#obi-wan kenobi smut

[ddejavvu]

Betrayal - Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Summary: months into the war and it's not as exhilarating as you'd hoped - not for your battalion, anyway. when the air conditioning in your compound blows, an old friend brings his tech genius of a padawan to fix it for you. while anakin is working, you convince his master to spar for old times' sake, and simple adrenaline gives way to a landslide of long-buried feelings neither of you should have for each other.

Contents/Warnings: smut, minors dni, fem!reader, jedi!reader, reader is a general, sweat kink (? they are really sweaty and i talk about it a lot), oral (m+f receiving), semi-public sex (risk of being caught), sparring, lightsaber use, throatfucking, messy kisses, scratching/marking, lotsa spit, obligatory 'had you said the word' (sorry satine i had to steal his line)

WC: 16.9K / navigation / inbox

A/N: sorry this took me so long to finish! i didn't have time to write for like two months but it's done now and i hope you enjoy it <3 this is set a couple months/a year into the clone wars, but i have chosen to fuck with their ages a little bit. in this, anakin is like 12-14-ish, even though he was older in AOTC when the war began.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Neglecting the option of taking a padawan under your wing is what stuck you on this humid, blazing, hellish planet, and you almost regret it. You’d wanted more freedom in your duties, didn’t want a youngling clinging to your leg begging for help with their rudimentary saber drills, so instead you swapped it for what you thought would be constant battle, exhilarating speeder chases, and the glory of proving yourself. Unbecoming of a Jedi to wish for, yes, but you’ve never claimed to be Council-worthy.

Now your butt is sticking to the chair you’re planted in, overlooking a very empty, very desolate, very boring outpost. It’s so hot that you think you’ve melted into the chair and fused with its fabric. Standing might tear your skin away from your flesh, leaving an imprint of you behind in your seat.

“General,” One of your clone troopers calls, sticking his head through the doorway to your station, “Nothing on my scanners.”

“Nor on mine,” You drawl lazily, “We’re scheduled to be inspected today. Any word from the crew?”

“None.” He laments, “I just hope they bring a droid that can fix the cooler.”

The base you’re stationed to isn’t always this disgusting. The structure is wired with an air conditioning system to keep the inside much cooler than the outside, but after a rather unfortunate incident with a freshly manufactured astromech droid with some crossed wirings, both lay broken and singed in the maintenance bay. Your clones don’t know how to tinker with droids or heating systems, and you’d probably wind up just as ash-covered if you tried.

“Alert me when they land,” You order the trooper, leaning your forehead against the cool metal of the scanner screen before you, “I want to have time to change into an outfit I haven’t soaked through with sweat.”

The scanner grows warm against your flushed skin far too soon. Everything is hot, and sticky, and gross, and you find yourself yearning for the cold showers you used to despise at the temple. Perhaps you yearn for the temple in general, for the familial atmosphere shared among overconfident Padawans and exasperated Masters. You think specifically of Obi-Wan Kenobi, a man you’d trained with, now Master to his apprentice Skywalker.

You haven’t seen the pair in years, but you remember Anakin’s blonde mop of hair, as well as his penchant for chaos. Watching Obi-Wan’s eyes fill with horror at whatever shenanigans his Padawan had gotten into that day was part of what helped you make the decision to decline one yourself, though you hold no distaste for the boy. He was simply young and untrained in the ways of the Jedi, and you were not a patient enough person to gracefully navigate that predicament then. You’re not sure you are now, either.

Even though you know you’re better suited on your own, you wonder if you’d have been more fulfilled with a Padawan learner of your own. Surely anything could be better than this, wasting away- rotting on a planet hot enough to boil your blood if you stepped outside without proper protection.

Your base is secluded and temperature-controlled, even if the contraption that the Republic had fashioned under pressure of time to keep you isolated is rather crude. It’s, in essence, a large dome, seals in place to ensure that vessels can land and takeoff without destroying the temperature control. It’s cooler within the dome than it is outside of it, but the hurriedly-designed system can only do too much, and you greatly depend on the air conditioning to do its job. Now that it’s not, you’re irritated from the heat, and you wish that the inspection team would just hurry up already. The patience you’d had drilled into you from your early years as a Youngling is nowhere to be found under the pressure of a heat wave, and your foot taps impatiently against the floor while you itch for some action.

You think it’s rather pathetic that you yearn for excitement so badly that you’re anxiously awaiting the inspection team. Their job takes barely an hour, a scan of your equipment and a survey of your troops. They’ll walk in and out without so much as a pleasantry, but you long for something new, something more, something exciting.

The call over your comms comes over an hour later, a time in which you remain at your post but begrudge it all the while. “General,” Your trooper barks, voice staticky and rough over the channel, “We’ve got visitors. Inspection team’s here. Initiating landing procedure.”

“Copy that,” You bolt out of your seat, barely remembering to lean over the microphone to reply, “Thank you.”

Finally.

Finally, someone new to talk to, even if they have the same face as everyone else you’ve spoken to on this long, dreary assignment. You’re friendly with your troopers, of course, but that itch for more is back in your brain, igniting you with vigor you don’t normally possess as you rush to greet the inspection team.

However, when you reach the landing bay, and the ship’s hydraulics hiss, clone troopers aren’t the only ones to disembark. Jedi robes make their appearance, shrouding the very man you’d just thought about, as well as the child by his side. 

Obi-Wan wears the years that have passed since you last saw him, but time has treated him well. His hair is longer now, gone is that stiff Padawan buzz. His braid is missing as well, giving way to luscious strawberry blonde strands that he’s slicked back so that they drag against the back and sides of his neck. Longer hair looks good on him, just as it had when he was fifteen and had refused a haircut for months in a typical, if rather tame, display of teenage rebellion. Anakin is also significantly older than you’d kept track of, but he can’t be older than fourteen if his lanky limbs and awkward demeanor are any evidence.

Obi-Wan smiles at you, and you nearly forget to shove down that shameful part of you that wants to take more out of him than he can give you. Even as Padawans you’d always gravitated towards the man opposite you, sneaking out to roam the gardens after hours together or sharing sly glances across mission briefings. But he’s an honorable Jedi Master - a member of the Council itself, so you’ve heard - and you wrestle down your repressed feelings to grin at him.

“General Y/L/N,” He greets with a smile so charming you lament that the Jedi Order interrupted his chances of being a model.

“Master Kenobi,” You greet, but you know he’ll chide you for the honorific if you use it more than once, “I wasn’t aware you’d be on the inspection team.”

“We’re not. Technically.” Obi-Wan admits, arm coming to press against Anakin’s back and nudge him forwards, “We got word that your air conditioning system is out, as well as one of your new astromechs. Anakin here is still an excellent mechanic, I thought we’d come out to offer you some reprieve from the heat.”

Anakin looks embarrassed by the attention that’s fallen upon him, in typical pubescent fashion, and you take pity on the timid teenager, casting your glance back at his Master, “Maker, thank you. We’re melting out here.”

“I can imagine,” Obi-Wan laughs, and you turn again to Anakin who’s anxiously awaiting your orders.

“Anakin, if you could fix our air conditioning, that would be wonderful. Honestly, I’m not even sure I want the droid fixed, it’s what got us into this mess in the first place. But they’re both over there,” You point to the shorted out panels, “And my troopers will offer you any supplies you need, like tools or wiring or refreshments.”

“Thank you.” Anakin nods, hands clasped behind his back obediently even if he looks mortified to be the center of attention once more, “I’ll have things up and running as soon as possible.”

“I’m leaving you here,” Obi-Wan warns the boy, pointing an accusatory finger at him, “I don’t often leave you alone with machinery and tools, Anakin, for reasons we’re both aware of. Promise me you will not do anything reckless?”

“I promise,” Anakin mutters reluctantly, and you avert your eyes so he has some semblance of privacy.

“I mean it, Anakin. This is no time to experiment with your technical prowess. You simply fix their system and you wait for me back on the ship, understand?”

“Master,” Anakin pleads, “I understand.”

“Very well. Get to your duties,” Obi-Wan dismisses the boy, turning to you only after he sees his Padawan crouch by the singed panel.

“He shouldn’t take long. He most likely will try to tinker with the astromech, though.” Obi-Wan smiles sympathetically, “He’s not one to leave a droid unusable.”

“I remember he had a particular talent for mechanics,” You muse, starting off towards the main base intent on leading Obi-Wan to your rec room, “If I recall correctly, he figured out how to inconspicuously rewire his communicator to give you an ‘unavailable’ signal if he didn’t like what you were asking him to do.”

Obi-Wan scoffs as he lets you lead through the doorway, “Yes, my Padawan has always had very selective hearing. I’m sure you don’t mind not having one of your own.”

“That’s one of the reasons I justify my choice,” You chuckle, letting the door shut behind you as you make your way through the halls. The base that the Republic had granted you is spacious, even decked out with training facilities and rec rooms interspersed throughout your rows of quarters, but it’s unbearably hot and you’re tired of being cooped up inside of it.

“This isn’t bad for a base,” Obi-Wan muses, robes swishing behind him as he strides beside you, “But I hope Anakin fixes that cooling system soon.”

“Try being stationed here permanently,” You scoff, tugging at the sweat-soaked neckline of your tunic, “I have long since abandoned my robes.”

“Do you have somewhere I could set this?” Obi-Wan asks, fingers catching the front of his cloak as he slings it off. It falls gracefully from his shoulders, and he holds the garment up as he laments still having to wear the rest of his robes.

“You can leave it in my quarters,” You veer sharply to the right, letting him catch up, “They’re just down this hallway.”

There’s unmarked doors on either side of the corridor, and you’re still impressed that each clone trooper knows where their bed is at night. Your door has a plaque beside its frame that reads ‘General’s Quarters,’ and you’re not confident that you could navigate the halls without it. You type in your access code, and the door slides open with a hiss.

“Just set it on the bed,” You gesture towards your mattress, “If we have some time, I thought,” You reach into the closet, pulling out your seldom-used lightsaber, “We could spar.”

Obi-Wan laughs, discarding his cloak onto your bed as his eyes crinkle happily at the corners, “You’re lacking a bit of excitement here, aren’t you, Y/N? There’s no way you’d duel me willingly after I took you down the last time.”

You’d sparred together since you’d been handed a saber for the first time. Sure, your initial weapons were wooden, then training blades designed to be duller than their more advanced counterparts, before you’d finally been granted allowance to manufacture one of your own. But there were no more dedicated sparring partners than the two of you, and you can tell the man opposite you is fond of the reminder you’ve given him, even if he is trying to tease you.

“You did not take me down,” You gawp, “I mean- yes, I was on the floor, but I wasn’t done! You didn’t win!”

“Mm, yes. I didn’t win because no one did.” Obi-Wan sends you a sly grin, “Anakin interrupted us, don’t you remember? We never got to finish.”

“Then a rematch,” You insist, gesturing towards the open doorway, “Once and for all we’ll prove who the better duelist is.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll win. After all, I can tell you spend every waking moment practicing and making sure you lose none of your fighting abilities,” Obi-Wan’s hand darts out to switch on your holotable, revealing an in-progress game of chess. You’re losing.

“I’ve only been using that as of late,” You snap, defensive, “It’s insufferable to train without proper ventilation. And only when I’m not on duty. I don’t spend all of my time sitting and playing chess.”

“Losing at chess.” Obi-Wan arches an eyebrow, finally stepping out of your quarters so that you can shut it once more, “Come, Y/N, show me to your training grounds.”

The training room is just as hot as everywhere else on the base. You walk through the doors and humid air greets you, something that wrinkles Obi-Wan’s nose and rustles his mustache.

 “God, I hope your Padawan knows what he’s doing,” You groan, rolling up the sleeves of your own tunic but jumping excitedly into action despite the heat. You ignite your saber, slightly embarrassed by the thrill that the weapon gives you as it thrums to life. You haven’t felt this in a long time, at least, not paired with the thrill of battle. It’s significantly less awe-inspiring to ignite a saber against a training droid you know wouldn’t be able to singe your tunics if you stood stock still. Obi-Wan brings his to life as well; blue and green lights bathe your faces.

“I’ll go easy on you.” He smiles infuriatingly, cocking his head slightly to one side, “Ready?”

“Ready.” You jolt right, a fakeout before you dart left instead. He catches on rather quickly, though, and his blade clashes against yours as you aim for his leg.

“Nice start,” Obi-Wan admits, “But you can’t rely on misdirection for your entire fight. You’ll have to overpower me.”

“I could easily overpower you,” You swing left, breaking the contact of your two sabers, then jabbing so that he has to move his foot out of the way to avoid the plasma. He stumbles, barely catching himself against his back foot, but it gives you time enough to bring your blade up and around to nick at his shoulder, a hole now slashed into his tunic.

“Okay,” He stands straight, eyeing the tear in his clothing warily, “I won’t go easy on you.”

“Never underestimate your opponent,” You tease proudly, saber still ignited, “That’s one for me, Obi-Wan.”

“That doesn’t count,” He scoffs, standing at the ready, “I told you I’d go easy on you. Now I’m serious.”

“All I’m hearing is excuses,” You gloat, feet light as you step around him, “You lead this time, Kenobi.”

He does. He swings downwards, and you block your face with your own blade to stop him. He nearly jabs at your gut before you can prevent it, and you feel the heat from his blade as your own comes to block his.

You fling his weapon away with yours, and he lets you. After such a long period of no action (and shamefully little meditation) your abilities with the Force have grown slightly weaker, as have your regulatory skills. You can still sense what he’s going to do when he squares his shoulders, but you’re almost not fast enough to interpret those senses, and you barely make it to block him from swinging his blade in a fiery circle that would clip the edge of your arm.

“You’re rusty,” He taunts, his own Force abilities stronger than ever as his presence seeps through the cracks in your mind. You try to force him out, but it takes effort, and it’s effort you can’t expend elsewhere. It means that you can’t foresee his intent to aim for your face, and his blade hums inches away from your cheek as he holds it there.

You freeze; you’re caught.

We’re even,” You grunt, sweat beading at your forehead, “But we’re not finished.”

“Hang on,” He disengages his saber, letting the apparatus clatter to the ground as he tugs at one of the outer layers of his robes, “I’m going to shed a few things.”

“Stripping will not help your cause.” You tease, “I’m not distracted by sex appeal.”

Clearly, he isn’t expecting your jab, and he lets his mouth fall open as he slings off one of his garments, an incredulous laugh filling his throat.

“Y/N. You’ve obtained a foul mouth somewhere along your career. It certainly wasn’t in the temple.”

“It’s the clones,” You groan, “Try being stationed with a troop of grown men who went through puberty in record time. They’ve got the appetite of an adult with the filter of a teenage boy.”

“They’ve never tried anything with you,” Obi-Wan narrows his eyes questioningly, and you try to avoid looking at the sweat glistening against his tanned neck as he strips to his base layer.

“No, they’re respectful.” You assure him, “Just crass.”

“Yes, well,” Obi-Wan frowns distastefully, “They haven’t had Jedi training. I suppose I’m not surprised.”

He stands there for a moment with only his undershirt covering his chest, then decides that it’s still too warm, tugging at its hem to raise it over his head.

You feel your insides ignite with a fire you haven’t felt in a long time when his bare chest is exposed, skin marred and riddled with coarse, wiry hair. His stomach is flat but not as tight as you remember in your youth, softer now. You can tell there’s an impressive layer of muscle beneath the milky white skin, though, even if it’s not outwardly visible. He uses his tunic to wipe the sweat off of his face so you’re granted a moment to ogle him, your mouth watering as you try to conceal your thoughts. 

“Okay. Enough with this child’s play.” You shake your head, letting Obi-Wan have just enough time to toss aside his tunic before you plant your feet against the mat. Obi-Wan stands at the ready, both of your sabers ignited, “I want a real match. A long one, now that we’re warmed up. Best two out of three, Kenobi. Winner takes all.”

“Winner gets to stand in front of the air conditioning vent when Anakin gets it up and running,” Obi-Wan suggests, sweat trailing down his neck and over his chest. You avert your eyes, lest the fraile state of mind you’re in betrays you.

“Fine.” You shrug, reaching for the hem of your vest. It’s tactical, good for keeping with you on duty, but it’s etching lines of sweat into your back now. You sling it off, letting it land in a heap similar to Obi-Wan’s robes, and exposing the tank top you have on beneath it. “I know just the one I’ll pick. In my room, there’s one just above the bed. Maybe I’ll let it hit my back while I win at holochess.”

“I think the heat might be getting to you,” Obi-Wan cracks, a slight heave to his chest as he tries regulating his breathing. It’s hard when you’re as hot as you are to get enough oxygen, and you’re doing the same. It’s awfully difficult not to indulge in the view of his bare chest rapidly rising and falling, and you feel a tug below your gut as a vision flashes through your mind. It’s of what else could make him pant in such a way, and you can’t afford to entertain the thought, not around him. “I’m not sure which outcome is more delusional; that you’ll win this duel, or that you’ll win at holochess.”

“You’re wasting time,” You croon, charging with your blade poised for battle so that you have no more time to fantasize, “I think you’re scared.”

“Do I feel afraid?” Obi-Wan laughs, blocking your attack with little effort and redoubling to launch one of his own. The clatter of your sabers almost drowns out his words, “Reach out, Y/L/N, all you’ll feel is confidence.”

“I’m not sure I could feel you if I tried,” You lament, chest heaving as you block one of his swings, “Not while my mind is occupied with our duel. I am rusty, you were right.”

“Practice more,” He chides, “Less chess, more meditation.”

“One is a lot more boring than the other!” You groan, barely managing to get your arm up in time to take a shot at his own, “And the less boring one is chess, so that’s really saying something.”

“It may be boring but it is beneficial,” Obi-Wan lectures you, and you wonder if he thinks you’re still a Padawan. You fight with heaving breaths and monumental effort, the heat sucking your energy out through the sweat that drips down your skin. He turns and his back is glistening, which is really not a sight that helps you to stay focused.

“Now I’m starting to see why Anakin tinkered with his communicator,” You call, as Obi-Wan whirls around your left side, “You’re very dull as a Jedi Master!”

You have to throw yourself onto the floor to avoid a swing at your head, your right shoulder aching as you do so. But you scramble away from him, righting yourself and miraculously avoiding the blade of your saber coming into contact with the training mat.

You stumble to your knees, driving the forward momentum you have against Obi-Wan as he tries blocking you. You nearly get a nick out of his pants, but he pushes you backwards with the threat of his blade, and you fall with your back to the mat.

Your stomach drops when a blue blade hums hot and bright near your throat, its tip directed at your jugular. It doesn’t matter that it’s on its training setting; it’s inescapable and daunting when it’s an inch from your skin. You’re done for. 

“I may be dull,” Obi-Wan pants, beard glistening as sweat streams down his neck. His chest heaves as he speaks, bare and open for your eyes, and his pink tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth to dart along his lips, “But I am victorious. Does this remind you a little bit of the last time we fought?”

It does. He’d been standing over you then as he is now, and you’d had to fortify your mind back then not to let slip vulgar thoughts about being on the floor below him. His thighs, meaty with muscle and strong from training, are hidden behind loose pants, but their crotch has tightened slightly, a chub to what should be a relaxed surface.

A pang of arousal shoots down your spine, and suddenly the lightsaber near your throat isn’t the most daunting thing in the room. It’s Obi-Wan.

He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing as you lay beneath him.

“Your thoughts betray you,” He observes, and you feel his invasive presence in your mind, sucking out the private thoughts coursing through your brain. They’re of panting breaths, heaving chests, wandering hands, and meshing tongues; passionate embraces, intimate attachments. Things no Jedi should fantasize about, not under the code. Things that should bring shame to you, and maybe they do, and maybe you like it.

“Your body betrays you,” You’re able to muster, swallowing the saliva pooling in your mouth as you glance pointedly at his bulge. It’s only grown since you’d last glanced at it; evidently your visions did something to him too.

He sees, or perhaps, feels what you see, freezes, then clicks his saber off. The blade retracts with a hiss and there is a distinct vacuum of sound where its humming once was. He breaks the unnerving silence with a clatter as he tosses it aside, feet still firmly planted on either side of your hips. 

“It’s natural.” He weakly supplies, a poor defense, “It’s adrenaline-fueled, nothing more.”

“Really? So when you duel sith lords, when you chop the heads off of battle droids, you walk away with a stiff dick?” You carefully observe his body language, feet poised like he might bolt if you make any sudden moves. He’s flighty, and you have to make your next moves carefully.”

“Y/N,” He begins, his voice weak, “I wish you wouldn’t use such foul language.”

“Is it the language that bothers you?” You push your elbows against the mat, hoisting yourself up at an obtuse angle to meet his eye better, “Or is it the truth it carries? Obi-Wan, you were right. It’s natural. And it is not something to be ashamed of.”

“It is against the Code,” He reasons, his voice still fighting to sound resolute. He offers no other reasoning, and you know it’s because he has none.

“It’s not.” You insist, “The Code is ancient and rigid. And celibacy is not required, only a level head.”

“That’s the problem,” He chuckles weakly, “I don’t have a level head when it comes to you, Y/N.”

“You seem as though you do.” You press cautiously, careful not to push your luck, “I’ve never felt anything unprofessional about your feelings towards me.”

“That’s because I haven’t been around you in a long time,” He admits, “Not consistently. I was better at controlling it- no, hiding it when we were Padawans. I had to do it every day, it was natural to me. But I am out of practice now, and I have been since you were stationed here. I barely have the ability to hide how I feel about you, Y/N. And- and it is not something the Council would approve of.”

You sit up now, fully straightened. You’re still between his legs, but you’d need to rise to your knees for your face to be level with his bulge. You plan to.

“The Council is not here. Nor can they see us, or hear us, or feel us. They will not know what we do, Obi-Wan.”

“I will know.” He breathes, his voice growing weaker each time he tries raising it against you, “Y/N, I will never forget a thing we do together on this base. If we… If you touch me, I will remember every brush of your skin against mine for eternity. If you- kiss me, I will never be able to put the thought of your lips on mine out of my head. And I would not know how to live without it for the rest of my life.”

Your heart sinks in your stomach like a stone in water. He’s loyal to the Order, he always has been. But you’d been so blinded by isolation, so convinced by your own delusions, that you’d assumed his loyalty to you would be stronger. But it’s not, and you can’t earnestly be angry with him for it.

You swallow what little saliva has accumulated around your tongue to give yourself something to do, then rise to your feet.

“It sounds like you should walk away.” You mutter regretfully. His eyes hold the same feelings, strikingly painful. He nods, almost imperceptibly, but before he can follow your orders, you continue.

“But will you forgive yourself if you do?”

You feel it, his swell of emotions. Every single one is unbridled, yearning, heartache, fondness, want; all of them unleashed from the man whose mind is usually a fortress. They’re washing over you like waves, invading your brain and turning your thoughts their colors. 

“No. I couldn’t,” He admits, “But-” and there’s always a but, “The Council would never forgive me if I didn’t.”

“They won’t know.” You insist, but it’s lost on him, “Obi-Wan, please make a decision. Who is more important, you or the Council?” Then in a more timid, soft voice, as his soft eyes bore into you and beg for mercy, you give him the opposite, “Who is more important… me or the Council?”

He kisses you. There is no warning, no shift in his Force signature, only his hands on your face and his lips on your own. There is strength in his touch, his hands firm where they pull your cheeks ever-so-slightly towards his face as if he’s trying to mash them into his own. His beard is rough and grating against your face, but it’s not unpleasant, especially when it brings with it his lips. His lips, which are much softer than you’d have imagined them, merely frame your own. The kiss is sweet but chaste, and the only indication you have that he wants more is the way that he holds you against him. Otherwise you’d mistake his courtesy for disinterest, and you tilt your head slightly sideways to encourage more enthusiasm from him.

When your lips reconnect he sighs, a breath from his nose that fans over your top lip. He’s letting you lead, letting you dictate whether you want to keep kissing him or whether you’ll suddenly switch positions; it’s like he’s afraid that you’ll rip off a mask and reveal yourself to be Master Windu, scolding him for his reckless passion. But of course you don’t, and you lick gently against the plush of his bottom lip instead.

He hums at the feeling of your tongue against his mouth, but he’s suddenly pushing against your cheeks instead of pulling.

“Are you absolutely sure,” He starts, but can’t seem to resist the temptation to steal another kiss from your spit-slicked lips, “That you- mm, that you want this? Because I cannot-” He breaks off with a weary, pleading, defeated look in his beautiful eyes, “I cannot turn back if we go further. If we proceed… I will not be able to forget what we do. If you’re not interested… please tell me now, so that I may save myself from loving you for an eternity that you do not wish to share with me.”

You scoff, moving in for another kiss at his lips. He doesn’t reciprocate, only pushing you back so that you can respond.

“I just spent five minutes,” You pant, desperate to reconnect your lips, “Bargaining with you to get you to forget about your nerves. And you don’t think I want this?”

You try surging forwards again but he holds you back, eyes still begging for your words.

“Please. I need to hear you say it.” He seems almost self-conscious, worried you’re not interested in him the same way he’s interested in you. But you have been since you can remember, and you’re more than willing to work around the unconventional aspects of your relationship if it means you can have him, even just for today.

“I want you,” You breathe, the exhale hitting his lips, “Please- Obi-Wan, I want you. I want you no matter what the Code says. No matter what the Council says; I want you.”

He looks like he could cry. He is devoted to the Order, far more than you have seen most Jedi, and to hear you choose him over the Code must mean a great deal. He pours passion into the kiss you share, chest filling with oxygen that he gulps just to be able to keep his mouth on yours for longer. He consumes you, fingers pulling at your cheeks and tugging you closer still, like he thinks you might fuse if he tries hard enough.

He groans into your mouth, his tongue more exploratory now that you’ve pledged your devotion to him. He’s not afraid of taking now, of getting his hopes up only to be thrown down, and he swipes the wet muscle in a hot stripe over your own tongue. He rolls it against your lower lip, so wonderful to kiss for someone with such lacking experience.

“No one is coming,” You breathe, exhaling against his mouth as your hands wander to his waistband, “No one- no one can see us.”

“I want you in your quarters.” He protests, grabbing your wrists when your hand sinks to his bulge and ghosts over it. He jolts at the unexpected contact, but holds you back, “I want to lay you down, Y/N, I want to indulge in every part of you. Worship you.”

“I will let you,” You moan, tilting your forehead against his and mouthing at his lips in a sloppy kiss, “You may have me any way you want, Obi-Wan. But here, I- I want to have you. I need to have you now,”

“Impatient,” He notes, sounding suspiciously close to lecturing you. But he lets your wrists go, and you sink to your knees instantly. He hears them hit the training mat, knows they must ache, but he can’t find any part of him available to worry about it, not now that your hands are prying greedily at the waistband of his trousers.

He’s a near stranger to physical pleasure, at least in recent years. He’s a grown man, he has urges, but he also has responsibilities, and the constant pressure of an ambitious (read: reckless) young Padawan under his supervision mixed with a quickly-rising rank within the Jedi Order leave him with little time nor interest to indulge in his barest desires. Your hand gently squeezing his clothed bulge as you wrestle with his pants nearly knocks him off of his feet, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to handle having your warm mouth envelop it.

Finally you tug loose the drawstring within his pants, and yank them down his thighs. They’re seldom bare, you see from the milky white tone of the skin there, but they are muscled and thick like he does not neglect them.

You can’t help yourself when you lean forwards, tongue already protruding from your mouth to lick a fat, wet stripe around one of his thighs. It’s sturdy beneath your tongue that dips into the crease between his skin and the parts of it that are covered by his briefs. His muscles tense like you’ve struck him with a fatal blow, and an open-mouthed groan escapes his lips.

His skin tastes of the sweat that’s currently moistening every inch of your bodies, salty and tantalizing. There’s no escaping it in the brutal heat, but it makes him all the more sexy, his skin glistening before you even get a chance to smear it in your saliva.

You’re guilty of impatience as he accuses, and you can’t resist mouthing at his covered bulge. He’s half-hard, but when your lips purse around the outline of his cock in his briefs he twitches, and you feel him stiffen against the restraints of his underwear on your tongue. 

His knees give out with no warning, and he barely has the foresight to grab desperately at a bench press behind him for stability. He falls quickly to its surface, perching on the edge of it while you desperately chase his cock. You fit your mouth again over his briefs and drool against the fabric, surely soaking it through with your saliva. His cock, though restrained, is heavy and thick on your tongue, making your mouth water and produce enough drool to soak through his entire ensemble. His hands clutch the bench beneath him with white knuckles, and he grits his teeth to stop himself from shouting as you suck at his clothed cock.

“Oh, Y/N,” He pants, voice strained as you get lost in your task and forget that you need to actually pull his briefs down. He reaches for your head, gently nudging you away with his knuckles against your temple.

“Darling, please, I can’t- I won’t last for very long. Please, have me properly.”

He grips at the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down hurriedly and letting his cock spring free. It’s of decent length, but slightly thicker than average, its base shrouded by a patch of curled hair at his groin. It’s a similar caramel color to the rest of his hair, and his sweat has accumulated particularly within its wiry constraints, leaving him musky. The smell might bother you if it were anyone else, if you were anywhere else, but here and now, on your knees for Obi-Wan in the training room, it’s the most disgustingly tantalizing thing you’ve ever smelled in your entire life.

That’s why you bury your face into it, the hair tickling at your skin. His hips jolt as you inhale deeply near the base of his cock, groaning and letting your tongue fall to drag against just the shaft of his erect dick. He’s painfully hard, embarrassingly seconds to orgasm, and your spit now glistening on his length doesn’t help. Or it helps too much; either way, he’s close to cumming and you haven’t even had a chance to put him in your mouth.

“Darling,” He begs, pushing at your forehead once more, speaking through an eternal shortage of breath, “Please, I- it all feels too good. I can’t take it. I won’t last long.”

“That’s okay,” You pant, your breath falling over his cock as it practically pulses with pleasure, “We’re here for a good time, not a long time.”

“Terrible,” He manages to chuckle weakly, but any further chiding he has planned for your cheekiness is cut short when he stops breathing. He actually forgets how when your wet mouth closes around the head of his cock, your tongue licking flat over its head and covering most of its surface area. It’s so much sensation so fast that Obi-Wan has to clench his hands around the bench not to cum right then and there, and he feels pinpricks of pain over his skin that he realizes are from his fingernails digging against his palms. When you draw your head back off of his cock with a slick sound, then move in again to take more of his length into your mouth, his lungs suddenly remember their function, and heave within his chest.

His groans are filthy and they only pool more slick wetness between your thighs as you kneel for him. You don’t care about the ache in your knees, nor the pain in your neck from the slightly awkward angle you’re indulging in him at. All that matters is his cock, heavy and thick on your tongue, sweat and precum alike flooding your taste buds. 

His restraint is put to the test. He’s a member of the Jedi Council, for Force’s sake, and he should have a little more control over himself than this. But it takes almost all of his energy not to buck his hips forwards and plunge the length of his cock down your throat, and it means that he’s not able to devote as much restraint to delaying his orgasm as he’d like.

He’s twitching in your mouth, and even with your faded Force abilities, mental muscles weakened by disuse, you can feel the tension coursing through his veins, hot and wild. You don’t need to look at his strained, white-knuckled grip on the edge of the bench to know that he’s devoting all of his energy to restraining himself, and you take pride in being able to undo Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi with merely your mouth. You indulge in his painful hardness, tongue smoothly caressing the underside of his length as you bob your head back and forth around him. Each time you draw back you flick your tongue up and over the ruddy, leaking head of his cock, something that makes that fiery tension in his body glow even hotter.

“I’m going to-” He warns you, voice petering out weakly as he tries controlling himself, “I can’t- I can’t help it, I’m going to cum.”

