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kryzobi-wan · 4 months

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The Sound of Mandalore

Chapter 13/20: Something Good

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<< Chapter 12

Satine stood out on her private terrace, breathing in the stillness of the night. It had been quiet recently. She was thankful for that. The cityscape loomed before her, twinkling in the way she loved to watch.

Down below, in the palace gardens, the Jedi meandered through rows of flowers and plants, stopping every so often to look closer at one. He was wearing a much different outfit than he usually wore, and Satine wondered how she hadn’t noticed before. Gone were his robes and flowing sleeves. Instead, he wore a dark blue tunic and trousers, along with a cape slung over his shoulders.

Now she was certain he hadn’t been wearing this before. Or if he was, it was underneath his signature outer robe. He looked nice. He looked—Mandalorian.

While Satine puzzled over this development with a pensive look on her face, another figure joined her on the balcony.

“There you are,” Tal Merrik spoke with a toothy smile, resting his elbows on the railing next to her. She could feel the edges of his clothes brush against her upper arm, causing a shiver to creep up her spine.

He followed her line of sight down to the garden and immediately stiffened, his smile almost imperceptibly shifting into something less sincere. “I was hoping we might discuss some changes to our public policy, before I head back to Kalevala.”

Satine made no effort to shift her gaze away from Obi-Wan, so lost in thought she was.

“I’m afraid I’m not in the right state to be discussing politics right now, Senator, you’ll have to forgive me,” she answered.

Merrik nodded, standing back up to his full height and stepping closer, his body turned to face the Duchess.

“That’s alright, Satine. We can discuss… other things instead, if you’d prefer.”

As he spoke, he lifted his hand and brushed his fingertips against her arm, causing her to immediately jolt away. He had at least accomplished one thing: her focus had finally been torn away from Kenobi.

She shot him a nasty glare and exclaimed, “Senator Merrik!”

Despite her negative reaction, he only drew nearer, causing Satine to back away. Her gaze flicked back down to Obi-Wan. He had taken a seat on a bench that she knew offered a wonderful view of the city. What she wouldn’t do to be down there with him instead of up here.

Just when she was about to call on her guards, the tapping of metal on transparisteel announced someone else’s arrival, and both Merrik and Satine turned to see Anakin Skywalker standing in the doorway with his arms crossed.

“Everything alright, Duchess?” he asked, his piercing gaze fixed on Merrik.

Satine shot him a grateful look and responded, “Yes, the Senator was just leaving. He unfortunately must return to Kalevala tonight on urgent business.”

Merrik’s mouth opened and closed, unable to formulate an intelligent response. It seemed not even the Senator was brave enough to challenge one of the most powerful Jedi in existence. At least, he was smart enough not to try.

Anakin stepped closer, making his height advantage quite clear over Merrik. “You’d best be on your way then, Senator,” he said, the threat evident in his voice.

Merrik knew when he was beat. He cleared his throat, looking between the two of them before bowing to Satine and leaving through the open doorway at once.

Once he had gone, Satine sighed in relief. “You have the best timing, Knight Skywalker,” she spoke, leaning back against the railing.

“I sensed I might be needed out here,” he explained with a shrug.

She’d only met the newly knighted Jedi once, the night of the ball, but already she felt a kinship with the man. There were qualities in him that she recognized, little idiosyncrasies that reminded her of the connection he shared with another Jedi she knew.

“I suppose I have you to thank for bringing Obi-Wan back,” she said, straightening into her Duchess persona now that she’d recovered from the uncomfortable situation with Merrik.

Anakin raised his hands and chuckled a bit. “Hey, I’m just the pilot, he hasn’t said anything to me about what happened.”

Satine raised her eyebrows at that. Obi-Wan really kept to himself, didn’t he, if not even his former Padawan knew what was going on in that ridiculous brain of his. She sighed.

“So, there’s really nothing going on between you and the Senator?” Anakin asked suddenly, and Satine turned to give him an incredulous look.

“Merrik? Heavens, no.”

The Knight gave a satisfied nod. “Good. You’re much too independent, I can tell. You need someone that understands that.”

Skywalker would know all about that, wouldn’t he, if what she suspected about the man and that Senator Amidala was true.

She smiled softly. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

They settled back into silence for a few moments, listening to the distant hum of traffic. Anakin’s eyes drifted out over the garden, and Satine’s followed. They both knew who they were looking for.

He was still there, sitting peacefully among the topiaries and fountains, the perfect picture of contentment.

Anakin spoke again, his voice serious, but warm. “Somewhere out there, I think there’s a man like that for you. A man who…” he paused, a wide grin spreading across his face. “A man who will never be on the Jedi Council,” he finished with a laugh.

Satine’s eyes snapped back to Anakin’s as if to judge if he were joking or not. When she saw nothing but complete sincerity and delight, her disbelieving gaze returned to the Jedi below. Her heart was aflutter, and this time she didn’t even try to suppress the hopeful smile that lit up her face.

Anakin gave a knowing look, his smile shifting into one of quiet contentment. “I knew it,” he said in a whisper, whether to himself or to her, she couldn’t say. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He bowed, an extra bounce in his step as he began to inch his way out the door. “Tell Obi-Wan that if he ever needs anything, just give me a call.”

Before Satine could even find the words to properly thank him, he was gone.

-.-.-

The garden really was a nice escape from the palace. If Obi-Wan was being honest, he hadn’t even considered that Tal Merrik might still be a guest in Sundari when he returned. It made for a less than ideal environment for what he wanted to say to Satine, the words for which he had been rehearsing in his head the entire ride over here.

