felt, and I reacted in a way that a Jedi should not."

There's a long, heavy silence. You want to comfort him, but your mind is barely functioning. What he's saying is so impossible that you can't even fathom it.

"I... don't understand," you finally say in response. "You're saying... because you thought I had died, you...?" You trail off, unable to complete the thought.

"I am saying," he pauses. "That... I think it would be best if this was our last mission together."

Your chest feels like he's blown a hole through you. Your throat is burning and you can hardly murmur, "But, why?"

He gives you a pained look, stepping closer, closing the short distance between you.

"Commander-" And then he corrects himself, using your name, and it sounds so soft, so warm in his mouth that your knees go weak. "You must know."

You draw your eyes up to his and he's looking at you so plainly, the emotion written all over his face. He reaches a hand out to you, just barely, and drops it back into his own hand, clasping them as if holding himself away. You feel his presence wrap around you, and for the first time, you feel the longing within him. His voice lowers.

"You must know."

He says it as if it's been clear to you for so long, and yet, you'd never thought- never even dreamed...

You're standing so still, afraid that if you move, you'll fall into a kiss that neither of you wants. Yet, every fiber of you is dying for it. An eternity passes, just like this, and you'd be happy in this perpetual agony if only you didn't know it had to end.

And end, it does.

An emergency alert beeps through your holocomm, breaking the silence and pulling your eyes away, just for an instant.

But it's long enough for Obi Wan to remember himself and step away. He swallows thickly. "I shouldn't stay any longer."

You take a deep breath, willing the force to relieve you of your desperate thoughts. "Right. You should go if you don't want to be caught in the storm."

He pulls his jacket back on, facing away from you, giving you a few seconds to gather yourself. When he turns back, you force a smile, knowing it comes out wrong, but trying anyway.

"At least our last mission together was a success."

The corners of his eyes crinkle, but his smile is as broken as yours. He pulls his hood over his head. "From you, I would expect nothing less."

Your smile fades, and you follow him to the door. There are a million things you want to say to him, but you know saying even one of your thoughts out loud would destroy you. So, you say the only words you have left.

"Goodbye, Obi Wan."

The snow stings your eyes when he steps outside, turning back to you.

"May the force be with you," he says over the sound of the wind. "And may it keep you safe."

You watch him go, ice whipping against your skin, until you're numb. Until there's nothing left on the landscape but white. Your lips break apart as you whisper into the empty air.

"And may it bring us back together someday."

Author's Note: For those of you following the AO3 tags, although Captain Shrike is a major character in my heart (🥲) I don't consider him a major character for tagging purposes.

I apologize for the length of this chapter! Thank you to everyone again for being so patient and kind during the wait between this chapter and the last. Your encouragement was much appreciated!

Tag List: @cosmicsierra @projectdreamwalker @guacam011y @thriving-n-jiving @reverieisaway @cursedfaechild @honeymoon7770 @hedvighedvig @cool-ontherun-world @ladytano420 @eddythewitch

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