#obikin

[skynobi]

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan #obikin #my art

[holly-bearie]

putting that lad in situations

#obikin #my art

[kana7o]

guess who just finished watching the new fallout show

#obikin #fallout au #dont know what to add here except it was fun elarning how to draw ghouls HHHHH #also obiwans ass eheheh

[underacalicosky]

Don't mind me, I'm just having thoughts about OWK and wondering what would've happened if Obi-Wan hadn't lit his lightsaber...

With a half dozen steps between them, Vader stops. He pulls back his shoulders, straightening his spine, relishing in the fact that he was much taller now.

“Have you come to destroy me, Obi-Wan?”

His old Master unclips the lightsaber from his belt and studies him, eyes unblinking as they scan him head to toe and back up to the expressionless black mask.

He doesn’t wait for a response. Vader ignites his meticulously constructed lightsaber, the red blade casting a crimson glow on them.

Ripples of anger, seething with the need for revenge, swirl around Vader. Then, he feels a familiar touch, a gentle poke at the scab where their bond used to be. It’s tentative. Questioning. A hint of disbelief.

Is it really you?

“Does that suit keep you warm?”

There isn’t in any malice. It’s not a taunt. He isn’t ridiculing the chamber that serves as Vader’s life support.

The violence swirling in the Force comes to a stand still.

“What?” Vader barks.

“You always found space to be too cold,” Obi-Wan says gently, a wistful expression on his aged features.

His voice is full of genuine concern and it washes over Vader, wrapping around him like the warmth of his Master’s Jedi robe whenever he shivered as they traveled through hyperspace.

“What are you doing?” Vader demands and points his blade at Obi-Wan. “Is this a game to you?”

But he’s unable to stop the way his heart stirs at the memory of Obi-Wan’s hands arranging the robe over his shoulders. Fixing the collar so that it fit snugly around Anakin’s neck to keep out the cool draft. Smiling at him fondly as his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Those same eyes stared back at him now, brimming with unshed tears.

“Anakin,” he breathes, broken and hurt. Guilt rolling off him. “I’m sorry, Anakin. For all of it.”

With bitter resentment, Vader realizes how that voice still has a grip around his heart. He’s lost count of how many times he’s had to stop himself from allowing these types of feelings from invading his consciousness. Overwhelmed with sentimentality and yearning for a happiness that was in the past and forever out of reach, he’d respond to those thoughts with rage and anger, letting it fester, and allowed it fuel his hate.

Vader tries to summon that rage now, but his breath shakes with his lack of conviction. He reaches again, and the hate slips away from him.

“Your beard is unkempt,” Vader says.

A tear rolls down Obi-Wan’s face.

The last time Anakin saw him cry was on the first year anniversary after Qui-Gon’s death. His Master was sitting in his meditation pose on the floor, bathed in the sunlight that poured into their shared quarters. In his hands, Obi-Wan cradled his river stone, unaware that Anakin was behind him watching and listening silently while his Master humbly asked for strength. For clarity. For assurance that he was worthy of the responsibility to train Anakin. When Obi-Wan had finally turned and saw his Padawan, he’d swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and smiled before suggesting that they get pancakes at Dex’s.

“Look at you. Do you wear socks?,” Obi-Wan retorts. “I bet if you do, you’re still leaving them balled up on the floor, waiting for someone to pick up after you.”

At that—at the sheer audacity and gall that only Obi-Wan was capable of—Vader chuckles and it comes out a like wheeze. The sound is foreign. When was the last time he laughed?

“You’re pathetic, old man.” There’s a bite to his tone, but he extinguishes his Sith blade and watches as Obi-Wan clips his own lightsaber onto his belt.

Something tugs at Anakin, at his heart, at the tattered remnants of their bond. It pulls at him, beckoning him to surrender to the comfort and safety of a long-lost brown robe.

It’s a trick, he thinks. A distraction. A trap.

“You’re one to talk,” Obi-Wan scoffs with a sniffle.

They stand in silence as their Force signatures wrap around each other, golden waves twining and hugging.

Finally, Anakin lets go. His sob is a distorted, staticky grunt.

“Where will we go?” he asks.

“I haven’t the slightest clue,” Obi-Wan confesses and extends his hand.

With a gasp, Anakin reaches for it and clings to the hope blooming in his chest for the first time in a decade.

#obikin #obikin ficlet

[nickytess]

obikin tangled!au

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan fanart #obi wan star wars #anakin skywalker #obikin #star wars #star wars anakin #obi wan and anakin #sw anakin #sw obi wan kenobi #obikin fanart #star wars fanart #au #tangled #tangled au #obi wan has the best hair #r2d2 #artoo is a good boy isn’t he

[sendpseuds]

The heart beating in the monster's chest is still technically Anakin’s, though the machines that power his pulse make it difficult to know if it’s Obi-Wan who makes the rhythm skip or if it’s just a kink in the wiring.

#thinking vaderwan thoughts #late night drabbles #obikin #vaderwan #drabbles

[waldeinsamkeit-feeling]

I wake up everyday thanking deborah for officially making obikin canon I hope she’s living her best life

#obikin #star wars #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #obi wan #anaobi #obi wan and anakin #anakin x obi wan #obi wan kenobi series #obi wan x anakin #anakin and obi wan

[noahidkovskikh]

Obikin x The Witcher!AU

+ little Ahsoka

↓ no text version ↓

#obikin x the witcher #star wars x the witcher #obikin #obikin fanart #star wars #star wars fanart #digital art #fanart #anakin skywalker #obi wan and anakin #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka #ahsoka tano #i love this au so much

[tennessoui]

18) waking up with amnesia au pretty please! I was delighted with how many of the prompts you've already done, it was a really fun bingo!