As he sat on a bench under a lovely flourishing tree, he considered whether he had avoided a big mistake by not telling her how he felt after all. Perhaps it was not meant to be. Force, he wished Qui-Gon had a few wise words for him now. It made so much more sense when he explained everything. Now he was stuck wondering if he’d misinterpreted the Force’s calling.

He was moments away from going to find Anakin when a melodic voice called out, “Hello there,” from behind him. He turned to see Satine standing beneath the tree with a kind smile on her face. “I hoped I might find you here,” she said.

Obi-Wan stood from the bench at once, ever the gentleman. “Did you need something, Duchess?”

“No, no not at all,” Satine waved him off. “Do you mind if I sit?” she asked, nodding to the bench.

The Jedi Master shook his head, gesturing for her to take a seat. Once she was seated, he sat down beside her and waited for her to speak.

“I… wanted to ask you,” Satine began, nervously running a hand through her hair. “Why did you really go back to the Jedi Temple? The truth, this time. And—and why did you return?”

Obi-Wan fixed his gaze on some point far, far away.

“I—I was given this mission by the Council, and I came back to fulfill it,” he explained simply, jaw set firm.

“Yes, you Jedi never do anything by halves,” Satine mused. “Is that all?”

“I did miss the children,” he added after a moment.

Satine’s eyes rested on his face now, watching every imperceptible movement for some sign of what was going on in his deeply complicated mind.

“Only the children?”

Obi-Wan turned suddenly, and she saw a flash of cautious hope behind his eyes as he looked seriously at her. “Why do you ask, Satine?”

The silver-tongued Jedi had turned her own question back on her, and she found herself ill-prepared with a response. Unable to sit still, she stood and began to pace beneath the tree. “Oh, I was only hoping that you’d—perhaps you might—”

“Yes?” His patient voice cut through her ramblings, drawing her back to him. At some point he had stood from his spot and come closer, and now his nearness was beginning to do funny things to her brain.

“Well, nothing was the same when you were away… and it will be all wrong again if you leave… I was just hoping—" Obi-Wan’s gaze met hers, and for the life of her she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. If he would just show some emotion, it would help her immensely. When his eyes flitted away from hers, her heart sank. Maybe it wasn’t as easy as Anakin had made it sound. “Unless, I understand, you are needed back on Coruscant. The Republic needs its General, you have Anakin… I understand if you can’t—the Jedi Council—"

“There won’t be a Jedi Council,” Obi-Wan broke in, in a tone that was so matter of fact that Satine was sure she had heard wrong. “Not for me.”

“No Council? I don’t—"

“Well, I’m preparing to leave the Order, you see.”

The silence that followed, paired with the small half-smile that had broken across his face, nearly swallowed her whole.

“You…” she could barely stand to hope, “You are?” Her eyes desperately searched his, but she found nothing but truth in them.

“Yes,” he said, his soft gaze turning to glance around at their surroundings. He plucked a small white bloom off a low hanging branch of the tree, twirling it between his fingers. “Well, you can’t exactly… be a Jedi,” he mused, “when you’re madly in love with someone…” The space between them grew ever smaller, and he lifted her hand into his own. “Can you?”

Satine shook her head slowly, feeling as if she were in a dream. Surely this couldn’t be happening. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

Obi-Wan leaned in closer, brushing his fingers gently over her chin and up her cheekbone. Tilting his head forward, he rested his forehead against hers, imploring eyes meeting hers from beneath thick eyelashes.

His plea came as a desperate whisper against her lips. “Say the word, Satine.”

She closed her eyes and brought her hand up to cover the one that now cupped her cheek. Her other hand clutched tightly to his, trapped between their beating hearts. One beat. Two beats.

“Stay,” she breathed, the words leaving her lips with a great wave of relief the way she wished they had all those years ago.

And with that, he drew her into a kiss, dropping her hand so he could press her closer to him. His arm wrapped around her lower back, fingers grazing over the fine fabric of her dress, soft and silky beneath his fingertips. Satine rested her hand on his jaw, and she smiled into the kiss at the sensation of his beard under her thumb.

Okay, so maybe she wasn’t as opposed as she’d initially thought to the beard.

When they broke apart, Obi-Wan smiled softly and pulled her close, wrapping her in an embrace. She held him tight, and he nuzzled into her hair. It smelled of lilies, just like he remembered.

Her fingers tangled in the short hair at the back of his neck where once there had been a Padawan braid. So much had changed in the time they’d been apart. But at the same time, so little. Contentment radiated off him, and he didn’t seem likely to let go any time soon.

“Master Yoda always said, when the Force closes a hatch, it opens a viewport,” Obi-Wan mumbled into her shoulder.

Satine pulled him back, her hands framing his bearded face as she smiled up at him fondly. “What else does Master Yoda say?” she asked, amusement lacing her voice.

Despite her teasing tone, he answered back honestly. “He says you must always follow the will of the Force.”

Satine studied his face again. “Is that why you came back? To find the will of the Force?” Obi-Wan nodded, his hands resting on her elbows now to keep her close to him. “And have you found it, Master Jedi?” The softness of her voice sent a pang through his chest.

“I think I have,” he said, “I know I have.”

Tears pooled in Satine’s eyes. Her heart felt as light as a feather, the weight of some past loss now at last lifted. She was free—they both were. Free to say the things they had always wanted to, to speak aloud the words they’d only ever whispered under the cover of night, far away from Qui-Gon’s listening ears.

“I love you, my dear Obi-Wan,” she spoke, pulling him down to her. He bowed his head, allowing her to pepper him with kisses all the way from his jaw, to his cheeks, and up to his forehead.

As far as he was concerned, this was eternal bliss. As she showered him with affection, he leaned into her touch and wondered aloud, “What did I do to deserve this?”