“Cum,” You speak in unison, your word coming out muffled as you speak it against his cock. You smooth your hands up his thighs, feeling his muscles impossibly tight beneath your fingers. You stroke them soothingly, encouraging him to unclench his jaw that’s wired so tightly that you’re sure his teeth are on the verge of cracking, “Cum, Obi-Wan, please.”

Even if you hadn’t asked him so kindly, he’s sure he wouldn’t have been able to withhold any longer. Not with your pretty eyes gazing up at him from between his legs, lashes latticing the tender emotions swirling in your gaze. Your fingers slide calmly, sweetly over the expanse of his thighs, and the mere thought of you digging your nails harshly into them and leaving marks is what elicits the final twitch of his dick on your tongue.

Evidently, you’re more in tune with his thoughts than he’d expected. You’d caught the quick image that had flashed through his mind, now completely unguarded to you, and you curl your fingers quicker than he can comprehend, carving searing marks into his thighs that will show up red for at least a week. Paired with the movement of your fingers, you suck hard at his cock, plunging your face forwards to nestle against the base once more. His tip hits the back of your throat with force and it makes you gag, and Obi-Wan isn’t sure what sensation is more overwhelming: the vivid burning at his thighs, the way the tip of his dick nestles so securely into the warm, wet sleeve of your throat, or the way that you’re breathing in his sweat-marred scent like it’s the purest oxygen you’ve ever had in your lungs. All he knows is that together, they’re his undoing, and he lets out a rugged cry; he can’t control himself any longer when pleasure roars through him with a fury he’s almost frightened of. 

He’s always calm, collected, in control. But now he’s grabbing your face with shaking hands as he pumps warm spurts of cum down your throat, holding your jaw steady so that you can’t back away, not that you want to. He holds you in place while his thighs begin to tremble, your tongue continuously smoothing over the underside of his cock while it twitches in your mouth. He keeps himself fully nestled into the back of your throat while he cums, and if he had energy to be embarrassed about cumming as much as he was, he’d be apologizing. But he can’t, not when you’re swallowing him so eagerly, throat convulsing around the head of his cock and only milking more out of him. There’s obscene groans coming from his mouth, the kind that bring heat to your own core, and you think you could get off to the sound a thousand times over if you recorded him now. They’re deep, throaty, and desperate as he holds your face around his cock, gagging you on his dick as his orgasm takes control of him.

A part of your training that hasn’t left you yet was your extensive disaster training, in which you were taught how to extend the time for which you could hold your breath. That comes in especially handy when Obi-Wan’s hands cradle your jaw, keeping you snugly choking around his dick. You have to fight not to draw back at the strange sensation of your throat being plugged while his cum splatters against the back of it,, and you use all of your strength to keep yourself from panicking at the lack of airflow. You’re only slightly ashamed to admit that you’d willingly die like this, a fucktoy for his cock.

Once his orgasm has worked its way through him he seems to remember you can’t breathe, all of the tension having leaked out of his muscles. He inhales with a start, pushing against your cheeks and tugging his cock out of your mouth, “Oh, Y/N, darling- Y/N, are you-?” 

At the sight of your spit-soaked lips, tongue desperately running over them to collect any of the sweat that had accumulated there from being pressed against his pelvis, he lunges forwards to meet his lips with your own. He can taste the slight savory hint of his own release, your tongues meshing wetly and messily. He’s hunching now, even though you’ve straightened up on your knees, and he feels you clumsily palm at his dick, tucking him back away into his briefs. It makes his lips go slack with a gasp even though he’s just finished, and he’s more than eager to take you by the wrists and help you to your feet. You toss his undershirt at him with careless speed, and he nearly gets lost in its beige expanse from the way that his arms shake as he pulls it over his head.

“My quarters,” Your voice is thick and ragged, still recovering from your prior lack of oxygen, “We can- it’s soundproof, no one will know.”

“Yes,” He breathes, legs shaking slightly as he gathers the rest of the clothes he’d shed while sparring with you, “Um- we can... Anakin still hasn’t gotten the air conditioning running.”

“Uh-uh,” You shake your head, feeling nothing from the vent to your left, “Hurry, let’s go before-”

“General,” The door slides open, and you both startle, much less in tune with the force presences of those around you than you’d like to admit. One of your troopers sticks his head through the door, “The kid needs a multitool.”

You blink once, registering a slight soreness at the back of your throat, “Get him a multitool, then.”

You’re sure he can see your haggard appearance, and all apart from the glossy look of your lips looks like you’ve been sparring. Which you have, technically. You just hope Obi-Wan’s trousers don’t look like they’ve only just been hitched up around his waist again, or his shirt barely pulled down over his chest.

“I lost mine, general,” The trooper admits sheepishly. There was an abundance of the supplies that were offered to you before you’d been shipped out to this battle station, and more had been stocked for a long time in one of the supply closets, but your troopers are bored more often than not, and you shudder to think of all of the times they’ve used them as target practice by standing them on the balcony and opening fire. Apparently, you need to request some more from the next inspection team, as well as impress upon your troops the difference between an abundance of resources and useless clutter begging for a blaster wound.

“I have one in my quarters,” You sigh wearily, “Let’s see to it that we don’t misuse our equipment anymore, soldier.”

“Yes, General,” He nods vigorously, stepping out of your way to offer you the open door.

“Obi-Wan,” You turn apologetically, “We’ll have to continue our sparring match after I retrieve the multitool for your padawan. You’re welcome to follow us, though I’m not sure it’s any cooler out there than it is in here.”

“I’d like to stash my clothes somewhere, if you don’t mind,” Obi-Wan holds up the outer garments he’d shed, “I think it gives you somewhat of an unfair advantage if I’m liable to trip over my own tunics.”

You grant him a good-natured laugh as you pass your trooper in the doorway, and all in all, you think that the two of you have done a fantastic job at pretending his dick wasn’t in your mouth only minutes ago.

Your trooper makes the wise decision to stand outside of your quarters when you enter them, although any initial disappointment you’d felt at his poorly-timed request has well worn off by now. That’s all he’s guilty of, anyways; you find their antics amusing despite their destructive nature. It’s not his fault that you’re canoodling with the Jedi master, so you forgive him his abhorrent timing. You beeline for a locker in your closet, punching in the numeric code and letting the squeaky hinges reveal your small weapons store. It’s a multipurpose space, blasters on a rack that’s affixed to the back, a mount for your saber, and a drawer of various other mechanical supplies down below. You throw it open, and Obi-Wan watches you dig for the multitool where he stands by your bed, his tunics laid on your bedspread.

You realize all too late that one of your other mechanical supplies is in full view of the Jedi master standing behind you, black in color for subtlety but unmistakable in shape. It’s phallic and has a second prong that shoots off of the base to vibrate against your clit, something you only use when you're absolutely certain no one can hear. Besides, the sound could very well be mistaken for one of your troopers shaving their scruff, so you have ample opportunity. You snatch the multitool out of the drawer and slam it shut, making your trooper’s shoulders twitch in a quickly concealed wince. You’re thankful that only Obi-Wan was a temporary witness to your lack of organizational skills.

“Here,” You rush to hand it off, forcefully locking the cabinet and thrusting the tool towards the trooper, “Take it- uh, keep it, I’ll put in a request for more supplies tonight.”

“Thanks, General,” He nods warily at you, and you pity the way he’s taken your context clues and misarranged them to view your behavior as standoffish and exasperated with him, “My apologies again.”

“No worries,” You try not to snap at him, unnerved by the abnormal lack of mental pressure from Obi-Wan behind you. He used to tease you abundantly in your youth, prying at your mental shields and slipping snide remarks through the cracks while you fought to keep a straight face, but now that he’s laid his eyes on possibly the most embarrassing item you own, he’s completely still, completely silent.

“Goodbye.” You shut the door with a hydraulic hiss, and stand facing it until Obi-Wan speaks, pretending to fuss with the control panel.

“It seems you overlooked another multitool in that drawer,” His voice finally reaches over the silence, carefully bundled so that the underlying mirth is something you can only guess at, “Now I wonder if your battalion is really the cause of your foul mouth.”

“Shut up!” You whirl on him with cheeks blazing on opposite sides of your face like Tatooine’s twin suns, “Don’t tease me-”

“I’m not teasing you!” He insists, voice sounding aghast, like it’s out of the question, like he’s offended by the accusation, taking your arms into his grip when you look like you might shove him. His face is split into a smile - not a grin, which is reassuring - but a warm smile, even if there is amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“Yes you are,” You scoff, and you have half a mind to pull away when one of his hands releases your arm and anchors itself against your face instead. It’s warm, rough from wear but impossibly gentle. You fight leaning into it for as long as you can, pride still bruised, but he leans in to press his lips against your forehead in a chaste kiss. 

Typical.

You’d gagged on his dick ten minutes ago, and he’s kissing your forehead.

“Darling,” He hums sympathetically, tucking your face against his chest so snugly that you think it was engineered for the curves and bumps of your skin. You relish the hug he traps you in, the tender hold even though you’re interested in something more carnal, feral, hungry. His voice is strong and soothing as he speaks, and the vibrations thrum through his chest and against your face “You had my cock in your mouth not ten minutes ago. I’m not going to make fun of you for having a toy.”

Oh. Perhaps he hadn’t forgotten.

“Such a foul mouth,” You admonish him, tucking your grin away between the haphazardly-righted folds of his tabard. 

He pinches at your side, fingers greedily prying at the soft flesh of your belly through layers of clothing you wish weren’t between your skin and his, “Yes, well, it’s because I’ve had yours all over me.”

His hand, similarly bold to his mouth, flattens out along the curve of your side, tucking into the space above your hip bones. The other stays in place against your cheek, finger running idly across the underside of your jawline. You don’t know whether the shiver that shudders down your spine is due to the ticklish nature of his touch, or the sensual area he’s chosen, but he feels your spine thrum, and he presses further into you like it was an invitation.

“Darling,” He starts, back to that well-practiced hesitancy, “If you still want to…”

“I do,” You nod, feeling sweat drip down the back of your neck and soak into the fabric of your tank top, “Do you think we have time?”

“Anakin can occupy himself with scrap metal and multitools for hours,” Obi-Wan recollects with a smile on his face that isn’t committed to fondness or resignation. You’re sure he’s proud of his padawan’s abilities, but not of the havoc he wreaks with them.

“Hmm, that might be cutting it close,” You pretend to debate it, gnawing at the inside of your cheek, and he lets out a laugh as warm as the runoff heat from his saber with none of the bite of its blade.

“You’d occupy yourself with me for hours?” He teases, but when you nod, it’s earnest.

“I’d occupy myself with you for the rest of my life, Obi-Wan.”

The breath that he draws in when you begin speaking is the last one he draws for a while. Instead he holds it there, letting it burn and sear at his lungs while he wonders if any words he could produce with it would contain even a fraction of the yearning he feels roll over him in a nauseating wave. Very little has ever made him want the life of a civilian - his home is between the opulent walls of the Jedi temple, but any walls he shared with you would be infinitely more grandiose if only for your place within them.

“Had you said the word,” He elects to speak the truth, even if it isn’t even a chip away at the trove of feelings he keeps locked tightly away in his mind for you, “I would have left the Jedi Order.”

Would have.

You know why he won’t now, and you’re not upset with him for the reasons. You understand them, even if you don’t relate to them.

“But Anakin…”

“I know,” You nod against his chest, fingers taking hold of his undershirt’s fabric edge and fastening there, “You made a promise to your master. And to him. And he needs your help. I wouldn’t ask you to leave.”

“Would you have? When we were younger,” He idly strokes down the length of your spine, arm wrapping comfortably around your waist.

“Maybe…” You admit, “Maybe if I’d known your trip to Naboo would bring about such change. Maybe if I’d known I only had a few years left with you as we were. But I didn’t. So I never asked. And I never will.”

He doesn’t react verbally or physically after your confession, but the silence that ensues isn’t an awkward one. Instead, he maintains his hold on you, and you feel a gentle wave of affection flow from him through the Force. Affection, appreciation, love, which you feel so broadly through the Force, but rarely so devoted to you yourself rather than the galaxy in its entirety. You’re no stranger to the feeling, but it’s different channeled privately between two people than it is as a way of life.

“Let us pretend,” Obi-Wan finally musters, his voice thicker than usual, though if you were not so in tune with him you wouldn’t have perceived it, “For the next few fleeting moments, that we are still young. That we don’t have responsibilities other than those to ourselves, and to each other.”

Though your youth may have escaped you, your mind weary with resignation and Obi-Wan’s eyes darkened with the perpetual exhaustion of adulthood, his touch does not feel tired or incapable. It feels strong, firm, and mindful where it slips from your chin to your waist. His other hand sandwiches you between them, and you’re tilting your chin up to kiss him before he gives any indication that he’ll do the same. But he does, his boldness almost reset from the interruption you’d suffered. Like you need to coax him out of his shell again, like he’s worried you’ve somehow changed your mind.

You take the back of his neck in your hand, finding it slick and tacky with sour-smelling sweat, and pull him down so that his lips smash messily to your own. It’s a move he’s not expecting, and a startled groan escapes his lips as proof. You drink it, sucking it down your throat and pulling him towards the bed with the same backwards momentum. He’s nimble even if he’s unprepared, probably to do with his extensive agility training. You’re more than ready to fall back onto your bed when your calves butt against the frame but he lowers you down gently, with ease, drawing back from your kiss despite your fervent protests to watch you look up at him.

“Obi-Wan,” You beg, your voice weary, “Why are you hesitating?”

“I’m not hesitating,” He answers, and you feel it to be truthful, “I’m admiring you, darling. I’m not unsure, I’m more sure than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Prove it,” You plead, already pulling at the hem of your tank top. You peel its sweat-soaked binding off of your skin, showcasing the equally stained garment beneath it that keeps your chest closer to your neck than your stomach, “Please, Obi-Wan, take me like you want me. Not like you feel bad for having me.”

“I do not feel bad for having you,” He promises, mouth barely parting from yours to utter the words. His lips are pink-tinted, glistening with spit, probably a mixture of his and yours. He pants slightly, cheeks similarly ruddy, “Perhaps later I will. When I stand in front of the Council and tell them we conducted routine maintenance. When I lie, when I guard my memories of you from them. But I’m not occupied with that now, darling. Only with you, I swear it.”

“Oh, well, that’s good to know,” You hum, kissing an inch lower than his mouth, the apex of his chin that’s marred by the scruff of his beard. It’s prickly and rough beneath your lips, and when you draw back they glisten with transferred sweat, “I’m glad you’re not thinking of Master Yoda while dipping a knee between my thighs.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan ducks his head, advances on pause as he plants his forehead against your shoulder, “That’s awful. Really, truly vile.”

You laugh, and despite his disgusted bravado, so does he. His chest shakes against yours and you relish the sound, hand still planted firmly on the back of his neck. You briefly consider breaking out your rusty Yoda impression, ‘kiss me, you must’, but decide against it, instead choosing to press his head closer to your torso, letting his forehead lay flush and sweaty against your shoulder. It puts the scruff of his beard on the curve of your tits, and you feel it burn your skin as he kisses along it lightly. 

His mouth is soft, and his beard is its abrasive opposite. They trail in tandem along the slope of your breasts, first the soft lips and then the burn of the beard, until he’s lit a fiery trail across your skin to the padded edge of your bra. When his lips meet fabric instead of skin he noses beneath it, surely smelling a morning’s worth of sweat accumulated beneath the weight of your chest. You’re self conscious, for only a flash, then he takes a deep drag of air, inhaling until his chest seems fit to burst.

“I’m sorry,” You find yourself humming, regardless of his clear interest, “I wish a shower would help. Even the cold water doesn’t prevent sweating.”

“I don’t want you to shower,” He muses, pushing his face between your breasts to kiss at the skin between them. He mouths gently, tongue sliding over your skin with little form and too much spit that blends well with your sweat, “Sex is not sterile, darling. Soap and water defeat the purpose.”

You’re not sure whether it’s his insistence on the natural state of your body or the way that his knee gently prods against your center, but whatever it is, your fingers itch and you fling them up to cup the underside of your chest.

“Take it off,” You beg, and Obi-Wan shows no hesitation in complying, his hands sliding beneath your back, rough and weathered from work. They’re gentle as they slide over the clasp of your bra, and you push yourself up onto your elbows on the mattress so that he can maneuver the stretchy fabric easier.

“Does it hook or button?” He nudges his nose against yours to ask, and your stomach flops at the question. Both the fact that he doesn’t have enough experience to know, and the way that he feels comfortable enough admitting that to you by asking so earnestly only make you want him more, and you’re barely able to mumble ‘clasp’ before pressing your lips to his own once more.

“Three,” You add later, against his lips, when he unhooks one and still doesn’t have the garment undone, “There’s three.”

He takes your orders with unfailing patience, a trait you’d admired even in your youth. While you’d been more prone to hotheaded outbursts, he’d take you by the arm and speak for the both of you, usually resulting in far less severe of a punishment than you’d have gotten if you’d spoken your mind. Then the two of you would share sneaky, fleeting glances at each other while scrubbing the floors of the refectory, trying not to laugh loud enough for the Knight unwillingly supervising your punishment to hear.

You’re pulled out of your reverie when he finally unhooks the garment and slips it off of your shoulders, meaning you have to draw back from where you’d tucked your face over his shoulder, giving him a view of his work. As your faces pass each other he offers you the same grin he’d worn all those years ago, his pretty eyes alight with the love you feel seeping from his fingertips. You see a glimpse of the boy he was through the man he’s become, and both are equally endearing to you. The first, because you’d grown with him, like ferns tangled together in sticky, clinging tendrils. The second, because he wears his accomplishments on his face, crows feet at the corners of his eyes from laughing at his padawan’s wayward antics, and frown lines for scowling at the same incidences only moments prior. He’d laughed at you in your youth, and frowned just the same at your more uncouth ideas for adventure, and now those expressions are etched into his face, like layers of makeup no longer dissolvable with remover. He’ll wear them forever, and you want to see him display them even in his old age.

He watches the way that your body moves when he peels the sweat-soaked garment away from your chest. He watches your breasts succumb to gravity’s harsh pull, sloping sideways and downwards rather than maintaining their tight compress towards your chin. He watches them sag, watches them fall to their natural state and declares, “You’re beautiful, darling.”

He takes them in his hands, their mass in his palms as he rolls his thumb over the skin of your nipples. They’d usually pebble in the cold but now they’re pulling taut beneath his touch, and when he brushes his thumb over their peak you stifle a gasp.

“Beautiful,” He repeats, and leans down to meet one with his mouth. He gravitates towards the right one first, and the embrace of his hot mouth against your skin tempts your back to arch. His tongue presses flat against your nipple, then drags up its surface, and his lips kiss over the stripe of saliva he’d left behind.

His beard rubs against your skin and it’s not rawing, not yet, but you know it will be the more he mouths at your breast. He’s licking, sucking, pulling, but never biting, teeth merely grazing your flesh rather than indulging in it. His tongue does that instead, flattening out over your raised flesh and dragging hot, wet stripes over the bud of your perked nipple.

“Obi- Obi-Wan,” You gasp, dragging desperate, heaving breaths into your lungs as your hands fly to his lengthened hair. You’d ruffled it many times when it was short and spiked, but now you’re able to get purchase in the strawberry-blonde locks, curling your fingers around the soft, sweat-darkened strands and pulling. 

You don’t pull hard, but it’s unexpected, and you feel the momentary pinch of Obi-Wan’s teeth around your breast. It floods heat to your already-pulsing core more than you’d have thought possible, considering the sweltering temperatures you’ve been in the whole time, but the soft groan that then ripples through your skin from the depths of his throat only makes you more desperate. All of a sudden the long-suffering heat is tepid by comparison, and you yank at the material of his undershirt so hard you nearly rip the fabric.

“Off,” You pant, “Please, take it- get it off, Obi-Wan.”

In a fluid, crouched movement Obi-Wan tears his undershirt off with one hand at its hem, his muscles flexing as he swings the arm up and over his head. He discards the shirt carelessly beneath him and it droops to the floor, no longer covering the bare skin of his chest that you’d admired earlier.

You have half a mind to do to him what he’s been doing to you, to sink your teeth into the flesh of his chest and suckle on his sweat-soaked skin. But he dips his face back to mouth at your tit once more, so you settle for running your hands greedily, desperately over the layer of soft skin that blocks his muscled chest from view. When he was younger, what seems like an eternity but must only be five years, his build was more defined. You’d gotten plenty of eyefuls of his bare, heaving chest during a particularly intense sparring match, or down by one of the large pools that were definitely supposed to be used more for reflection and tranquility rather than the chaos you’d wreaked upon them. But years of planning someone else’s schedule before his own has meant that he’s softened out around the middle, muscles still prominent when you dig your fingers into his skin, just not starkly visible anymore.

Age does that to a person; pushes them harder than ever before to achieve a less-defined result than they’re used to, but you find that you want to grind down onto the thin layer of pudge he’s accumulated just as much as you’d have wanted to drag yourself over his defined abs. The thought of doing both, either, anything makes you dizzy with desire that you express by scratching your sharpened nails down his skin, feeling his muscles shudder beneath your fingers.

“Darling,” He groans, choking on the word like it’s gagged him, “I- I think we ought to- are you ready?”

You marvel at his sincerity, at the idea that he’s not aware of the throbbing, slick mess that your core has become. You’d been ready twenty minutes ago, sprawled out on the floor beneath him, and you’ve only gotten more eager since then. His concern makes you want him more, and you use your grip on his soft hair to tug him upwards to meet your lips in a kiss. 

“I’m ready,” You breathe, laying the words out in a hazy moan over his tongue, “I’m ready, Obi-Wan, please- please take me.”

A groan melts from his mouth like molten butter, dripping over your tongue and down your throat. He pants, lets you suck his tongue into your mouth in a long, eager drag, then mumbles clumsily, “I want you. I want- I want to have you, darling, I want to take you.” His hips roll experimentally against your own, the tight pressure of his clothed cock digging into your panties as he nearly loses the function in the muscles that are holding him up above you.

He lets out another moan as you drag your hips up to meet his premature thrusts, and this time it’s a weaker sound, more strangled and mottled. It’s satisfying, knowing that you’ve reduced the ever-stoic, prized Jedi negotiator Obi-Wan Kenobi to a heaving mass of sweat and desire. His undershorts are rucked up around his meaty thighs, but he hasn’t yanked them off to free his stiff cock yet, so for a moment, all you do is grind against each other. 

The layers of clothing between you, one covering you and two covering him, provide frustrating boundaries but much-needed friction, and the scrape of his rough undershorts dragging against your thin panties makes your fingers curl into his back once more. You suspect that when he wakes tomorrow, your marks will still be there, and you take pride in knowing that he’ll have a very hard time forgetting you.

“Obi-” You really do intend to say his full name, but your breath leaves your lungs too quickly for it, and you revert back to the nickname he’d loathed as a teenager. Too juvenile, he’d protested greatly at the clipped diminutive, but he leans into it now. He licks the word right off of your tongue, his own plunging past your lips and dragging over your teeth in a messy, imprecise fashion. You get the sense that this is not about sex to him, it’s not about mechanics or equations or the perfect formula. It’s about you, and him, and you and him together. He doesn’t kiss you like a storybook prince because he kisses you like Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan wants to lick the spit out of your mouth and suck on your tongue. Obi-Wan wants to feel, not think, for once in his life, so he does.

“Obi-” You falter again, hands traveling from his muscled back to his hips. Your fingers dip beneath the waistband of his undershorts, then his briefs where they lay against the same stretch of skin, “Off. Off, please- Obi-Wan, off, take ‘em- off.”

He grunts his approval into your mouth, obscene squelching sounds coming from where his spit pools between your teeth and your tongue. He reaches down with a blind, clumsy hand to tug at his waistband, but when it doesn’t provide immediate results, he finds himself getting frustrated. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, not the frustration itself but his inability to control it, and he feels his brow crease in irritation as he reluctantly parts from your mouth to focus on the task at hand. All he needs is a little extra leverage to slide his shorts off of his waist, briefs bunched together, and as soon as they’re out of his way he’s reaching for your own underwear.

You crane your neck downwards to watch him, and the glimmering mess of saliva in your mouth practically doubles in volume at the sight of his red-tipped, rock-hard cock. It’s curved slightly up towards his stomach in its desperation, and there’s precum oozing from its tip, foaming and all too appealing. You want to suck him off again, to really choke yourself on it this time and never draw back for air, but there’s no time when he tugs swiftly at the elastic band of your panties, tearing them easily away from you. They drag beneath your thighs but he merely pulls harder, until they spring free and bunch up around your knees.

“Up,” Obi-Wan taps at your left thigh, and you struggle to bend your knees amidst their relentless trembling. He helps you, strength having stuck with him even when composure has abandoned its post. You get your left thigh up first, exposing your glistening cunt, smeared sticky with your own slick. His breath catches, you feel it stutter to a stop in his chest that you’re groping, and his eyes glimmer in the warm lights above you.

“Darling,” He breathes, taken by the mess of your drooling cunt. He reaches out, touches it carefully, with only the pad of his pointer finger. He ghosts it along the side of your slit, and even the infuriatingly chaste touch is ultra erotic. At the way you writhe beneath a single one of his fingers he brings his thumb up to stroke down your slit, catching wetness on his thumb that his mouth opens to accommodate.

He sucks your release clean off of his thumb, you’re almost certain he scrapes his teeth along his skin just to get it all. 

He leans into his own thumb, chases after it like he’s not the one taking it out of his mouth. He hesitates no further in clamoring backwards on the mattress until his knees hit the floor below, and he thanks the Force that the beds you were given are low enough for him to lean over the edge and bury his face in your cunt.

“Obi-Wan, no!” You plead, fingers tangling in his pretty blonde hair, “You’ll- you said- don’t cum yet, please, I- I want it in me!”

“I will cum in you,” He pledges, voice deep and determined as he nudges his nose against your wet cunt, “My darling, I’ll do whatever you ask. But I need you here, now. Please,” He breathes, his exhale shaky and warm as it heats your cunt, “Please, Darling, I want you here.”

“Have me,” You whimper, squirming your hips from side to side to propel yourself down the mattress. Your cunt bumps messily against his face that he doesn’t bother moving, and you buck your hips once, twice against his nose, riding his face, “Please, have me, Obi-Wan, you can have me.”

Your consent is all it takes. His mouth is open and his tongue is out the second you say the word, licking wet, tantalizingly slow stripes up your slit. He doesn’t breach it, doesn’t delve his tongue into your entrance, he laps at the slick smeared on the outside, as well as the wetness that has thoroughly soaked your thighs. Your skin is tacky with it even when he’s replaced it with his spit, and your cunt throbs at the meticulous approach he’s taken to appreciating every drop you give him. 

It’s too meticulous. 

After another slow, careful, nearly chaste lave of his tongue over the crease between your thigh and your cunt, probably just as soaked with sweat as it is with slick, you retighten your now-loose grip in his hair. You’d let go of the strands when he’d given you what you wanted, but now you want more, and you lead him straight to your core where he’d been lapping at your thighs instead.

“Here,” You beg, pulling his face against your drooling cunt until you’re certain he’s unable to breathe. You feel his nose breach your slit, nudged into your cunt by your insistent tugging on his hair.

“I need you here, inside, please.” You beg, pussy aching with abandon. His slow, careful ministrations had driven you mad, and now you are teetering on the edge of insanity as you nearly howl, “Please!”

His response is white-hot and wet. His tongue prods gently from between his lips as his jaw widens, and he watches your reaction as he fills your cunt with his slick tongue. A gush of your own wetness greets him, and as insistent as he is at meeting your eyes, his own flutter shut at the taste.

“Force,” He breathes, and the exclamation is uncommon from him. The muffled, garbled word sends vibrations straight into your cunt, and after the initial shock of his tongue inside of you, you feel his beard.

It scrapes abrasively against the sensitive, licked-over skin of your inner thighs, and prickles deliciously at the base of your leaking cunt. You feel sharp hairs prod at the curve of your ass, and his mouth moves fluidly, tongue wriggling with surprising prowess through the mess of slick you’ve accumulated in your cunt. It slides wetly along your inner walls that have made way for his tongue, and that will stretch eagerly to accommodate his cock. 

His cock, oh, you’d forgotten the thick weight on your tongue, and your jaw aches with the ghost of it. Your cunt aches, too, and when his nose softly bumps your clit you gasp as your hips jolt upwards. He catches your thighs with Jedi agility, his muscles not straining at all to hold you to the mattress. The casual, easy display of strength makes your thighs quiver, and something inside of you tighten like a knot.

He licks you out like he’s drinking ambrosia, the glistening substance smeared over his face and starting up the bridge of his nose. The noises that he makes are hungry and wild as he licks more, sucks more, takes more. He’d moderated himself at first, lapped the sticky spillings of your wet cunt like he was rationing a meal. Now he feasts, tongue losing focus from inside your pussy and rapidly licking over your clit. His lips suction on and his beard burns tantalizingly at your sloppy cunt. You feel stimulation everywhere, the knot below your belly tightening ever-stronger until you feel the beginnings of a fray. It’s a step you take, an incline that you scramble up, and each pedestal you achieve gives way to a higher one. You let yourself climb, climb, climb, against every pulse of his suctioned lips around your sensitive bundle of nerves, and you breach the clouds as Obi-Wan broadens his sucking mouth to half-latch to your clit, his tongue delving back into your drooling cunt. You leap for the final pedestal and a surge of pleasure hits you, soaking wet like a wave that you ride back down to the surface. 

You tremble, you whimper, you love. Your thighs shake, the muscles in your stomach stuttering as your hips jolt and jerk. Your mouth produces such feeble sounds, whines and moans and ‘Oh, please, yes’s, and ‘Obi-Wan- kriff!’s. Your fingers in his hair latch tight but cling gentle, holding him to you as you lose control of yourself in the Force. All of the love, all of the passion, all of the attachment, all of the terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad-un-Jedi-like things that you’re not supposed to feel surge through the Force and hit Obi-Wan like Coruscant’s train, knocking the wind out of him, though he never stops sucking at you.

Obi-Wan licks you through your orgasm, tongue pressing tight and hot and wet to the quiver of your cunt, letting it spasm against his mouth. He sucks up every last drop of slick that you’ll give him, greedily mouthing at your cunt long after it’s begun stinging from oversensitivity. You want his mouth off, and his cock in, although that first part sounds like a heinous thing to wish for. His tongue is perfection, slippery and knowing you well enough to hit just the right spots even though it’s never had you before. You only push his mouth away to beg for his cock, but you’re tempted to let him white out your vision and lick at you until he passes out.

“Obi-!” You gasp, pushing instead of pulling at his golden hair, “Obi-Wan, no- no more! Here, up- here, please, and I want you inside of me.”

He lets you unlatch him from your pulsing cunt, rife with the sting of stimulation. You need only a matter of seconds to come down from your high, but they’re seconds you can’t afford to spend on Obi-Wan’s tongue, or the clock won’t ever start. He licks at a smear of slick over your thigh that he’d missed earlier, and his brain seems to register your begging.

“Alright, darling,” He pants, out of breath from the way he’d spent it all in your cunt. His voice is ragged, drowned in slick and thick with want.

He clamors back onto the mattress, all humbly-forged muscles and greed. He hovers over you, and dips down to claim your mouth the way he had your cunt: with broad, sweeping swipes of his tongue. He licks your slick across your tongue, letting you taste yourself on him.