Best friends sibling = band au

knocking on the wrong door = actually name of the fic

Nanny/single parent au = Nannykin

Etc etc etc!

hello hello this was sent january 10!! hope you still want some waking up with amnesia au! this just demonstrates how long i can hold onto a prompt i have every intention of completing

(from this prompt list) (& this is the waking up with amnesia au prompt fill i did a few years ago when i first reblogged that prompt list!)

(3.5k)

(warnings: angst but not incredibly sad. more like. here there lies some future manipulation/mind fuckery because of angst established in this ficlet but not resolved in this ficlet but would be in the future)

(also warning: vader)

It is somehow both the hardest and easiest part of the day, every time. 

It is easy to let his feet turn in the direction they beg to go during all his waking seconds. It is easy to allow them to lead the way. It feels as if a great and crushing weight has been lifted from his shoulders the moment that he sees the pillars standing sentry at the entrance of the Halls of Healing. It is so easy to give into his body’s desire to allow it to find its other half.

It is almost harder to stay away, to pretend to be the respectful and poised Jedi master he masquerades as during those long moments of the day that he is not by Anakin’s side.

But what is infinitely harder than journeying there or keeping his distance is arriving. Is what waits for him within the Halls.

“How is he today?” he asks the moment he sees a healer—it does not matter which one these days. They must all know him by now, know the series of questions he demands answers to.

This time, the man he finds is healer Ramak, at least, one of the primary specialists on Anakin’s case. Rarely can Obi-Wan corner him. Ramak is incredibly busy both within the Temple and outside of it. He has numerous priorities. 

Obi-Wan really only has one priority. Often this puts them at odds. 

“Ah,” Ramak says, adjusting his robes. “Master Kenobi, hello.”

“Yes, hello,” Obi-Wan says. And then, “How is he today?” In case Ramak has missed his question.

“He is much the same, Master Kenobi,” Ramak replies. “As he was yesterday.”

Obi-Wan swallows. The words get stuck in his throat for a moment and he has to force them up past his teeth. “What does…what has he remembered?”

Healer Ramak’s face slides from reluctantly indulgent to pitying. It would grate against Obi-Wan’s rather impressive sense of pride if he did not already know exactly how pitiful he is. 

“Memories are not stored within the mind chronologically, Master Kenobi,” Ramak says carefully. Obi-Wan has heard this before. Obi-Wan could recite this speech. 

Obi-Wan listens to it silently anyway. Perhaps this time, Ramak will find the correct combination of words to explain his loss to him in terms he can understand. “Uncovering them again is not simply a matter of starting from the beginning of his life and moving forwards. We cannot simply recover and present him with all of his memories from age nine, from age thirteen, to now.”

Obi-Wan can feel a muscle tick in his jaw and he crosses his arms. Another healer crosses behind him, jostles him in their hurry to get to another patient. Differing priorities. 

But Obi-Wan only has one.

“It is like…” Ramak trails off, thinking. “Picture the rain. What do you think of?” It is much too transparent, what Obi-Wan thinks of when he thinks of the rain. He thinks of Anakin as a youngling. The ashes of Qui-Gon’s body had not fully cooled before the skies of Naboo had broken open in a torrential downpour, and the boy, padawan braid that was both his and Obi-Wan’s newly weighing on his shoulder, had escaped from the palace in Theed, ran outside with arms raised up in wonder.

“When you think of rain, you do not recall your memories chronologically,” Ramak says kindly, as if he understands where Obi-Wan’s mind has gone. “That is to say, you do not immediately think of the first time you experienced it. Our minds store memories based on their significance to us, the meanings they hold for us, which makes mind-healing to this degree incredibly difficult. Not to mention, not only was Knight Skywalker stripped of his memories, tortured, and indoctrinated, he was held for several months. Long enough for new neural pathways to form, new connotations and memories to take the place of the ones he lost.”

“Master, please,” Obi-Wan says. When he holds up his hand to forestall the other man’s words, it is shaking slightly. “Please just tell me.”

Will he recognize me? 

Will he hate me?

Will another day go by where he does not know me?

“He has a long way to go yet,” Ramak says finally, lifting his hand to stroke over his beard. “His time as Vader left scars—”

“His time captured,” Obi-Wan interrupts. “He was a hostage.” Ramak looks at him. Anakin, kidnapped by the sith, without his memories, trained to be deadly and taught to Fall, was more than a hostage. They both know that. Everyone in the galaxy knows the dangers that Darth Vader represented to the Republic.

Very few know that Darth Vader was Anakin Skywalker. It had been a terrible surprise. It had been the sweetest sort of relief too, to find him at all.

“Yes,” Ramak finally allows. “His time as a hostage left innumerable scars, Obi-Wan. Even after he regains all his memories, he will have a long journey ahead of him.”

“How is he?” Obi-Wan repeats, even though it is rather rude to cut the healer off. “How is he today?”

Ramak hesitates for a moment and then another, and his Force signature tenses as if at war with itself. “He requested to see you,” he finally says. “We’re not sure that’s a good idea.”

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. The Jedi saved Anakin Skywalker from the Sith five weeks ago, and though Obi-Wan has spent each of those days trekking from his quarters to the Halls of Healing and back, accousting various healers and Council members alike, desperate for any information they can give him…he has not yet been able to sit beside Anakin. He has not been allowed to talk with him at all.