He had been through so much. From a young age, he had seen and experienced things that most children were carefully sheltered from. He had been sent to help, of course—that was his purpose in life—but that didn’t take away the trauma that Obi-Wan was now realizing he had suffered. He would always be grateful for his time with the Jedi, would always look back on it with fondness, but he could no longer say everything they did was inscrutable. This war was enough proof of that.

And Satine. How much had she gone through, being forced away from her home planet by a deadly Civil War? Being chased by bounty hunters and terrorists, only to be thrust into rule at such a young age upon her return? She led an unprecedented Council of Neutral Systems in the heat of a Galactic War the likes of which had never been seen before, all while dealing with dissenters on her own planet as well.

They had both faced impossible circumstances, yet their paths had somehow led them here. And Obi-Wan would thank the Force every day for that beautiful, amazing, unbelievable fact.

Her thoughts seemed to be along the same lines as his. She pressed her head into the crook of his neck, arms tightly wrapped around his shoulders as she basked in the love she felt practically radiating off him.

“We were barely more than children when we met, Obi,” she whispered, entranced by the comforting circles he traced up and down her back.

He smiled, leaning back to listen to her properly. She always liked that, how he truly listened when she talked, possessing a genuine interest in what she had to say. His undivided attention made her feel like nothing else mattered but the two of them, all the rest of the world melting away.

She continued. “Somehow, even through the terror and the misery, something must have gone right, I suppose. For us to end up here together.” Grabbing her hands, he brought them to his lips. “And for you to love me as you do, even if perhaps you shouldn’t,” she finished with a fluttering laugh.

Obi-Wan beamed at her.

“Do you know when I first started loving you?” he asked, looking more free than he ever had before. She awaited his answer with a smile. “That time in the cave when you refused to wear shoes at night and got stung on your foot while you were asleep.”

The Jedi—her Jedi—broke into giggles as he recalled the occasion, his cheeks turning pink beneath that auburn beard of his.

“What?” she exclaimed, laughing with him.

“I had to carry you all the way up the mountain on my back the next day,” he finished, barely able to get the words out. It certainly hadn’t been one of her finer moments, she remembered. She hated admitting when he was right, and this was one of those few times.

“I knew the first time you blew up at me for complaining about the lack of amenities on one of those forsaken planets.” She smiled at the memory fondly. She had been so young back then. Relatively naïve. When they were together, it didn’t take long to push each other to their limits. That was, after all, part of the fun. He didn’t see her as some princess, walking on eggshells around her as others did. He made his opinions known, just as she did in return.

How,��how, had they loved each other for so long, and done nothing about it?

“Oh, my dear, I’ve always loved you,” Obi-Wan said, brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face with the gentlest of touches. His eyes shimmered in the dim glow of the city.

Satine smiled up at him and made her own vow. “And I always will.”

Draping her arms around his neck, she brought her lips to his once more, kissing him deeply.

“Obi-Wan,” she whispered into the kiss, “Is there anyone I need to go to to ask permission to marry you? The Jedi Council?”

Obi-Wan pulled back to look into her eyes in surprise and with complete, unrepentant joy.

“Darling, the Council couldn’t stop me from marrying you if they tried,” he said with a grin. “Though perhaps we should ask—”

“The children?” she finished.

He nodded.

“And particularly Korkie,” he said, a knowing—yet content—look in his eye. “I should think he’d like a say in his parents finally tying the knot.”

Satine was momentarily speechless. “You know,” she stated, the slight waver in her voice betraying her nervousness that this secret had evidently come out.

“I had an inkling,” Obi-Wan explained. “But don’t you worry, my dear. There will be plenty of time to discuss later. For now, I’m just so happy, nothing could ever take away from that. And he’s truly a remarkable young man. I am so proud of you both.”

She wrapped her arms around him again, words caught behind a lump in her throat as she adjusted to this new reality where there were no more secrets between them. It was equal parts relieving and guilt-inducing.

“He doesn’t know,” she admitted with a slight frown.

“Then we’ll tell him together,” Obi-Wan promised, his eyes meeting hers with sincerity and an overabundance of love. How he was able to be so gracious to her, she didn’t know. But she was thankful for this, for them.

This was it. The Force had led them to this moment, and Obi-Wan knew in his very soul that it was the right path for him. His heart felt like it might burst with happiness, and Satine—he knew—felt the same.

The night grew cold, and the palace lights slowly flickered out, but they remained there like that for some time, wrapped in each other’s loving embrace.

-.-.-

Anakin watched from the balcony, a smirk plastered on his face as he observed the couple down below in the garden.

His eyebrows lifted, impressed by what he saw. “Not bad, old man,” he muttered, watching as the figures engaged in a passionate kiss.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his comm device and flicked it on, dialing the frequency he knew best. It wasn’t long before she picked up.

“Padmé,” he spoke into the comm. “You owe me 20 credits.”

-.-.-

#obitine #obitine fanfic #my fanfiction #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #korkie kryze #sound of music au #the sound of mandalore #mandalore #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars: tcw #tcw fanfic #tal merrik #chapter 13 #anakin skywalker

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reyskitchensink · 11 months

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So I made prints of this one. The prints came out awful, I’m in the process of making them not awful

#art #drawing #sketch #fan art #painting #star wars: tcw #clone trooper art #crosshair #tbb #tbb art #tbb fanart #clone trooper crosshair #crosshair art #the clones #the clone wars #st: tcw #stormtrooper

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rexscanonwife · 2 years

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Finally finished this piece!! I wasn’t sure how to go about some of it and some of it is kinda wonky, but I think in the end it turned out really good and I’m really proud of it ♡

Pose ref/inspiration!

