#yddoo
Note
Prompt: Lingering touch
Nonny, I hope you like it <3
The thing with touch is that not all of it is equal.
Padmé thinks there is a sort of hierarchy to it.
She touches the twins all the time. They love her cuddles and kisses. When they turn their little faces towards her to let her bestow them with some kisses it makes her smile against their chubby cheeks.
To kiss them is like some saving grace.
But the thing is... They are not yet affectionate on their own. They don't take her face in their hands and kiss her. Of course not. They are only 16 months old. Which means. Yes, she touches them all the time, but no one is touching her.
So it takes her some time to realize that she is starved for affection and touch.
She wants to be touched.
And now that she noticed it in herself she cannot stop in wanting it. It surprises her how much she wants it. When Obi-Wan leans into her space or brushes near her she ponders how easy it would be to reach out and touch him.
To bridge that gap between them.
Sometimes when he touches her she prolongs the contact. Not unnecessarily so. Just a little longer.
She is not greedy.
Sometimes she yearns for a hug. The simple comfort of a friend. Arms that hold her close. Not even anything sexual. Even if she knows that it could easily become sexual.
She won't lie to herself: Obi-Wan is an attractive man. And she knows that it's not borne out of nearness. It's an old attraction that she kept safe and hidden in herself because he rejected her all those years ago when she was a teenager. She was nothing more than a child queen for him.
Not even her handmaidens know about it. She did tell her mother though.
"It's a rite of passage for many girls," she said. "to have a crush on an older unattainable man, Padmé. In that regard, you are not any different than any other girl your age."
She remembers her mother's smell and how she hugged her. How safe she felt.
But still. Her yearning for contact is separate from her attraction to him.
It's about a connection.
And what exactly are the differences between a connection and an attachment?
It's a silly question, but one that holds her attention.
Do Jedi hug their Padawans? Hmm.
She never asked Anakin.
She tries to imagine the little boy he was. How he would've looked hugging young Obi-Wan, the one that is still sporting the Padawan haircut but without the braid.
"Do Jedi hug their younglings?" she asks one evening over the twins' heads while they are munching on their supper.
She feels silly right after asking the question. He is so affectionate with both of them that the answer can only be yes. She doesn't know about other Jedi, but him? Yes. He did. He does.
He smiles. Half surprised, half amused.
"Yes, we do-- did. Touch is important for the emotional wellbeing of children."
"Of course," she replies and watches how his broad hand touches Luke's wispy blonde hair. He looks at Luke first and then at her. Did he notice her looking at his hand? There is a contemplating look in his eyes.
She feels a twinge in her inside and looks away.
It takes her a few days to realize that they are touching more. And it's not only her prolonging contact but also... He touches her shoulder when he stands beside her. Or their fingers touch when he passes her the bread. They don't go out of their way to avoid touching anymore as they did in the beginning.
But instead of settling her, all it does is that she wants more.
Because when he touches her, when she feels his hand on her hand she feels like she is here. She is alive. She is not a ghost.
"You can just ask me," he tells her some dusky evening when they are sitting in front of their hut.
She frowns at him.
"Excuse me?"
He looks at the sand, at her, and the sand again.
"If you want... A hug."
It takes her a moment to understand.
Mortification floods her.
He knows.
He knows because she probably projected into the force and--
"Obi-Wan." his name falls from her lips like a stone, punched out and husky. She feels the blood in her cheeks.
She stands up to hurry inside, but he is faster.
"No. Padmé, wait." He curls his hands around her upper arms and she feels. She feels the pressure and the warmth of his palms, how his fingertips dig into the fabric.
"I am sorry. It wasn't my intent to embarrass you. There is no shame in wanting to be near someone."
"I--" she starts, for once not sure what she should say.
He lets go of her, takes half of a step forward, and offers his open arms.
Yes. She thinks. Oh, yes!
There is so much relief that she acts before she knows what is happening. She falls forward into his arms and buries her face in his tunic. He gives a soft noise. Of surprise?
He closes his arms around her, and welcomes her.
She gives a sigh. Shuddering and deep. It's not of her own volition.
He tightens his grip on her. She sinks deeper.