It is for the best. That is what he’s been told and that is what he must believe. It is for the best. Anakin does not remember him. He remembers the word master—he does not remember that he used to say the same word with respect. With affection. He does not remember Obi-Wan at all.

He remembers his master, Sidious. He remembers his master on Tatooine. He does not—Obi-Wan doesn’t understand why he cannot remember him. 

Anakin has never once asked to see him. 

“I want to see him,” Obi-Wan says immediately, turning towards the wing where they are keeping Anakin. 

“Master Kenobi, it is not a good idea,” Ramak says, but it does not matter what they think is a good idea. It is what Anakin wants and it has been so long since Obi-Wan has been something Anakin wants.

Something of what he’s feeling must flash across his face, because the healer sighs and rubs at his forehead as if he finds the whole ordeal incredibly trying. 

“I will not hurt him,” Obi-Wan says quickly, and Ramak shakes his head, dropping his arms to his sides. 

“That is not the concern, Master,” he replies, but his shoulders have slumped. His forehead is wrinkled, but his Force signature has relaxed. He has given in. Obi-Wan has won. “I—”

But Obi-Wan has won. And so he has already stepped away, intent now on seeing his padawan. He leaves the healer behind where he stands, pushing through the doors of the wing and finally—finally to Anakin’s room.

He’d been so volatile at first, when he was still Vader. The Jedi rescuing him probably felt more like being captured. Without his memories of the Order, of the Temple, of Obi-Wan, he’d Fallen so quickly as far as anyone knows. Sidious had taken him and twisted him and when he was found again, he’d fully believed in the Sith doctrine. He’d killed two Jedi before he was subdued.

So when he’d been brought into the Temple, into the Halls of Healing, they’d outfitted him with Force suppression cuffs. Given him his own room in order to protect the other patients.

Obi-Wan knows he still wears the Force bracelets and collar, but there’s knowing and then there’s seeing.

The seeing part takes his breath away. It looks so wrong, Anakin, his Anakin, wearing the cuffs and the collar. 

Anakin, his Anakin, with yellow eyes watching him intently from the moment he enters the room.

“Anakin,” he murmurs, a reflex. The sounds are punched out of him.

He is thinner. His hair is greasy. There are dark shadows under his eyes. The skin around the collar is red, rubbed raw. He looks a thousand times older. Guant and hollowed out as if the captivity and the Darkness has leached away all of his youthful energy.

“Master,” Anakin says reproachfully. And it sounds—it sounds so much like him, like Obi-Wan’s Anakin, that he has the rather ridiculous urge to cry. Master, master.

“How are you feeling?” Obi-Wan asks, though it is a useless sort of question. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands. What to do with his tongue. He suddenly cannot remember the last time he asked Anakin how he was feeling. It was never a phrase that was part of their lexicon—for so many years, they shared a training bond. Obi-Wan was able to ascertain his padawan’s emotions with a gentle Force touch across the planes of his mind. More often than not, he was telling Anakin to search his own feelings. He was not asking him to interpret them for Obi-Wan’s sake.

Now though, their bond is severed and Anakin does not recognize him as anything more than another Jedi, another man who he once called master, and Obi-Wan stands across the room from him and does not recognize him either, save for all the ways that he does.

“Surely they have been giving you updates,” Anakin murmurs. “I know you have visited every day.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says because he will not lie to Anakin. He doesn’t think he remembers how. It has been—so long. Since he has last seen him. It is all he can do to stay standing now. To keep a respectable distance between them. To not fall to his knees. To not stumble forward and take Anakin’s hand in his own.

“What have they told you?” Anakin asks, and he tilts his head slightly. His golden eyes are as disconcerting as they are beautiful. They’re his. They’re his eyes, set in his face, and Obi-Wan has missed that face for so long. For months. He’d thought he’d never see it again, and he is just now realizing that he has no defenses left against Anakin. None at all. The boy could ask him for anything and he would fight to the death to give it to him.

The Force is in flux in the air around them, bucking up, riled, in a way Obi-Wan usually interprets as danger. But the Force could be screaming a death knell and Obi-Wan, in this moment, would only be able to hear a sweet cry of wild joy.

Anakin, this is Anakin. This is his Anakin and he is here. Back—partially. Back, incompletely. But back. Obi-Wan…he’d stopped hoping he’d ever get him back.

Instead of answering his question, he presses the backs of his fingers against his mouth to try and stop their shaking. Every day he has walked here, accosted the healers, demanded to know the latest. And he has never once realized how incredibly difficult it would be to lay eyes on Anakin. How incredibly difficult it would be to maintain his composure, to hold himself in. 

Anakin’s eyes glow gold, but Obi-Wan’s eyes are that of a starving man. All he can see is honey.

“Come here, master,” Anakin says, reproachful. “Did you not miss me?”

The words move him forward where his own feet could not. “Of course I did, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers. Hoarse, too hoarse. Too trembling and old, but it has been so many months. He had thought him lost forever. Dead and gone and one with the Force, and for the first time in his life, that had given him no comfort.

Anakin holds out his mechno hand, palm up, fingers slightly crooked. He’d built them that way on purpose, Obi-Wan remembers. At fourteen, he’d broken his index and middle finger in a duel, bones shattering under the blow of another padawan’s sabor. A lucky hit, an unlucky outcome. Though they’d healed near perfect due to bacta, they’d always remained slightly bent out of place. When he lost his arm to Dooku five years later, he’d fiddled with the replacement until the mech digits tilted the same familiar direction.