#artfarts #self insert #self ship #self shipping community #self insert community #self insert x canon #fictional other #star wars #star wars: tcw #captain rex #💙 oh captain my captain 💙#KISSES MY HUSBAND #OUGGHH THIS IS BRINGING SO MUCH SEROTONIN LIKE #im so happy it looks good and that i didnt give up on it or start over like a weiner or anything like that jghjk #i dont have much to say in the tags this time. weirdly #just hhhhggh husband #enjoy

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wipbigbang · 10 months

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The final round of art claims is open at @wipbigbang! We have all sorts of great stories left in multiple fandoms, and we'd love any type of fanart for them: traditional art, digital art, fanmixes, moodboards, fic covers/chapter headers...any kind of art you can imagine!

The synopses are located at https://wipbigbang.dreamwidth.org/173272.html

The form is located at https://forms.gle/yyxkCxyXJopMTyUs8.

Star Wars: The Clone Wars

#124

Title: Untitled

Pairing/Characters: Kit Fisto/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mace Windu/Quinlan Vos/CC-2224 | Cody, Luminara Unduli/Depa Billaba, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Quinlan Vos, Obi-Wan Kenobi & CC-2224 | Cody, Anakin Skywalker, Plo Koon

Rating Teen | T

Warnings/Tags: Chooses not to use Warnings

Pro Jedi, Jedi culture respected, canon typical violence, communication, philosophical discussions, Not Anakin Skywalker friendly, I don't think I need to warn for anything this time, Hope I haven't forgotten anything, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

Summary: Obi-Wan is a fantastic Jedi. He usually keeps his cool and does not let any emotion get the better of him. One might wonder if he actually does experience emotions at all. But he has a secret: Behind closed doors, when he is alone or with those he most trusts, he will fall apart. He just does not like appearing so vulnerable crying in front of others.

This is how he gained people to trust with his most vulnerable self and how they made it through the war.

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yel-ashaya · 2 years

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Me everytime

(Yes this meme transcends the Star Wars/Star Trek boundary)

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samspenandsword · 2 years

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Kinktober 2022/23 Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Summary: Kinktober Day 12 — Hate/Angry Sex with Maul Pairing: Maul/Reader; fem!reader with no mentions of her appearance. Rating: Explicit, 18+ (Younglings, foundlings, and cadets BEGONE!) Warnings: Explicit sexual content, smut; hate/angry sex, unprotected PIV (PRACTICE SAFE SEX), rough sex, cockwarming, inappropriate use of the Force, breathplay, pain kink, biting kink, mild blood kink, Mandalorian!reader, spy!reader, toxic relationship, I have never written angry/hate sex before so do with that knowledge what you will, language. Word Count: 2.2k

Sam's Pen and Sword Kinktober 2023 Taglist Form

Maker, you hated him. A shabuir of the absolute worst kind, he was unforgiving, murderous, singular-minded, self-serving, obsessive, angry, scary. He was a murderer, and you could not wait to help drag him to the pits where he fucking belonged.

He’d stolen your sovereignty. Alienated your people. Butchered your honor and Creed. Assassinated your noble, albeit misguided, but still well-meaning duchess. Plunged your world into the worst kind of occupation and war.

This hadn’t been what you’d wanted. You’d joined the Death Watch to restore the ancient ways to your people. To try and get the duchess to see that the two ways — pacifist and warrior — could coincide. The people who wanted to swear the Creed and wear the armor could, and help fight for and protect those who wished to live in peace. Pre Vizsla had seemed to share that vision. At first. But as time stretched, you began to see him for what he was.

A madman.

But you were in too deep to back out, lest you lose your people and your Creed.

So you decided to observe. To watch. To bide your time. Your people would realize the truth.

But then the unthinkable happened. Maul had murdered Vizsla and taken the Darksaber. And your people, so blinded by their need to reinstate the ancient ways, followed it. Despite it falling into the hands of someone who never swore the Creed and wore no beskar.

The death of Satine Kryze had been the final straw for you, watching with stunned fury as she fell dead at the murderer’s feet. You hadn’t agreed with the woman and her way of rule, but all she had wanted was to do right by your people.

You had never wished for her death.

When an opportunity arose to infiltrate Maul’s regime from the inside, you took it. Everything you learned was relayed back to Bo-Katan, and you became a spy against the most dangerous being you’d ever met.

You hated Maul. You hated everything he stood for — power, control, domination. You were angry at how he continued to let your people suffer and lorded over your planet like he had a right to it. You were incensed at how your people had so lost their way that they willingly followed him.

He sensed your anger.

“A fire burns in you,” he’d said. It was the first time he’d spoken to you directly. His golden gaze had fire in them as well.

“A fire burns in all who would call themselves Mandalorian,” you’d said.

“You don’t like me,” he’d observed.

Your heart pounded, but you’d prepared for this. Forcer-users had an infuriating habit of invading the thoughts of those surrounding them. Sith and Jedi alike.

“I don’t have to agree with you, or even like you, to serve you, my Lord.”

He hummed.

“And what is it that you don’t agree with?”

His eyes pierced into you, his posture as languid and lean as a cat. It was a dangerous posture, and you knew Maul was a capable warrior. He had to be to do the things he’d done. But you got the impression he was genuinely curious.

“Killing the duchess made her a martyr to the ones who would support her, including the Jedi. Not to mention it alienated Bo-Katan and her followers, splitting our numbers more than they already were. Mandalorians have always been stronger together.”

He studied you, the gleam in his lava eyes unreadable. “Why not join Kryze, if you disagree with my killing the duchess?”

You’d prepared for this too. And you spat your answer with a very real anger.