“I’m here,” He soothes, his voice a notch deeper than usual and his words malformed due to the open ring of his mouth. He licks against your tongue once more, sloppy and hot, as his hips grind down against your thigh. He knows you need time but he doesn’t have long, and he grinds against your hip until you’re ready. You feel his stiff cock digging into your flesh, and it sends pulses of energy to your recovering cunt that make it beg to be filled. He’s not composed the way that he normally is, but he’s managing to hold himself together through grunts and groans into your mouth. If you don’t act fast, he’s going to splatter your stomach with cum, which wouldn’t be distasteful by any means, but you’d rather him paint your insides with it.

“You are intoxicating,” Obi-Wan proclaims, speaking directly into your mouth, an addict that can’t wean off of his drug, “I don’t know how I am supposed to pretend like this never happened.”

“Don’t,” You beg breathlessly, “Don’t forget me. Keep quiet around others, and- and when you are alone,” You reach down to take his cock into your hands, heavy and thick and waiting, “When you lay in bed at night, when you touch yourself-” He lets out something teetering on the edge of a whimper as you stroke your hand along his flushed length, an angry red coloring the tip that exposes how much self-control he’s composing, “-touch yourself, and- and think of me. Think of my hands, of my mouth, of my cunt. Think of me, Obi-Wan.”

“I will,” He vows, his voice holding like a frayed rope with one thread remaining, strained and pulling and clinging together, “Please let me have you. Please,” He braces his forehead against yours, his cock throbbing in your palm, “Please darling, let me in. I want to be inside of you, I want to have you, please.”

You’ve never seen him babble before. Not when he’d been seven years old, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked, caught with a stray tooka cat in his robes halfway back to the creche. Not when he’d been fifteen and a warrior, his side split open in a gory mess of blood and flesh and lymph and bone. Not at his old master’s funeral, the light from the pyre’s flames dancing upon his stoic features. Obi-Wan Kenobi is a master at composure, but he is breathless now, sacrificing it to the dewy-warm crease where your neck meets your shoulder, and sucking up your sweat-salty scent in return.

You place your free hand on his back, sticky and flushed beneath your touch, and use it to help guide him into you. Your other hand, still wrapped around his cock, lines it up with your entrance and he needs little coaxing from there. He pushes himself into you slowly, courteously, but loses himself to some deep, primal urge that he’s buried beneath layers of meditation and balance. 

He comes undone.

His muscles surge and his hips buck in what begins as a steady pace, but transforms into a wild rhythm that pins you against the mattress. He lets out a groan into the sweaty juncture of your neck, something that sounds like it could be from a beast and not a man. You feel the scrape of his beard against the seldom-touched skin there and you’re sure it’s growing raw, but you couldn’t care less. He’s not holding your hips up - his hands are plastered to your side and holding you there with a force carefully and pointedly short of bruising - but you angle your pelvis up anyway, allowing him to hit that much deeper inside of you. The tip of his cock never hurts where it connects briefly each thrust with your cervix, but you feel it intimately, every vein and ridge and curve that his body has to offer. 

You’re grateful for the sound-proof walls of the military compound because you realize after a moment that you’re making noise just the same as he is. It’s softer, quieter, but it’s there, the underlying harmony to his leading grunts and groans. 

All the while he is soft and gentle, because what he wants is not sex, it is you. Perhaps if he were a lesser man, he’d squeeze you, or bend you, or break you, all to take you the way he wants. But it is the soul inside of you that he’s after, and he takes great care with the vessel it’s enclosed in. He holds you, but he does not squeeze you. He kisses you, but he does not bite you. He moves with you, not against you. Your hips surge upwards to meet the thrusts of his cock and he latches his mouth to yours desperately, pleadingly. Your breathing is short and staccato through your nose, fanning against his top lip as he mashes it messily to your own, and you’re much easier to bring to a climax the second time around, sensitivity still roiling in your blood from your previous orgasm.

“Obi-Wan,” You beg, the words spilling languidly into his mouth, as you move in tandem, in, out, in, out, forwards, backwards, everything, nothing.

“Obi- I’m gonna- ooh, I’m gonna cum,” You cry, overwhelmed by the consistent drag of his cock against the walls of your soaked cunt. You’re slick again, gushing enough to replenish however much Obi-Wan had licked out of you. It squelches as he drives his dick into your pussy, foamy from the repetitive motions that are only creating it at faster intervals.

“Please- please do,” He moans, his dick twitching inside of you, “Force, I- ah, there’s nothing I want more than to feel that, darling. Please- please cum, please-”

“Kiss me,” You plead, even though he’s never stopped, if the way that his mouth moves against yours can still be considered a kiss. It’s far from any conventional peck on the lips, mostly tongue and drool that seeps down the side of your mouth and into your neck, mixing with the sweat already lingering there from your workout.

He tries kissing you more neatly, his lips tightening and suctioning around your own, but the closer you both get to your impending orgasms, the sloppier his thrusts are, and the more slack his mouth goes, smothering your own instead of truly kissing it while his tongue continues its dogged pursuit of your own. It’s no matter; his spit leaks uncontrollably into your mouth and you relish the taste. You don’t need perfection, you need him.

You can’t help your wandering hand from snaking down to his waist, curving just below his cock to cradle his balls against your palm. They’re heavy and warm as you take them into your hand, and doing so elicits a gasp from the man chasing his release inside of you, his hips stuttering in their pursuit of the wet warmth of your cunt. You squeeze them, not harshly, just a gentle compression, and Obi-Wan melts. A whimper escapes his lips, still slack and pressed to your own, and though his thrusts momentarily slow, they resume at double the pace. He’s rapidly bucking his hips now, barely containing himself enough to lift one hand off of your side and bring it to your chest. He fits his palm over one of your breasts, your stiff, sensitive nipple caving against his palm. You gasp at the prickling sensation and your fingernails momentarily dig into his back, but when his dick twitches once more inside of you, desperate, fit-to-burst, you drag them down his back in searing red lines.

If you hadn’t been able to feel Obi-Wan cum inside of you, you’d have known it was happening from the cry he releases alone. It’s abrupt, like his orgasm catches him off-guard even though he’s been pursuing it. But you can feel it, you can feel his warm cum ooze out of the head of his cock, momentarily stationary as it’s snug against your cervix. You feel it gush from his dick, filling any and all available space in your pulsating cunt before flooding outwards, dripping down your ass and thighs in an obscene display that soaks right into your bedsheets. Obi-Wan rides out his climax at a pace rapid enough to coax your second one out of you, and you welcome the now-familiar sensation of cumming around Obi-Wan. It’s mind-numbing, your ears ring for a faint moment, and your cunt rapidly clenches and unclenches around his cock that’s all too happy to continue occupying the space.

He grunts, moans, and groans as his sloppy thrusts finally slow, and your cunt appreciates the reduced pace. You’re well and truly spent, difficult to achieve for someone who’d gone through endurance training since childhood, and you’re not surprised that Obi-Wan, too, needs a break. He lowers himself to your chest with a slow, shaky exhale, eyes closed and face glistening with sweat just as your own does. 

His beard grates roughly against your skin, shifted with every ragged breath that he draws in. His hair spills over the breast that his mouth isn’t nestled beside, and you stare down at his face, marveling how beautiful his barely-fluttering lashes and heaving chest are.

Before he opens his eyes he angles it towards you, so that the first thing he sees is your flushed, sweaty, open-mouthed expression. He’s in the perfect position to kiss the side of your breast, and it tingles with the phantom sensation of his palm flat against your perked nipple barely minutes before. His beard scrapes your skin like it has since you first kissed him, and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to live happily without the scratch of it against your cheeks, or thighs, for that matter. The skin between your legs is still raw, stinging with the friction of Obi-Wan’s coarse hair against your flesh..

“You look beautiful, darling,” He hums, his voice grated raw from fatigue. His breath fans hot over your chest, but he pushes himself up on his tired biceps to hover over you. His weight against you had been comforting, but his gaze is even more so, and you let him loom over you.

His chest, peppered with auburn curls so fine they glisten in the poor lighting of your quarters, rises and falls deeply in front of you. You have half a mind to bury your face in it; you might if his face wasn’t impossibly more captivating.

His eyes search yours, for what you’re not sure, but you realize that his breathing gets more shallow until his chest stills completely. He only releases his breath when you reach up to thumb gently at his sternum, loosening his lungs again.

“Do you regret it?”

You suppose you didn’t have to ruin the moment so harshly, but you want to know the truth. You want to know if this was worth it, or if you’re going on the list of regrets that Obi-Wan pours over obsessively.

He takes a moment to answer, but you suspect it’s because he’s been caught off guard by your question. He shakes his head, dipping his face down to kiss the swell of your cheek.

“No, I don’t.” He mumbles against the dewy skin of your face, hiding his words there in self-preservation. You kiss the fleeting scruff of his beard as he pulls away, and your eyes find the blue of his instantly.

“You needed convincing at first,” You recall warily, something sinking in your chest now that you’re not puppettered by lust, “Are you certain it was the right thing to do?”

“Not at all,” He admits, “In fact, I think it was wrong of me. But I’ve done it anyways, and I am happy for that.”

“Why wrong?” You ghost your knuckles against his cheek, and he leans into it like he used to do when you’d clean scrapes and cuts he’d acquire while sparring. 

“I am more attached to you now than ever,” He offers simply, but it doesn’t seem like it pains him to confess. He seems lighter now, less embroiled in his own anxiety.  “And I’m not certain I can keep my personal feelings- well, personal. I don’t know that I could think rationally about you. That’s not desirable to the Order, or to the war effort.”

You bite your tongue, teeth digging softly into its muscle.

“All the same,” He continues, “Jedi are not without attachments. Younglings form friendships in the creche, and their minders love them. Padawans love their Masters, and vice versa. Masters engage in relations,” He acknowledges, then his brows tick up and he considers, “Ki Adi Mundi has four wives. Perhaps I’m not the most blasphemous Jedi they’ve ever seen.”

A laugh comes tumbling from your lips before you can stop it, and Obi-Wan’s face softens into a grin of his own.

“Five,” You correct him, “He has five wives.”

“Force, he’s a heretic,” Obi-Wan exclaims, but it’s all for show; he holds no ill opinions of the council member.

“I’m happy for his wives,” You hum, the sound just short of a giggle, “But I prefer your beard over his.”

“Oh, but he’s got a better mustache than me,” Obi-Wan settles on his side facing you, a smile etched permanently into his features as he plays along with the banter you’ve started. He relishes its lighthearted nature compared to the hesitance of moments prior, “Maybe I should grow it out and curl it like his.”

Before you can offer him another round in exchange for a promise to never shape his facial hair around Master Mundi’s, the walls of your compound give a creaky grinding sound, then a rumble, and air whooshes through the vents you’ve come to loathe for their uselessness in the recent past.

“He did it!” You gawk, sitting up excitedly, nearly forgetting that you’re topless, “Oh Force, Anakin’s a wizard! He really is, he’s a mechanical wizard, and I’m going to buy him a speeder for this.”

“Do not,” Obi-Wan groans, sitting up beside you and tugging you easily to fit your back against his chest, “The last thing that boy needs is the ability to go faster.”

“He did it,” You sigh happily, leaning back and pressing your lips to Obi-Wan’s. He reciprocates easily now, unlike before when he’d run himself ragged with doubts.

“That means we’ll be off soon,” Obi-Wan reminds you gently, and you deflate slightly in his hold, “But I don’t think comming each other should be any issue.”

“Every night?” You suggest, kissing at the prickly cleft of his chin.

“That’s- ambitious.” He chuckles, but it’s not meant to tease, “Every night, darling.”

“You can send me dirty videos,” You gush, scrambling to free yourself from Obi-Wan’s hold when he tries locking his fingers onto your sides, nipping sharply at your shoulder.

“I will not!” He insists, voice firm but chest trembling with barely-withheld laughter, “Force, if I pressed the wrong button…”

“Perhaps Master Mundi could share it with one of his wives,” You laugh, scrambling back into your underclothes and heading for the fresher to clean yourself up, “Hurry up and get dressed, Obi-Wan, one of my troopers is probably on their way to tell us the good news!”

Your suspicions are confirmed only moments later, thankfully, after you’ve both had time to right your appearances. You look flushed and sweaty, if anything, but the cool air hasn’t managed to flood the entire compound yet, and you’ve been exercising, so it’s excusable. No one but you two needs to know that exercising didn’t mean sparring for longer than ten minutes.

“Anakin, you’re fantastic,” You call, rushing through the empty hangar where he’s standing near the ramp of the ship, “You’ve saved us all. I’m fairly certain my troops would have resorted to fratricide if we’d had to melt here for any longer.”

The padawan gives you a valiant effort at a polite chuckle, and you press on, “For the record, I told your master I’d get you a speeder for helping us today, but he said no.”

“Y/N,” Obi-Wan starts, exasperated, but catches himself on the use of your first name. Perhaps it feels different now, coming out of his mouth much more measured than it had only twenty minutes prior. He doesn’t speak further.

Anakin’s eyes briefly glint at the fantasy of his own speeder, but he controls himself quickly. He’s a credit to his master, who manages to look convincingly like he hadn’t just broken a very long streak of celibacy. Still, you appreciate that war hasn’t managed to suck the most basic of excitements out of the child, and you reach up to pat his cheek in a gesture distinctly un-Jedi like. 

“Take care of yourself, and don’t let Obi-Wan bore you with a million lectures on economics, or politics, or the two combined.”

Anakin nods, but bites his lower lip to refrain from smirking, saving himself a lecture on sass later on. You hear Obi-Wan exhale huffily behind you, and you turn your attention to him when Anakin retreats onto the ship.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t add to my apprentice’s willfulness,” He grouses, but the corner of his mouth twitches upwards in fondness for you both, “He’s got enough of that on his own.”

“Take care of yourself,” You ignore his teasing, your voice tender and sweet, slightly more than it had been for Anakin, “I know they don’t send you out much, because he’s only fourteen, but- but please take care of yourself, Obi-Wan.”

Perhaps if Anakin hadn’t been lingering on the ramp of the ship, perhaps if there weren’t five clone troopers stationed in the hangar, perhaps if you were the only two people in the world, like it had felt less than an hour ago, Obi-Wan would have kissed you. But he doesn’t, all he does is nod, 

“We will,” He vows, and you nod, satisfied.

“I mean it,” You continue, more threatening than your earlier sentiment, “Comm me.” And you think back to the request you’d made earlier, breathlessly, the words fanning out against his sweaty skin, “And… think of me.”

You know he’s recalling the same moment in time when his cheeks tinge pink.

“I will,” He promises, singular this time, confirming your suspicions that his mind is flashing with visions of your flushed skin beneath his hands, “And please take care of yourself, too, General.”

Something hard and aching tugs at the back of your throat at the honorific, such a far cry from the intimacy you’d shared. But now you are General Y/L/N, and he is Master Kenobi, and that is the way things must be in the presence of others.

“Master Kenobi,” You bow, bending at the waist and noting the soft tug of soreness there.

“General Y/L/N,” Obi-Wan mimics your gesture, hands folded neatly into the sleeves of his robes.

He turns. He pivots on his feet and strides up the ramp of the ship they’d taken, Anakin waiting until he’s passed through the doorway to follow behind him. The door hisses shut, concealing them both, and the mechanical whiz-kid has the engines powered up in no time. You watch their ship take flight and navigate the narrow entrance to your hangar with ease, waiting until they’ve passed each temperature-isolating layer of defense that enshroud your compound and disappear into the planet’s heat-hazy atmosphere to turn away.

“General,” One of your troopers lingers behind you, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” You put on a convincing show, smiling serenely, “I’d just forgotten how much of a challenge sparring with Master Kenobi is. I’m fatigued; I think I’ll retire to my quarters for some rest.”

“General,” He nods, stating your title like a vow of loyalty, standing at attention as the hangar doors finally shut you in. 

You walk the familiar path to your sparse quarters absentmindedly, feeling that same twinge of achiness each time you take a step. Only once your door hisses shut do you release the prim tension in your shoulders, slumping and slouching like you’d just escaped the throes of battle. 

There is a shirt on your bed.

It’s white, though it’s been worn thoroughly, so the color is muddied ever so slightly with the tan tinge of sweat. It’s rumpled, from a hasty removal. It’s laid over your poor excuse for a blanket, cream-colored against the starkly contrasting black fabric. It’s impossible to miss, which means it had to have been placed there deliberately; it wasn’t forgotten.

It’s Obi-Wan’s.

You overcome your momentary stun and pad towards the bed, reaching for the shirt with a hesitant hand. You take it, feel it ever-so-slightly damp with lingering perspiration, and your stomach flips.

It’s Obi-Wan’s; it’s yours.

The shirt winds up snug around your pillow, tucked beneath the Republic-issue linen. It’s invisible to the outside eye, but when your nose is pressed gauchely into the pillowcase you can smell Obi-Wan through it, a mix of natural and artificial scents.

The musk of cologne and the acrid smell of sweat. Composure and lust. What is right and what is wrong.

You and Obi-Wan.

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

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[221bshrlocked]

Obi-Wan slowly slipping under the covers behind you after having to stay with the council until the late hours on Coruscant. Sneaking into your quarters undetected making him feel like he’s a young padawan doing things he’s not supposed to. But he just can’t stay away. You’re letting out soft moans with each breath and all he wants is to enter your mind and find out if you’re dreaming of him. He’s been ready for you since you told him that you’d be expecting him later and leaving him a hot mess in the library. It taking all of his will power to not let out his frustration right there behind the tall book shelves.

He oh so slowly moves your sleep shorts to the side enough for him to slip inside of you. Oh. You are having a good dream indeed. He’s pressed up so close to you; his nose in the tangles of your hair and his hands pulling you closer by your waist….

😳😳😳 Uhhh excuse me?

Loui. Babes. Sweetheart. Bestie. You can't just hit me with somnophilia without a warning like that!!!!!!

NSFW below cut. Descriptive talk of somnophilia so if that makes you uncomfortable, please skedaddle away. Also, Obi-Wan is a kinky fucker. No you can't change my mind.

God I can picture this so vividly too. He can't wait to return back into your arms. He walks with the single goal in mind: getting to your quarters in the dead of night without anyone noticing. The good thing is, your rooms aren't far from each other. But the bad thing is, your rooms aren't far from each other...which means, any other Jedi Master on the Council, also returning to their own rooms around this time, might catch him going into yours.

So he has to be even more careful than usual. He takes long strides, but does his best to calm his Force Signature, and the discomfort of the blood running somewhere he wishes wouldn't be such a distraction at the moment. He brings his robes around his front to shield the growing hardness tenting his trousers, only halting in the hurried steps when he reaches your door. It's clear to him that whatever he's experiencing now is similar to when he was a youngling, perhaps even worse, because while he may have snuck out several times during his youth to steal from Master Yoda's favorite fruits, the actions he's close to taking now are much more serious. Obi-Wan does laugh though when he thinks of Master Yoda's reaction if he were to find out what he's doing now. It would not be dissimilar to the way he approached him years ago when he finally found out who was sneaking into the kitchens and hoarding the delicacies.

When he's sure no one is around, and those who were are fast asleep, he pushes the combination to your door in and sneaks inside, the door sliding shut immediately after he enters. Obi-Wan takes a few moments to collect his bearings, and when he finally turns around, he's met with the sight of your calm and content form beneath the soft sheets of your bed. He grimaces to himself when he sees you're wearing clothes, but the reality of the situation overrules his irritation and he undresses in record time. For a brief moment, he thinks of leaving his boxer briefs on, but the sounds and moans you begin to make in your sleep derail whatever thought he just had.

Slipping the last article of clothing down his legs, he approaches you slowly and stands at the foot of your bed for a while, tilting his head to the side when you move to your side and continue to groan in your sleep, a little bit louder than earlier.

Maker, whatever you were dreaming of must have gotten you in a bit of a frenzy.

Not wanting to waste another moment, Obi-Wan walks around and slips behind you, shifting the sheets away from your body until the two of you were exposed to the chill of the night air. He caresses your arms with two fingers, smiling to himself when he sees gooseflesh erupt across your skin. Your breath hitches all of a sudden and Obi-Wan is torn between watching your Force Signature spike in heat and probing your mind so he can have a front row seat of what's getting you so hot and bothered.

He slides his hand beneath your arm and around your navel, digging his fingers into your stomach to bring you as close to him as possible. When your own hand shifts down and holds onto his own like an anchor, his mind is made up almost instantly.

Obi-Wan pushes his nose the space just behind your ear, inhaling deeply as he moves his hand down and pushes one of your thighs higher so he can get better access to your cunt. You oblige with ease, and the Jedi Master feels his cock twitch with excitement at remembering what you said to him earlier today when he was researching something for an upcoming mission in the library.

I can't wait to feel you tonight. It's been so long Obi, and my fingers are nothing compared to your cock.

He teases your slit with the tips of his fingers, groaning your name when he finds you wet and wanting and shaking for him. Pushing your sleep shorts aside, he shuts his eyes to contain himself from coming then and there at the mere prospect of being engulfed by your heat.

I know you'll come late tonight baby. But...I was thinking- even if you do, I...I still want to feel you. Wouldn't you want that too? I could be good for you...all the time. If you just train my body to take you whenever you want, however you need, I could bring you pleasure any time you yearn for release. Even when I'm not even aware I am. Please Obi, let me help you rest. Let me pleasure you in my sleep...it would mean the world to me, knowing that I can serve you at any given moment.

Pushing his nose into your skin one last time, Obi-Wan thrusts his cock into your cunt, growling with desperation when your walls sheath him like the tightest of gloves. He can't move for a few minutes, afraid he would shoot his load deep in your womb if he so much as pushes into you a little bit more. Your sounds only egg him on though, and his breath shakes with sheer anguish at the prospect of pleasing you in return. He roams his hand up and down your body, torn between holding onto your waist as he fucks into you and moving his hand up your body to grope your breasts in his palm. He thinks that if he were to keep them on your waist, he might end up pushing you beneath him and railing into you until you woke up, something neither of you wanted now.

So he slides his hand underneath your night shirt, and he forgets how to breath for a second when he rests his hand above your heart and finds it hammering against him. He's unsure how this should make him feel, if he should feel pride at being the one to cause you such heightened sensations, or if he should feel possessive of the way your body reacts to his touch, even in your unconscious state.

As soon as his fingers grace your nipples and find them achingly hard for him, he decides that he will dwell on that last thought later. For now, he wanted to make you sing for him in your sleep, and push more filthy dreams into your mind so you can feel as fulfilled as he was now.

Focusing all of his energy on not coming prematurely, Obi-Wan bucks his hips and feels a strike of lightning shoot down his spine at the hot, soaking welcoming of your walls. He wants to scream your name, tell you how good you are to him, even when he's not letting go inside of you, but he knows that anyone around will catch a hint of whatever is going on in this room, so he rests his forehead against your shoulder blade and bites his lower lip to quiet down. He moves with determination, pinching your nipples occassionally if only to hear you moan something akin to his name in your sleep or simply groan and take in a harsh breath.

Obi-Wan doesn't know how long he goes on. It feels like a thousand years, his cock nudging a perfect corner inside you that causes you to gush even more around him, coating the bedsheets beneath you with more of your juices as proof of his ability to pleasure you even when you're not asking him to do anything. But as the need for release grows, he realizes that he must have you cum on his cock before he does, because he's not sure what would happen if he were to shoot his seed inside you and you were left hanging in your sleep. He wanted you to experience rapture as he was now, and before he can think twice of what he's doing, he slips his hand down in between your thighs and shoves his fingers inside your sleep shorts, quickly flicking your clit as he increases his thrusts and feels your walls clenching around him.

He opens his eyes in time to look at your damp neck, and with a few more flicks to your engorged bundle of nerves, he watches as you descend into ecstasy, your Force Signature singing his name louder than he thought even possible in such a state. He wants to wake you, warn you of what would happen if anyone found out, but he can't find it in himself to ruin your orgasm, so he pushes and pushes until he feels a blaster hit his stomach, his cock twitching violently in your cunt as he shoots his load and paints your walls for what feels like minutes.

He throws his head back against the pillow, but doesn't let go of you or pull away, and only when he comes to his senses do his eyes shoot open in panic. He listens, and listens....and listens some more, for any sign of anyone around knowing what just happened. When nothing out of the ordinary draws his attention, he thanks the Maker that he can remain where he is now instead of getting up and doing damage control.

As he sits up on his elbow and looks down at you, he finds your eyebrows furrowed, as if you were focusing on something really hard for a long time and weren't able to do it. Roaming his eyes down your body, he finds your nails digging into his forearms, your breaths coming in hot and ragged. Obi-Wan laughs to himself because of course you wanted more of him even in your sleep. The thought warms his heart because to know that you only ever thought of him, even in your unconscious state, is to have lived within the Force itself.

Even though he knows he should clean the two of you, he doesn't dare move, and instead returns flush behind you, giving your clit a few, teasing rubs to feel your cunt flutter around him once more before resting.

Hmm, tomorrow morning was certainly going to be interesting.

#i don't know what just happened #i'm literally writing an obi wan oneshot #and i saw this ask #and my hands slipped #obi-wan/reader #obi-wan kenobi/reader #obi wan/reader #obi wan kenobi/reader #obi-wan smut #obi wan smut #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi wan kenobi smut #obi-wan #obi-wan kenobi #obi wan #obi wan kenobi

[uyuartik]

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader) part ii

tags: same as before except more unhinged, (slightly sith coded obi wan, no use of y/n, my unhinged take on regency era, (blaming bridgerton and pride and prejudice), probably historical inaccuracies, SMUT), idiots in love, friends with benefits though it is more than that, oral sex (fem and male receiving), fingering, piv sex, overstimulation, thigh riding, dom!obi?, ANGST AT SOME POINT(S), tension so high that they should be on medication, me shortening every uncle-in-law phrase to uncle bcs english sucks in family terms, overuse of commas because editing 42 pages is hard

a/n: HELLO AGAIN, thank you all so much for all the love you've shown, i couldn't be more grateful. sorry for the *long* wait, i just thought the story needed a little longer than a week to do its trick, and frankly i am a busy person so 7 day gap wouldn't work for me. but i hope you can forgive me with this beast of a chapter, it is my first time writing such a long one. hope you enjoy it, and see you all again soon!

also not so fun fact: i totally misunderstood the "season", thinking it should be around summer- early autumn but it was the other way around, sorry, all the historical babes (i can no longer call myself that) for the frustration. but this timetable suits this story much better, does it not?

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can't wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

part one | part two | part three

enjoy!!!

word count: 19.7K

chapter two: it's a bad idea, right?

The morning or to be exact, the noon, is when you finally feel refreshed, ready for the challenges of the day. Lucky, because your relatives are more than understanding, has always been. They would scold you for going about your day as a ghost rather than miss breakfast or join only halfway to their other activities. You always try to honor their kindness, not to take advantage of the privileges as a guest, and do your best to spend time with your cousin Carolina, (The young girl has all the benefits of her young age, full of energy and excitement, fascinated by the stories she hears (from you, mostly)), and also avoid bringing a man into your room under their roof and absolutely ravaging each other-

The last one is an exception, which you are not proud of, yet not a single drop of guilt muddies your soul. None, considering the enjoyment or strengthened bonds.

Speaking of it, something tells you that you'd have been late anyways if you woke up early, thanks to him. There's indeed a mark on the side of your neck, just where it meets your shoulder. Also, your thighs share the same fate, though lightly, a few small bruises and red, irritated areas thanks to his neat beard. Thankfully, they're quite hidden except the one that's not that has you cursing at him. For how good it felt, and for his daredevil nature. 

You're scared to admit your fear for your future with him, not in the romantic expectations aspect, you would never, but for the simpler stuff like how are you going to look at his face and not be reminded of its presence between your legs. Or the unending tease he’ll become, even more so than usual, rightfully so. Make no mistake, you had pretty high expectations, and an overall picture of your relationships past it. Yet, last night was its own entity, reducing you to a mess in the most beautiful way, plucking every thought from your mind, yet dropping seeds of doubt like this.

Still, there’s a foolish smile on your face, and some soreness in between your legs, a welcomed ache.

Nonetheless, you’re not sure how to react when you descend the stairs, and he’s there, sharing tea with your aunt and uncle.

Obi Wan stands up in a blink, even before your aunt has the chance to react to your entry.

“Oh, here you are, sweetie! Just in time to join us in the gardens, and look, who’s here!”

“Hello, auntie. Uncle.” For what’s worth, you like being here, with them, and nothing changes that. You can feel the adamantine warm cloud of love in your chest. The reason you never doubted coming here.

“Lord Kenobi.” You greet him as well, though not with that big smile and sincerity you’ve just shown.

“My Lady.” His indifferent tone is interesting. Indifferent, yet indifferent as any other time, respectful and overly sympathetic. Maybe the situation isn’t as bad as you think? Yet, he’s here, isn’t he? His very presence is questionable enough.

“How good of the young man to join us, don’t you think? Though I fear it’s only due to work issues, and not out of courtesy.”

Yes, how good! And definitely not out of courtesy.

“You hurt me, Madam.” He objects, frowning his brows. “I must say this house, with its amiable hosts, has always had a great place in my heart. Last night once again proved it right, it was the best ball I’ve ever been to all summer. In fact, I was thinking of learning your contacts for the band and the cook, you inspired me to throw my own.”

You really, really try to not roll your eyes, and drop the tea that’s being offered to you now.

“Oh, no problem at all! I’ll write them down when we finish the paperwork in my study.” Your uncle says, and the absolute charmed look and excitation in his eyes have your stomach sinking. “And how are you, my dear? Haven’t you shaken out the morning chill yet?” He points to your shawl, wrapped tightly around your neck. You powdered the marks, and put on a big necklace, but then decided you couldn’t be too careful, and put on the fabric too.

“Yes, I think the weather change wasn’t quite easy on me this time.” You reach for the honey, making a show of it so they don’t put you in the center of attention.

“Did you sleep well last night?”So, it doesn’t work. And that’s about the one question you hoped to avoid.

“Despite the exertion taking place-“ Kenobi’s eyes widen, exaggerated by the teacup basically covering other parts of his face, and for a second you think he may choke on his tea. “downstairs, I say it was the best sleep I could’ve ever had.”

You hope your acting inspires the same in him too. He suppresses that little cough well, and the blush settling in his cheeks is faint, easily blamed on the warmth of the drink.

Strike one.

Irritation grows in you, rather than anxiety. Does he really think you’re that crude? That dumb? You make a point of not looking his way after that, an attitude clearly noticed by him in no time. It’s not like he has any chance of talking about it, but the alarm bell in his head rings continuously, busying his mind ‘til the opportune moment comes to talk about it.

Then, a gleeful screech of your name fills the room. In a blink, your cousin is right next to you, wrapping her arms tightly around your shoulder that you can’t properly stand up and hug her back in a normal way.

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up all day long!” She says, hands reaching to hold yours, almost causing you to lose control of the fabric covering your neck. “We’ve got so much to do! And you were going to tell me all about Naboo! Did you really get to see the lions?”

“Sweetie-“ Despite the wildness of the affection you are given, there’s a huge smile on your face, and you almost make her sit on your lap- an old habit from her younger years.

“Come now- you promised to go riding with me. I want to show you how much I improved.”

“Well-“ your poor, poor legs are in no condition for that kind of activity. “I think it’s best if we do that tomorrow. You see, I had enough of it yesterday, I’ve been in a carriage all day.”

His smirking, twinkling eyes.

Strike two.

Your furious gaze kills that gleam quickly though. The faint smirk disappears, and he straightens his back, clearing his throat.

“Carolina, can’t you see we have a guest? Where are your manners? And give your poor cousin some space, for God’s sake!” Your aunt exaggerates like any mother of her generation, that high pitched voice screeching every ear in the room.

You should be glad to see the subject changed, but the condition of it is bitter. She bows her head down, taking a few steps away from you, but you hold onto her hand, keeping her near.