Obi-Wan stares at them, caught up in the tide of the memory.

Had Vader ever looked down at his mechno hand and wondered about the imperfection? Had he thought to fix it once he had the time? Had he spared a thought for the black spots in his memory, the cavernous gaps in his past?

His fingers fall to rest against the sensors of the mech tips. They’re sensitive enough that he can see Anakin shiver at the touch. 

“Did you not miss me, master?” Anakin asks again, and his hand closes around Obi-Wan’s tightly, pulling him forward another few steps.

Obi-Wan nods, then shakes his head. Yes, he missed him. No, missing—missing is not a vast enough word. 

“You asked for me,” he hears himself say. “Do you—what do you….”

Do you remember me?

You must. You call me master. And you want me close.

But they pulled the memories of the word master from your mind days ago, and you hated me then. You did not want me near you. What has changed? What have you remembered?

“I wonder if they would treat any patient like this,” Anakin says. He uses his hold on Obi-Wan to pull him even closer, til his thighs brush the edge of the bed. “If it is the war that makes me special, if it’s my own power. Or if it’s you.”

Obi-Wan tenses. Him? He doesn’t—

“They’ve tried everything they can think of to trigger my memories of you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin says. When Obi-Wan tries to move back, take a step away, find the air in the room to breathe, Anakin tightens his hold and pulls him forward until the only option is to either topple over onto his padawan’s chest or sit on the bed at his hip.

He sits.

“They debated for many days, you know,” Anakin says. His mech thumb begins to sweep over the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist. “If they should trigger the connections my mind has made to the word master. It’s a weighted word for Anakin Skywalker. Surely you know that.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan says carefully. When he tries to breathe, he can only do so shallowly as if his entire chest has shrunk to half its capacity.

“He was enslaved before he was a padawan,” Anakin explains as though Obi-Wan has not spoken at all. Maybe he hasn’t. For the past several months he has not been able to speak to Anakin aloud, could only talk with him in his mind—could never hear a reply. Perhaps he has forgotten how. “They were worried that after ten years studying under you, after two years fighting side by side with you, my strongest connotations to the word master would still be to slavery.”

Anakin ducks his head slightly, tilts it to the side to give Obi-Wan a small, private grin, as if the healers’ concerns are so unfounded that they are amusing. As if the concept that something could outweigh Obi-Wan’s importance to Anakin is so foreign and preposterous that it’s funny.

His smile knocks into Obi-Wan’s chest like a punch to the solar plexus.

“But they decided to risk it,” Anakin says. His voice is light as a feather. Airy and unconcerned. “Perhaps they should have started with smaller things. A light saber. A braid. A pear. A planet. But they wanted to re-establish my firmest conneciton to the Light as quickly as possible. And they thought that was you.”

Obi-Wan holds his breath, eyes leaping from their connected hands to the yellow of Anakin’s eyes. He has still fallen. He has not been healed. He is still—he is still—

“So they gave me back my masters,” Anakin pitches his voice low. “All of them, though I suppose I remember Sidious well enough. But they gave me back the Toydarian. And they gave me you.”

“They said you did not want to see me,” Obi-Wan whispers. “Why, Anakin, if you remember, why would you—”

“Because I hate you,” his padawan says as if it’s the easiest thing in the galaxy. “Because they could give me back Master Kenobi, but wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, it was not in your title. He hated your title.”

Obi-Wan flinches back so violently that his forearm slips from Anakin’s grasp. Before he can move from the bed completely though, his padawan’s hand lashes out and curls around the fabric of his tunics. 

“No,” Obi-Wan says because he must deny this—he cannot stand to hear it and not deny it. No, Anakin—there was love there, in the way he pronounced the word master. The way he looked at Obi-Wan: admiration shining in his eyes when he was younger, cooling off over the years into acceptance and affection. They had their arguments. They had their—misunderstandings, but Anakin did not resent him for his role in his life as his old teacher. His master. “You’re wrong.”

“He hated it more than he hated his actual slave master,” Anakin murmurs. Lightly, airily. As if his words are not landing devastating blows on all of Obi-Wan’s softest spots. “Do you know why?” “I don’t believe you,” Obi-Wan whispers because he doesn’t because he can’t. Because he’d have known. Because this is Anakin, this is his Anakin, but there are still cavernous dark spots and gaps in his mind. This is not entirely his Anakin. He is still missing things. Thousands upon thousands of memories and moments and learned contexts and—

“I think you know why,” Anakin says as if he has not spoken. Funny, as Obi-Wan had thought he was screaming.

“I assure you I do not,” he snaps, spitting the words out as quickly as he can so that his voice cannot break between the syllables.

“Because Anakin Skywalker believed til the day he died that if you had not been his master, you would have allowed him to kiss you. To take you. To be taken by you. Don’t you remember, Master Kenobi?” Obi-Wan tears himself away from the bed, from the boy in it. Just a boy. Not a man. Not when he was seventeen and drunk for the first time, slinging his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and pressing his face into his chest, whining and begging and pleading—and not when he was eighteen either, bold and staring at Obi-Wan's lips, not when he was nineteen, on the verge of his Knighting ceremony and demanding to be given into.

Just a boy, just his boy. But never—never anything else. 

“Like I said,” Anakin but not Anakin murmurs. Anakin, but Vader too. “Wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, they have not yet been able to find it in my mind. I can only assume he loved you at all.”