“Because she would’ve killed her sister had you not done it first. And I would never follow a hut’uun who would kill her own, Mandalore-born blood. I would follow you before I ever followed her.”

Maul’s eyes shone with something, again, you could not quite identify. His hands, clasped behind his back, remained there as he turned slightly to face you more fully.

“I think we’ll work well together.”

His voice was a purr. And you hated how it made your thighs clench. And you hated how your eyes watched him as he walked away, unfairly graceful and fucking hot.

It made your blood boil from more than anger.

You suddenly found yourself as one of Maul’s advisors, an ear to his monologues of grandeur and power, long and poetic. He spoke of the dark side of the Force, and his old master, his desire for revenge and how your people would help him achieve it.

You listened. You responded when necessary. Your blood still boiled in his presence.

He smirked every time he sensed it. Because he knew what it meant.

He sensed the clenching of your core, and the heat in your veins. He saw the tension in your posture as he circled you like prey, and took amusement in seeing how far he could push before you bit back. He relished the way you tried not to shiver as he leaned to whisper witty commentary in your ear the rare times you removed your helmet. He delighted in sensing the conflicted fire in you, and pushing you until you snapped.

And you did, snarling at his antics and games until he pinned you and took you roughly against the floor of the throne room.

Your beskar covered the bites and bruises he left. It guarded you when his gaze grew heated and knowing. But despite that, it bore his colors, and your skin tingled at the mere thought of his touch.

Maker, you hated him, and yet you couldn’t shake him.

He’d clawed into your armor and sat in your kar’ta beskar like it was his throne.

You were impaled upon him, him lounging on his stolen throne like a smug, satisfied loth cat. The smirk on his face infuriated you, and made you disgustingly wet. You dug your nails into the muscles of his back, hot and rippling under your touch.

Your hips were pinned to his, an unseen pressure quite literally keeping you from moving and it was all you could do to not beg, twitch, or even react. It would only give him the satisfaction of knowing he had an effect on you.

Not that he already didn’t know, but still.

Another invisible, firm, searing pressure pressed to your clit, devastatingly precise. You choked on your gasp, nails digging painfully into Maul’s back.

His smirk widened.

“I can feel your need.”

His voice was a purr that wreaked havoc on you, and he suddenly, powerfully, yanked you even tighter to his front. You couldn’t swallow your moan this time, and he nibbled on your jaw.

You brought your hand to his scalp, fingers curling around his horns in a way you’d discovered made him lose a bit of that irritating smugness.

But instead he leaned into the rough touch, and it made your heart skip, your cheeks flush, your breath hitch.

He nipped the plush of your lips.

And invisible hands raised you up, sliding your slick and squeezing walls to the very tip of his cock, and slammed you back down.

With each slam of his cock into you, you choked around moans and screams. His length was impressive, if artificial, and everything about him felt so hot and real. You could practically feel him in your throat, heavy and bulging and thick.

Or perhaps that was the force pressing against your windpipe, constricting your air just enough to make your head spin.

“Sublime,” came Maul’s voice, velvet in your roaring ears.

You felt his hands seize you, bruisingly, slamming you down onto him even harder than before.

You could feel the heat, the tightening inside you, having been plateaued for what felt like hours upon him. And now as you fucked yourself upon him, clawed and fought and snarled on top of him, you felt yourself cresting.

“You’re close,” came his voice. Arrogant and smug.

You squeezed your cunt around him and yanked at his horns. His teeth bared and a guttural growl escaped him.

“So are you,” you growled back.

You found yourself beneath him in a blink, back pulsing with the pain of slamming into the throne and his cock punching into you.

You had bruises on the backs of your thighs from the metal of his legs and hips unforgivingly slamming into you, and you hated how good they looked on your skin. Your shoulders had scars of his teeth, skin permanently bearing his mark. You hated how you shivered when he traced them teasingly. Your pussy squeezed and throbbed with pleasure and pain, the feeling lasting well into the days following each tryst. You hated how it made your gait change and widen, and how it became your new norm. You hated the open-chested tunics he wore, showing the intricate, beautiful ink of his heritage. You hated how good your nails left scratches in him. You hated his grin when you yanked his horns, hated how he pushed you to give as good as you got.

And you hated how he fucked you — painfully, roughly, carnally, exquisitely, completely, ferally.

Exactly how you liked it.

And he did it in a way no other had.

The heat of your hate and your anger and your orgasm came to a boil, and as another invisible force once again enclosed around your windpipe, something erupted inside you.

Screaming loud enough to be heard through the palace as you came painfully hard, Maul continued to slam into your convulsing, clenching walls, forcing you open as he claimed your heat and slick and chased his own end.

He seized it, and bit down on your shoulder as he came.

He never softened inside you, not really, and him retreating from your abused cunt was always something that made you hiss. Sometimes it made your core tighten with discomfort. Other times, like now, it prolonged the fluttering in your cunt.

You gulped in air, chest heaving, thighs trembling, and your shoulder throbbing and pebbling with blood. It didn’t bother you, and you knew Maul liked the sight. And indeed, his molten eyes were fixed upon your shoulder, looking quite proud of your new mark.

You quietly huffed with begrudging amusement, closing your eyes and leaning back to catch your breath.

“You look a vision upon my throne,” he said. You popped an eye open, still trying to will strength back into your legs and normalize your breathing.

“Hmm,” you said, “especially when I can’t quite walk right?”

Maul smirked. After all, you’d said it, not him.

You pushed yourself up, tremors fading as you forced your muscles to engage again. You leaned down to where your beskar had been discarded and began to pull your armor back on.

“I had thought you Mandalorians were always fighting for the throne,” Maul suddenly continued.

You frowned mildly over at him, confused at the sudden direction of this conversation. He usually dismissed you after your escapades.