“Hello, young lady. I am Obi Wan Kenobi.” He sounds- sympathetic, though not overly. It is this sweet balance between respecting their being without the prejudices of age, but compassionate enough not to crush them under expectations they are yet to achieve. Interpreting this from just a couple of words seems a bit of a stretch, you know, still, his whole attitude screams he’s got some experience talking to kids, or considerable knowledge about the human psyche.

“He’s a friend of mine.” You explain further, trying to ease her.

“Welcome, Lord Kenobi.” She curtsies, yeah, she’s perfected that, you observe with proud eyes.

“I didn’t see you at the ball last night, I’m afraid.” Like he was there longer than an hour.

“It was past my bedtime.” The look she gives her parents tells him all he needs to know about her character, or precisely who influences her. He wonders if it was any similar to yours.  “I hope you had a wonderful time. You must’ve, because she’s an excellent dancer.” She turns at you, smiling so innocently that you can’t blame her for complicating things. “She taught me all about it, even better than my tutors.”

“Oh, no, we didn’t-“ The sentence synchronically rolls from both of your tongues, but you stop as you realize. There’s an abrupt silence in the room for a few seconds, causing anger to bubble up in you once more, and forcing you to make up an excuse to break free from this atmosphere.

“Hey,” You tug on her arm, “I’ve brought candy.” And just like that, she’s jumping all over you, bouncing with joy, “Sshh,” You warn. “First we need to go somewhere unseen.”

===

You see him again, days after, when he’s clearly learned his lesson, and gave you a window to breathe, calm your fury. The worst thing? It works. You can imagine (or in other words daydream) the next time you two see each other, which you desperately wish for it to be soon, and picture keeping yourself from stepping onto his feet, or shoving your finger into his chest. It all could not be forgotten but worked out through little warnings and explanations. Communication, basically.

And it turns out, you don't have to imagine any longer, and have the perfect opportunity to test your temper.

In a cafe. Where you sit alone. Blissfully ignorant of the couples (or to-be-couples) surrounding you. But most importantly, unchaperoned. (You had your tongue to defy any unwanted presence, and it's not like people came here alone like yourself. They came here for dates. And if anything, your presence was a litmus paper. What was to happen in marriage, if one couldn’t even keep their eyes from others in those little flirtatious rendezvous?)

(Though you knew some didn’t see it that way. A temptress, their choice of word to describe you.)

Obi Wan walks up to your table in quick, big steps that somehow don’t capture the attention of anyone but you. A further proof of that magic dust he sprinkles.  He’s dressed in browns today. It is a welcomed change. The smile on his face is unbeatably prominent, even as he follows the guide of manners, bowing his head and removing his hat before he sits in front of you. There’s no indication of his previous whereabouts in his looks and you wonder how he found you. Was he simply passing by the establishment before noticing your presence, or did he inquire about your engagements today, asking around?

"You shouldn't be here." It’s that sweet tone of yours, an alarm said in the softest of inclinations. “I have no company.” While it is redundant to both of your mindsets, the need of a chaperone for every conversation you have with strangers, you like to be cautious.

Then let me be it, he would’ve said, if it wasn’t literally the first time after your distasteful encounter. He’s not going to throw away that lesson for a shot of comedy. Or the fact that it’s hardly a request, but again- It’s not worth it. “I just wanted to say how sorry I was for the last time. It was- unadvisable to say the least.”

That- feels so good to hear, somehow. Far better than expected. You lean back in your chair, a sly smile on your face that you can’t help, and a subtle blush, a total contrast to your attitude.

“What can I say though? I don’t know if it’s still possible to be unsatisfied, but I sure felt like that if I didn’t see you again.”

Your fingers grasp the fork far too tightly, considering you have no appetite left for the desert in front of you. It’s the flashbacks from that night, and the undeniable effects it had on both of you.  

“Well, apology accepted.” 

He releases a breath after your words, visibly relaxed, amusing you further. You focus your gaze on the plate, in hopes of blending this conversation into the atmosphere around. 

You add. “Then again, don’t take my forgiveness for granted. None of my partners were this careless, and I seriously expected better from you.” 

(You're quite aware this is not the sort of conversation fit here.)

The interruption of “Oh, that will never even cross my mind.”, turns into “Partners?”, thankfully in a whisper, but sharp enough that it holds the same value as a shriek. He plays it off like it’s a frivolous question, a part of your ongoing banter, a mere thread to spin the conversation.

As if you gave the perfect impression of a blushing virgin that night. You flutter your lashes, as you take a bite. The silence is absolutely deafening, before you can continue. “There’s a reason I like traveling that much. Naboo. Correlia. Alderaan. God, even Hoth.” The discomfort in his face grows, and you fight it with an explanation, hoping that’s the reason. “Never at the same time, though, if it wasn’t obvious. It was just about having good company if I was to spend months in a city.”

“Yes, yes of course.” He shakes his head, an act of his nonjudgemental nature. “So, am I the Coruscant part of your little play?”

“No. You're the exception.” You laugh. “I haven’t- not here. I wouldn’t dare. Too little privacy. No trust. Above all, not a single soul that felt like a match of my own. Til I met you.” He deserves to hear that, right? “However I must say, the rules would be a little different here. Requires more caution. Fine work. For example, you couldn’t come and see me like this whenever you desire."

"Fair enough." He agrees, though makes little effort to follow the lesson. Actually, not even little, none. He just sits there, moulding into his chair further, a pleasant grin as he takes the world in, entertaining himself with the surrounding people. And you, of course. His piercing gaze travels back to you, every time.

Well, right. Not like you wanted him off of your table. "What do you want, Lord Kenobi?" And how did you know I would be here anyway? 

"Are you coming to the picnic on Saturday, in the Perlemian Park?"

You were certainly thinking about it. "Possibly."

"I'm only going if you are joining too." He wets his lips, an action you don't miss, and you continue to watch it long after he's done and see the next words coming out, before your brain can comprehend their meaning. "So, I'll need a better answer." 

The same lips that mapped out your entire body, whispered all those dirty things, tasted your hidden corners, drinking in the pleasure it provided…

He clears his throat, and you break out of the trance. He looks at you with a brow lifted, but the twinkles behind his blue eyes tell you it's not out of boredom. More like the exact opposite. 

"I'll be there." 

This is his cue to leave, with excitement for the said event, and a tinge of sadness for this interaction ending. You mirror his manners as he bids you a good day. 

Then, you're left alone, exactly as merely half an hour ago. Yet, the dessert in front of you is unsavory, nowhere near enough to satisfy your sweet tooth.  

It is still completely the same.

=== 

Comes Saturday, and does it come slower than possible… The weather seems like it's making one last show before the summer ends and scorches the earth, leaving everyone a sweating mess, little to no words coming out of their mouth, sprawled on the nearest surface. You seriously debate whether calling the offer off, the choice of fanning yourself to a lazy nap sounding better and better. It is in these extensive relaxations that you uncover the horrid truth- your fingers fell short in bringing you pleasure now, making you an even more sweaty, frustrated mess rather than the relaxed, drowsy mess you want to be. It is an awful revelation, bringing along many questions that haunt your every waking hour. You fear it's got something to do with him- and the best prescription for you is to stay away.

Alas, you keep true to your promise and show up. 

Thankfully the air has calmed down on said day, and sorbets are refreshing, making it more than a bearable experience. Bearable is actually an insult in this case, for it is more than that. These people are some of your oldest friends, close to your age, and share your opinions. It is hard not having fun when you are allowed to be free (just a little more than normal, though it is enough). None cares about the obscene gossip, or juices of fruit staining faces, dripping onto the expensive fabrics you all are adorned in. Laughs are loud and constant, never letting three minutes go without them. Hands are all flying around, hitting each other as a joke, reaching for the last piece of cake, taking the very dangerous road back without spilling a drop of the drink (which is, once again, a target of pranks).

Obi Wan enjoys it as much as you do, despite the fact that he doesn’t know them like you do. His life doesn’t allow much leisure time, and his choice of friends is mostly unfitting to these kinds of events, but he doesn’t have a problem finding joy in these kinds of events. Maybe it is mostly due to you, watching you in your nature, admiring the way you handle yourself among the crossfire of jokes, or what foods you prefer the most, making silly expressions as the taste of them hits just right. With every little thing he learns about you, he’s drawn closer to you. Once, he would name you a mystery, yet that would indicate the thrill was all in revelation. Now, it is the exact opposite. He gets more excited with each new question, like what is the actual story behind the “donkey joke” you are hinting at, or why do you pick some of the seemingly perfectly looking strawberries aside and pick others- or why you blush when you catch him looking at you, only to do the same yourself?

It is only in the afternoon that the buzz leaves its place for something serene. Conversations diminish, replies take longer, bodies sag and lean on the nearest surface, be the tree trunks or picnic baskets or their loved ones.

C’mon then, let’s take a walk. One proposes, and others follow, albeit slowly and with protests. You are among the latter, every cell in your body refusing to produce or use energy.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons you end up at the very back of the group with Lord Kenobi, and while you manage to stick with him unlike your friends, the distance between you and them grows and now, you can safely say that you’ve lost the sight of them. Twenty minutes ago.

So yes, you’ve been walking alongside him in silence. Far away that you don’t brush hands, yet so close that it would raise questions if someone were to see.

“I don’t think this is doing much for my somnolence.” He basically yawns.

"Should I take that as an insult, my Lord?" 

"Why would you- what did I say to make you think so?" He shakes his head, as stubborn as he's apologetic, ready to accept the accusation if your reasons are firm. Still, his heart is already pacing up, distressed. That must be the wine taking over.

"Well, am I not the only reason for your presence? And I must be boring you, if you are still feeling drowsy." 

"No- Absolutely untrue- “ He stutters, a panic to find the right words, not to be buried under your claims, he is not going to lose his chance to be by your side- only to realize the grin on your face too late.

"You little minx." He breathes out, and is rewarded by the sound of your tempting giggle. 

"Seems like I successfully rid you of your problem." You take pride. "And now, I suggest walking by the lake, to ensure its permeance."

"You mean to dip my feet in the water?" Again, he shakes his head, already rejecting the proposition.

"If you don't do it I shall." You skip, prancing like a nymph before he grabs you by the arm. 

“I don’t think that is safe.”

“It perfectly is.” You state, bewildered by his anxious urge. One look into his hand, and he remembers to let you go. The said hand flies to his hair, with an exasperated sigh.

“Okay, but – let me be by your side. And make it quick.”

The fact that he thinks you need his approval is downright funny, though you’d take issue with it any other time. Now, you are amused by his good intended worries and don’t have it in your conscience to break his heart over it, or bring up a quarrel.

So, you start undressing. Only your socks and shoes.

Still, the blush settles on his cheeks, and the light behind his eyes burns brighter as he sees the skin just above your knees naked. Not for the first time- still, he feels like turning his back on you, but does no such thing. And that is not because it defeats the purpose of his presence.

God, how could you even make you believe he wasn’t planning on having these impure thoughts?

You feel your temperature rising, and it has nothing to do with the sun. You meet his hypnotized eyes, and can still feel it focused on you. After days of dissatisfaction, its effect is multiplied by ten, making your heart race. You pray none of it is visible on your face. the last thing you need is for him to know.

He laughs when you lay the white fabric in the old woods of the docks, like the spoiled child you are. It is more than likely to stain, but more importantly, it is definitely old, creacking under every step, hence his aversion to sit beside you with a head shake. You shrug in return, and pull your skirt slightly above your knees, swinging your legs back and forth.

“Oh, this is lovely!” You say, sprawling your toes in the water. “Truly, you are missing out.”

“I believe you, my Lady.” His tone is joyful, just the right combination of trust and mockery.

You turn to look at him, a big mistake. The excess part of your dress brushes the surface, wetting the fabric, though it is the last thing you care. He is looking at you, with that charming grin, and subtle hunger etched into his gaze, screaming worship, in complete awe of the scene he's beholding, the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, holding his hand, her dress bunched up like in those ancient paintings of fairies, and endless passion for the leading role of it. It swirls the emotions deep inside your belly, the only reaction you want to avoid. Yet, you’re not immune to it. your heart skips a beat, the tingles overtaking your skin.

“Look- I see fishes!” You whip your head, the one thing you can do in hopes of breaking the tension. You lean forward, trying to get a clear view, or try to do so because you are stopped by his grip.

“That’s enough.” The command sends a shiver down your spine. “You shouldn’t go any further.”

“Fine.” You huff, the simplest protest you can manage. His touch softens as he realizes you’re going to follow his words, though takes long to let go.

A few minutes pass in the silence of nature.

“How long are you going to stand like this?” You ask, exasperated that this isn’t going anything like you imagined.

“What?”

“I feel like I’m also standing, this is hardly fun.”

“That is only the result of your own choice.”

Narrowing your eyes, you huff and climb back on your feet, disregarding the objections of the offended dock. Then, you push past him- 

He suddenly pulls you back, promptly disrupting your balance, a tactic he uses to pick you up into his arms. You scream as your feet meet the air, hands grabbing anything they can reach which ends up being his clothes.

“What are you doing?!” You yell, burying your fingers into him. With how strong your grip is, you can feel every muscle tensing under your touch. 

“I’m not gonna let you walk in that mud, after all.” He explains like it was the problem you were referring to.”

“My shoes! – and-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get them.”

He adores the pout you have as he fetches them.

He leans his back on the tree, and you rest your arms on your knees, propped up.

“So, we are to sit here and sulk?”

“If you name it so.” His smile is borderline insulting, ear to ear. With one look, he points at the reason- your wet feet. There’s literally no choice but to wait for them to dry up. But by proposing the only solution, he infuriates you further.

“Very interesting.” You snark. “I would’ve just stood back if I knew this was what we would be doing.”

“And now it is I who might take those words as an insult. Have I somehow proven my companionship to be loathsome in the times we spent together?”

Times you spent together… The flashbacks are, as implied in their name, flash before your eyes at such great speed that by the time you realize it is not something you should ponder upon now, your heart rate is already up, the flame deep in your belly ignited once again, and even the sounds of the past are echoing in your ears. You turn your head away from him, cursing at the color blooming on your cheeks.

Oh, but the action is enough to let him know exactly what you are feeling, a song of “I thought so” on his tongue- yet he doesn’t sing it yet, realizing the underestimation of his own emotions. He brings it upon himself- a glance at you, taking in your red face (as much as possible) and bare legs, let out to the sun to dry up.

“Well, I’ll think that’s the case if you don’t say anything.” He opts to say this instead, loving to taunt you further. 

“It’s not.” You mumble, still turned to the other side, fingernails digging at your palm.

“I can’t hear you, dear.”

“I said-“

The moment you move your head, you are met with his face, so close to yours, a distance he promptly closes by placing a hand at your neck, and tugging at it, ‘til your lips crash. You lose your balance once more, gripping his collars to not fully crush him with your weight. You gasp, the only protest you have in yourself, because for all your resolve to stay away, here you are, falling right into his arms. And it feels so damn good.

You gasp, pushing him. He laughs as his back hits the tree, never once breaking eye contact.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You whisper-scream, suddenly aware of the fact that while you are all alone on this field, your friends are still very much around.

“Oh, what am I doing? It is you, darling, don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you were looking at me.”

You direct your gaze to the ground, embarrassment getting the better of you.

“What is it?” He questions your lack of defiance. “You had no problem before. Don’t tell me you’re scared of being seen. They should at least be like, a mile away.”

Yeah. That’s absolutely correct. Besides, you’re shielded from any unwanted visitors by the thick line of trees, and the sheer distance between there and the path. It is a secluded corner of the lakeside.

“Or is there something else that’s bothering you?” This, is said in a more suggestive tone, and its effect is only amplified by the way he holds your chin to refocus your attention. You burn under his grasp and insistent watch.

Say farewell to your pride.

You let yourself fall over him once more, kissing him with a whimper you can’t quite suppress. You feel his smirk at that, but neither of you dwells on it, for he too lets out a sound of desperation, panting as he pulls you close, placing you on his thigh. (You hear your dress positively rubbing against the grass, and dare not to imagine the green blotch that may appear.) You don’t know whether to celebrate your newfound closeness or chastise your weak will, for it creates a new wave of desire in you as you delve your fingers into his beard. Your skin lights up against his coarse hair, so familiar yet so unyielding under your touch, and to be holding his face in your hands like this only blinds you more. So blind that you only realize the movement of your hips, seeking pleasure, when he holds them.

“See? That’s what I’m talking about.” A kiss right on the left corner of your lips. “Are you haunted by that night so deeply that you are unable to satisfy your needs on your own, like me? Or hell, with another?” Even in the midst of haze, you don’t miss the way his eyes darken at the mention of a third party.

“No- only you.” You whisper, too afraid of things ending.

“Fuck.” He can’t help but burst at your surrender. “That’s my girl. Lift your hips a little for me, darling.”

You oblige without question, raising yourself on your trembling thighs. Holding your breath, imagining all the things he can do to you… He is bewitched by your neediness, the way you moan at the first contact his hand makes with your skin after lifting your skirt just above your knees so you have more freedom to move, and can directly sit on his thigh.  

Speaking of it, why? Your eyebrows scrunch as he pushes you down like that, though the actual questioning part comes a second after your clit rubs against the fabric, not his cock, the first jolt of true ecstasy you experienced in a while, but that can’t be the case for him, right? “What are you-?”

“Trust me.” He takes his sweet time to relish the expense of your neck, so close for his taking, partly to ease your nerves, and frankly it is too much fun for his own good to feel you twitch in anticipation, and your breath getting stolen away at his open-mouthed kisses, panting when he lingers on a spot for too long at the fear of him leaving a bruise. “No marks, I perfectly remember.” He has to confess after a point, and only after that point, you begin to truly relax, and have your heart beating so fast at the same time, noticing your wetness is positively seeping into his clothes.

Your jaw hangs open with a silent pant as he decides it’s enough, and guides your body, rocking onto his. It’s not something you haven’t done before, but there’s something so unique about now, maybe the scandalous location, or your depraved state, or simply everything regarding him, that you are convinced it looks like your first time. Shit, it may even be your first time, considering the previous examples are nowhere close to this, the stakes, the desperation, the payoff… You’re holding onto his shoulders like a fucking virgin, pressed so close to receive every bit of affection he's giving. It’s the damn heat, the greatest excuse on your lips for the last couple of weeks, invalidated by the nonexistence of space between you and him. It only causes sweat to pour out of both of you, like the constant drip out of your cunt, sabotaging all your attempts to gain control, and create the slightest of frustration. 

“Obi Wan.” You chant his name, unable to form any other word, and he drinks it all in, valiantly ignoring the ache in his cock. It is a hard task, a growing challenge as your knee brushes against it from time to time, especially when you try to take initiative and escape the rhythm he’s trying to create.

“Ah-ah-ah- Let me take over. You know we’re short on time, darling.”

Then, he does justice to his words as he bounces his leg, the added pressure claiming a gasp from you.

“Do that again.” What your efforts can't get you, maybe your pleads can. After all, you're just as stubborn as him, giving up easily is not on your book.

“Only because you asked so nicely.”  

You roll your eyes, though it is totally due to annoyance, and let out a moan, throwing your head back. The fresh air does nothing for your lungs anymore, just an outlet for your scandalous noises. Which, he has no complaints too, your erratic breaths warmed his neck enough, and blessed him with those sweet sounds, right under his ear. Oh, but in any other case, this was anywhere else, and he had to silence you, also which he has no complaints too. Perhaps the sole problem is missing the blissed out expressions of your pretty face, and the light in your eyes, burning for him.

“Are you close?” Like he even needs to ask, like he’s not aware of your moans turned whimpers.

“Hmmh.” Is all the answer he gets, and that’s enough for him, laughing quietly, as you feel the vibrations of his chest.

When you cum, it is indeed an earth-shattering moment, and an end to your misery, the first drop of water after thirst- so much so that you don’t care about it happening in such a short time. Your legs squeeze his firm thigh, shaking over them like the rest of you. His one hand travels to your waist, holding you steady and pressed against him. You swear you can feel every aspect of his hand over three layers of fabric, yet he’s not actually exerting that much power, treating you like a delicate flower, afraid to crush the silky petals.

You sigh as the trembles die down, your senses coming back to you one by one- the first and foremost the tension in the body beneath you. Your fingers loosen from his collars, and travel the expanse of his torso slowly, a kiss to his throat in the meantime.

“Don’t you worry about me.” His voice is slightly shaky, though it may very well be due to his exertion.

“I think I should.” Its trueness is further proven when you palm him, and he groans. Though he is insistent.

“Look at you, you sweet thing, concerned with me walking around with a hard-on.”

That has you rolling your eyes, and removing your hand. Removing your entire body, even. You settle on the grass, leaning on your elbows. Your dress is already ruined, so you’re past the point of worrying.

“On the other hand, you may want to think about this.” He points to his wet trousers, the dark stain visible even though the fabric is black.

Uh oh. That is indeed a problem, if you are to return soon. Unfortunately, your brain can’t grasp the danger, coming up with solutions like soaking him entirely in the lake… 

So, it’s no wonder that your next words are a joke.“You marked me, I marked you. We're even.”

To your surprise, it works. His laughter fills the entire forest, yours a whisper in comparison. The idea that maybe, just maybe this can be repeated every now and then, that it wouldn't harm anyone fills your chest with a different kind of cheer, a hopeful sensation that suits the summer. He's proven his carefulness, making the best of the situation without risking either of you. The rising hope in you should scare you, but it doesn't. It only makes you sprawl under the sun like a cat enjoying the heat, and join his laughter with a big grin.

“Fair. Absolutely fair.”

===

The next time you see each other again, things seem to cool down a bit. It is entirely a civil dinner, always at a respectable distance, the number of times you lock eyes are countable on one hand (though some border the edge of being a little too long), and it is all not so surprisingly, plain. Maybe it is about both of you trying to contain one’s self, so much so that the other core aspect of both of you, the humorous side is buried that night and no other person can live up to its ghost. Perhaps it is due to the upcoming end of summer, bringing out a tinge of melancholy, already mourning the past, thus your impulses dwindle down, the sparkles absent.

That is, ‘til, you are the only occupants in the saloon, after the other guests have left, and your aunts retreated to their rooms. You are reading a book, barely aware of the fact when he, sitting next to you in that single armchair drops whatever pen he’s holding, just by your feet. You’re pulled out of your trance by the sound it creates, raising your gaze from the page just in time to see him bending over to retrieve it or- ending up completely kneeling in front of your legs.

He raises his head, and you watch the way his face softly being illuminated by the candlelight, a smile you can’t decide whether charming or devilish, long abandoning his mission.

That’s the moment the air shifts, and the room feels hotter like the cheminee is lit, the heat wave has returned, and taken both of you to that lakeside, and the week before it, the frustration and despair that came with being unable to take care of yourself. You haven’t felt such a thing after, perhaps, it’s due to your fulfilled state and therefore lack of trial, but now, the need returns, like adding more to an already full cup, realization only hitting after the drops spill from the sides. The cup demands to be emptied, - translation: your soul demands whatever pleasure you can get your hands on- and the image of him causing it is certainly a preference.

(Again, it is your soul that’s demanding it- your brain would very much like to lock you away in the furthest corner of this house, or kick him, if that’s all you can manage.)

“Excuse me?”

“I just remembered how I failed to say how beautiful you look tonight.” 

“Thank you.” Your mouth speaks before you can protest the improperness of your situation. Color settles on your cheeks for accepting his compliment first. “What are you doing?”

“Collecting my pen.” He shrugs, and demonstratively takes it to his hand, yet it is once more left to the ground instead of the nearest table, with the rest of his papers. He adds, “I admire how you are an expert in navigating every social situation, whether it's a boring dinner like this, or a ball.

Your eyebrows raise at the boring part, after all, it's hosted by your relatives, and it wasn't exactly boring, maybe a little uneventful. “Not every occasion has to be full of adventure, Lord Kenobi. Slow nights like this are beneficial for the soul. Gives the mind some rest.” 

He purses his lips, like he’s been told on his bluff, the one part he emphasized to sound strong. Because, he is. He had fun tonight, the type that fills one’s heart with sweet lethargy. “I suppose you’re correct. But you’re missing out on an important detail.”

“And what is that?”

“The right company.”

You’re glad that your hands were pressing against the book, holding the page, because if they weren’t, they would be visibly shaking.

“I have underestimated how much I missed you, that much is clear to me now.” Barely speaking, or barely speaking anything important with you throughout the evening, yet he feels rejuvenated, the ache in his chest becoming prominent as it starts the heal. He doesn’t say the last part, but the sentiment is reflected in the soft sparkle behind his eyes, the hypnotic storm, pulling you towards unknown chaos, but beautiful, and promising safety in its center. That’s why you don’t protest as his hand reaches for yours, brushing your knee (he wanted to do that for some time, to feel the soft fabric that basically decorates your body), interlocking fingers, and reluctantly retreating them in favor of taking the book that sits in your lap, setting it aside. You don’t protest, despite the screams in your head, saying he’s right there why is he still there-

 “And the other thing I missed terribly, the sight of your legs.”

Your shaky inhale echoes.

His fingers gently close over your ankles, and travel upwards slowly, lifting your dress alongside. “Though I’ve only seen them twice, they might be my favorite view, ever.”

“Is that so?” You are perplexed by the confession, with a lazy grin, very much enjoying the seduction. His way with words seems like a constant threat to your sanity, but damn do you adore it dearly, a voluntary victim to its spell.

“Why would I ever lie to you?” He whispers, hands tightening. “I like them very much. But I think I would like them better around my shoulders.” He pulls your knees slightly, causing you to yelp as your back caves in, and grasps your ankles once more, proceeding to demonstrate exactly his words.

“What are you doing?” You ask, like you don’t know the answer. It is a statement, an acknowledgment, the last chance to bring some sense into any of you. You’re in the living room, in a house that is not your own, filled with people who are still very well awake, and can just decide to come in.

“Having a second dessert, if I may?” And how can you refuse, after the image is served to you on a golden plate?

“But at the lake - You were-” 

“You think I'm doing this for recompensation?”

“No, I didn't mean to imply that.” God, this is embarrassing. “I just wanted to say I might miss having my way with you.”

“I’ll be glad to take that as a promise.”

Then, it is settled. 

Still, he waits for your small nod and takes in the way you bite your lip, wishing he was the one to do so, but- priorities. Time is a valuable asset, especially now, and he has to honor his offer. That’s why he opts for a few small, open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, actively fighting the desire to leave bruises, evidence, a memory. Judging by the rapidness of your breath, it seems he has reached his goal in some way. It’s the beard- scratching your skin even when his mouth is not doing something, sensitizing the flesh and making it all too susceptible to the incoming assault. Your hand flies up, absentmindedly reaching for his hair, yet stopping a second before, landing on the couch instead- if you messed up his hair, there’s no coming back from it. He chuckles at your struggle, the warm breath making you squirm. Even if you don’t, he’s maddened by action, despite the laugh. He has you- but not really. He’s enveloped in your heat, taking in your scent, and seconds away from tasting you, but is not able to be blessed with the slight pain he'd felt if you tugged on his strands, or the untamed sounds you’d have sung in a more private setting.

So yes, he’s as torn and desperate as you. Slow nights, you said? 

Truth be told, it doesn’t matter what adjective comes before the word; slow or fast, boring or exciting as hell, freezing or hellishly hot; if it is with you, it is a good night. Otherwise, it is lacking. The world may be painted gray forever, considering you two mostly don’t get the chance to spend more than two occasions together in a week, but there can be no comparison to colorful scene of those moments.

And this is the night Obi Wan admits that fact.

You both moan, when his tongue finally meets your cunt, licking a messy stripe. It is more of a vibration than a noise- possibly for the best. It makes you jolt, and his hold tightens, and again, it is for the best, because when he decides to pay attention to your clit after his time exploring your folds is done, your limbs start to shake, threatening to fall. Your eyes roll back when things settle, and pleasure starts to build up, your juices flowing, and he drinks it all in before they have the chance to make a mess of your dress.

That is the first time he takes a break. “Eyes on me, darling.”

What is with him and that special request?

Your whine doesn’t mean anything to him, except make his cock twitch in his now tight trousers- but that has other reasons too. He waits ‘til your eyelids open once more, and you meet his gaze, and a second longer, unable to resist the urge to get lost in your hazy expression. Then, he dives back in, swirling the muscle around your bundle of nerves. In any other circumstance, you’d have thought this would be too indelicate, so straight to the point, no fun or respect, yet his way to do so is anything but those qualities. His movements are precisely designed for you, slow enough to not cause discomfort, fast enough to make the best of your unknown time limit. You’re afraid to deduce that one time was enough for him to learn you, one time to turn your world upside down, and leave you to deal with the memory of it. 

“Sweetie?” That’s the first time your eye contact is broken. The world freezes for a second before it does, and your head whips to the direction the sound has come from, to find your aunt by the door. Miraculously, she continues to stand there, unbothered by the long and protective distance which compromises of the dining table and the back of your couch, a perfect cover for the scandal that is taking place. Obi Wan stills, perhaps even stops breathing, yet he’s the one to snap you out of your shock with his grip around your skin. It is ridiculously encouraging, knowing he's not abandoning you on your own, even at the expense of getting caught, and the dread it would surely follow.

“Yes, auntie?” You gulp. Trying not to sound breathless is a clear effort.

“Have you seen Lord Kenobi?”

Your reputable smartness lags, the answer of yeah, he’s right here IN BETWEEN MY LEGS, occupying your mind.  “I think he went out to get some air, I haven’t seen him for some time.”

“How odd.” She comments, “And what are you doing there on your own?”

“Reading my book.” You smile, and hope your cheeks’ tremble isn’t too noticeable. “It’s quite good- couldn’t tell the time.”

She scorns. “Oh, now I see- he must’ve gotten bored as you were buried in your book. You truly should work on your guest etiquette, dear. And Lord Kenobi, of all people!”

“Auntie!” Your eyes widen, and you squeal a little, and feel Obi Wan giggling quietly.

“I’m just saying, that you should treat him better- he’s a good person, and obviously fancies you.”

“Auntie!”

“I mean, I like him? Don’t you like him?”

The urge the scream has never been stronger.

To escape the subsequent questions should you answer otherwise, you give in, and sag.” I do.” And the worst thing is, you actually do. Objectively, you like him, all his little jokes and sweet tongue (no pun intended), the elegant form he carries himself in, and the kind nature he never fails to live up to. Except for the dangerous extent your relationship is getting into, there’s nothing about him that you don’t like. And truthfully, even that is barely a matter you care about, proven by your current situation. 

You can feel him smile, the coarse facial hair biting into your skin, rubbing like a cat, and the sensation is followed by a kiss on your thigh. 

“Then you know what I am saying is the truth.” She raises her eyebrows in a motherly manner, a loving attempt of intervention. “Don’t stay up too late, no matter how absorbing that book is. We are invited for breakfast to the Mon’s Estate.”

Thankfully, she’s gone like that, saving you the act.

When you turn to your front again you find the need to come up with a warning to make him shut up unnecessary for he kisses you, silencing both of you. The action brings color to your cheeks more than ever in this entire evening. The fact that you can taste yourself on his tongue aside, he’s so gentle about it, like congratulating your success, or admiring your talent, pouring out his affection for you. You can’t help but wrap your legs around his wide torso, it is how good it feels. When you two part, the lack of breath gets the best of you, only then do the swarming butterflies in your stomach begin to disturb you again.

But you’re not so quick to forget the last couple of minutes. Perhaps you've spoken too soon back then at the lake, thinking this could be continued. You’d imagined the rest of this scene a little differently, letting him follow you to your room, returning the favor, but that scare has only helped you to brew a storm inside you.