Obi-Wan flicks his eyes over the familiar face, the beloved face. The stranger’s face. If it were anyone else sitting before him, he’d have a retort already on his tongue. He’d have raised his shields, gone on the offensive. There are few people left in the galaxy that can land a blow on him, and many have tried.

But this is not anyone. This is Anakin. This is his Anakin and this is something for which he has no defenses prepared.

“How ashamed did you make him feel for loving you, master?” Vader asks, tilting his head in cruel curiosity. “That he compressed all of it into something so small that a whole Temple of healers have been unable to find it?”

“Don’t call me that,” Obi-Wan snaps and this time he does not get the words off his tongue quick enough. His voice breaks in the middle of the demand, ribs cracking and parting to reveal the heart of him. “Not if—” not if you do not know what it means for him. For me. For us.

“Why not?” Vader says, and he raises his flesh hand to tuck a piece of greasy hair behind his head before allowing his fingers to fall to rest against his collarbone, ghosting against the Force suppression collar around his neck as if it’s a diamond encrusted necklace. “After all, am I not wearing your chains, master?”

#asks #prompt fill #obikin #vaderwan #so you know vader's number one priority is going to be to manipulate obi-wan into freeing him #because he can probably remember a little bit of anakin's love for obi-wan #it's not as gone as he says #but he also probably remembers the obsession with his master first #and that's tinted even darker by being a sith now #so within the next few weeks his priorities shift from torturing obi-wan for sport #to wanting him to free him so that he can kidnap him and keep him #and get away from the temple and all the memories the jedi are trying to give back to him #he doesn't want those #he wants obi-wan kenobi #hate and love and all

[renlyslittlerose]

can i request explicit teasing under a desk/table from the obikin prompts?

Ask and you shall receive!

Hand job, exhibitionism, facials, and orgasm denial under the cut~ 💗

---

Anakin felt Obi-Wan’s hand on his thigh beneath the desk.

Tensing, he glanced over at Obi-Wan. His eyes were still trained on the datapad in front of him, his expression relaxed as he continued to read, seemingly unaware of where his hand currently was. Sparing a glance around the archives, Anakin noted that they were almost alone save for a few fellow Jedi partitioned about the other desks further away.

Obi-Wan’s hand remained where it was, warm and sturdy across his thigh but otherwise unremarkable.

Anakin returned to his studies.

Obi-Wan’s hand began to move.

Anakin tensed again.

“Master…” he whispered, leaning in to try and catch Obi-Wan’s attention.

Obi-Wan didn’t glance up from his pad and simply continued to rub up and down Anakin’s thigh with deliberate slowness. His palm was hot, the callouses on his fingertips catching bits of the fabric of Anakin’s trousers, causing unnecessary friction now and again. Biting the inside of his cheek, Anakin stared at Obi-Wan, trying to regulate his breathing while sending signals through their bonds that just this small touch was doing things to him. In the archives of all places.

Just as Anakin was about to literally throw himself upon Obi-Wan’a datapad to get him to at least look at him, Obi-Wan’s hand stalled out. Right over-top Anakin’s cock.

He jerked slightly and looked hurriedly around the room, just as his cock twitched in interest, pushing slightly up against Obi-Wan’s palm.

No one was looking their way, but Anakin felt as if all eyes were on the two of them. His cheeks burned bright and he bit back a moan as his cock pulsed again. Poking their bond, Anakin was met with a blank wall, and when he looked back at Obi-Wan he was still scrolling through the information in front of him, expression impassive and eyelids slightly droopy from boredom.

“Obi-Wan,” he hissed, hoping the use of first names would do something.

It did. Only not in the way Anakin was quiet hoping.

Obi-Wan started squeezing him.

Holding back another moan, Anakin gripped the edges of his own datapad and bucked up into Obi-Wan’s hand. Another wave of pleasure mixed with sheer embarrassment flooded Anakin’s system, his toes curling in his boots as he pushed up again, rubbing his cock against Obi-Wan’s hand in hurried, circular motions. Further away someone coughed, and Anakin’s attention dashed over to them, but the person was lost in among the stacks.

“I can stop,” Obi-Wan said quietly.

Anakin glanced back over at him. He was still reading his datapad, but Anakin could see the smallest of tension in the corner of his jaw. For a second Anakin did want to tell him to stop. Obi-Wan’s complete lack of decorum was sort of freaking Anakin out. Obi-Wan didn’t even like having sex with the blinds open at the Temple, fearing someone might fly by and see them tangled up together in a position that most certainly was not part of the Jedi Sparring Handbook.

But Obi-Wan’s hand felt so good.

“D-don’t stop,” Anakin whimpered.

The corner of Obi-Wan’s lips curled upward, and he glanced up from his datapad to give the room a quick once-over before he went back to his reading and his stimulation. He gripped Anakin once more, squeezing his length before slipping further down to cup his balls through his trousers. Anakin’s cock twitched again and pushed against the seam, precome spilling out to wet the front. Gripping his datapad again, he tried to breath evenly through his nose but knew that if anyone even looked at him, they’d instantly think something was going on.

His cheeks were already burning, the skin on the back of his neck damp with sweat. And he couldn’t help but move, little twitches of his hips as he ground himself against Obi-Wan’s hand and forearm. Eyes falling closed, Anakin bit his bottom lip and got lost in the sensation - of his cock twitching beneath Obi-Wan’s firm, steady touch, the flutter of his pulse against the collar of his robes, and Obi-Wan’s excitement through their bond as he finally dropped his walls and let Anakin in.