“Part of being a good Mandalorian is thinking of the people as a whole. Knowing what would be best for us. We’d never have survived as long as we have if we were constantly fighting each other for the Darksaber. And we’ve almost lost ourselves to that before.”

Maul draped himself over the throne as you continued to methodically and habitually armor yourself. As you did, you grew more and more comfortable.

“So you wouldn’t want to rule, despite how good you look on the throne?”

You tossed him a little smile, amused despite yourself.

“I’ll leave the desire for power to you. You embody it so well.”

He smirked. You returned to your armor.

“You would really never want to be Mand’alor?”

This made you pause again, and you sent him a searching look. “And challenge you for the Darksaber? Not a chance.”

He smirked again, eyes never leaving your form as you continued to redon your beskar and weapons.

“I thought you Mandalorians loved a good fight.”

You barked a laugh. “A fight, yes. But I’m not stupid enough to try and beat you in a lightsaber duel. So no, I will not be challenging you for the rule of Mandalore.”

The flattery, which usually amused Maul more than anything, did not garner his usual response of a smirk and tilt of his head. Instead, as you picked up your helmet and looked back at him, you found him looking at you, his face and eyes unreadable.

Again.

“I wasn’t offering a challenge.”

There was something there. A hidden meaning to his words. A meaning that scared you.

You straightened. “Will there be anything else, my Lord?”

He looked disappointed, but not surprised. He was patient. He would wring a response from you one day. “No.”

You sealed your helmet over your head, strode from the hall, and allowed your expression to contort.

Gritting your teeth and jaw and marching through the palace, your hand drifted to your blaster, twitchy and eager. Target practice would help you relax. It always did.

But as you found yourself in the training halls, your mood and anger darkened.

You hated him. You hated him! You hated how you were attracted to him. You hated that you liked him.

And you hated that he knew it.

You knew that one day, Maul’s own darkness and evil deeds would lead to his downfall. And when it happened, your kar’ta beskar would once again be yours.

The day could not come soon enough.

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ladykagewaki · 2 years

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Escape From the Port of Tumblr...

@exceptionally-minded @tbbs-best-hair @badbatchsmolbean @lula-and-the-cavalry @the-echo-in-the-room @superiorsniper @same-heart-same-blood @its-capt-traitor-to-you

#the bad batch #tbb omega #tbb echo #tbb Hunter #tbb tech #tbb Crosshair #tbb wrecker #commander gregor #ct-5555 #clone trooper fives #captain rex #star wars #star wars: tcw #captain traitor #jcmmw #havoc marauder #tbb #Clone Force 99

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myblacknightworld · 1 year

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Was anybody going to tell me Jar Jar Binks had a girlfriend or was I supposed to find it out watching the last two seasons of TCW myself

#in my defence I haven't watched them yet - I am in the process of watching them #blacky watches things #star wars #star wars: the clone wars #star wars: tcw #sw tcw #tcw #jar jar binks #i admit it was quite the shock

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sabellart · 7 months

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he was the cool uncle

inspired by this post^

#star wars #tcw #the clone wars #sw fanart #sabeldraws #qui gon jinn #obi wan kenobi #kit fisto #shaak ti #quinlan vos

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cobaltbeam · 8 months

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Rex won't stand by that bs

Consider joining Patreon for extra content!

#my drawings #fanart #star wars #star wars fanart #the clone wars #tcw #captain rex #ahsoka tano #sw tcw

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cherriielle · 1 year

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the negotiator ⭐

#my art #star wars #may the 4th #obi wan kenobi #tcw #The Clone Wars #star wars fanart #may 4th #Illustration #artists on tumblr #art on tumblr #digital painting #portfolio #happy may the 4th everyone!!!

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kryzobi-wan · 6 months

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The Sound of Mandalore

Chapter 9/20: A Very Fine Jedi

Read on AO3

<;< Chapter 8

Obi-Wan had been pacing back and forth relentlessly when the door to his room finally slid open, allowing Anakin entrance. He walked in carrying a big bag, which he set down on Obi-Wan’s bed. As he began to unzip it, Obi-Wan broke his anxious silence.

“Anakin, what are you doing here?” he said, wringing his hands. He had not expected to see his young friend anywhere near Mandalore. It was sort of like two very different worlds colliding and his brain couldn’t make sense of it.

“Senator Amidala asked me to escort her,” Anakin answered with a poorly concealed smile. “I wanted to see what you were up to. And she thought you might need some help socializing with the elite of Mandalore.”

“I take offense to that,” Obi-Wan replied, though the words held no bite. His mind was in panic mode, and any high-level thought seemed decidedly impossible at this time. “H—how are things at the temple?” he asked, “The war—”

“It’s good,” Anakin said reassuringly. “I might be getting a padawan soon!”

“What?!” If his eyes could have popped out of his skull, they would have.

Anakin began pulling out some finer clothes from the bag, and as he did, Obi-Wan expressed his concern. “As much as I appreciate the gesture, I highly doubt anything of yours will fit me.”

“They’re not mine, they’re for you. Another of Padmé’s brilliant ideas.” Anakin grinned, “We picked them up just in case, and it looks like we were right. Did you really not bring anything nicer, Master?”

“You’ll forgive me if I wasn’t expecting to be attending a high-class party while assigned here as a teacher.” Obi-Wan thought for the second time tonight about the whole reason he’d been sent away in the first place: his attachment. In the eyes of the council, that meant his attachment most of all to Anakin. “Did the council really approve of your being sent to visit me?” he asked, glancing doubtfully at his young apprentice.

The look Anakin gave was all the answer he needed. “Well, maybe not specifically. Technically I am on a meditative retreat.”