“Obi Wan…” You whisper, brows cinched in concentration as he towers over you, claiming all your senses. “We can’t- we have to stop…”

“Sshh, calm down.” His thumb draws circles on your skin, trying to soothe you in one aspect, if not every. He’s not going to let you go to your bed shaken like this, for starters. “Take a deep breath.”

You try, twice before you can manage to fill your lungs in their entirety, and your achievement is rewarded with a peck to your neck. Some of the air leaves you in an abrupt exhale because of it, and he curses himself for it.

“Follow my lead.” He tries again, reclining on his knees, giving you space. It is another challenge to look into his ocean eyes, and match his pattern, but you manage, your heart beat semi-regular after a minute or so.

Semi, for said eyes and your bare pussy are face to face, and all common sense loses its importance, burned by the fire inside you.

“Obi Wan- please…”

“You sure?” He will be very disappointed if you change your mind, but he has to ask, play the sensible part. And ignore the constant throb in his trousers that has become even more unbearable after you confessed your feelings.

“Just… make it quick.” Oh, are you seriously requesting an orgasm like ordering a cake in a café?

“As you wish, love.”

He starts out the same, just playing his game a little faster, and he holds your hand as he does so, the small detail as efficient as his moves. But, the final blow is his other hand, prodding against your entrance. The flood of memories doesn’t help either, as you remember that night. A loud moan threatens to leave you, and you slap your palm against your mouth. He stops ‘til you are secured, praise in his eyes, and pushes the two digits in, stretching you out in the way. Your fingers are nothing in comparison, and he notices it immediately, the way your walls hug him. 

Though, he’s an expert, and can absolutely manage to take care of you properly, so there’s nothing but pleasure, your slick channel welcoming the intrusion. It is not long before he feels the resistance fading and returning in a new form, as your climax approaches, and your muscles begin to quiver.

With your noises secured in your throat, the only form of communication is your connected hands, squeezing each other sometimes enough to risk breaking fingers. He understands what you mean perfectly, reaching up to a certain speed, then keeping it the same ‘til you start trashing, legs violently shaking around his body, and juices dripping, this time more than he can clean up. If any other time, he wouldn’t stop ‘til he feasted on every drop of it, but he withholds himself, respecting the clouds of danger. He’s glad to have helped with your anxiety, yet he doesn’t want to carry the ease to dangerous level and make you susceptible to be swayed in whatever direction.

Well, the image of his messy, wet beard certainly sends you through the wrong one, but already your nerves are not able to take more risks tonight, so you just bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, and lower your legs to the ground as he starts by cleaning out his fingers. It is hard to believe any man would try this much to indulge in your every aspect, but here he is, careful about even the smallest part.

Damn, you want to take him to your room and let him have his way with you so bad- but this is enough adventure for a night.

“Good night, Lord Kenobi.” You say, fixing your skirt, and standing up on shaky legs with your book clutched in the tightest grip against your belly.

“Good night, darling.” He nods, a content smile. “Send my compliments to the chef. “

===

“Lord Kenobi?”

You’re justified in your shock, enough to express it out loud in the middle of the jewelry shop, the last place you’d expect to run into him. Of course, he’s a neat and subtle man, and his appearance reflects his statue, though in a very calculated yet effortless manner. His pocketwatch is a family heirloom, so you’ve been told, a chic piece he takes great care of, and while his cufflinks are always elegant, it is never that eye-catching. It only compliments its wearer, you dare say, a final addition to an already completed painting.

(You never denied his handsomeness, and this is an objective opinion. Don’t read much into it.)

His supposed loneliness coupled with the fact that he looks utterly lost and bored, your curiosity is aggravated further.

Also, bumping into each other? What is this, a trick of fate?

“Madame.” He bows, and moves to press a kiss to your hand, the tradition not forgotten. His shock is easily ridden, unlike yours. The small blush on his cheeks and the wide grin on his lips tell contradictory stories, not that you’re judging, but the evident thing is his excitement.

“What are you doing he-”

“What a coincidence-“ His interruption is most unexpected, along with the high pitch in his voice.

You tilt your head, further dazed, but before the suspicion creeps in (you would be terrified to turn your gaze and find women’s accessories laid out for his picking on the table, for somebody else or for you; the latter being the lesser evil, but still disturbing), another joins, though he doesn’t seem to notice you at first.

“How helpful you are being, Obi Wan!” The tall young man with light brown hair calls out, necklaces hanging from both hands. You have a feeling that if he wasn’t busy, there would’ve been a physical reaction as well, a friendly pat on his shoulder, perhaps. “Don’t you know this is important? I need-“

His sentence is broken when he catches your attentive gaze, and realizes you are a part of this conversation as well. You’re amused by how glass-like he is, full of emotions and not afraid to show them. He looks at you, and back to Obi Wan, who finally decides it’s time for an introduction. The expression of recognition flashes through his face in a second as your name is revealed, but you can’t reflect it back fully. You have heard of Kenobi’s best friend or as some call it, brother, although barely from the man himself. You've witnessed how Kenobi's eyes lighten up with pride whenever Skywalker was mentioned, and stories- summaries of their adventures together that he told. The shortness of them wasn't a result of his unwillingness to tell them, but the circumstances of your company, never long or alone enough to visit them in their deserved entirety. 

To be honest, Anakin doesn't know much about you either. He and Padme prefer the countryside by the sea, especially during the summer, thus he and Obi Wan hadn't had the means to talk often lately. He senses the situation, by the slight tension in the older man's voice; this strong, confident man crumbling into pieces for some unknown reason. 

“Pleased to meet you, my Lady.” He makes a small cursty, which you mirror.  

“Likewise, Lord Skywalker.” 

“I’m afraid I’ll need my friend back to keep his promise.” The chains in his hands shake as he speaks, reminding the absurdity of it all. You’re not disturbed by it though, for all is concealed under his charismatic voice and mimics. He’s pretty and he knows it, which gives him all the tools to captivate others. Now you understand why people speak about him like that, moved by hearing his name alone.

“Oh, not a problem at all. We were just saying hello.” Entertained by the interaction, your anxiety is somewhat diminished, enough to let him go without an explanation. Also, the way that he rolls his eyes, and clenches his jaw is very cute, you dare say.

“Promise? I never promised anything.” He murmurs, but it is still audible for you as he follows his friend. And the rest, which makes you laugh whenever you remember it. “Anakin- she's your wife, you know her better than me. How exactly do you expect me to help you?”

“You always had a vision when it comes to beautiful things. Not like my eyes, which are only accustomed to the dirt and grease of machinery.”

You have to bite the inside of your cheeks to stop grinning, while you start talking with the salesman about the bracelet you’ve given them to restore. They make you sit and wait for a couple of minutes, all of which you spend trying to not spy on them. Fortunately, the shop is quite crowded, and their conversation is a part of the low grumble. A cup of tea is placed in front of you, as well as some new pieces they think you might like.

The one that catches your attention is not among them, however. It is a ring with a blue stone, the tone too similar to something you can’t put your finger on. It is too big to be for a woman, clearly designed for the other sex, but you admire its elegance nonetheless.

“Here is your piece, Madame.” The young salesman returns with a package, just in time to stop you from reaching it.

“Thank you.” You take the precious item back into your hands and inspect the handwork. It is shining once again, polished, and the place you accidentally broke it is now attached, the handwork barely visible.

You release a deep breath, praying graces. You would’ve never forgiven yourself if the family heirloom was forever damaged from the incident. You almost cried when it happened, a stupid game you were playing with Carolina before a ball, when you had already gotten ready and she was counting the minutes to her bedtime.  

“That is beautiful.” Obi Wan joins you once more, now looking more relaxed. Your eyes search for Anakin and find him waiting for a package, reaching for his wallet. Mission accomplished. “May I?”

The chain slides into his hands, and wraps around your wrist under the watch of the young boy with a wholesome smile. He must think you two are engaged in some way, and there’s no turning back from it.

“Would that be all, Madame?”

“Actaully I-“ You remember about the ring, and even if you just want to unravel the mystery around it, the words have already left your mouth, and the entire tray is placed on the table.

Oh. Oh. With him next to you, suddenly it all makes sense. You’re holding the color of his eyes on your palm.

“That is beautiful too.” He remarks, embracing his role a little too much.

“I think it would suit you.” Now it is your turn to accessorize him. He is silent while you do so, taken aback by the unorthodoxty of it all.

“I’m not sure-“ Is all he manages to say, though can’t stop looking at it. It is ridiculously so well fitted around his finger, the fate pulling all strings to give a message.

“It compliments your eyes.” You defend yourself, perhaps a little too lively but you have no shame. It is the truth.

“The Lady is correct.” The boy joins your side, or does his job. “It is a most excellent match.”

“I might think about it.” Is how far he budges, returning it, and checking up on Anakin from where he’s standing. 

“How much do I owe you?”

“Please, allow me-“

The audacity? The though is reflected in your face, which makes him blush at his unnecessary offer.

“With the ring.” You add, and it is all said and done ‘til he has time to get rid of his embarrassment and intervene.

Then, you make him take the package from you, your fingers wrapping around his. “You’re allowed to have nice things, you know?” There’s not an ounce of sarcasm in your tone, only gentle suggestion. “You don’t have to wear it, but I want you to have it.”

“Thank you.”  

And you’re gone before Skywalker can catch up.

===

You truly don’t expect to see him wearing it, you really don’t.

But you’re proven wrong so, so badly.

He doesn’t take it off.

When he takes on his promise, and actually starts working on the ball he’s supposed to throw, the first thing he does is request for your uncle’s help. Then your uncle entrusts the job on you, and you’re spending hours with him like that, securing the musicians, bargaining for the food supplies, preparing invitation lists… Truly, that’s it. You too are surprised to accompany him that much and engage in nothing outside of the mission. Truthfully, a little concerning in the grand scheme of things, the inevitable result of your relationship improving, real sincerity. Although you have zero problems with the fact, enjoying it far too much. You don't care about how your contributions are secret, for your efforts surpass the limits of help that are considered friendly, and fully acknowledge that it is gonna be a damn good ball. 

Also, while you hate to see him distressed, it is a look on him that you are guilty of adoring. The nervousness is like a little crack in his shell, a way to see a part of him that rarely sees the daylight. And it is for something so feeble? Only half of his effort would be enough for a wonderful ball, and he still tries to do more, and gets agitated over that? You are cruel for laughing at that, you confess. But it is more of a balancing act, rather than a mock. Somebody's gotta play the sane part, lower the tension. 

You're ready to help with that, too.

“Do you think I should hire-” 

You're at his study, the place you've been sitting since the morning. Time flies with every cup of tea, and plates of biscuits, but after a while, things inevitably get boring. For you, at least. He's quite focused, brows scrunched, tie slightly loosened. You see him looking at the list that you've put together in the beginning, the possible ways to entertain his guest. 

You've already arranged the services of more than half of them. Twice the amount that would be considered enough.

And he's still going over it?

“That's enough!” Your open palm lands on the surface. 

Obi Wan doesn't expect your outburst. He doesn't flinch, but his mimics change in an equivalent way. His lips part, causing him to relax that clenched jaw -oh, you might have a point. 

“You. Need. To. Relax.” You’re now less frantic, due to his irresistibly clueless expression, though still firm in your cause. Fuck, how can he look at you with those doe eyes and expect you to… do anything! 

You get up, and reach for the papers, sending them in a far corner of the desk. While you do so, you are basically halfway in between him and the table. Putting the teacups and the pot back on the tray (it has grown cold a long time ago), you turn to him, almost sitting at the desk in order to fit that narrow space. The bashful smile on his face (as if he wasn’t enjoying the perfect view of your ass seconds before) breaks your heart once more.

Putting your hand on his shoulder, you mirror his emotion. “It’s gonna be a splendid night. The kind that people will talk about it for years. And I’m not exaggerating on that one. I would’ve said the same thing days ago, all before the last additions, too.”

It is a challenge to feel the warmth of your skin, and not lean against it. “You’re right.” He tugs on his collar, taking a deep breath. “But you know- I’ve never planned a ball in my life, and- I just need it to be perfect.”

You giggle, and replace your hand on his cheek that is colored with the confession of his little perfection obsession. You welcome the slight sting of his beard, like a habit, and caress his cheekbone. He dares not move, or even take a breath, only watching your pretty face focused on his, and relish the feeling of your thumb across his features.

“It’s going to be just that.”  You might’ve said, or a joke about his troubles, but words scurry off of your mind as you stay like that, squished in place as you try your best to comfort him.

“Can you kiss me?” The thought seems lunatic when uttered on a whim, but it has crossed your mind too, you must admit. 

“Only because you asked so nicely.” There's an undeniable urge to use his words back at him. 

Your back has to bend in an uncomfortable way for your lips to touch, but you have no complaints about it. The touch is so soft, laden with affection in the purest kind. It is obvious in every way, the movement of your mouths, determined to preserve the sweetness and sweetness alone, and the itch in your palms, mapping each other out over and over again, and the determination of your lungs, using every last drop of oxygen before demanding an exchange. 

“T-thank you for that, dear.” His eyes open after a few seconds, with a sheepish smile that causes him to speak in whispers.

It’s about to get real dangerous for you, if he keeps being this cute. 

“I’m not about to say we should've done it sooner, for it is a complete waste of our time repeating a truth well known, and I've already used that trick before, but maybe we should do it again.” 

Okay, but how does that kind of sass sound cute from your perspective?

“Don't push your luck.” You say, fingers smoothing his hair, and his complaint dies on his throat visibly. He purrs, eyelids closing. That's the moment you decide to press a small peck to his lips for all his troubles. It lasts longer than intended, and while it's definitely different than the previous one, him gripping your waist telling a different story. The weight of them is welcome nonetheless, and it serves as an anchor, like you two could be molded into a statue if he held it long enough.

However, he is the one to break the stillness, shifting in his chair- first of all, how dare he, you're doing the acrobatics here-

Oh.

He notices that you've noticed it. Clearing his throat, Obi Wan lets his hands slide to the table, just a centimeter away from your body. “It’s been some time.” His face remains focused on the floor.

Didn't he even take care of himself?

You push his shoulder back, and he takes it a step further without a blink, sliding away with his chair. 

What he doesn't expect, is for you to stay exactly where you are, only this time on your knees. He has to gulp once, then twice, because he finally looks at your face, smiling back at him. 

“May I help?” Admittedly, your fluttering gaze was unnecessary, and tips him even more. You don't miss the way he stabilizes his hands.

“By all means.” 

You start by unfastening the buttons of his tan trousers, letting your forearms rest on his thighs. He aids your quests by lifting his hips a little, being freed from the constraints of the fabric-

There he is.

You bite your lip at the sight, and the sight is not just his huge cock, already hard and weeping for you. It is about him, and the redness that creeps up his neck, the way he hisses and bites his knuckles at the cool air hitting his sensitive skin, how he claws at the armrest waiting for your touch. His head nearly hits the back of the chair when you finally do, a small moan leaving his exposed throat.

Well. You really should’ve done this sooner.

Your thumb swirls around his head, more fluid leaking out as you do so. Thus your fingers slide down his shaft easily, and he is coated in his slick in no time, along with your palm. It twists around him without rush, leaving him to wander in that dream like state without mentioning a finish line. You want to ask him, ask him how he likes it, or make him cover your hand with his, guiding you, but you also want him to stay just like this, eyes fixed with that heavy lidded gaze, partially obscured by that infamous strand of hair that refuses to be tamed like others. His mouth hangs open with loud breaths and sometimes graces you with sounds of his pleasure.  

“Harder.” The only instruction you need.

You clasp tighter and shudder like him, taking pride in your work. He can feel the strain in his muscles fading second by second, the problems in his mind are plucked out one after the other, replaced by your soothing words you repeated constantly for days at this point, and expert hands, creating the same effect on his body.

“Like this, Lord Kenobi?” You require you still acquire his opinion, a feedback, and his title rolls off of your tongue unintentionally. Honestly, there’s no explanation you can make even to yourself, but you are already over it as his cock twitches under your palm, and his groan fills the room.

“Y-yes. You’re doing- so good.”

That must be some sort of karma, for he is above the concept of revenge, but you’re left with an itch to grind your legs together at his praise. If you do that, you’ll probably feel your wetness smearing all over your skin, you’re sure of it.

And you’re determined not to be distracted.

Your other hand joins the game too, starting to massage his balls. That makes him tense under you for a moment, but the tension dissolves quickly, leaving him dizzier.

“Fuck-“ Even the simplest swear word sounds hypnotizing on his lips, “you’re perfect. Don’t stop.”

Like you had any intention to do that.

On the contrary, your intentions evolve in the direction after his words, perhaps even a little bit further. You lean in and lick a stripe up his length, the tip of your tongue dancing around his head, fully tasting him, before you take him to your mouth fully.

His hand flies up, shaking as it comes down, held back by the strongest of wills from delving into your hair. Instead, it inches closer to your cheek, and returns to the position before (because he may have just lost five years of his life feeling the way you swallow him), half-stabilized over the armrest. His head rolls back once more, unashamed to release his moans with your every move. The most sinful one comes out when you use your throat, gagging around his thickness. You repeat it, and he whimpers, earning an equal sound from you too.

This time, you don’t have to ask him anything. The eye contact as you recover your breath, and continue to stroke him tells you everything you need to know, tells how much he enjoys it.

“Please- darling-“

You don’t try to choke on him again, but keep a rhythm with your tongue and your palm. He reaches climax quickly nonetheless, throbbing in your mouth and coating it white. Obi Wan feels sorry for not warning you, a sense of guilt rising alongside that pleasure, but it once again came over with lust as you gulp it down without a blink. He even fears he might go hard in a second, against all the rules of nature. You provoke that in all ways possible, pressing small kisses to his shaft, occasionally licking it, and letting your head rest on his thigh.

“Thank you.” It is so out of place to say that for this kind of act, but it is the sentence that is spoken, breaking the silence.

“You’re welcome, my Lord.” Thankfully, you raise your gaze just in time to miss the way his cock moves. You straighten your back and throw your shoulders back, stretching like you’ve just woken up.

So cute and so filthy.

“I’d like to return the favor.” He says, the action fueled only by his kind and generous soul.

“Some other time.” Your smile reflects the acknowledgment, not mocking his advances. “I am expected from home.”

“Ah, pity. Send my regards to your family.” He can’t help but feel envious of them. Do they know to treasure your company, not take a second of it for granted? Do they know what you did to him, before joining them? Would they be as accepting as ever, aware of your scandalous affairs?

Of course not.

But even then, you’d deserve much better than what they would treat you like. Your courage alone is enough to make the world bow down to you.

And what if your family means something other than your blood, your relatives? What if it was a stranger, a man undeserving, but had you to himself every night, when you returned home from your daily activities? A lucky fool who had the blessing of knowing you’d be by his side soon, every damn day.

His fingers turn into fists as you clean yourself up, so pretty in your ignorance to his gaze, brows slightly furrowed as you smooth out the wrinkles on your dress.

“Shall do.” And with your cheery voice, he doesn’t even notice his grip is unclenched.

===

Red isn’t his color. Some say it suits him well, that the stark contrast is eye-catching, but he doesn’t like to carry it. At this point of his life, it’s not even about his clothing choices, he prefers anything over that pigment in every possible scenario; the sheets, the carpets, the flowers… He makes a point of avoiding that powerful color.

Not today, though.

He has no word over how you dress and for once, tries very hard to stay neutral, not verbalize his choices when you mention the outfit you’ll be wearing in his ball, and it is a successful endeavor. (Knowing you and your stubbornness, it would probably only damage the bond between the two of you, something you’ll quip for years, or God forbid, keep you from attending at all.)

In the end, you wear it, and he ends up where he doesn’t want to be. Drowning in that bloody cloud. Without remorse, for the first time in his life.

For once, he finds himself chasing after it, taking joy in its liveliness, surrendering to the dangerous promises it makes. Your presence brings energy to every room you enter. The candles seem to burn brighter, and the warmth in his chest is not solely a result of both of your accomplishment of the spectacle. Obi Wan smiles ear to ear, eyes almost closed because of it, and he wants nothing more than to dance with you all night long, bury his hands in that expensive fabric and feel the burn in your cheeks, painted with the same color. He doesn’t even mean it in a perverse way. He wants to celebrate the payoff of your efforts, let the pride be felt, and enjoy the treats like all the guests, or even more than them (it would be more than fair to do so), together.

Alas, the society you both live in isn’t the type to accept such things. In order to not taint the event with the bitterness reserved for that principle, he doesn’t ask for more than six dances, or follow you around the saloon like a lost puppy. While it is never enough, he counts and cherishes the accidental eye contacts, and your hands holding his in dances, or the different circles you ran into each other and have snippets of various conversations. He accepts every compliment with your name tied behind his tongue and feels relieved with each passing hour, realizing how perfect everything is going, thanks to your pieces of advice and restrictions. He is light as a feather underneath all those layers he had to put on for the evening, without the pressing intention of taking it all off as soon as possible.

But, there are two sides to every coin, and here comes the other side, halfway through the night, the prejudice he had returning sinisterly.

He does a decent job of suppressing his jealousy, for all the purposes he’s thought of before. He can glance over when you dance with a stranger, or two, ricocheting on the stage and putting on a show for everyone. He chooses to admire the beauty you’re radiating, shining like a rose after the rain. It keeps him occupied for a while. But when an hour passes and you’re not even looking at his general direction, way too engulfed in your conversation with them, he feels a distaste rising in him. The red bleeds into his heart, poisoning him. It slowly takes over, and by the time you throw your head back with a burst of laughter that echoes in the room, he’s entirely filled with it. His hands twitch with every dream of ripping the source of that poison from your skin in a cove meant for just the two of you, away from all the vultures that eat and drink and savor his doings and yet ready to crucify him at his slightest flaw.

Obi Wan is one step away from sending everyone to their homes when you escort that man to the garden. Honestly, the only reason he doesn’t is because you return in a minute or two, the tip of your nose giving away all he needs to know- it’s chilly.

And he didn’t even give you his jacket?

On the second thought, it’s best that he didn’t, because then Obi Wan wouldn’t even bother to get rid of the crowd to have his way with him.

“Lord Kenobi.” You manage to catch him alone, on the balcony. He’s up there to calm his nerves, over you, unbeknownst to you. Unfortunately, his progress is lost the second he hears your voice, and it is truly an effort to act otherwise.

The night is on the brink of ruin for him, and it doesn’t have to be that way for you. This is why he tries so hard.

“I must congratulate you on this beautiful ball. It is a night to remember.”

“Don't say it like the honor doesn't belong to us both.”

You shrug, as if whisking all the credit away. But your eyes twinkle with pride. 

“I haven't had this much fun in ages,” You chirp,  “I would've begged for another one already, if I hadn't witnessed the toll it took on you.” He covers his face at the mention of the state he has been in for the last couple of weeks. “Oh God, don't.” 

“Oh God, you just didn't expose yourself like that! When will you start enjoying this?” Your laugh is a hidden giveaway of how many glasses you had tonight. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed for those who may inquire.” Your lips. Wrapped around his cock. Mapping out his neck. Keeping his secrets.  “Remember that every word that comes out of my mouth is said by a person who attended all types of feasts all over the continent for a decade now. I grew up around these circles.” Shrugging, you add. “Perhaps that was my undoing.”

“Undoing? I could never call you “undone”.” Ironic, how you make him forget about before and continue to concern him with totally different subjects.

“You’re right.” Thoughts come out a little slow, but your effort is evident on your face. “I just had too many opportunities to start over in new places, experience everything that I was curious about, and that all led me to discover exactly what I liked, what I wanted from life.”

“How’s that a bad thing?” 

“I’m not willing to let that go anytime soon.” You can’t help but notice that it sounds like some sort of prison of your will, but that’s not a discussion you can have tonight. “Anyways, Obi Wan. I must be going now, just wanted to pay my compliments and wish you good night.” 

“I thought you’d stay the night-“Well, that’s definitely not the case, “But it is so early?”

“You know our houses are not so close, any later than this and I’m going to fall asleep on the road out of habit.”

Yeah, that’s why he thought it would be perfectly reasonable for you to stay over. 

“I see.” And he wishes he had gone blind and deaf. “Then, allow me to bid you good night, my Lady.” 

He takes your hand, placing a kiss you can very much feel despite the fabric. What he doesn’t expect, is for you to press your palm against his chest in return, because he doesn’t know of the urge you have to not leave. It is a split second of override, before you can command your feet to move again, blissfully unaware how tender that moment was.

===

A day. A full day. That’s how long he can refrain from seeing you. Funny, the meetings have become a habit for him, and although he needed you back then, he needs you more now, for completely different reasons, and you’re not there that morning- and why would you be? There’s no arrangement that demands your assistance anymore. Your praises are all said and done, and if to be repeated, it wouldn’t certainly be a matter that required urgency for you to show up at his door.

And maybe, you have other places to be, other doors to knock. Perhaps you’d enjoy a change of air.

So, he has come to yours.

Naboo. Aldreaan. Correlia. The cities churn in his mind, alongside your image in every one of them. The flowers in your hand as you roam the fields of Naboo, the coat that doesn’t do much for the redness on the tip of your nose while you lodge in the mountains of Alderaan. The exquisite jewelry you wear to a Correlian masquerade, outshining every debutante in the room. He imagines the people hypnotized by your presence (what can they be, other than blessed), or you gliding among them (after all, discretion was your powerful suit). And the worst of all, he thinks of the man escorting you, claiming their dances, bringing you a glass of their rare wines, walking with you in the natural scene, their savage arms around you, their hands groping your curves, pulling sweet sounds from you.

(No, the purpose of his visit was not that. )

He invites himself in from your open balcony, catching you as you start your nightly routine. You’re taking off your hairpins, when he does the courtesy of knocking on the glass, startling you just a little. You jump, but thankfully do not scream, the reflex somehow suppressed. Truth be told, it’s not because your shock actually dwindles. If anything, it is redirected into a different question, going from “What the fuck was that?” to “Why the fuck is he here?”

“Good night, darling.” He gestures for you to sit again, and you do, returning to your chair in front of the vanity. Your head has to crane in a strange way for you to see him, but thankfully, he comes closer and solves the problem, eyes meeting through the mirror. And his face lights up as he sets foot in the room, like he too has forgotten everything but this moment, his jealousy and desperation left behind the walls. That’s how the question of “What are you doing here?” is not immediately articulated.

 Instead, you say, “Good night, Obi Wan.”

“I see I managed to visit you just in time.” Look at him, fixing his beard, laughing nervously. He just climbed to the second floor, and his heart only got racing now.

“Lucky you.” Honestly, you don't think there's a “wrong time” in his perspective, at least when it comes to you. A few minutes later, and he'd see you in your nightgown. Would that deter him from setting his foot in here? Most, most, most likely, no. Don't dwell on that thought, though. “And what do I owe the pleasure?” You try not to focus too much on the fact that you have him and your bed in the same frame, through the reflection. 

“I thought I would see you today.” Is that sarcasm in his tone, or a little bit of self-humiliation?

This must be some sort of a Shakespeare play, right? 

Oh my God, it is. 

“Ah.” You fiddle with your hairbrush, the eye contact broken, your attempt to stop any matter from escalating this night. Any matter. Not that you had any questions when it came to his morals, he probably was the one person you’d never doubt, but in terms of his intentions to be here tonight startled you in a much different light. “I slept in late today. Didn’t even leave the house.”

Oh. That makes quite the sense.

“Actually I still feel a little bit exhausted.”

“That’s because you had too much fun without me last night.” A treacherous scoff falls from his lips as he shakes his head. The moment that the tides turn. The one that brings back all the crude questions.

“What? No? What do you mean?” For all your effort to remain calm, you look alarmed, that tired face with doe eyes showing it all, and he feels sorry for a second, troubling you over his overthinking ass.

Then, he spots the bracelet you wore last night, lying haphazardly over a piece of paper on the corner of the table. It looks very much like a letter.

It’s not hard for him to advance his speculations.

“I think you know it already.”

“Obi Wan.” You twist to actually face him, your arm on the back of the chair. “Why are you here?”

He takes a few steps back, as if the air is stolen from the short distance between the two of you. He runs a hand through his hair, undisturbed by its messy result. You can see him biting into his cheeks, trying to select the right words. In the end, all that effort seems unnecessary, because when he speaks, the sentence can’t be any simpler. “Who was the man you spent an hour with last night?”

Wincing, you take a few seconds to process. It’s not about the answer, but his motive, his audacity that irks you. You stand up and speak. This time, your voice is sharp as ice. “That’s none of your business.”

He blinks a few times, so sure of his righteousness, and determined. “You were in my house, at our ball, dancing and talking with strangers and not even glancing in my direction for the better half of the night. I think it’s some of my business.”

“I was by your side for much longer than it is acceptable, Kenobi, do I need to remind you? We danced six times and greeted the majority of guests together.” You’ll not let the truth be ignored. “Any longer than that and there would be rumors all over the society today, and even I would’ve heard about it despite staying here all day. I didn’t come this much by pushing boundaries at every fucking chance I get. I picked my battles, the thing you seem incapable of.”

“So, am I to understand, this thing between us,” The look on his face dares you to deny the existence of it, “is not worth picking?”

This is the possibility that scared you. And for good reason, it seems. You close your eyes, in order to not roll them, and purse your lips. He uses the moment to reach for your arms, like he could appeal for an answer from you. “Don’t you love what we have?”

You couldn’t feel any worse under the warmth of his hands, affection pouring out of them despite the rage in him. “I love what we had.”

“Had?”

“It’s obvious that we can’t keep doing this, is it not?”

Confusion leaves its place to anger once more, for all the wrong reasons and his face darkens. “Oh, I see. You secured yourself a new entertainment, and now you have to get rid of the old one.”

You shrug out of his hold, distancing yourself from him. The source of the problem is not what he claims it to be, and it infuriates you, along with the accusations he taints you with.  “Don't you dare reflect your own degeneration on me like that! It’s not about my damn cousin’s damn friend, it’s about you!” It is nearly a scream, the highest pitch that wouldn’t grab attention. Still, reflectively, you turn your head to the door, which you had luckily locked. “Leave now, you bastard!”

Honoring the part he was assigned in that theatre play, he focuses on the wrong part of the words, the crumbles of information giving him hope, and dim his doubts. “So there's nothing between you and him?”

Seething, you are red with fury, taking a sharp breath, pointing your finger at him like a gun. “Get. Out.” 

“Is there?” 

Your tongue is determined not to let him hear your words, despite the truth in them. It will not lead to any good. 

But so will his closeness.

When did he get so close? 

The moment you look into his ocean eyes, the decision to say anything is deemed impossible. The decision to do anything, actually. His arms cage you against the cluttered table, and yours end up on his chest, though without any intention of pushing him away.

“Answer my question, and I will.” 

How could you? How can you be able to resist his utmost sincerity, the desperation in his behaviors and the brutality of his words contrasted in the way he looks at you, the caging without actually touching you. Your suffocation is only a result of your inner turmoil, the desire to spit out the truths, clear his heart and give in to the love he's handing out, but terrified of the places it will take the two of you.  

“I’m waiting, darling.”  You can’t help but watch his perfect lips move, his voice licking your skin. 

You gulp, an action he doesn’t miss, and dares to laugh at it. Obi Wan can see the exact moment your gaze returns to being that of an eris, though the flames remind him of a different time.

A very different time. 

“I hate you.” It is perhaps the most childish thing you’ve ever said in years, and it shows. 

So, that’s his cue to kiss you.