When Obi-Wan pulled him out of his trousers, Anakin dropped his datapad and moaned quietly, his hands flattening on the table as he tried to keep himself under control. The cool air was pleasant across his length, already covered in sticky seed and hot to the touch. Obi-Wan’s hand dropped down to his thigh, rubbing and kneading the tense muscles while Anakin’s cock was left to the open air, bouncing with each frantic heartbeat.

Glancing over at Obi-Wan, Anakin saw that he had finally ripped his attention away from his research long enough to look down at Anakin’s cock. A pearl of precome beaded up, and Anakin watched Obi-Wan’s gaze as he followed it down Anakin’s length before pooling at the banding of his trousers.

“Pull your balls out,” Obi-Wan said quietly, his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Anakin almost came right then, but managed to keep himself together and did as instructed. Hissing as he brushed his length, he dipped his hand inside and pulled his balls out, hooking them over the banding. When he looked back up, Obi-Wan had returned to his reports, but the flush to his cheeks told Anakin he enjoyed the sight.

“Touch me,” Anakin pleaded. His voice was strained and sounded riotous to his ears, but when he glanced around the space again no one was paying them any mind.

Obi-Wan scrolled through his files for a moment longer, hand still firm along his thigh, before he finally gave in and grasped Anakin’s length.

Anakin swallowed his moan and instead curled over on the table, back hunched as he thrust up into Obi-Wan’s lazy grip. He was barely touching Anakin, the circle of his fingers frustratingly loose, and yet it felt so good. Pushing into his touch, Anakin humped up into Obi-Wan’s grasp as subtly as he could, his hips twitching as he tried to get some pressure around his length.

Obi-Wan finally gave in and grasped him a little firmer, stalling his movements. Anakin let out a soft moan as Obi-Wan’s thumb pressed against the spongy, wet head of his cock, while his pointer finger rubbed the ridging along the underside of it. Toes curling, he bit the inside of his cheek when Obi-Wan pushed into the slit, precome spilling out to wet his cock further, creating the most obscene sounds when Obi-Wan started stroking him in full.

His touch was still light, his wrist loose as he casually stroked Anakin. All the while his attention remained fully on his datapad.

Anakin didn’t care anymore. Obi-Wan could pretend he was the perfectly prim and proper Jedi all he wanted - Anakin knew the truth. It was hard not to, when he was currently fondling Anakin’s cock in the middle of the archives.

Staring down at his own reports Anakin tried to focus on looking at least somewhat put together, even as Obi-Wan dropped his hand and started rolling his balls in the palm of his hand, tugging now and again as if to remind Anakin that what was inside them was all his.

Pleasure roiled around inside Anakin, mixing with Obi-Wan’s own as their signatures tangled up in the Force. Anakin could feel Obi-Wan’s own arousal as if it were his own, thick like honey in his belly, coiling around his own cock, making him spill another tendril of precome out, sullying Obi-Wan’s hand further as it dripped across his fingers and along his knuckles.

The teasing went on for what felt like forever. Obi-Wan would stroke him for a spell, touch featherlight but still firm, his wrist loose as he squeezed on the upswing before relaxing as he went downward. He’d stop and play with the head for a bit now and again, calloused fingertips running along the ridging before pushing into the slit, Anakin’s gaze transfixed as he watched Obi-Wan’s pale fingers contrast with the red, swollen head of his cock.

Any time Anakin bucked up, Obi-Wan would pull away, stopping his movements in his tracks. It wasn’t until Obi-Wan’s scrolling finished that Anakin realized he was delaying Anakin’s orgasm until he’d reached the end of his reports.

“You asshole,” Anakin whimpered, and he almost smashed his head against the table when Obi-Wan squeezed the base of his cock and held.

“Shh, darling. We’re in the archives. Mind your tone.”

When he tried to grasp Obi-Wan, his hand was batted away like he was some child trying to steal a sweet treat, and when he tried to hump into Obi-Wan’s touch he was stopped, grip firm along the base of his length or around his balls. And all the while their fellows in the archives seemed completely oblivious to the goings on of Master Kenobi and his former Padawan - the morally upstanding one, and his degenerate pupil who didn’t know when to sit and when to bark at the right times.

If only they knew where their Master’s hand was.

“Please,” Anakin pleased after another five minutes of teasing. His cock was hurting down, his balls drawn up tight against the base, groin sticky with spilled precome and sweat. He was barely sat upright, his thighs trembling, the insides of his cheeks sore from abuse, and any time he drew breath it was ragged and wet, tears threatening the corners of his eyes.

Obi-Wan spared Anakin a quick glance before he retracted his hand completely. Anakin was about to scream out with desperation and throw Obi-Wan down on the table, but Obi-Wan calmed him with a quick flicker in their bond and a steady hand along the back of his neck.

“Cover yourself and follow me,” he mumbled as he stacked his datapads together and stood.

Anakin tucked himself back inside his trousers, hissing as his length touched the rough material. He too stood, and with no small amount of discomfort followed Obi-Wan out of the archives and into the nearest empty room. As soon as the door was shut, Obi-Wan was turning around, hands frantic along the tight collar of his tunic. He ripped it open, exposing his hairy chest and broad shoulders. When he collapsed on his knees in front of Anakin, Anakin knew exactly what he wanted.

Pulling himself back out, Anakin stroked his cock furiously, his eyes locked with Obi-Wan’s as Obi-Wan stretched his neck and looked up at Anakin with such hunger, Anakin thought he might pass out before he could get his release.