He smells of the sun, sand, and sweat. But she doesn't mind. She doesn't mind at all. Because it's so real. She feels her eyes sting.
"There, there." he hums and she has to laugh, hiccoughs and shakes her head.
She makes herself draw back, but he doesn't let her go.
"I am sorry I embarrassed you," she says and wills the veil of tears away.
"You haven't embarrassed me. Why would you think that?"
"With my emotions. My... My..."
Desire? Want? Yearning? Those words feel too big, too much but they are exactly what it is.
"You know it's alright to want something for yourself? To look after yourself as well as your children?" He rubs her arms. She wants to fall back on his chest and stay and just be.
"You can always ask me."
"I am bad at this," she says after a while. "I am bad at asking for things I need."
"I know," he says and smiles. His eyes seem to twinkle in the low light of their living room. "Would it make it easier for you if you knew that I crave touch as well?"
And why does this shock her? It shouldn't. He is after all human.
Of course, he would be starved for human contact, just like she is.
"I am also bad at this. Maybe it will be easier--"
"If we take care of each other?" she asks and finds herself grinning.
He nods. He looks abashed, there is some redness to his cheeks.
"Oh, Obi-Wan!" She hugs him again, this time an active participant.
They hold each other for quite some time. When they pull apart it feels mutual and with minimal embarrassment. They smile at each other. Two friends who comfort the other.
It's strange but Obi-Wan acknowledging his need makes her come to terms with her own.
Knowing that he too feels things like this makes it easier to give into her own.
They are going to take care of each other.
They integrate it into their day to day. Letting her guard down, and being vulnerable seems easier now.
For a while, quite some time, it's easy. They are content and share their lives and their woes and their joys. They touch when they pass each other. Hold each other when one of them needs comfort. And then one evening after a particularly exhausting day she just snuggles up to him on the couch.
It does feel natural and Obi-Wan seems grateful like he always does when she initiates the contact. And by definition cuddling is just a horizontal hug, right?
But, not all touch is equal, Padmé thinks. There is some sort of hierarchy to it. And sometimes a friend's touch can sire more intimate cravings.
When she pulls back and looks at him, that's when it hits her. Their nearness, the intimacy, the magnetic pull.
But... Is it just her?
He can probably sense her apprehension because he answers her doubts by lifting his hand up to her face to touch her face. It's with so much reverence that it makes her breath catch.
The touch is long and lingering.
And when his hand curls around her neck she knows they have been headed this way for quite some time. His hand feels heavy and anchors her here with him.
Goddess, I feel safe with this man.
Meeting his gaze she knows he is right along with her. He is just as vulnerable and wants this as much as she does. His lips open and close almost unnoticeable as if he is trying out words. His gaze falls down to her lips.
"You can just ask me," she whispers and his eyes spark at the recognition of his own words.
"Padmé--" he starts and she can feel his breath on her lips. "Would you like to kiss me?"
She smiles and nods.
They meet each other in the middle.
He welcomes her whole.
77 notes
·
View notes
Note
8 and 12 from the smut list🥵
My dear nonny, this was such a delight to write! Thank you for the prompt. I hope you like it, even though I have no idea if I did the right thing with your prompt. In any case, thank you!
Some people might not be able to relate to this side of parenthood but I can tell you that it's based on my own life experience ;)
If you liked this you can still prompt me. Smut or otherwise.
Rated: Explicit
Being parents to energetic twins is tough. But being parents and visiting the in-laws is another form of torture. There is only limited privacy in his own home as it is, but at his in-law's house, this gets bumped up to no alone time at all.
The twins sleep with them in their bed, because Padmé doesn't want to deal with a repeat performance of the night of their arrival when all of them fell asleep around 3 o'clock, exhausted and cranky .
It's ok, they are used to one or both of them sleeping with them. But of course, not every night.
So between one toddler that is like a face-hugger and another that sprawls like an octopus and a blanket stealing wife Ben doesn't sleep that well . Padmé isn't faring much better, even though she at least is warm.
Besides the restless sleep, there is also the matter of a bit of a dry spell that started two weeks or so ago. The twins have phases, where they are especially needy and demand their mother's attention more so than usual . He can deal. He has a right hand in all. But masturbation doesn't fill the void of real intimacy.