For all your claims, still, he doesn’t miss the small moan you let out, swallowing it with pride. Your soft lips move against his like a habit, anticipating every move and the next, a choreography you both know all too well  albeit in a much swifter tempo. Your hands wrap around his neck, pulling him closer but his stay in the same spot, afraid to disturb you, though gripping the edges hard enough to turn his knuckles white. Though, when he tugs at your bottom lip, asking for more, you grant him that, your tongues joining the dance. You whimper, the action triggering your inhibitions to loosen up, like each second wipes the doubts away. It is a sugared water, only serving to increase the thirst instead of quenching it. So you don't stop drinking it.

Not til you absolutely have to.

“No, you don’t.” 

Two seconds have to pass for you to understand his response. With his breath still warming your cheeks, even brushing them with his nose, yes he dares now, the statement is the undeniable truth.

However, not that you're ready to admit it. He already knows too much, all the things you like, all your weak spots, all of your soul.

“Yes, I- oh” And he's not the one to endure your lies. His fingers delve into your scalp, putting traction into your hair ‘til you have to tilt your head back to release the tension, forcing you to look at him through your lashes. Still, eye contact is not what he seeks, for he has as much a chance of getting lost in it as you. He uses the expanse of skin you offer, and dives in for that specific spot that has your legs going limp. It has two consequences: Firstly, you are stuck between him and the table, the latter supporting you too little that the weight rests almost entirely on his body, every plane of him touching yours. Secondly, the angle puts the mirror in the corner of your sight, and you have a maddening view of what’s happening. It is enough to make old ladies screech and faint, and artists to slave to immortalize the scene.  

“You’re a bastard.” You murmur the last bit of objection, solely for the object of throwing it out of the tip of your tongue. He hears, though quite unbothered, the retort to break you further leaves his mouth readily.

“Call me whatever you want, dear, you’re the one begging for it.”

Of course, you only pant in return. Even when he threatens to nip and bite at the sensitive nerves, you don’t stop him. Furthermore, your calf twists around his as much as it is able in that impossible posture. An invitation.

“And what else would you let me do to you? Would you let me take you to your bed?”

You nod, frantically. “Yes, please Obi Wan- take me”

That’s a sentence straight out of his dreams.

The second your feet touch the ground, both of you gather the ends of your dress, yanking it out to throw it haphazardly on the floor. Your stays and chemise follow the same fate, then it is his jacket and shirt. He taps on your thigh, like he would let you walk the five meter distance between there and the bed, you jump, a little shakily (not that you ever had questions about his strength). Fuck, it excites you how easily and softly he lands you on the edge of it. You reach for his trousers, but he stops you and urges for you to scoot back, and lay down.

Because that’s the best way he can rid you of your shoes and stockings.

Your knees stick together as he works on one foot, and the other. The shoes drop with a loud thud, making you bite your lip, close your eyes for a moment and pray nobody investigates. It’s no wonder that after that small break, your pupils meet once more. How ironic that it is the cause of your concern, and the only solution.

You can feel his fingertips skimming the top of the only clothing left on you. While the touch is stimulating enough, it is the fact that you have to spread your legs a little to allow him to undress you, giving him a view of your wet pussy.

Nothing that he hasn’t seen before, but that doesn’t affect the way you tremble.

Throwing your head back, you let him slide the stretchy fabric down. Slowly. Like his piercing gaze isn’t enough. You’re squirming by the end of it, all thoughts of getting him out of his outfit gone (-or delayed, should you still believe yourself.)

Thankfully, he takes care of it, the sounds of his buttons unfastened echo in the room. 

Though he has no rush to join you. 

You turn your face to search for what's taking him so long, a whine in your throat when he kneels. That's unlike him. 

You feel cold without his body looming over yours. And he has a hard time not to do that, not falling for the flush of red and your hard nipples. Especially when you're so gone that you may come undone just from that.

He'd like to see that. 

But he has to make you understand how you keep him in that state, ignorant of his troubles, even as the solution is obvious and wanted by both sides, however the other can't accept it out of simple stubbornness.

Thus, he plays the deaf now, as he grips the supple flesh of your thighs, squeeze and move as he pleases, exposing your core to air while he busies himself with other parts. He claims you with his lips, mapping out, pushing you down to the mattress every time you jolt because he’s so close just a little to the left- But perhaps the worst is his vulgar taunts, whispered, to himself mostly, a way to speak out the anger.

“Are you this wet for all the men you hate?”

“No.” You cry, not able to stand the accusations. “It’s you.”  And it is the truth. There are no other men on the planet that you would bear being treated like this by, or attempt to change their opinion of you. But now, you need him to know that. You can’t imagine a future with his back always turned to you, or be subject to his very much forced small talk with empty, or worse, hatred filled eyes. It is a reveal of a side of you that you had to keep hidden and downplay, to be free at the end of the day, give both of you an opportunity to walk out, but it doesn’t matter if the said fallout leaves his judgment of you sour. You care about his perception, and would do your best to change it should it be mixed with lies. Truth, and nothing less, is what he deserves.

A wave of relief floods his heart, that simple answer is all he wishes to hear. There’s also a bit of rage, for knowing you’d never admit it in any other circumstance. Alas, the smile appearing on his face is unstoppable. Even as he finally begins to eat you out.

A moan leaves your mouth at the first contact, which is nothing more than a small kiss. That bad, uh? As he licks everything he can reach, it turns into a whine, because it is evident he has no concern about making you cum quickly, or in a normal amount of time. He just continues to do whatever he was doing before, exploring every nook and cranny, and marking, like he intends to commit this moment to his memory. It may not have been his first time, (or the second), but he’s doing it for himself now, your desperation sadly not a priority. You also suspect he’s doing it to drive you mad, using his previous experience and remembering how sensitive you got when his beard rubbed against your skin.

“Obi Wan-“ Your back arches, a hand reaching for his hair. He stops it all by jostling your legs with a hold that could leave imprints. It takes half of your willpower to stay in the place he put you in, and that means you only have the other half to process the indescribable pleasure he’s giving. It is gonna be fast, whether he plans it or not.

“Could you actually throw this away? How can you pick anything else over this?” You knew it would be a hard transition. The magic he created is haunting and ready to jump on you in those dark corners, even after many years. There is no cure for ghosts, after all. The thought now seems impossible, the last thing that could cross your mind. Simply impossible. He emphasizes by nudging your clit, every single movement forcing a sound out of you. “That's right. I’m going to remind you how good we are together, make you feel so good that you'll forget anything but us.” 

The passion in his words scares you, but it would be a lie to say they don't excite you in some way, making your heart flutter in your chest at his devotion and to be able to still feel safe only supported by the honest bond you two have. You chant his name as he smothers himself in your folds, sucking and flicking your raw bundle of nerves. He loves to feel you twitch when you are overwhelmed, but not enough to climax. 

Then, he scrapes your clit with his teeth, and you're gushing, head thrown back, a silent scream in your mouth. The hot lava inside you doesn't cool down, paying its visit to every part of you, making stars explode behind your eyes and body trash against the sheets. To be perfectly honest, he didn't expect this much either, his strong muscles tightened to keep you from closing your legs, a string of curses muttered at the obscenity of it all. As always, your bliss only augments his own, especially at the sight of your essence flowing out of you. He has to drink it all in. Thus, he doesn’t stop, unbothered by the subtle sway of your hips, or the slight tug at his strands. He has no objection to them, on the contrary, he would encourage them if he didn't have to abandon his task to say the words. The slow movements of his tongue create constant stimulation in your already delicate nerves. Your second orgasm crashes you like a clap of thunder, leaves you sobbing and shaking. It uses all the energy in your already spent muscles, wipes every argument from your mind and removes those troubling emotions from your soul. The interesting thing, is that you have no oppositions to the matter. Why would there be? Could there be a sweeter arrangement? Isn’t it better than a dream? You speak the truths, and he worships you. You pay him the respect he deserves, and he tries to honor it in every chance. You don't complete his personality, you enhance it, and in return, he uses everything in his power to make your day better. 

It is not that simple, a voice speaks from the back of your head, but it's too silent to have an importance. 

Likewise, some of his ideas are dismayed just as easily. Pity. He had every intention of taking you from behind, not letting you get away before painting your ass red, and watch you crawl back to him still even when he teased you that badly, but you seem too gone, too weak to lift your hips up. And it is not a big deal anymore, because he's equally excited to have you like this, lying on your back, legs hugging his torso. Like your first time. The parallel is unintentional, but more than welcomed. How much and how little has changed since then? He leans in for a kiss, and fuck, your mouth is greets him too purely, like he's not covered in your slick. There's something more than lust that drives you, evident in the way you move, like you’re carving out a promise on his lips. The sounds that you produce are not in desperation, but gratitude, not weary of the periods of suspense but glad that it is over. His fingers travel the length of your abdomen, all blame on him for the coldness of your skin and the way you shiver. When he circles your nipples with his thumb, you sigh, and press yourself to him. 

“You take care of me like no other, Obi Wan.” You whisper as you cup his cheek. You should’ve told him sooner. It was the least you could do. 

He has no answer, and he doesn’t need one. Holding your wrist at the sides of your head angrily and meeting with your tongue is more than enough of an explanation, just like the one you made a little too late, beautiful controversies. You both are unaware of how your hips rub against each other, without hurry, ‘til his cock catches your entrance. Your breathing becomes erratic, considering you didn’t get a prep or had any in some while, and he’s big. 

“Are you gonna let me in, sweetheart?” 

“I need you.” You almost wail, despite knowing it will be too much. It’s not about pleasing him, either, for these things are not given up as sacrifices, ever. What matters is that you’re together, and that is always good. “Please, I want you.”

Could he ever refuse?

He takes his time, relishing the surrender of your tight walls, and brave noises, replied with his own moans. Your pants are guiding as much as they are troubling, making him even harder. He swears he’s about to burst when you outright sob while he brushes your areolas. Your back raises, an attempt to get his fingers a little higher, and your eyelids flutter close with the movement.

Make no mistake, your face scrunched up in delight is a sight to behold, but he can’t compromise having your eyes closed, sparing him from that glossy, burning gaze you have when he tears you apart. He needs to see them lose all coherent thought, see those doubts fly away and light up with pleasure.

“Look at me, dearest.” Right, aren’t you more than acquainted with his most important wish? He pleads, the softest tone that spilled from his lips tonight. Your heart skips a beat although you’re not exactly capable of processing that information. Needless to say, you don’t oblige to his wish, not when you are so spent. 

Obi Wan groans, his hand flying up to turn your chin. At that moment, all fall silent. You get lost in his stormy eyes, and so does he. Though his cock twitches in your quivering channel, that’s not the point.

“I can’t get enough of you.” He blurts. Then, the other truths demand to be told too.  “I don't like the way they look at you. I don't like how they don't know how blessed they are by your presence. Shit, I hate it when they know it too. I hate to think those who got to memorize you this closely, even those you knew before me.” 

Even those you knew before me. “Obi Wan, you're-” 

“Crazy? I'll admit, I am crazy when it comes to you.” 

“I never-” You have to drown a whimper as he continues his deep, slow strokes, “asked for any of it.”

“Of course, dear. I know, I know it's not you, but them. But I can hardly stop myself from reaching out and pulling you out from their sigh. Or wrap my hands around you, let them see what we share. They wouldn't dare anymore, if they knew the lines you left on my back.” It takes an incredible amount of will not to thrust into you faster, with where his ideas lead him to. “Would you let me mark you from the inside?”

Fuck, why does his words make their way into your heart without ringing those alarm bells you have ready at all times? How does he move past them so easily? 

Or do you let him, and take those rings as a cheery tune of his nearing presence, and not a warning as they must be?

“Yes!” The feeling of him finishing anywhere but in you suddenly sounds so disgusting. You want his warmth, even though you're burning already. 

His lips find yours, kissing you so hard that you'd thought he wanted to silence you. But surely, you know better, that's definitely not the case. You get to drink his sweet moans as his hands envelope you further (like it's possible). In return, he's right there to swallow your gasps, the proof of how you push yourself for him. The rest of the world stops, the urge to fill your lungs no longer necessary, nothing but the rhythm you've created, and clouds you've climbed on. 

He senses your peak before you do and gives you a brief space to breathe, praises falling from his lips that you can't hear, as you shake and let out whimpers, quite loud, for you've grown used to him muffling them. He follows suit, not able to resist your walls clamping down on him, painting your insides with a heavenly moan. 

It takes a second for both of your bearings to return, for the night to evolve into a chilly summer night it was simply meant to be. The coldness is especially remarkable as sweat cools down. A towel wipes them rather quickly, but it's never as warm as having the other around. Your usual remedy, a nightgown, is no use either, even if he helps you put it on. It is such a whiplash that makes you question everything about the last hour. You're left with burning cheeks as he collects your clothes from the floor, hanging them on the divider, then his- but he does the same to them?

“What are you doing?” You croak, a minute of silence for your vocal cords. “I don't cuddle.” That's a harsh sentence, but it's the truth.

“And I don't leave the person I love in the middle of the night to freeze.” He's holding a candle, the only lit candle in the room, and his face is illuminated beyond anything else and it could be said that he is the source of light. 

The person I love. His words break down the last resolve you have, and you're left to figure out how you feel about it as he kills the flame, and slides  into the sheets behind you. You'd think the sensation of his chest pressed to your back would keep you wide awake, but no, it's weirdly new yet familiar, enough to lull to sleep. Also, his scent is mesmerizing, and you never had it this close and constant. 

And for him, he had no trouble whatsoever from the start, but this is far better than expected, that he is sure he is living the best moment of his fate. The softness of you, in his arms, drifting into heavy dreams. It is a treasure for him to see that you can relax beside him, allow him to feel the regularity of breaths, showing your most natural self. 

But the morning is anything like the night.

You wake up from the orange lights of the rising sun, when he gently combs your hair out of your face. There's a fatigue in your muscles, alongside that sweet tinge of pleasure still lingering, making it all bearable. Your skin runs hot where he holds you, your back, your waist, your intertwined legs… The slight prickle of his beard is not pronounced when it's rolling on your shoulder, especially as it's followed by small pecks. He's unable to resist, your intoxicating smell pronounced in the cove of your neck, right under his nose. Only when he feels somewhat satisfied, and you seem a little more conscious, the tonus of your body increasing, he talks. 

You weren't ready for his morning voice.

“Good morning, love.” His hand rises to soothe the redness rising where his chin was pressed. Delicate all over. “I’m afraid I must get going, for both of us’ sake.” 

You give an affirming hum, and swiftly roll out. Your body betrays you without delay, a shiver seizing you, protesting the lack of his heat. You shake your shoulders, not so subtly but it's not like you can cringe. It is your band aid, and you're ripping it out. 

You reach for a robe and put it on rather easily for your questionable nerves and state of mind. 

“Darling?” 

“Yes, you should really get going, Obi Wan.” Fuck, that sounds still more aggressive than you are, or you ever intended, a mirror of the storms in your mind. 

“What's the matter?” He's awfully quick to put on his trousers and come near you once again. He looks into your eyes, unobscured by your hair, and then there's that look of reveal on his face, the point of no return. He says your name, a final plead and a warning.

“You must leave soon.” This time, you’re a little softer, but it is nowhere near normal, considering what you shared.

“You think last night was a mistake.” He’s never sounded colder, and you have to focus not to bite your lip. The stern expression on his face is unbecoming of him, but it’s also a great reflection of his fidelity. Now, the other side of the coin shows itself, with his icy eyes and clenched jaw.

“I never-“ said that. Though, is there any possibility of you explaining what you feel? The doubts, the unfamiliarity of these feelings. Could you say, I’m not sure about this thing in between us, without creating the same effect of his claimed words?

There’s a second of silence, as he’s giving you one last chance to speak up. You know, you know that the moment you try, he’s going to break that heartless look, and put his loving hand out.

“For someone who thinks it was a mistake, you don't seem regretful at all.”

“Because it's not, and I don’t!” The confession is for him, but it is hard on you. But that doesn’t mean you’re willing to repeat it. “But it can become one. This has to stop. We can’t go further than this.”

“Why?” He’s trying his best not to raise his voice in this quiet, quiet hour.

“Because this is just- just an infatuation. It will go away. And to remember this time as a good one, we have to be careful, and we’re starting to lose that sense.”

An infatuation. That is the strangest insult he’s ever heard, but the worst nonetheless. An infatuation. The more he repeats the word in his mind, the more his anger grows, with a goal to show you otherwise.

“This is not what happened last night, and you know it.” He was as clear as day, and you honored that likewise. There was no lie. “If this is about you getting pregnant, I swear -”

“No, that's not it.” For once, you show something about the bond you have. “I have no concerns about you, or the whole society, should that happen. I’d even happily move away somewhere nobody knows my name and raise them.” 

Why is that option uttered, when there are far easier choices to make? “You’d rather build a new life than marry me?”

You remain silent once more, owning the coward you are. This is exactly why this wouldn’t work, anyways. He shakes his head, catching himself still thinking of ways to convince you, to work through the problem. He even thinks of walking out of the main door, and running into your father's study, forcing your hand in marriage.

You can see that thought play in his head as his gaze becomes fixated on the door.

"See. That's why.” You beg. “This is just an obsession, and you are maddened with it. You can't see reason, or listen to the sound of it, and I can't watch you make decisions like this. Is this how you actually want to treat me? Blackmail your way into marrying me?”

“So, this is what you think of me.” Blackmail. 

“No, Obi Wan, are you even listening to me?” You cover your face with your hands, a moment to recollect yourself. “Do you know when my next trip is scheduled?” 

Oh. You and your infamous life on the roads. 

“In three days. And do you know I already postponed it once?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we have very different lifestyles, and they are not compatible.”

“Or maybe, you are running from something so long that it has become a habit.”

“I do it because I like it. Because I promised people that I would see them before the end of autumn.” The latter part of your answer is not in your favor, but his, a product of overthinking. You discover that a little too late. He sees it too, along with the fragile curl of your lips, but doesn’t use it against you. Not anymore.

“I wish you a safe trip, then.” That’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to regret your preferences, as he takes a step back, and dresses himself in a blink with perfection. It causes you to feel vulnerable, like his stoic face and impeccable outfit which somehow looks even more put together than yesterday, when he was helped to put it on, paints him like a statue of a Greek god who is putting you on trial.

A trial that you fail.

Yet, by not punishing you, he gives you the worst sentence: Incarceration with your conscience.

#star wars #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan x reader #obi wan smut #obi wan kenobi smut #obi-wan smut #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi wan x you #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi fluff

[spicemaidenfic]

( image powered by AI )

Him | Star Wars | Obi-Wan x Reader

✶ Summary: You love being his apprentice and all it entails...

✶ Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Padawan! Reader

✶ Warnings: Smut (18+)

✶ Length: Short one shot, 1.4k words

✶ A/N: A short piece that I churned out in a day or two amid having stacks of multi-chapter fics that I will need the power of God and Anime to finish (bear with me chronic illness doesn't help me stay organized lol)

The mountain skyline’d made for a lovely view, but the best view was below you. 

➢ Read the full fic here

#obi wan x reader #obi wan smut #star wars smut #obi-wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan smut #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi-wan kenobi x reader #spicemaidenfic #him by spicemaidenfic #spicemaidenfic op

[phoeebsbuffay]

Imagine Obi-Wan Kenobi’s complex journey…to the dark side.

Warnings: drama, angst, violence, inappropriate/adult language—explicit smut and fluff as usual.

Warnings 2: *long* post.

Recommendations: “Lavender Haze” by Taylor Swift; “Yellow Flicker Beat” by Lorde.

No minors.

***

Preface

“When there is too much light”, you tell him, “one might lose the sight for it.”

“But when there is too much dark”, so the red haired male muses, “the fate seems to be all the same”.

You tilt your head.

“The whole point is that every excess leads to suffering. Those who claim to possess the true core of goodness are blinded by their vanity, although those who are plunged by darkness is similarly lost.”

“Then what should I do?”, you detect a hint of misery in his voice.

“I am not the wisest of beings, Obi”, you smile candidly. “You’re not on your own. You should not pick up the broken petals and try to glue them to what they used to form. No. The damage is done, but it can be mended and transformed in something better.”

There is so much to be said, but, to your disappointment, words die in his thoughts. His eyes divert away and the magic is gone.

“Obi?”, now he detects despair in your voice.

The Jedi looks back at you. His blue eyes little by little lose the spark that once colored such tempest irises.

An eclipse rises.

“I must depart”, it’s all he mutters. “Unfortunately I cannot stay, Senator Y/N.”

You don’t have to say goodbye. Obi-Wan is gone with the wind.

***

• Part I: The Creed.

“You look too sad, Master”, Anakin tells him concerned. “This sadness of yours has remained there in your eyes longer than I’d thought it would take. I must say I am concerned.”

“This is exhaustion to you, Anakin”, Obi-Wan remarks. “I’ve been working per usual, that is all.”

“You have been burying yourself in work since that incident with the Duchess has…”

“It was not an incident!”, Obi-Wan snaps at Anakin, who stares at his Master in bewilderment. He sighs before softening: “I just…appreciate your concern over me, Anakin. It’s going to be fine. But there are moments when I wonder where this will end. Frankly, it frustrates me that two years later Maul isn’t entirely wiped out of the galaxy.”

“He’s not like any other we faced, Master. That creature is a Sith Lord, therefore we ought to be very careful when dealing with the man”, Anakin smiles quietly, eyes filled with comprehension. “But be mindful that grief should not overcome you, after all…”

“Fear leads to anger that leads to hate that leads to suffering”, so Obi-Wan completes. “I shall not forget that. It pleases me to see you learned that well, Anakin. I forget at times how good you can actually be.”

Anakin rolls his eyes, about to say something in return when the thread is interrupted by Master Windu, who requests Obi-Wan’s presence for a mission to planet Y/C.

“It’s farther than we had formerly judged”, the said Master tells Obi-Wan. “But we understand this is an important mission in order to prevent this region to fall to the Separatists. Apparently Count Dooku has sent a spy to convert Lady Y/N to his side. You must not fail, Obi-Wan.”

“I’m sure everything will be conducted most appropriately”, assures the other male.

By then the two part in friendly terms. But Anakin, the witness of the moment, is suddenly plagued with a strange feeling. However, he has not time to uncover it or even share with his Master, for Obi-Wan doesn’t want to waste anymore of his time in Coruscant, a planet he’s grown to dislike.

***

When he meets you after a long time spent journeying to your planet, Obi-Wan is dressing somber shades of red, opting for a dark cape that falls over his shoulders. But the growing shadow within is momentarily eclipsed by your glowing beauty.

Your long and wavy y/c hair is tied in a single braid; your face is painted in delicate colors that seem to bring your beauty in a most natural way; your light red gown reinforces your curves and after two years, Obi-Wan finds himself desiring a woman again.

His eyes linger at the swell of your breasts and for one moment, his mind takes him to a dark spot, where he allows to imagine taking each breast with his tongue—hungry for affection, wishing to be provided with what he hopes to find a sweet lullaby coming out of your lips, singing out his name—; but the moment you clear your throat, he sweeps away such pictured scene, burying it deep—mostly because he doesn’t want to have a boner right now.

“Master Kenobi”, you greet him with a sweet voice, eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and awe. He knows by the careful glance you give him that you find him handsome. Apparently, the attraction is mutual. “Thank you for getting to us. Welcome to our planet. I pray the journey has not been too hard on you.”

As you lead him to a seat next to the window, from where he can see the landscape outside, Obi-Wan smiles at you when answering:

“It has not, thank you for asking, my lady. I do hope, though, that your ladyship may forgive me for the delay in our mission. I had other matters to attend.”

“There is nothing to be forgiven for, Master Kenobi”, you smile again and Obi-Wan hates how the light that comes from you makes him feel like a teenager in his hormone days. “Before we begin to discuss our points, allow me to serve you some tea. Do tell your favourite.”

This is how it begins.

*

Lord forbid, but as each day goes by, you find yourself desiring to hear more of the serious and meticulous Master Jedi. His redhair and his blue eyes are difficult not to draw your eyes, but his muscles—perfectly well hidden under such robes—leave so much to your imagination.

Often seen by others as cold, unreachable woman, always avoiding relationships of any nature, it seems this man has managed to make you go to your knees—though you’d gladly turn this metaphor into literal.

You’ve heard the other day a lady in waiting describing to another exactly how she went to her knees to please her husband—a way the said lady in question found out from a maid of her trust—and how deliciously it was to feel his manhood pumping into her mouth. As you enter into the salon, your eyes scam after him, with that scene in the back of your mind.

What would be like to please him? To make this sacred Jedi feel profane, mundane things? It’s when your own conscience admonishes for such thinking. You are a governor, a member of the Senate who vowed never to marry or get yourself involved romantically—specially after one particular man, Senator H/N, broke your heart.

“Ah, Master Kenobi! There you are!”, you greet him with glee. “I must admit I am worried about how the Senate will respond to our request. I do wish to remain neutral in this war.”

Obi-Wan comes to perceive that he’s been growing intolerant to his impatience with this unending war. Or perhaps he’s mistaking it with frustration? The man cannot tell and he has no intention in letting obvious his discontent.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Senator Y/LN”, and so suddenly your desire for peace reminds him of…

“Are you well, Master Kenobi?” You ask him gently, concerned about the shadows that so suddenly take grip of his reasoning. “Come, let us go outside. A stroll around the gardens might suit you.”

“No, I appreciate your concern, but…”

You surprise him by being an effective adversary.

“I don’t take no as answer, good man. I know distress when I see one.”

“And here I thought I was hiding well”, Obi-Wan muses sarcastically.

“Oh, didn’t you?”

How you snap back at him earns the Jedi some smile. And you are pleased your effort is finally coming to something.

*

“Is it weird to live by peace in a world plunged by extremisms?” You think out loud as you two share a stroll in a quiet, content pace around many green walls.

Obi-Wan, who’s been studying you more often than he’d sensibly admit, side eyes you and discreetly responds:

“I don’t think so. When disease begins to make sense, reason starts to find illogical healthy musings. We’ve been too sick to realize that peace could’ve been reached by a simple dialogue with some compromising”.

“Why do we expect better attitudes from others when we ourselves lack them?”, you sigh. “I suppose it’s because our enemies reflect our darkest fears.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrows furrow at the thought. Seeing a good point you make, he finds himself uncomfortable for the first time in a long time.

We make demands of others. We fight for others. We expect better of others when we are not better than them.

Has the good cause been corrupted? Suddenly, Obi-Wan’s conviction starts to be shaken by his own beliefs.

“I’m sorry. I was meant to bring you some solace, not providing you this uneasiness”, you apologize by reading the Jedi’s awkward steps.

When finding your y/c eyes, Obi-Wan’s first instinct is to flee. You too get this sensation and perhaps you let it show more than you’d know. But he resists it.

You are not Satine. I cannot expect you to be like her. But you bring me to a different light… and I fear where this path will lead me.

“Don’t apologize”, though his arms remain folded, his features are now softened. “I’ve been under stress for two years in a roll. You deserve better, my lady, and I haven’t been a most proper guess, have I?”

You chuckle softly and the sound that comes with it makes any burden his heart’s been carrying loose…

“I understand more than you know, Master Kenobi. I fear to say I tend to overthink about what surrounds me”, you smile at him, your eyes not ready to let go of the gaze that captured them. “It’s a hopeless world we live in and yet I think it’s my duty to bring some joy to it.”

“And how’d you do that?”, he inquires, too intrigued by your web not to play with it.

“By living to a personal creed”, you give the Jedi a mysterious smile. “Live righteously through every beating of your heart. Do so by providing others some cheerfulness.”

That being said, you actually succeed to distract the very grave Jedi close to a fountain and with one small push, get him into it.

Soon, the silence is broken by a sound of cheerful laughters and for the very first time Obi-Wan joins them, not burdened, but free of it.

***

Part II: Duty Is The Death of Love.

Obi-Wan is requested to go back to Coruscant once the situation in your planet is partially resolved. But there is reluctance on his part going and you fear for his departure too.

By then, an unspoken attachment had developed between you two—but neither felt the urge to make it obvious, in other words: to make the first step.

“You are too quiet, dear Y/N”, Obi-Wan remarks, his eyes never letting go of your sight for a moment.

This evening you are having dinner. A private one, very personal and intimate in many shades—but the Jedi realizes you’ve been far from his grasp. It so appears to him that your brightness has been stolen away.

“Am I?”, you raise your eyes to meet those sparkling blue ones that have been searching for yours. You blush lightly as a result. “I’ve always been quiet, Obi.”

“This is hardly the truth”, he smiles. “You’ve been always the one to speak, my dear. Please, tell me what’s been troubling you.”

Your pride advises you not to tell him how you feel. Obi-Wan sees through you the struggle, but these are trying days. What’s there to lose if you speak your mind?

“I will miss you”, it’s all you can say.

He reaches for your hand, gently lacing fingers. Never before duty felt so strained, so… suffocating.

“I’m not really leaving. You know that.”

You don’t realize a puddle of tears is forming in your eyes before you say:

“You’ve always shone brighter than anyone I’ve known. I shall not eclipse that.”

Obi-Wan quickly leaves his seat to console you. On his knees before you, he takes each hand and presses there a kiss.

“Dear love”, he rushes to say. “You are a poetry to my soul. I’ve been numbed for a long time and thought myself dead inside until you brought me back to life. How can you say I shine bright when you are the sun who feeds me light to do so? No. I’m nothing if not a moon in need of your light.”

When did the desperation rise so eminently? You don’t know, neither does he. But all so suddenly, your lips are collided against his and Obi-Wan is rising you from your seat to pull yourself into him.

Your hands are now playing with his hair all the whilst his own are gripping tight your waist. His kisses are urgent and fervent, warming you in every possible way.

His lips are now going to your neck and you throw your head back, feeling exposed under his gaze. Indeed, had you had the ability to read mind, you’d find nothing but indecent thoughts there.

Hungry for your affection, his lust draws unspeakable ideas to you. His lips enjoy your soft skin and his eager hands are already unlacing your gown. On your turn, the tingles that his beard make on you are enough to make you sigh.

You promptly rest your hands over his shoulders in an attempt to find balance. As you do, you pursuit his lips once more as your hands begin to work in his fabric.

“Obi..”, you heavily sigh as you now kiss his jawline and move to his neck, gently biting his skin.

“Yes, dear Y/Nickname?”, he groans lightly as you have control over him.

You don’t know what you are doing, but you do. Moved by a strange house instinct, your hands toss his fabric away, going down to his manhood, all the whilst you pepper his neck and shoulders with a loving kiss.

“You are mine”, you whisper against his skin, as your delicate fingers find what they are looking for. “Aren’t you?”

You raise your eyes and Obi-Wan finds mischief in them, much to his arousal, specially when you start holding his manhood very gently.

“I am, yes”, he sighs heavily. “Maker knows I belong with you entirely, dear one.”

His words are like charm, evoking your sudden confidence. Suddenly, you flip positions, starting to get the best of him. Your eyes are glued on his heavy breathing and when he thinks he’s about to come undone…

You take him all.

Using your red lips.

*

But he is not a man to be easily subdued—he is the one who subdues, and here you are submitted at his will.

Obi-Wan knows you well and he enjoys driving you crazy by doing all he wants to do with you slowly.

“Beg, dear one”, he smirks at you, his fingers gently stroking your feminine core, not yet slipping them inside you. “This is what you want to do…”

You hiss under your breath, eyes already painted with desperation. But your pride is simply useless before the strength, the physique, the beauty and perfection that stand right before you.

“Please”, you whimper, much to his delight.

And he does so. His lips looking for yours, he takes no more of your time before pleasing you the way you deserve.

“I love you”, you sing your feelings out, followed by another whimper.

“I love you too”, he kisses you hungrily, enjoying the effect he has on you.

There is nothing but the alluring dark to light the way, and no sense of goodbye is perceived when one body collides with the other. Never before Obi-Wan felt so alive. A sensation that he does not want to let go of.