Toes curling, Anakin watched as Obi-Wan began pinching his nipples, and it took very little after that before the dragging, pulling sensation around his cock finally gave way to release. Moaning loudly, Anakin spilled thick ribbons of come along Obi-Wan’s chest and throat, coating his flushed skin in his seed. More come spilled out, and he had enough presence of mind to aim it on to Obi-Wan’s jaw and mouth, strips of it catching in the hair of his beard and the tip of his eager tongue as it slipped out to clean away the mess.

When he was done he collapsed against the wall and let out a strangled sob. Closing his eyes, he breathed steadily through his nose even as he stood trembling, his knees shaking and his calves tensing. When Obi-Wan stood, Anakin let him bring him in for a tight hug. Once stern, teasing hands became soft and soothing as Obi-Wan pet his hair and rubbed his back, praising words slipping past his lips as he told Anakin just what a good boy he’d been, how well he’d done, how good he was to Obi-Wan.

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Anakin mumbled in return.

Obi-Wan just laughed.

#obikin #star wars fanfiction #lemon fanfiction #drabble

[tideswept]

mutually assured destruction [E] → [oneshot]

alternate universe - modern, older man/younger man, unhealthy relationships, daddy kink, first time, power imbalance and more

No, he didn’t have trysts with men. He didn’t have trysts with anyone—neither he nor Satine could risk public claims of infidelity without putting her current campaign at risk—but sex workers were, above all, discreet. And the way Anakin looked at him, as though he was the only man in the whole universe, made him feel alive and desired for the first time in many, many years. If he said no, Anakin would move on to someone else. Obi-Wan would begrudgingly return home to his lackluster routine with one shot of whiskey too many burning in his gut and only his hand to keep him company. Or. Obi-Wan weighed the risks versus the potential rewards. He’d always been very good at choosing the right thing to do. The safe thing. But tonight? Obi-Wan felt a little… reckless.

co-written with @dark--whisperings!

#berryfic #obikin #star wars #fanfiction

[jessequinnfirstofhername]

The Rules:

Every twenty-four hours there will be another round. After every round, the ship in last place will be eliminated.

If there are multiple ships tying for last place, there will be a special elimination round. In these rounds, every ship in last place will be eliminated, even if all the ships have tied equally.

When there are only two ships remaining, they will face off against one another in a week-long poll to determine the victor.

If the ship that you consider the best isn't listed here, hit the 'the best polarizing ship is ___' option and reply to this post with the overlooked ship. The ship with the highest 'write-in' votes will be added to the next round. Unless the 'the best polarizing ship is ___' option is the least voted for, in which case it will be eliminated. Welcome to the party, VaderLuke/AniLuke!

Addendum to Rule 4: Only polarizing ships are allowed. Yes, I'm sure your OTP is awesome, but if there's no proof of it being polarizing then it unfortunately cannot be added to the poll.

This is all for fun. Don't take it too seriously ;)

...so. I'm going to cheat.

The least voted for option in Round One was the 'the best polarizing ship is ___' option. However, because I love chaos, I'm going to replace it with the most 'written-in' polarizing ship instead of eliminating it altogether.

...and that ship is...

VaderLuke! (Sometimes also referred to as 'AniLuke').

Please direct all death threats to my inbox, thank-you! :)

A special shout-out to the other 'write-in' options: Rexsoka, Kryzecest, and Kyluxma

Round Two!

#star wars #reylo #kylux #reylux #obikin #anisoka #gingerpilot #gingerrose #jynnic #wolfwren #lukeleia #grand admiral thrawn #vaderluke #aniluke #best polarizing star wars ship #round two

[red-raven-reading]

Love it when writers put a connection between two male characters calling it a 'profound bond' or 'two sides of the same coin' or that they wonder 'what I'd be without you' and they've 'forged their two lives into one' but then scream "no homo! They're like brothers!"

Like, mate, this passed brotherhood a long time ago, and now they're soul mates who are so obsessed with each other that it is literally destroying them and the lives of all the people around them.

I love them all dearly.

#supernatural #destiel #bbc merlin #merthur #doctor who #thoschei #star wars #obikin #no homo #just a lot of undefined spiritual connection that makes them obsessed with each other #no biggie

[artistotel]

doodly-doo

#obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #obikin #star wars #star wars fanart #doodles #art #fanart

[magnusbae]

"Quit struggling, you will only make it worse."

Obikin, pretty please /ᐠ - ⩊ -マ Ⳋ

Thank you 🥰 Now imagine if Anakin fell a few years earlier than in canon, still has his limbs and pretty hair, and is currently serving Darth Sidious while fighting on the Separatist side. Something like that 😊 1,137w - vaderwan

▾▾▾

“Quit struggling, you will only make it worse.”

Vader bares his teeth and snarls. He snarls like an animal, like he’s a Tusken Raider and it’s the only way he knows how to communicate in. The thought fills him with an even deeper rage, makes his stomach turn in fury and sickness. He is better than that, he is better than them. He is Lord Vader, not some animal to growl and bark— he does not give a kark. 

He spits at Kenobi’s feet and glares up with as much hatred as his eyes would permit without burning white blind from it. 

“Kriff yourself.” Vader grits out when all he receives for his efforts is an infuriatingly smug smirk. (it’s sad, it’s sad, it’s sad)(he ignores it).