Obi-Wan sighed and rubbed his hand over his forehead. This boy would be the death of him.

“Here,” Anakin said, placing an elegant set of navy-blue clothes with silver accents in Obi-Wan’s arms. They were Mandalorian in design, and much more form fitting than his usual robes, though still loose enough to move around comfortably.

“Are you sure?” he asked uncertainly.

“Absolutely. I’ll see you down there, Master.” Anakin clapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder, who could only stare back as if stunned, and Anakin exited the room.

“Always on the move,” Obi-Wan muttered to himself, sighing as he laid out the clothes on the bed. Well, might as well get this over with.

After putting the clothes on, Obi-Wan surveyed his appearance in the mirror, fidgeting with the hem of the shirt and his sleeves. He was used to much wider sleeves, and these ones almost itched with how close they were to his skin. They were nice enough, though. The dark navy cape with a powder blue lining resting on his shoulders was a fine touch. He would definitely fit in with the party.

A knock came at the door, and Obi-Wan called out that it was okay to enter, wondering what Anakin could possibly want with him now. Instead, Tal Merrik came in, taking in the Jedi’s appearance as he did.

“You clean up nice, Kenobi,” he observed, just a hint of something hidden behind his compliment. Before he could even process that the Senator had invaded his room, he spoke again. “Satine won’t be able to keep her eyes off you.”

Obi-Wan froze for a moment, ice filling his veins. What had given him that idea? He averted his gaze and began to fold his old robes up, placing them on the bed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray him. “Is there something I can do for you, Senator?”

“Oh, please,” Merrik sneered, “Nobody is that clueless, especially not a Jedi. That much I know.” When Obi-Wan didn’t answer, he continued. “She could hardly look away when all you wore were those drab beige rags, imagine how she’ll behave now you’re dressed as well as Mandalorian royalty!”

“She looks at me no differently than she looks at anyone else,” Obi-Wan continued to deflect, finding it suddenly very difficult to breathe. “She is a very kind and generous ruler.”

Merrik raised his eyebrows. “There’s no need to be so defensive, Master Jedi, you two clearly have a history. You’re a powerful Jedi in the prime of his life, I’d be concerned if Satine didn’t notice you. Who doesn’t love a good forbidden romance every once in a while?”

“I do hope you’re joking,” Obi-Wan said, trying to force a laugh but failing miserably. Fear, instead, took root in his response.

“Not at all. There is nothing more irresistible to a woman than a man who is in love with her.”

Obi-Wan felt his stomach give a sickening twist. “In love with her?” he said with a rasp.

“It’s quite obvious, Master Kenobi,” Merrik said innocently, “Oh, but I forgot… you Jedi are not supposed to love. How unfortunate, especially because she thinks she’s in love with you.”

The floor dropped out from beneath Obi-Wan. He couldn’t breathe. What he was saying couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t.

“That’s impossible,” he countered, forcing himself to believe the words. “Any feelings she may have had ended a long time ago.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” the Senator spoke.

Could he be telling the truth? They had done practically nothing but argue since he arrived. It had been well over a decade and a half. They were different people now, had different responsibilities. His mind ran off with him.

“In any case, I am sure she’ll get over it soon enough,” Merrik finished, “She is a duchess, after all.”

Oh, yes, she was the Duchess.

And he was a Jedi.

Obi-Wan was mortified. Not only had he been personally struggling with his attachments—the entire purpose for him being here—he had evidently been so obvious about it, that even a total stranger had picked up on it. Did everyone see it? Had they been whispering about his infatuation with the Duchess behind his back all this time? And where was this idea that she was in love with him coming from? He couldn’t allow himself to think about it.

Already, he had failed the Jedi Council—failed the mission they sent him on and the personal growth they’d hoped he would achieve. If anything, he was in worse shape than he’d started out in.

He knew he shouldn’t blame the Council for sending him headfirst into an environment that would inevitably reignite his feelings for Satine, but what did they expect would happen? He hadn’t been near her in so long, he could have forgotten about her, never seen her again. Perhaps that would have been better.

Leaving her the first time was one of the hardest things he’d done, it was foolish to believe that sending him to Mandalore wouldn’t dredge up old hurt. He had been foolish to think he’d be able to manage it.

“I cannot stay here,” he said, immediately turning to grab a stack of his clothes to throw in his luggage crate. For once in his life, he was listening to his instinct to run instead of fight. This was one problem that couldn’t be solved with a lightsaber, and he didn’t trust himself to solve it diplomatically. Not right now.

Merrik watched as he threw things haphazardly in the box. “I’ll be sorry to see you go. It’s a shame that things had to turn out this way. Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, still utilizing that nasty false friendliness that Obi-Wan was now starting to pick up on. This man was jealous. He had intentions with Satine, and he saw Obi-Wan as a threat.

There were so many things wrong with that, that he wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Words—one of his most reliable weapons—for once failed him, so he shook his head no. He had revealed too much already. He required deep meditation to move past what Merrik had revealed to be the truth:

That Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi was still hopelessly, madly, every bit in love with Satine as he had been all those years ago.

He couldn’t possibly leave fast enough.

“I commend you Jedi,” Merrik spoke idly, “to swear a life of no attachment, to deny oneself of one’s deepest desires… it is truly a sacrifice to be commended.”

It took all of Obi-Wan’s restraint not to throw Merrik forcefully from the room. He did not want to hear any more about how he was supposedly the ‘perfect Jedi.’ He didn’t. He’d come all the way here to work past his attachment problem, and had only made it worse. If word of this got back to the Jedi Council, he’d be in deeper trouble than he already was.