Towards the end of the night, when you two are bathed by salt, you turn at him and say:

“You should stay.”

Obi-Wan sighs. It feels as if he’s living that night again… when it was whispered that the duty was the death of love. When looking back at your y/c eyes, the good there is in them, a voice in the back of his mind says again: must you repeat old mistakes?

Must you?

However, for now the Jedi does not wish to dwell in such thinking. Internal riots are briefly quieted. He turns at you and peppers your face with kisses before cuddling you in his arms.

“Let us enjoy the today, my dove. It’s all I ask for.”

A response that does not content you, but would have to suffice now.

*

When you wake up the next day, he is gone. The warmth in his side of bed is replaced by a cold, a void of goodness you feel so abruptly deprived of.

It hurts, it aches too much the sound of heartbreaking. You should know that what was going to happen.

But the images of both of you speaking of the past as if the future would be one with the other roll in the back of your mind. Is there anything you could do?

No.

But that day you weep as sacred moments are remembered too well by your soul, broken like a secret you kept, an oath that now sounds meaningless.

And here your pain becomes a growing angst that paints your heart blue, all alone trying to find how to deal with all the intensity that crushed you like a tide that took you far from the shore, letting you drown by a heavy wave.

A knock on the door, however, disrupts you from your thought. You barely notice the tears rolling down in your cheeks until you taste the salt these come to your mouth. And now you must regain your composure.

Oh you must.

“Duty awaits”, you think out loud before granting the permission for the door to open and soon coming inside your bedchambers.

A moment so sacred is now profaned. As it should be.

***

Part III: Midnight.

“Have you heard the tale of Darth Plagueis, the Wise?”, the chancellor asks him.

Obi-Wan is wearing his usual suits this evening for an encounter with the man behind the Senate, the one whom the Jedis asked him to spy for. Palpatine is the said man’s name and although his behavior is rather…unique for a man of his position, it comes at being too odd to spy him.

“I believe I am rather familiar with it, yes”, replies the red headed Jedi, stroking his beard, as he casts his cold blue eyes towards the other one. “Why’d you ask, Chancellor?”

Giving Obi-Wan a smirk, Palpatine carefully shrugs.

“This is a tale often misconstructed by the Jedis.” He pauses carefully, waiting for some reaction coming from Obi-Wan. Once it did not, he continues. “Duty not always must be the death of love, Obi-Wan. Once upon a time, love was the main weapon of the Jedis. Now it appears to have been poisoned by the ambitions of such an Order.”

Silence hangs in between the two men, heavy like grey clouds announcing an upcoming storm.

“What you suggest is treason”, whispers Obi-Wan, avoiding the male’s gaze. “The Jedis have been the keepers of peace in Galaxy for centuries.”

“The endings often bear good intentions”, remarks Palpatine. “How about the means, though? The means justify the endings, and you cannot look away the pride and arrogance that have flickered the Order.”

No answer. Slowly, like a snake spotting a prey, Palpatine surrounds Obi-Wan.

“My dear, your duty has been rewarded with nothing but disdain. Your name has once been shouted by your fellow Jedis, but now it’s been whispered like a poison. Is this what you’ve become, Obi-Wan? A name, a number…a mere saber?”

“I don’t need recognition”, Obi-Wan retorts, but even he can feel the emptiness of his belief.

What has changed?

“Oh, but we do. We do. What are we without the applauses of those we love? Not beasts to be served to other’s purposes”, Palpatine smiles. “You have doubled your powers, Obi-Wan. But your path of blood… when will it end? They say fear leads to anger and anger leads to suffering. But has duty emptied your sentiments? Blind devotion also leads to suffering, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

A sweet melody is sang. To see it’s effect, however, Palpatine slowly removes himself from the scene. The prey is at long last trapped by the snake’s trap.

Obi-Wan knows it. He feels it. The tentacles of darkness tempt him, seducing him like the sweet embrace of a lover.

Indeed, the list of dissatisfaction is too long to ignore. The anguish within never ceases to torment him. The temptation is too great to bear.

Nonetheless, it’s close to midnight when the Jedi leaves everything aside to look for you. Perhaps you have every answer for him; perhaps you might be the savior he needs.

*

You are located at your lavender garden, even though it’s past midnight. Chaos surrounds you, war destroys everything you know. You grew strangely comforted by it. You learned to play coy, to be the player you planet needed. Neutrality was merely a disguise. But politics was never a clean game in the first place.

Two nights ago, you’d met him. You thought you’d lost him again, but the silent steps caught you out of your guard.

“I knew I’d find you here, Y/Nickname”, his husky voice brings out a smile of your lips. “A lavender field is most proper to your ladyship.”

You raise your eyes, not surprised for seeing Obi-Wan Kenobi dressing a dark robe, a somber shade of red in his suit, standing powerful before you.

“I do not wish to forget the lavender haze creeping upon me.” You tilt your head, pleased to find a secret smirk twisting in the corner of his lips. “What are you here for, my dear? End this the way it should be.”

“It pains me to hear this is your conclusion”, he muses somberly.

You promptly stand and move to where he stands. Very gently, you remove his hood and run your hands over his short red locks, before cupping his face and tiptoeing to rest your forehead against his.

“I wouldn’t take you as a man who understands everything literally”, you make a small jest, pleased to make him chuckle.

“Darkness is so much more alluring than I’d ever consider it to be”, he whispers. “I’ve tripled my powers since I left you. I shall not lose you, my dear Y/N. The Jedis and the Sith…both took everything I’ve loved.”

He sobs and seems to fall on his knees, but you hold him, able to prevent him to lose his strength. But because he’s heavier than you’d able to carry him, you manage to lead him back to your lavender garden.

“This doesn’t have to be the way”, you tell him. “There is more in the world than Jedis and Siths, Obi.”

As he glances to you, you spot a swift change in the color of his irises, spot an unending suffering in the dark waters of his soul.

“I hate them”, he whispers, and the sound is like that of a whip. “I hate them all.”

“Let us run away then”, you speak gently, caressing his hair. “Those who step in our way shall be destroyed. Simply as that.”

Obi-Wan chews your solution for a moment. It’s reasonable and makes sense. When admiring your beauty and the gentleness that comes from your good heart, he takes your suggestion.

But then… a question rises.

What if there is no more Jedi nor Sith?

#not even sure if this is good but I’m the kind of person who finishes what starts so apologizes in advance for any disappointment. #star wars #star wars imagine #imagine star wars #obi-wan Kenobi #Obi-Wan #Obi-Wan smut #obiwan x reader #obiwan x female reader #Obi-Wan Kenobi x female reader #Obi-Wan Kenobi smut #Obi-Wan x y/n #Taylor swift

[sugarrrvenomm]

your object (of your affection) // obi-wan x reader

babys first x reader fic :) pls interact n let me know if u guys like it!

summary: just givin obi-wan the messy blowjob he deserves

length: 1.6k

At his feet, the world was quiet.

It didn’t matter that you couldn’t feel the lower half of your legs anymore; you were pleasing him. You could tell, even though he hadn’t said a word to you since sitting down, snapping his fingers, and pointing at the spot between his knees. Obi-Wan’s tells were all there—the reassuring hand never letting up from petting your hair, the fact that his tea was left, cold and forgotten on the table next to him. Every so often, his eyes would dart away from the data pad he was working on, and the small, proud smile that appeared on his face when you locked eyes gave him away in an instant.

You weren’t sure how long it had been, but that didn’t matter either. Your mind was blank, narrowed down to the warmth of his thigh where you rested your head against it. There was nothing else to think about.

Except…

Eyes darting up, they landed on where Obi-Wan’s cock made a noticeable bulge in his trousers, even when soft. You tried your best not squirm, not wanting to give away your naughty thoughts. You had to be good. For him. If all he wanted was you kneeling, then you’d kneel, and not think about his cock. His fat, pink, dripping…

The hand in your hair stopped petting, and came down to tap a finger against your noise. You chuffed and tilted your head back up at him.

“Your thoughts are very loud, sweet girl.”

Unable to stop yourself, you squirmed. Then, turned your head back into his thigh, burying your forehead there. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to be good, I promise. I just…”

Obi-Wan didn’t tolerate your avoidance, a large hand coming down to grip your chin and tilt it until you were looking into those gray-blue eyes again. His pupils were more blown than they were a moment ago.

“Just what, darling? Just too needy? Just too desperate? Use your words.”

His grip felt so good on you, and he smelled so good, so close. After sitting at his feet for so long, mind full of nothing except him—being good for him, you couldn’t lie to him.

You pouted, “Just want your cock.”

He was groaning immediately, and his hand was shifting until there was a thumb pressing at your lips, callouses dragging across it. You opened up, letting his thumb in your mouth and wrapping your lips around it. Swiping your tongue along it, you looked up at him with doe eyes, willing him to do whatever he wished to you, whatever would get you his cock sooner. Taking the hint, he pressed at your tongue until your drool was pooling, then the fingers around your jaw clenched until you let your mouth fall back open—making the spit run down your chin until he was laughing softly at the sight of you, sloppy and vulnerable under him.

“Messy thing, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan drawled at you, before he was pulling out his thumb and replacing it with his two forefingers, stopping you from answering.

The press of his thick fingers in your mouth, along with the condescending, saccharine tone, made you hyperaware of how you were throbbing in your panties. You rocked your hips against nothing, feeling sticky and wet. Only he could do this to you.

From above, Obi-Wan hummed at you, eyes sweet and endeared. “Why don’t you take me out of my trousers, sweetheart?” He spoke as he slipped his fingers from your mouth, wiping them on your cheek, making you feel even messier. Eagerly, you were immediately pawing at his zipper until you could feel the outline of him through his white briefs. You leaned in, rubbing at it and pressing it to your cheek, wiping your own drool against the bulge of his cock, moaning at the heat of it through the fabric.

“Don’t tease,” he growled, with a hand winding into your hair to tug.

You were helpless to do anything but listen, that Coruscanti accent could make you do anything. Feeling yourself pulse with arousal, you tugged down his briefs until they rested under his balls. You mouth watered at the sight of them, heavy and full. It was near impossible to restrain yourself from licking at him until he gave the word.

Wrapping a hand around himself at the base, squeezing at that pretty, pink flesh until there was a translucent pearl leaking from the tip. “Suck me, darling.”

Eyes closing in bliss, you took his tip into your mouth, relishing at the shaky sound it got from him—so usually composed and unwavering. Suckling at it softly, you mewled the slightest bit at the taste before taking more of him into your mouth, spurred on by the gentle hand still wrapped in your hair. As you went deeper, you fought against your gag reflex, working him farther down, tongue lapping, until your throat was opening and closing with a gag and you were pulling off with a wet sound.

Obi-Wan cooed at you, stroking your hair with one hand while he stroked his hard, glistening cock with he other. “That’s my good girl. Trying so hard for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Master.”

At those words, he was moaning through his teeth and tugging you back onto him, pushing into you with less finesse, just needing to be back in the warm, wet heat of your mouth. You choked again as he went even deeper than before, but you resolved to stay on him—not like you had much of a choice, his hand was keeping you there.

Focusing so hard on breathing through your nose, you instantly felt calmer when you took in the smell of him. Here, with your nose buried in the short, copper hair around the base of him, he smelled so strongly— of musk, of himself. The want made you dizzy, and you wished desperately to be able to get your tongue around the base of him, to lick every part of him. From his slit, to his balls, up to the hair under his arms that held that same masculine scent. Your own thoughts spurred your desire on, sending sparks up your spine until your mind felt even floatier, and the sound of him moving his cock in and out your mouth was obnoxiously sloppy and loud.

You floated for a while, until he was pulling out. You missed the taste of him immediately, but he rested the length of himself against your face as he talked, and it soothed you.

“I’m going to come all over that pretty face of yours now.”

At this point, you were passed words, only able to gasp and stick your tongue out at him, waiting for him to put his thick cock back in your mouth.

His smile was so proud, and his hand was so warm where it cupped your face. Not as warm as his cock was though, nor his balls—which he pushed you towards until you were tonguing at them with a happy hum.

“Dirty girl. You like this so much, don’t you?”

Humming into his sac, you nodded, before taking one side of him into your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue softly, savoring the weight of him. Above you, he moaned to the ceiling, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw his toes curl in his socks. The sight made you preen, and you leant over to suck the other side of him in your mouth too, mouthing at him and moaning against the soft skin while he pressed fingers into the back of your neck, encouraging.

Then, you were licking a line from his balls up his cock until you were back at the tip. Digging your tongue into the slit until he hissed. The taste of his pre-come made you ache, and you were sure there would be a wet spot on your panties once he finally, finally got his hands on you. You moaned in anticipation of that, and the vibrations made him moan back. The sound of it dizzied you, sending you farther down his cock, hollowing your cheeks and feeling his hips twitch under you. It was so wet, your spit was everywhere as you gagged yourself on him. Coupled with the curses and groans he was letting out, the whole room was echoing with the sounds of it.

“That’s it, such a good girl,” he praised, starting to pump his hips a bit harder. “You’re going to make me come, sweetheart.”

You mewled happily around him, and through your teary eyes you looked up at him, catching his eyes and trying to let him know how much you wanted it—the splatter of his seed on your already messy face.

He must’ve understood, because he was pulling out of your mouth and stripping his hand over himself, over and over, harsh and aggressive, his eyes never leaving yours. His moans got higher, breather, and you could see him losing it, tipping over that edge as he panted, “Gods, fuck—darling. Yes, I’m—“

And then Obi-Wan was coming with a wet groan, painting your face with strips of white until it was sliding down your face. Every rope that landed on you made you clench your thighs together. You stuck your tongue out to taste him, and nearly shot a hand between your legs. You had no doubt it would only take the slightest touch to send you over the edge at this point.

But before you could, he was cupping your spend-covered face in his big, strong hands and pulling you up to kiss him, tasting himself as he pushed his tongue against yours. The filth of it made you gasp, arranging yourself over his thigh. He flexed it, and you whined.

One messy, come-stained hand trailed down your body. “I’m just getting started with you, love.”

<3

#obi-wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan smut #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan smut #obi wan kenobi smut #🐇

[galacticwildfire]

Star Wars Masterlist 💫

Boba Fett 🔫

Series

Lost (Prequel to Found)

Din Djarin 🩶

Series

Found

Headcanons

NSFW Alphabet

Imagines/One Shots/Prompts

“Let me take care of you”

Koska Reeves 💙

Headcanons

Fluff/NSFW Headcanons

Obi-Wan Kenobi 👨🏻‍🦰

Series

Illicit Affairs

Headcanons

Fluff/NSFW Headcanons

Poe Dameron 🚀

Series

Fire Meet Gasoline

Headcanons

NSFW Alphabet

Star Wars OC Character Boards

#boba fett x oc #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x f!oc #Din djarin x oc #Din djarin x f!oc #Din djarin x kenobi!oc #Din djarin headcanons #Din djarin x reader #Din djarin smut #koska reeves x reader #koska reeves headcanons #obi-wan kenobi headcanons #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x oc #obi-wan kenobi x f!oc #obi-wan kenobi smut #poe dameron headcanons #poe dameron x oc #poe dameron x f!oc #poe dameron x female!oc #poe dameron smut #poe dameron fanfiction #obi-wan kenobi fanfiction

[eveningserenityyy]

His Apology | OneShot

Pairings: Obi-wan Kenobi x Reader

Wordcount: 5,179k

Summary: You, a senator, are in a secret relationship with Jedi master Obi-wan. His actions on a mission of his left you deeply upset with him, and after a few days of tension, he comes to apologize to you and ends up doing so in a rather special way.

Warning/tags: NSFW (smut), Oral f receiving, hurt/comfort, praise kink, teasing, fluff, vanilla, f!reader, a sprinkle of angst.

>Original here (first time crossposting to Tumblr, & this was my first NSFW oneshot ever, so enjoy! More are to come!)

It had been three days since you had last seen him. Three days since your argument.

You have been dealing with far too much lately in terms of your political affairs. Day after day you have been so focused on relief efforts and attempting to de-escalate the war by pushing for an end to it with help of fellow Senator Amidala and Senator Organa. It was exhausting for all parties involved.

The only thing that got you through any of this was knowing you had someone to come home to, someone to hold you and vice versa. The person you felt closer to than any other being, your person. The one who you could confide in, sharing details about your day with each other all while you laid your head on his lap with a content hum as you felt his fingers gently comb through your hair so affectionately.

Those early mornings you cherished too. You would usually have to get up early most days, except he would never let you get up without a fight for it. He was not a morning person by any means as he slept whenever he could, and truthfully, you found him adorable in this state. The messy hair that only your eyes ever got to see, tired half-shut blues, and groggy whines when you tried to leave his firm grasp he held on you. It pained you to have to leave him at all, as you felt so safe with him in these moments under the covers. 

But you were still angry with him, that hadn’t yet faded. As much as you wanted to forget about what happened and go back to normal, you also couldn’t shake the need to yell at him for hurting you on account of his sudden recklessness.

While away on his Jedi general duties, he had needlessly risked his life in the heat of the moment when it was entirely unnecessary for him to do. And he didn’t even have the guts to tell you himself, you had heard it from Padme who heard it from Anakin. She had asked how he was, and mentioned the fact that you must’ve been so worried about him. When you asked what she meant, well, that’s when you discovered what he had done while away. You thought you were gonna be sick at that moment, when your stomach dropped and your head got dizzy. 

You knew the risks that came with war, and yet you always worried about him when he was on the battlefield anyways, or anywhere at all really. That's what love is, right?  But you always trusted him to do what was right, and to come back home in one piece for you. You were disappointed. Disappointed in the fact he had lied to you about it, and that he did something so irresponsible. People needed him, the republic, the Jedi, Anakin, You.

‘What would I do without you?’ You had asked him, and to that, he had no reply as he lowered his head in such guilt.

It just wasn’t like him, or you thought it wasn’t in your very knowledgeable opinion about him.

He apologised for it over and over, but he knew that maybe you couldn’t be ready to forgive him so easily, so he left you to think. That was hard for him. And unknown to you, he had barely slept in the last three days without you. He hadn’t meant to hurt you, but he also had to own up to his mistake. He knew he fucked up greatly, and even he thought this unlike him.

He disregarded the code for you, risked the only life he had ever known for you and still continued to do so out of love. Not that you hadn’t argued against your feelings for each other at first, of course, but he won in the end. The point is, you were the realest thing in his life. You were the one who allowed him to feel, and now he might lose you over such a stupid decision on his part.

And now here you stood, in the apartment you secretly shared, alone.

You were in your bedroom, trying to fold some of your own clothes by hand just attempting to focus on anything else after a long day of mental torment and work. You picked up one of your more special dresses, feeling the fabric between your fingers. This was the dress you had met him in, and a sad smile crept onto your face while you looked at it. He particularly favoured this one on you, admiring how it clung to your figure all while making sure you knew what kind of thoughts that had brought on in his mind whenever you had decided to wear it, a small smirk playing on his features for you to take notice of. Now you were upset that you even looked at it at all.

“It’s ugly anyways I suppose,” You grumbled to yourself, throwing it to the floor in an usual fashion than how it normally got there most nights.

“Well, that's a shame you think so.” You tensed up as his voice suddenly spoke from behind you. You hadn’t heard him come in, sneaky much.

You fought yourself on what to do. You didn’t want to turn around, for if you saw him you didn’t know what you would do. You worried that his soft eyes and annoyingly handsome face would melt your weakened heart all over again, and you were too stubborn and too petty to give in so easily.

But, it had been three days already. And you missed him, maybe more than you were angry. You were stuck in place, not knowing what to do.

He sensed this, and that made him feel worse than he already had. ‘Good.’ He thought. ‘I deserve this, do I not?’

If you had known he was thinking that to himself though, you would have dropped all of your stubborn attitudes to tell him he deserved the world. Yes, you were upset about what he did, but you would never wish for him to think so low of himself just because of you. That was the last effect you wanted to have on him. He had allowed himself to think poorly of himself at times, feeling inadequate for his role as a Jedi master on the council, and like he was still a Padawan on the inside; yet you were always the one to shut these thoughts down and remind him of his worth, how great a Jedi he was, and that he deserved more than he ought to think he does.

It was time for you to swallow your pride. You didn’t have to act like everything was fine, because it wasn’t, but you couldn’t keep giving the silent treatment. It would pain both of you further.

You still chose not to look at him though, having your back turned to him. You kept focus on the clothes in front of you as you continued to fold them. “Where have you been?” You asked plainly, with a bit of bitterness in your tone that you couldn't help.

He let out a breath of relief that he didn't realise he had been holding in. You were talking to him at least, that was good progress. “The temple. It’s been a quiet three days, no duties just yet.”

Lovely, you could have spent time with him that would be considered quite rare these days. Instead, you were wasting all your time too angry to think and now he could leave for battle any day. You wanted to bang your head off of the fucking wall at this point.

He noticed you balling your fists up tightly, and he let out a sigh. He wanted to move closer, but didn’t want to risk upsetting you further, therefore he stayed put. There was a moment of tense silence between you two, the only thing that could be heard were your breaths until he decided to take a chance.

“I missed you, my love. You must know that I have.” The words were spoken so softly and quietly with a great hint of sincerity, yet with so much shame in his tone of voice as well for how he had upset you.

You felt the tears build in your eyes as you dropped the gown you were just holding in response. You ached for him, you couldn’t deny yourselves of that. When you finally built up the confidence to turn your body to look at him, you took notice of how tired he looked, and only then did you realise what this must've done to him. To both of you, really. He lacked that sparkle in his eye, for they looked so tired, almost like he couldn't keep them open much longer. He noticed such a likeness in you too, how you probably hadn’t been sleeping much as well, and how sad you looked from the tears swelling up in your eyes. Neither of you could take this, you were acting like fools- well, you were at the very least.

You let go, practically rushing into his embrace to have him hold you after what felt like ages as you wrapped your own arms around his torso. You let your tears flow into his chest as naturally as they came as his fingers found their way to your hair like usual, running through its softness in a way that comforted you unlike anything else, and did the same for him in return. His other hand found the small of your back, holding onto you securely for he never wished to let you go again.

“How could you scare me like that? Do- do something so stupid!” You asked through cries, your words muffled in his chest as you continued, “You- you know how I love you and-”

He nodded eagerly as he let out soft “shh’s” at your worries, not to dismiss, but to calm. He leaned back to look at you, moving his hand from your hair to the side of your face while his other hand still held your lower back firmly pressing your front against him. His thumb wiped your tears away as he tried to comfort you once more. “I can’t apologise for this enough, my love, but I’m here- look at me, I’m right here. I won’t ever leave you as long as I can help it. Maker- I'm terribly sorry.”

You knew he meant it, he meant it most sincerely. You forgave him now, as being upset over something that cannot be changed would do neither of you any good. You communicate, move on, and work things through, all because you love someone enough to do it. You didn't need to say it, for you knew that he knew, he could feel it radiate from you as you breathed him in- but your cries from distress still pained him, and although you forgave him, he would likely never forgive himself for causing you such pain; but he would continue to prove just how much he cared for you from this point forward.

As he looked at your rosy cheeks and wet eyes all while your chest stopped heaving, he then leaned forward to close the distance between your faces, placing his lips upon your cheek and then up to your tears on the side of your face that his hand couldn’t reach so as to kiss them away ever so gently. This only caused more to fall that he took care of too, as you were overwhelmed with the sensations of his and you felt so dearly for him. The soft lips, rough beard, gentle fingertips on your other cheek, you wondered how you could ever keep him away because right now it felt impossible.

His lips finally met your own as he reached down for them, closing that final distance you were waiting for so eagerly. It was a perfect feeling. Not rough or passionate, but just what you needed for this moment. Loving and tender, yet soft and sensual. You felt like you were on a cloud, it was the type of kiss that swept you off your feet and made your brain go numb. You wondered how the hell you made it through those three days without this, because all of him was now so addicting to you and you had no desire to pull away as his thumb continued to caress your cheek while his lips pressed harder against your own just asking for more. Your anger had turned to lust at this point as you grabbed onto his shoulders to pull him closer.

Just when it was getting more heated, he pulled back while your lips chased for his, not wanting it to end so soon nor expecting it to. He rested his forehead on yours with a knowing smile, “You’ve missed me, hm?”

You huffed, fluttering your eyes open as you allowed your foreheads to rest on each other all while your eyes met his satisfied gaze. “Don’t be so mean.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling.” He promised softly, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” You smiled with nothing but contentment as you let his lips travel your face again. First, pressing a kiss to your lips once more, then the corners of them, your cheek again, and nose. This made you let out a quiet giggle at the feeling of his warm lips all over your skin, it felt so teasing.

He then travelled back down, hovering over your cheek, and lower to press against your jaw, and finally to your neck. He lingered on that spot, pressing more tender kisses on the sensitive skin while he received hums of approval from you.

You shivered in response to the further attention he paid to your neck, and breathed out his name. “Obi-wan…”

He smiled against your skin, “Hmm?”

You bit down on your lip hard, feeling rather tingly from the intimate act of affection. “Is this what you’ve been thinking about all this time?”

His lips moved closer to where your jaw and ear met, hovering between as you felt his hot breath over your skin. “When I said I missed you, I meant all of you." He hesitated, "Will you let me apologise to you?"

You liked this idea of an apology, for you found yourself almost begging at this point. Your breath was hitched, legs were weak, and there was only one thing you could think of. The power he held over you was unbelievable, from the suggestive words and sensual neck kisses It was so easy for him to turn you on. "Please.."

He didn't need to hear anything else as he swept you up with a squeal from you in response to the sudden jerk of movement. He carefully sat you on the edge of your shared bed, pressing one more kiss to your lips as he knelt down before you. The image of him between your legs was enough to make you want to spiral.

He placed each of his hands on your lower legs, slowly hiking your dress up as you watched impatiently until you could feel his soft fingertips rest on your thighs. You spread your legs apart for him in anticipation, and the reaction you were met with was him bringing his lips upon your inner thighs, pressing light butterfly kisses as slowly and teasingly as he could. He was so close to your heat, and he knew how much this affected you. 

He hadn't yet decided whether he wanted to tease you relentlessly or give you everything you begged him for, which of course he was going to do either way but the point still stands.

"Stop being such a tease." You whined as your legs shook against his firm grip he held. He already had so much control over you, and you were ready to give yourself over to him entirely. 

He looked up at you with an innocent expression, "Hm? You want me to take these off?" He asked, obviously hinting at your panties which clung to your wetness.

You let out a whimper you couldn't hold back as you shook your head eagerly. He fucking loved this, loved how bad you wanted him to fuck you, and all the sounds he brought out of you before he even began to touch you. It made him forget how much he liked teasing you, as his mind began to spin at the thought of you beneath him as you withered in pleasure all because of him. In response to this, he swiftly took a hold of your panties and pulled them off your legs, tossing them aside onto the floor as he admired you in your entirety and vulnerable state. He could see how wet he had made you, the clear desire dripping from between your thighs. 

You were prepared for him to commit to more teasing, to make you beg him for more as you squirmed under his grasp as his lips got closer and closer to where you wanted him, nibbling and pressing soft kisses to the soft flesh of your inner thighs all while needy whines and trembling whimpers fell from your lips, when you suddenly felt his warm mouth engulf you. His velvet tongue excitedly exploring your wet folds as you gasped at the unexpected pleasure, travelling up and down your drenched slit like he couldn't get enough of your taste. He held you down firmly by wrapping his arms around your thighs from beneath, keeping them wide open for his and your own pleasure. 

You couldn't resist the urge to moan as his tongue ran over your clit while he was enjoying you, he noticed how your hips shook when he did this and began to draw out slow circles around your sensitive bud, swirling his tongue around it while he enjoyed the sound of your quiet moans. He started sucking it gently, teasingly almost as he looked into your eyes for a reaction, noticing how much of a mess he was building in you. 

"Do I taste good?" You asked between soft gasps and breaths of pleasure, struggling to get the words out as your voice quivered. 

You felt his lips pull into a smile as they wrapped around your clit, pulling away just a second to answer you, sounding breathless. "So good, darling-" He licked it gently again, making you whimper. "Best in the galaxy."

He continued to eat you out like you were the best thing he had ever tasted, knowing damn well he could keep this up all night if he wanted and if you had asked him to. It amazed you time after time again how good he was at this, he left you a moaning mess every. single. time. with just his mouth. 

You felt yourself getting closer to release from the sensations he brought on and the wet noises that erupted from his mouth as he licked and sucked from between your legs. He felt this, and it only made him increase the speed of his tongue against your wet folds and sensitive clit. Your hand travelled down to his hair, pulling and tugging on it to bring his face closer into you if that was possible. This made him moan into you, sending vibrations through you as continuous sounds of pleasure erupted from your throat.

"I'm close," You moaned, gripping the sheets beneath you. Maker, did this feel good.

"Cum on my tongue for me, dear. show me how good I make you feel." He responded breathlessly and with nothing but lust in his tone of voice as he continued to go to town on you.

This only helped you get closer, as your legs began to lose control which only made him hold them down more firmly to keep you from moving too much. Moan after moan slipped from your lips as you came on his tongue from the pleasure just as you were told, he didn't stop the movements of his warm tongue on you until your high was over allowing you to ride it out.

He was quite pleased with himself as he took in every moan that slipped from your soft lips, and when you expected it to be over he ran his tongue over your folds again, cleaning up the mess you had made down there with a hunger evident in his eyes. His tongue swirled around your juices until he was satisfied. "Such a good girl," followed by another mutter of praise as he swallowed the last of it, "All this for me,"

His words sent shivers down your spine, and you swear that could have made you come again.

Finally, he pulled himself up from between your legs, immediately hovering over you with one hand beside your arm to hold himself up and the other on your face as he caressed your bottom lip, gently signalling what he wanted from you now. His lips found your own with ease, as he wanted you to taste yourself on him. He slid his tongue against your bottom lip as to request entrance, and you parted your lips in return. His tongue slipped in between your lips, meeting your own as they entangled each other. You could taste yourself on him, the salty yet sweet flavour he enjoyed so much made your cheeks grow redder than they already were. his beard tickled your face, wet from eating you out just seconds ago.

Your kiss was passionate, having to pull away for breaths every so often before connecting again, and your warm tongues met and entangled each other like a lustful dance. You couldn't get enough of each other. your hands found his hair once more, entangling your fingers into it. You wanted to pull him against you, feel his skin on yours when you noticed he still had his robes on. 

"Take that off," You pulled away from him, gesturing to his clothes as you let out heavy breaths. 

"So impatient, " Without another word he had lifted himself off of you, grabbing at all his layers and throwing them off to the side as he held his gaze of desire on you.

You watched as he undressed, enjoying the show, while also incredibly impatient. You wanted him- no, needed him. You bit your lip in anticipation as he got closer to revealing himself, feeling yourself drip between your thighs all over again. You then remembered you still had your dress on, and swiftly pulled it off over your head with ease as you too threw it to the floor where it belonged. Finally, he had removed all his layers of wool but he didn't give you much more time to look and admire him as he climbed on top of you like before. He connected your lips again, forcing his tongue between your lips as he pushed his body against yours, skin against skin. Nothing else could feel so right.

He removed his mouth from yours, and moved its position to press against the skin of your neck. Kissing and sucking your sensitive flesh more eager than previously on that perfect sweet spot, which elicited soft trembles of pleasure from you. He grinded against you, and you could feel how hard he was. You couldn't take this anymore.

"I need you inside me, please." You begged, getting his attention. He looked into your eyes, and you could see how much lust lingered within them. Maker, it was hot how much he enjoyed this.

He let out a harsh breath, not pulling away from your eyes as his face hovered over your own. "Beg me again, darling. I love it when you beg for me." he had a smile tugging at his lips, a smirk perhaps. 