“I think I shall pass.” Kenobi says in that sarcastic manner of his that he reserves for Darksiders only. It should not sting Vader as it does, to be spoken to as if he was one of many.

He should be more than that, he is more than that. He’d make him, he’d—

“Please do stop thinking so loudly, you are ruining an otherwise lovely force weather.” Kenobi cuts this line of thought with some sort of Bantha Poodoo that wouldn’t make sense even on the best of days, least of all when he is busy tying Vader up like he was a Life Day’s gift. 

“Force Weather? Have you lost it entirely old m— argh-” Vader sucks in a breath when he feels the durasteel wire cut deep within his skin, so tight he can feel the instant numbing, indicating that the blood had effectively stopped flowing into that limb.

Concern spikes within Vader, he already has one prosthetic, and he is not very fond of the idea of more, Obi-Wan wouldn’t…. Would he….? 

There is a moment in which he thinks that he would. Thinks that Kenobi had lost any sentiment toward his old apprentice, even the guilt that had kept him from killing him in all the previous times he had managed to get the upper hand. (Through luck)(It’s luck, nothing else.)

Losing a limb due to Kenobi’s poor tying techniques would not be technically Kenobi deciding on killing him but— “Ngh.” He hisses out, teeth scraping together as Kenobi lessens the punishing grip of the wire.

Relief  flood Vader, scorching in its intensity.

“A little too tight there.” Obi-Wan chirps, all amusement and good nature. (He sounds old.)(He sounds broken.) “Apologies, Sweet.” he says with his characteristic charm, his typical ease. (He sounds as if he’d like to retch.)(he sounds sick.)

Vader hates it. Hates. Hates. Hates. He wants the anger, the hurt, the words of disappointment and fury and passion. (Love, love, of love.) He wants Kenobi to be honest, to be direct, to be him. The him that only he knows, that only he saw. He wants Kenobi to, (his chest fills and hurts, his lungs collapse with an inhale he doesn’t manage to keep, his eyes close and he cannot, he cannot lie—) care. Care, he wants him to karkin care. Even a little, even sometimes. Care enough to hurt, care enough to scream, care enough to hurt him. 

“Up and about now.” Obi-Wan says and hauls Vader to his feet. Even in this Kenobi is careful to not hurt him unnecessarily. Do not hurt prisoners, a Jedi would say. The Codes. It’s all he sees in him. The Codes he must follow in order to fulfill his duties. No, no. No, no and no. Anakin— Vader is more, he is more, he was, he is more. 

Twisting about to face Kenobi without being stopped is hard enough, his balance off with the way his arms are bound painfully behind his back. He manages it. He’s quick enough, skilled enough— determined enough.

Without a single thought, without a moment of consideration, Vader’s eyes lock onto his target. The neck.

It’s exposed just enough, with the layers of robes covering the curve of it an the beard reaching just the top of it, there’s just enough space.

Vader strikes as he always does, without warning, without hesitation. One moment he is standing there, wide eyes alight with orange-yellow, the next his lips are closing around soft flesh, teeth sinking.

It’s all over in but moments, and yet the way Obi-Wan groans, the way his throat tenses and he swallows, the way he shudders when he pushes Vader off hard enough to make him stumble and fall back onto the ground— the way there’s blood on that neck, on Vader’s tongue— it’s all worth it.

Vader will do it again, no matter the consequences, no matter how it might look to someone who didn’t understand. 

He will make absolute sure that Kenobi never forgets, never.

Vader makes a point of licking at his lips as he smirks at Kenobi, tilting his head from side to side in a way he saw his Master do while in a good mood and flirting. On him it looks mocking and he knows it.

He takes pleasure in Kenobi having no smart retort to it, no easygoing banter to masquerade with. Vader got him, he had won. 

He is almost angry when the sound of engines breaks through, hundreds of them, all belonging to Sidious. Or the Separatists, as the Republic still foolishly believes. He will never know what words had died on Kenobi’s tongue as he looked up and then down at Vader, calculating his chances of outrunning a fleet of battle ships while carrying an unwilling Sith on his back. 

“Not in your favor, huh?” Vader asks, laughing, not even bothering to get up, instead he just flops to lie on his back. It pains his arms terribly, but he does not care. He looks at the sky as if it was a starry sky you’d gaze upon, wish upon.

“Run now, Kenobi. You’re so good at it, after all.” He does not look at him, does not want to see that back turned on him. (Again. Again. Again that.)

The silence from Kenobi’s side is a heavy one, a painful one. Then he forces out amusedly (Chokes on it.) “We’ll have to rain check our little date, my Dear.” (He does actually choke on it.) (Vader hears, he always does.)

“So long.” The man who raised him cheers, all good spirits and not a care in the world. Then there’s the sound of Obi-Wan’s light feet as he force-runs towards his own ship. Leaves him. 

Anakin closes his eyes and all the world falls down. 

There’s only the sound of shooting and the flavor of Obi-Wan’s life on his tongue. For now, it’ll do. For now, it’s enough. (It is not.)(It never is.)

#obikin #vaderwan #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #darth vader #star wars #obikin fic #vaderwan fic #prompts #prompt filled #I enjoyed writing this quite a lot‚ thank you 🥰 #Anakin #Obi wan #vader #buns.w #buns.all #Anonymous #msg

[nickytess]

just wanted to do a little crossover with A Gentleman in Moscow hehe

#anakin skywalker #star wars #obikin #star wars anakin #sw anakin #obi wan kenobi #obi wan star wars #ewan mcgregor #crossover #a gentleman in moscow #oopsie