“Say nothing of this to Satine,” he instead ordered in clipped tones.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Merrik replied, suppressing a smirk as he turned to exit the room. “Goodbye, Master Kenobi. I’m sure you’ll make a very fine member of the Jedi Council.”

After he had gone, Obi-Wan slung his Jedi robe over his fine clothes, concealing them mostly from view. Leaning heavily against his luggage crate, he forced himself to take a moment to breathe. That conversation had taken so much out of him, and it completely upset the balance he thought he’d finally found.

He remembered all those years ago, those last few hours spent with Satine. He’d told her he loved her. She said it too. And yet, they both agreed he would have to leave. Sure, they had entertained the idea of him staying for a while, but it was in the way that children spoke of traveling to some far-flung galaxy beyond the unknown regions. It was impossible, but it was such a nice thought that they pretended it could be true right up until the very end. When it came time to leave, he had prayed that she would say the word, that they could live in their childish fantasy, but the ramp to their shuttle closed and she disappeared from view. He had never been so unbalanced in his life.

It took a great deal of counseling, mostly from Qui-Gon, to regain some semblance of the Jedi Padawan he’d been before he ever met her. He flung himself back into his studies, into following the Jedi Code to the letter, much to the chagrin of his old Master. He convinced himself that he was unattached, all while ignoring those strings of his heart that remained connected to Satine, and even some to Qui-Gon. Those he hadn’t truly noticed were there until suddenly they weren’t, severed in a reactor core on Naboo.

Now that balance was gone again. All that work, for nothing. Tal Merrik had seen right through him, perhaps even seen him more clearly than he saw himself. He realized now that he’d been fooling himself for the last sixteen odd years. He’d never stopped looking for her. He watched every single speech she made on the HoloNet. He kept a box of keepsakes from their year together under his bed.

Now try telling him that that was the behavior of an unattached Jedi. You would be wrong.

The only thing there was to do was leave. Now. Before it could go any further than it already had. He had made a promise to the Jedi. A promise to himself, and to her. This was the way he could do good in the galaxy, and the galaxy needed him now more than ever. He would go back to the Temple and do whatever it took to get past this. He had to.

He didn’t know who he would be if he didn’t.

-.-.-

When Senator Merrik returned to the party, he came up beside Hondo, who was now being forcefully held at bay by a guard. For reasons unknown, he was still being allowed to sip serenely from a glass, enjoying the celebration from afar.

“Oh good, you’re back,” he said to the Senator, “I’m hoping that Jedi can use his mind tricks on the Duchess. I want those children in the competition.” Merrik rolled his eyes, accepting a glass from one of the servants that passed by. “For Mandalore, of course. You have to do it!” the pirate finished, grabbing two more glasses of his own.

“Wouldn’t do you any harm either, now would it, Mr. Ohnaka,” Merrik responded sarcastically.

Hondo chuckled, proud of himself. “You know, I did think of that.”

They were silent for a moment, observing the Duchess as she spoke with Merrik’s fellow Senator from Naboo.

“I do think it would be good for her,” Merrik mused, “She spends entirely too much time in this palace. I think it’s time we get her away from the stresses of Mandalorian politics for a moment, surely no harm can come from that.”

“Precisely my opinion,” Hondo agreed.

Merrik handed off his now empty glass to Hondo, who was starting to struggle juggling four glasses at once. “I shall talk to her,” he stated, “No need to involve the Jedi.”

With that, he headed off to find Satine, interrupting her conversation with a bow.

“May I have this dance, Duchess?” he asked, reaching his arm out toward her.

Satine hesitated for only a moment before bowing in return and excusing herself from her other companions. She accepted his outstretched hand and allowed herself to be pulled to the center of the ballroom and away from the others.

Obi-Wan could hear the gently flowing music as it echoed down the deserted hall. His luggage crate hovered behind him, struggling to keep up with his quickened pace.

As he turned the corner, he just about ran into Anakin, who exclaimed, “Woah, Obi-Wan!” placing his hands on his shoulders and immediately noting the brown outer layer he wore. Obi-Wan stopped. “Where are you going with that on? You know you don’t always need to be wearing your robe, right?” his young friend said teasingly, fiddling with the rough fabric of the collar.

“Anakin, I need to leave,” Obi-Wan said, offering no further explanation.

Anakin glanced over his shoulder to scan for Padmé, but he couldn’t see her at the moment. “Right now?” he asked, studying Obi-Wan’s face. He looked anguished.

“Please, Anakin, I can’t stay here.”

His pained eyes pleaded with Anakin, betraying more emotion than he’d ever seen from his old Master, which silenced any further questioning he might have let escape his mouth.

“Okay, just let me go get Padmé, I’ll meet you at my ship.”

Obi-Wan nodded gratefully, his eyes strangely out of focus. Anakin was unsettled enough by this behavior to assume whatever was happening was of the utmost urgency, and he’d do whatever he could to help his distressed friend. Anakin patted Obi-Wan on the shoulder and rushed off to find the Senator.

The throne room had been vacated in favor of the ballroom by this point in the evening, and Obi-Wan stopped in the center of it. His hands fiddled with a small device containing a holorecording before he worked up the courage to place it on her throne. He took one last look around the chamber, resting for just a moment longer on the stained-glass detailing before turning and exiting through the grand entry doors.

They closed behind him with a thud.

He was leaving. Here on Mandalore, he’d been suffocating, unable to draw a breath. And now, he truly believed that the only place where he could be saved was back at the Jedi Temple, forsaking his mission and even his direct orders from the Council.

He’d never tell them what led him to behave so uncharacteristically, not unless forced. But he had to get back, and soon.

Until then, he wouldn’t be able to breathe.

-.-.-

Chapter 10 >>

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