You did as you were told, but not without an impatient whine from your now sore lips. "Fu- Please, please fuck me. I need you so bad."

"You're so good for me, how could I not?" You loved his praise, and you ended up shaking your head in agreement just to get him going. He was so in love with you, he wanted to give you everything now, whatever you asked even if you didn't do what he asked of you. The whines, moans, the begs for him to fuck you- you were perfect. 

He carefully got himself into place, hands resting beside each side of your head to hold himself up as you wrapped your legs around him. He centred himself now, dragging his tip up and down your wet slit slowly to ready you while also teasing you at the same time. Eventually, his tip stopped at your entrance, slowly dragging in circles around it. He looked to you for approval to keep going, to which you quickly nodded in response. You swear you almost forgot how to breathe as he slowly entered you, slipping In easily from how wet he had already made you.

He slowly dragged his tip in and out of you, before entering you further at a gentle pace until he was almost completely buried inside of you, feeling how you stretched around him perfectly. He began thrusting carefully, not wanting to hurt you when he really started going. "Is this alright for you?"

"Mm, " You nodded, biting your lip and impatient for more. He was going too slow, you wanted him to fuck you so hard that you saw stars. "Faster, I'll tell you if you need to stop. Just fuck me."

He got the hint, and paced his thrusts with more speed at your command. With every thrust he made, the pleasure inside the both of you grew. Your walls hugged his cock perfectly, making his eyelids flutter shut for a few moments as he too let out a moan followed by a few quiet swears. You were the noisy one, but fuck did you love the sounds you could draw from him too. You could tell he was trying to hold back on taking you at full speed, he was struggling to resist himself as his thrusts got harder and faster and more shaky even. He wanted to pound you into this mattress, and you knew how to get him there.

You dug your nails into his shoulders, gripping harder as his cock pumped in and out of you at a faster pace than before. Moans kept pouring out of you that you couldn't help, you sounded like you were in heat. He enjoyed every single one of them, revering in the fact that no one else could make you feel this good. 

"So good for me aren't you- fit so perfectly- I love fucking you, good girl." He struggled to get the words out in one piece, grunting as he praised you and continued to do so.

As he praised you, your walls gripped his cock tighter than before. That got you closer and he knew it. You felt so submissive from under him, and he knew that too. "Oh- you like my praise, do you? Don't cum just yet, darling, almost there."

Almost like a reward, it seemed he let himself go and stopped resisting his needs. He was pounding into your pussy now, just how he wanted to. With his stamina, he could go like this for hours as you squirmed and that thought turned you on even more. You were in ecstasy at this point, practically screaming his name now as he pounded you into the bed at the perfect pace. You weren't gonna last much longer with his head hitting your g spot with such force, and you hoped he would let you cum soon. 

You hit your face in his neck, biting down as to muffle your screams of pleasure. He growled, and if you thought he was pounding you hard then, well it was even harder now. Just how you liked it.

"I know, love- make you feel so good, but I need to hear you. Let me hear how good it feels." With that, your teeth fell from his neck and the only thing you were capable of as he pounded your pussy was to jerk your head back in ecstasy, your eyes rolling back into your head as his thrusts ceased to slow down just yet.

You were nothing but a whimpering and moaning pile of pleasure from beneath him, you wanted him to do this all night yet at the same time you were so close to cumming and needed that sweet release from him. He felt so good from inside you as your tight walls gripped onto him, pumping in and out like this. As your brain fogged, all you thought about was him and how much you loved him as he fucked you good for the first time in days. 

He felt your grip tightening on his cock as he pounded you into a pile of moans at this never-ending pace he held. His eyes fluttered again as his own sounds of pleasure fell from between his lips. He needed release just as much as you did. "Cum for me now, my love, cum on my cock. Prove how good I fucked you tonight."

He gave more praise, calling you his good girl and more to encourage your climax. You could barely speak as your whole body shook to it's core, eyes rolled as far back as possible as your back arched itself instinctively, your grip on his shoulders loosening as you lost control of yourself. Moans turned to screams of ecstasy all over again as you came hard on his cock. He continued to thrust inside you at the same insane pace as you orgasmed, before he couldn't handle it either and his grunts turned to moans as he too came inside of you, his seed pumping into you encasing your velvet walls. 

"I love you- so much," He panted as he finished inside of you, placing a kiss on your forehead while he did so before pulling out and falling down beside your exhausted little figure.

"Mm- love- love you too." You managed to force the words out of your now sore throat, you really couldn't function, hell- you could barely breathe. You wondered how you were gonna walk into work tomorrow. 

He let out an airy chuckle, pulling you into his chest as he kissed your flushed cheek. Your hair was a mess, and your eyes could barely stay open. He adored you with all his heart, and as hard breaths rose and fell from his chest he admired your flushed face in pure adoration. "Perhaps I should've been more gentle with that apology."

You forced your eyes open to look at him, looking back in pure adoration just as he did while you tried to get your brain to work again. "W-why was I mad at you again?"

Really puts 'fucking your brains out' on a whole other level.

#obi-wan kenobi smut #star wars #smut #obi-wan kenobi x reader #star wars fanfiction #fan fiction #obi-wan kenobi x Senator!reader #obi wan kenobi #fluff #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi-wan kenobi x Fem!reader #obi wan kenobi x reader

[mel-writes]

The first chapter (prologue) of my next story is up on AO3. This is a slow-burn Obi-Wan/Reader romance with angst and eventual smut. Please read the tags on AO3 for content warnings!

Summary:

When your Master dies in combat, Obi-Wan Kenobi is appointed to complete your Jedi training. Master Kenobi, revered for his grace and skill, you’d grown up with the stories of his bravery. The battles he’d won, the lives he’d saved. He was a God in your eyes. A hero. But to him, you were nothing more than a Padawan.

It hurts more than you'll ever admit.

#master & padawan relationships #teacher-student relationship #padawan!reader #Reader is Obi-Wan Kenobi's Padawan #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x reader smut #star wars smut #star wars fanfiction #clone wars fanfiction #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi-wan kenobi slow burn

[little-miss-cherry-cola]

i feel like obi-wan is the type of person who would, in response to you moving your arms too much, interlock your fingers with his and give you the softest kiss on the cheek while simultaneously rearranging your guts in the politest (but dirtiest) way possible

like idk he just has that energy

is polite bde a thing?

#it is now #obi-wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi smut #i never thought id use that tag but #oh well #here we are #finish your education kids

[nevarrhoe]

Sinful Sunday- birthday sex with Obi Wan??

Ily jazzzzzzzz

OOOH YES

(smut below the cut minors dni etc etc)

ok birthday sex w obi-wan goes full circle. there'll be something soft & slow in the morning and then in the evening, it'll be a little more elaborate

sex with him is always pretty special anyways and he likes to put in a lot of effort as a standard but on your birthday that increases ten fold!!

his entire focus is on you

his own pleasure doesn't matter (but rest assured he's definitely getting some lmaooo)

obi is a lot more appreciative than normal. he'll be muttering all the things he loves about you.

that doesn't mean he won't absolutely fookin wreck you. he's a man of many talents and sensually rearranging your guts is one of them

the aftercare is beautiful. again, he's always good with that stuff but particularly on your birthday our man is going all out

you will be very loved but mostly railed

#asks #sam tag #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi-wan smut #star wars smut #sinful sunday #obi-kenobi x reader #tw: smut

[ddejavvu]

being the middle of an anakin x obi wan sandwich,,,,

mei you are so big brain I love it

This post is 18+, minors dni.

No cos anakin’s a little peeved that he has to share you with his master but he has absolutely no game/decorum so he needs obi-wan to get you INTO bed but then he’s pissed that obi-wan gets to fuck you too - he has absolutely awful jealousy issues but still he respects his master and obi-wan is the calm to anakin’s storm which you really appreciate - anakin wants to take take take and even when he’s giving he’s taking. He’s greedy, coaxing more orgasms out of you than you ever thought possible, and obi-wan is a firm and steady presence that you’re so so grateful for - obi-wan is the one murmuring in your ear about how well you’re doing and fondling your breasts in his big ass hands and kissing the side of your neck and giving you beard burn while anakin’s making out with your abused cunt - anakin’s pussydrunk at this point and he just knows he wants more of you he wants to taste more he wants to feel more he wants more. Obi-wan is the one that tells him to slow down for a second, to wait while you suck his cock (it’s fat btw trust me) to give your pussy a little break and he means that anakin can fuck you afterwards to take care of the hard-on that he got from eating you out but anakin actually gets so worked up at the sight of you with dick down your throat that he rubs one out and splatters you with his cum 💞

Obi-wan is a much smoother lover, if I can put it that way. Anakin’s greedy and just wants what he wants when he wants it but obi-wan takes it slow to make sure he doesn’t overload you and strokes at your cheeks where anakin would be sucking your tongue. Of course he’s passionate, I’m not saying he’s soft because he’s not horny/invested, but he makes things easy for you whereas anakin probably ravages you and overstimulates you until you’re twitching 🫶🫶

#i honestly will probably write a full fic on this no lie #anakin skywalker x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #anakin skywalker smut #obi-wan kenobi smut

[justaminion]

Chapters: 20/20 Fandom: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: Mature Summary:

Intelligence analyst Kara Tilo is finishing up a frankly disappointing internship at the Jedi Temple when she crosses paths with General Obi-Wan Kenobi, who, for some unfathomable reason, seems to like her rather a lot. As the two embark on an intense affair, Kara is thrown into a completely different world, and has to deal with revelations about her own past whilst falling in love with a man who can never put her first.

Now complete! 🎉🎉

#obi-wan x oc #obi-wan imagine #obi-wan x ofc #obi-wan smut #obi-wan kenobi x oc #obi-wan kenobi smut

[phoeebsbuffay]

Imagine you are about to become a Master Jedi under the guidance of Master Kenobi… 😏

Warnings: smut, drama, sort of light reading.

Warnings 2: fluffy endings, alternative universe where the Siths have been defeated and Anakin hasn’t turned to the dark side.

Warnings 3: (loosely) based on “505” by Arctic Monkeys.

Recommendations: “505”, “Do I Wanna Know”, “Four Out Of Five”, “R U Mine” by Arctic Monkeys.

No minors.

***

Once Anakin Skywalker has been assigned a Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi, though never truly stopping monitoring his activities, decides to carry on with other tasks to him delegated. Until Y/N appears. You are about to get your trials, but the Master who was once responsible for you was killed in battle. You are no more than twenty and five years of age—an average age to be elevated to the title of Master Jedi—but is there really a necessity to train you, prepare you for your trials?

Because he is doing this as a favor to Master Windu, who used to be very close to Master H/N, Obi-Wan sees no other choice but taking you under his wing.

Yet, he is somewhat disconcerted when his eyes spot you for the very first time—a sort of sentiment that strikes him that hasn’t effected him since when he first laid his eyes on Duchess Satine so many years ago—-; you are blessed with some sort of ethereal beauty: his blue eyes cannot divert from y/c skin, so soft and inviting to a gentle touch; your y/c hair which drops in long waves of curls that drop by your waist—impressive, Obi-Wan thought—, your curves that are so… He swallows hard, trying not to stare at how the bandage around your breasts seems to reinforce them or at your well shaped body.

Good grief, you are a well made woman. Obi-Wan tries to push away these unwelcoming thoughts, and it’s not very helpful that when you turn your face at him, sensing his presence, you greet him warmly. The spark in those y/c eyes and the smile that is pushed wide open by those rosy lips are enough to knock this man down.

Perhaps I’ve been far too lonely for my taste. Perhaps I am projecting my aching heart, having missed Satine for a while, towards Y/N. She does not deserve that. Besides, may I remind myself that Jedis must not form any sort of attachment?

He clears his throat when approaching you. You watch him with interest. Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, the same impressions that crossed his mind make home in your mind. You judge him to be the handsomest man your eyes laid on: in fact, you always believed to have gone insufferable towards your youth and young adult phase where most of your colleagues developed sentiments for someone or went to some houses of pleasure to put out the needs of the flesh.

Ironically, it is a Jedi Master who weakens your knees and messes with your reason. You thought nothing would tempt you to break this rule often professed as difficult by many of your colleagues. Although most would pass through the challenges of the heart rather easily, they still suffered the process of having feelings and broken hearts.

You thought invincible to it, indeed. You even laughed away when a friend of yours told you the following:

“One day, you will be tempted, Y/N. Laugh as you wish now, but the worst temptation is not of the kind that slaves the flesh, but the soul. And when this day comes, you’ll pay with your laughters.”

Perhaps your friend H/N is right. But your pride refuses to admit it. Yet, your eyes linger at his red hair, his beard, his lips… His well build muscles underneath the leather brown-ish robes somehow give you an unknown friction never before felt in your legs. However, what does knock you down is how his blue eyes find the path to reach your soul.

Fuck.

“Miss Y/N”, he greets you warmly. “I am Obi-Wan Kenobi. I trust Master Windu told you about our encounter? My condolences for the loss of Master H/N. Must be difficult for you, specially concerning your current situation.”

You compose yourself, praying the Maker not to make yourself a fool—it’s too early to pay for the sin you’ve committed to your friends, to suffer the consequences of your pride, for which you are not ready.

“Master Kenobi”. You bow your head out of respect. “Your condolences are warm-felt and most appreciated, thank you. Indeed, Master Windu thought prudent that I should get my preparation for such an expected moment under a wise Master such as yourself. It is an honor to me, sir.”

The older man, experienced in countless battles and known for his tact in diplomacy, smiles at you. You already know that a path of suffering is on your way, since how a man such as Obi-Wan Kenobi would ever look at an inexperience woman as yourself? The mere thought would make you blush had you not been mindful that this man is capable of reading minds.

“Oh please”, he chuckles. “I am unworthy of such adjectives, Miss Y/N. I too was once like you, a Jedi in preparation to become a Master. Soon, a seat at the council will be yours to take.”

Somehow this perception had never been taken in consideration until now. Yet, you are careful in keeping your emotions in check.

“I only pray to get more experiences in field, sir, before being worthy of such a seat.”

Obi-Wan seems to admire this humility trait you display naturally. If only Anakin had this same thought… Again, the Jedi smiles at you.

“Well, not everything about Jedis concerns the battlefield, miss Y/N. Whilst today we are remembering some of the martial arts that are most important to defend ourselves from the enemy out there, it must not be forgotten that diplomacy is as important to use as any light saber.”

You nod attentively. There is a moment where his eyes capture something in yours, though—what is it, he is afraid to say. Obi-Wan clears his throat, diverting from the temptation of the flesh his heart seems to incline.

“Get your saber. Show me what you have, miss Y/N.”

You nod your head. Concentrated, you refuse to give ears to that of yourself who wishes to show off your abilities. You want to prove your worth. Master H/N never managed to wipe out this insecurity of yours, but here you are… Nearly close to be overshadowed by it.

Nonetheless, Obi-Wan looks at you rather surprised. He did indeed underestimate you initially, an error he now does tries to placate. You put your best at show, and it is only once he manages to defeat you.

“Well done, Miss Y/N”, Obi-Wan claps at you before helping you to stand. “You were well taught by Master H/N. He would be proud.”

Your emotions betray your balance as you blush and look momentarily down at your feet before flashing a smile to Obi-Wan.

“Thank you, Master Kenobi. You will find in me a student who tries her best in doing her assignments.”

Obi-Wan smiles back at you.

“A trait I wish my former Padawan had cared to develop, I’m afraid. Well, I don’t think we are having many difficulties from now on, Y/N. Though I should warn you I am not making things easy for you.”

You chuckle in response before flashing him a smirk:

“I am not expecting otherwise, Master.”

Something about this response pleases him more than a Master normally would…

***

As each day that passes one less gets to your trials, Obi-Wan keeps his promises and you find yourself involved in complicated missions and harder trainings to the point you end your days exhausted.

“You are doing surprisingly well”, he tells you once you finish your presentation concerning the genealogy of diplomacy in different aspects of Jedi history, dominating every point he asks you. This is far worse than trying to block his blows when in field. “I think it is fair to say we are closer to end the practice before your trials.”

“Closer to end?”, you scoff at him. “Master, I thought you’d give me a break after this presentation!”

He smiles at your protests.

“You are excelling yourself, Y/N, but this does not mean you ought to relax. Not yet. What we will do next is diminish considerable your exercises. Besides, you will have this weekend off.”

You sigh heavily. You could easily drop in bed right now. Obi-Wan approaches, placing a hand over your shoulder, aware of your exhaustion.

“I mean every word I said, Y/N.”

“I thought you are no man to give some compliments”, you tease him in return.

“You are just too tense to see that I am not that serious a man I am”, he chuckles.

By saying so, he asks you if you’d like some massage and as you say you do, you realize that was something you shouldn’t have done. At the mere touch of his masculine hands full of callous against your soft skin, you start to feel a heat rising in between your legs that you are sure it is not the result of trains.

To worse matters, this simple gesture seems to bond one’s thoughts to another. Obi-Wan is surprised to find you reciprocate his attraction to you. Maybe something more is developing, seeing an attachment is ready to give fruits.

He should have removed his hands, but his mind starts to wonder what would be like to remove every tension from your body. Would you give in to his touch? How would you react if he massaged your nipples, twirling each one under his fingers?

The mere idea starts to give him a boner. Obi-Wan comes to realize that to be close to you is a dangerous thing to do. Hence why he abruptly interrupts it and gives you a lame excuse before leaving you out there, confused and upset for his sudden depart.

***

You decide that whatever impressions you have of your Master are the result of any admiration a Padawan would have for their superiors. Though you are no longer a Padawan, you feel as if you are once the days of your trials get closer.

Despite seeing how tense you are, Obi-Wan not only attempts to sooth your fears but also gets harder on you to the point you will leave little doubt about going excellent in the exams.

Though unbeknownst to you, one day Anakin Skywalker is watching your physical practices and he says:

“You never did get this hard on me, Master”, he remarks in a tone Obi-Wan cannot identify. “Why are you different with her? I don’t think Master H/N would follow these tactics and…”

“It’s for her best, Anakin. She has some struggles that she must overcome.”

Ahsoka smirks, understanding before her Master what has been implied. Hence why she remarks:

“Struggles with what exactly? The feelings she might harbor for you?”

She earns looks from both men, Anakin looking rather amused and Obi-Wan not so.

“Ahsoka Tano, that is not what I’ve meant by any chance.”

She tries not to burst into giggles and Obi-Wan sighs heavily, deciding to excuse her youth for such an improper observation.

“Or maybe is it you who hopes to find flaws in Y/N in order to defeat the admiration you’ve nurtured?” Anakin softens then: “It’s been a while since Satine, Master. The war is over, it’s more than time that you…”

Obi-Wan sighs exasperatedly.

“I was not expecting you to speak nonsenses, Anakin. You, above all, should be with familiar the fact that…”

“Jedis must not form attachments”, meddles Ahsoka, completing his sentence. “And yet, look at whom you are talking to, Master. Don’t you know Padmé is pregnant for the third time?”

Obi-Wan blushes as his own reasoning is played against him. But it gives the perfect opportunity to change topics, much to Anakin’s dismay.

In the meantime, once you defeat the droids, you take a break at the white room, trying to catch your breath. It has been an exhausting week, which sucked out your energy to the core, but you've managed relatively well.

You remember your friends praising you for achieving what only Anakin Skywalker had managed to: accomplish the hard work Obi-Wan Kenobi tends to give when he has Padawans under his guidance---which only occurred with the now Master Skywalker.

"He has quite a reputation", you were told by your fellow Jedi H/N. "And I see you are doing well."

Despite the univiting affection that has been growing for the man you aim to please--a feeling you are on the way to repress, or trying to--your attempts in staying humble sometimes do not succeed.

“Why, It’s what we do”, so was your answer. “I don’t see me doing otherwise.”

Often you jest about it, getting others to laugh at your confidences, however in reality, far from the eyes of the public, you find hard to suppress the attachment you develop for him.

So all you do is avoid his presence whenever you can. At least when trainings end. But this behavior has been noticed by Obi-Wan. He is well aware of your attempts to wipe out the unwelcoming attachment you feel for him—something he has been trying to do himself—but he does not wish this unspoken tension to change the dynamics of your relationship.

So perhaps if you both come to terms to it, all will end well. Or so he thinks.

“Y/N Y/LN.”, he meets you in the corridors. It’s a Saturday, a day he usually leaves it to your rest. “My dear, may I have a word with you later today at about 6 o’clock at the masters’s quarters?”

He knows you would find an excuse, but knowing you usually take Saturday to rest, you have thus no commitment that could impede you two to meet. By confronting you in public, Obi-Wan knows you would hardly refuse. And he is right in his assumptions, though no one but him notices the pink that colors your cheeks.

“I… Of course, Master Obi-Wan. I’ll be right there.” You sound rather shyly, which by your friends who are nearby interpret it as a sign of respect.

He side smirks at you, telling you he is looking forward to talk to you. But as you two depart, his blue eyes follow your moves. That day, your hair is tied in a pony tail and you dress your usually Jedi robes. To his surprise, you are the quietest of your small group of friends. He then realizes that he wishes to know you more, a thought he is quickly to dismiss.

***

When you show up at the time you and Obi-Wan agreed to—or rather, he decided—, you find yourself nervous. Dressing more informally, you let your y/c hair loose as you fake a confidence that is normally attributed to you. If only people knew that is how you mask your insecurities.

But as you lift your hand to knock on the door, it is as if Obi-Wan is already expecting you. He opens it and greets you with delight in his eyes and a smile that melts you.

“Miss Y/N. Please come in.”

You barely notice how that room is private and rarely used. All you care about is the smile on that man’s face that rises to his blue eyes.

“Master”, you smile back. “What is the occasion of our meeting? I believed you promised to let me rest this weekend.”

Obi-Wan chuckles as he offers you a seat. Once you do, he starts preparing tea. It is only then he answers you:

“This is not about any training, my dear. In all honesty, I’ve been preoccupied with you. I never thought to get to know you properly.” He makes a pause before adding: “I didn’t ask how you dealt with Master H/N’s demise nor how was your training. I disrespected your grief. I wanted to amend this mistake of mine.”

You are surprised by his small speech, clearly not expecting these words, yet at the same time admiring his maturity. You offer him a smile as he serves you tea with cookies. Once he takes a seat opposite to yours, you say:

“I don’t think there is anything to apologize for, Master. Though I do appreciate your concern for me, I didn’t expect it was your obligation to get to know me at all. I was never your Padawan, for a start.”

“Nonetheless, as your new Master I believe to be most appropriate to hear what you have to say.” He hesitates for a moment. “This is a mistake I do not wish to commit again.”

And this is how it begins. In between smiles, you tell him about your journey as a Padawan to Master H/N, how he found you at planet Y/C and how he was much a father to you. You also told him about your favourite books, the tricks you used at some missions you’ve been assigned to.

Obi-Wan, on his turn, tells you his links to Master Qui-Gon Jinn, his scare memories concerning his family. Before you both know, the tea reunion is far lighter than you thought you’d be.

It is late night when three cups of tea had been drank and you think prudent to go back to your quarters. As you stand, so does Obi-Wan. But something seems changed when both of you lock gazes.

“I believe by now we can address one another by each other’s names, Y/N.”

You smile widely at him, a view he is mostly pleased to see. Whatever reservations you might have had with each other seem to dissipate. As you stand by the door, he takes your hand almost unconsciously.

To feel his mere touch incurs in diving into a magnetic field, resulting in waves of heat that could set both of you into an explosion. But both of you pretend nothing has happened…

“I believe we do, Obi-Wan. Thank you for the day, it’s been most pleasant.”

“Indeed it has, Y/N”. He makes a pause, rubbing your wrist with his thumb. “Are you feeling more comfortable now?”

“Well I’ve never been uncomfortable around you, Obi-Wan. Far from it.” You side smirk at him. “Though I appreciate your kindness. You are a good man. My master would be very thankful to know I have been entrusted to your guidance.”

One long glance. You might give more than you want to and Obi-Wan knows it. It is as if you are both mesmerized with each other, but one noise coming from the corridors breaks the spell and you are disappointed when he lets go of your hand.

***

You finally become a Jedi Master. After years working hard to accomplish a goal that has been set up to achieve from the days Master H/N spotted the Force in you, after a turbulent period you were forced to go through, especially at the demise of the one you looked at as a father, after a hard-work training under the guidance of Master Obi-Wan Kenobi… You succeed in it.

“Congratulations, Master Y/N Y/LN. To achieve the higher ground you did. Though much to learn you had, never ending a path knowledge is”, says Master Yoda.

You bend the knee and bow your head in a sign of humility. The ceremony of your rise as Jedi Master carries on with a small speech by Master Windu, a man who you manage to surprise.

“One must admit”, the Jedi smiles, “that I’ve never had any doubt you would succeed, Master Y/LN. You are dedicated and hard-working, qualities very praised by your former Master H/N and your current Master Kenobi.”

Your heart carefully races when your eyes spot the figure of Obi-Wan as he stays beside Master Windu, echoing his speech when adding a few words of his own.

Barely perceptible to those present, however, is the growing affection one feels for the other. One look is enough to defeat the pride that has been shielding each other’s heart…

***

Obi-Wan is patient, though. As the feast ends that late evening, he excuses himself earlier than it’s closing in order to go after you, seeing that you retired earlier.

You look fabulous with your long hair loose like a y/c waterfall of locks. In addition to this unique wild beauty that is so characteristically yours, you dress a purple gown that shows some cleavage as well as your shoulders. It is enough to tempt this man.

That evening you both exchanged very few words since each group, so different in many aspects, reclaimed your attentions. But you are not too social, so you invented something to be dismissed earlier. And so did he.

You are barely making to your quarters when you hear steps. To your surprise, it’s him. And he can hear no only the beatings of your heart but the chaos of your thoughts.

“Master…!”

“Please, it’s Obi-Wan”, he cuts you gently. “There is something I need to tell you that is giving me agony. In fact, if you may, let me clear these things that have been torturing our thoughts. May I?”

You blink, hesitate at first. Fearful that he might have discovered your sentiments, you realize there is little you can do but to acknowledge at long last what you perceive as a lost battle. Yet you are surprised when he takes your face with his hands and presses a soft, but urgent kiss against your lips.

“Oh”, you sigh. When he parts it, he is searching for your eyes, some part of him fearful you might’ve changed your mind. “Obi… I thought…”

“I know. I’ve always known.” Obi-Wan rests his head against yours, eyes closing. You can feel his struggle, so you decide to release the pressure that’s been on his shoulders.

And just like that you pursuit his lips. Shushing every protest that might come from either part, your tongues pair in a sweet melody, though the urgency in the kiss eventually releases the suppression that has only suffocated this far what one feels for the other.

“I am tired of taking it easy”, he admits under his breath as he pins you against the wall. “I’ve been doing so for a little while. Oh, what kind of beast have you turned me into?”

You giggle at his words.

“Hold on just for a while”, you ask in a whisper before leading him to your quarters. “Yet, I must know…”

Obi-Wan is as red as you. When both stare into each other’s eyes, tension remains. But he is patient.

“Yes, dear heart? What is it you fear?” He shortens the distance and takes hold of your face again, delicately so as if you are a fragile thing. “I can read your insecurities. But please tell me what can I do to ease them.”

“I love you”, you don’t think twice. “Damned I am for laughing away my friends for ever falling in love. But I remain loving you, my Master, my mentor. Despite the many rules I would gladly break to be with you, despite how easy I confess with my tongue and body that I am too busy being yours to fall with someone else or to crawl away from you, offering thus my devotion. I need to know if this flows both ways, if you… if you are mine as much as I am yours.”

You explode it, you know. You never before felt so open and fragile, so easily read. All your shields are down and you feel so…unprotected. Yet, Obi-Wan smiles at you, calm and tranquil where you are a puddle of mess.

“I love you. You brought me back to life, Y/N, where I thought it to be impossible. It’s been too long and I fear I would not be the right one for you, being rather old to you.” He pauses as if by putting this out of a fact you would contest and change your mind.

Seeing that you stand where you are, his hands now slide to your waist as you wrap yours around his neck.

“I am yours”, he brushes his lips against yours and his fingers dig into your sides in a possessive manner that makes you smile. “Do you understand? I am yours in many inexplicable and unprofessed ways. Let me show you better with actions…”

He kisses you again. This time it’s slow, better coordinated and with no rush. His body makes it easy for you to trust blindly. This kiss wipes away your fears.

It is only then you feel comfortable in pushing your limits. Because Obi-Wan feels the heat warming your body, he does not shy away in giving to your silent pleas.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”, he asks you softly, looking into your eyes for consent.

“Yes”, you whisper hotly. “I’ve never been so sure before as I am now.”

And that is how it starts…

***

Epilogue.

“In my imagination, when I go back…”

Obi-Wan barely breathes out as your hands promptly tie his hands. Your eyes are transfixed in his closed eyes and his barely open mouth. You smirk slyly as your fingers gently pump his erect member in that same rhythm he taught you that night.

“Yes, love?”, you encourage him to speak his thoughts, though you are aware of how indecent these might be.

Your husband has only recently returned after a long journey and it is only fair that as his wife you greet him properly. So here you are, poorly dressed, spoiling him as you prepare to get to your knees.

“You are a temptation, dear heart”, he arches his back, groaning in evident pleasure. “Don’t make me say these words.”

“Tell me darling…” you ask him softly as you finally take him with your tongue. “I beg you.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes go wide at you.

“M-Maker, I…” He gasps, throughly enjoying your other…abilities, all of which he takes a secretive pride for teaching you. “You are so good in this, my love.”

But before he is about to reach his climax, he lifts you and leads you to bed. His eyes are burning with desire, especially when undressing you at long last.

“I miss you”, he whispers against your lips.

“I miss you, husband.”

And just like that he lies you down in bed and as you tangle him in your legs, the night compensates all the waiting one feels for the other…

#star wars imagine #imagine Star Wars #obi-wan Kenobi #Obi-Wan Kenobi Smut #Obi-Wan smut #Obi-Wan Kenobi x you #Obi-Wan Kenobi x y/n #Obi-Wan Kenobi x female reader #Arctic monkeys

[galacticwildfire]

Illicit Affairs | Obi-Wan Kenobi

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Amidala!oc

Rhea Amidala meets Obi-Wan Kenobi when he and his master come to her younger sisters aid and he discovers the queen's sister was once a Jedi, expelled from the order for her unwillingness to forgo love and attachment. The two stranded together on Tatooine find common ground despite their differences, and above all a hope within the other for something greater than themselves.

He hopes for her to rejoin the order, while she hopes for him to leave, and both are left reeling from their illicit affair, until ten years later he is once again called to her sister's service and they are catapulted into each other's lives by a war that will set them on the same path of secrecy and tragedy.

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#obi-wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan x oc #obi wan kenobi x oc #illicit affairs #wildfirewildflower #obi-wan kenobi fanfiction #obi-wan kenobi x oc #obi-wan kenobi x female original character #obi-wan kenobi x original character #obi-wan kenobi smut #obi wan kenobi smut #obi wan kenobi x original character #obi-wan kenobi x amidala!oc #obi wan kenobi x amidala!oc

[three-fold-symmetry]

Day 3 of @subcodyweek - Prompt: Praise kink

They didn't train him for this on Kamino.

#tcw #commander cody #obi wan kenobi #codywan #esk art #I swear the rest of the stuff I drew is actually more in line with the purpose of this event #I'm not trying to be difficult #i think this is the last thing for this i can actually post on tumblr #the stuff i drew for day 5 and 7 may get me smote by content guidelines. maybe? not risking it #i am trying my hand at writing smut tho to make up for the fact that i can't bring myself to draw anything that is more than suggestive