So, between the sleeping and the no sex thing and the no privacy and trying to stay in his mother-in-law's good graces he is a bit... Frustrated.
He loves his kids. He does. But they are cockblocking monsters. He recently googled if blue balls can affect the brain's capacity. It feels like it. Of course, they don't. But he is very sure that they are lying.
They are here for his mother-in-law's birthday. They arrived three days ago and will be driving home on Friday, two days from now. He loves them, all of them. But right now he could do with about two hours alone with Padmé. Preferably in a bed. But he would take any surface at this point. As long as there are no plastic toys that have blaring sirens attached, no lego blocks that can realign his chakras by only stepping on them, and parts of the miniature tea set from Leia's doll, Lola .
Gosh, he really wants to make love to his wife.
Right now he is sitting in his car, stuck in traffic after getting something or other that Sola needed for tonight's dinner . Leia is in the backseat, sleeping peacefully after throwing a tantrum in Wal Mart. He is not going to wake her up.
Future Ben can pick up the slack when she will be wide awake during her bedtime in about (he checks his watch) four hours. Jup. Not his problem.
It's hot in the car and the AC is not running properly . He has to bring the car to the mechanic when they get back to D.C.
His mobile chirps and he checks it absent-mindedly . There is a message from Padmé. He touches the car's screen and the mechanic voice reads:
Luke threw up all over me.
He groans and rubs his forehead. Hopefully , the boy will not get sick.
He found my licorice stash and went wild. Mom took him and went for a walk after that.
The voice tells him that there is a picture attached. When the car stops again, he grabs the phone and checks to see the pic. It's Luke, sleeping in his pram.
Well, at least both twins will be wide awake later. He gives a self-deprecating laugh.
Sighing he pulls into an opening between two cars and ignores the headlight flasher. His mind wanders for a moment and thinks about his wife at his in-law's house, having to change clothes.
Ruwee, Sola, and Jarred are still at work, that's why he had to pick up the groceries. And Jobal's out with Luke.
Padmé is alone at home.
Padmé is alone at home.
His eyes widen comically when he realizes.
His mobile chirps.
I am alone rn. The monotone voice says and he shouldn't feel that much excitement at hearing a robotic voice. He checks the mirror to see if Leia is still asleep. She is.
" Just my luck," he mumbles and rubs his beard.
Another chirp, another message.
Call me?
He plucks the headset from the glove compartment and connects it to his mobile. He speed-dials her number and she answers on the second ring.
"Hey," she says and he can hear her smile.
"Hello," he answers and his voice is gruffer than usual. She gives a delighted laugh. He clears his throat.
"So."
"Yes."
"Luke is asleep and I am alone. Where is my husband?"
"He is trying to get past a well-timed construction site."
"I don't hear Leia."
"She is asleep."
There is silence on the other side.
"We have the worst luck." she sighs. And he hears her shifting and the springs of a mattress. Is she in bed?
"Are you--?" he asks and she breathes out: "Uh-huh."
He damns the construction worker, the traffic, and his bad luck.
"I could tell you what I am doing." she sing songs.
"Pad, love, I cannot have phone sex while our four-year-old is in the back seat of the car," he whispers.
"But you can listen to me," she suggests and he can almost see her stretching in bed and getting more comfortable.
"You're going to kill me."
He is functioning on auto-pilot. Both hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, looking at the cars in front of him. Drives. Stops. Drives a bit more. At this rate he will be home in about 20 minutes, he guesses.
"I am already so wet," she confesses. "It feels like I am still wet from this morning."
They had both snuck off after waking off with the twins sleeping in between them. They had shared a look over the kids' heads and gotten out of bed without speaking.
He had fingered her against the bathroom counter, kissing her furiously to keep her from making any noises that would wake them .
But their parents' radar had gone off anyway.
She had started jerking him off when they heard a soft "Mama?" from the other room.
"I wish you would be here. I want you inside of me so bad."
His breathing is getting a bit labored. The car is getting warmer. His clothes are stuck to him. Even his skin feels too tight.
"I wish I was with you. Can you--" he glances at Leia's angelic face in the mirror and drops his voice. "Can you put your fingers to good use? Imagine their mine, darling."
There is a sigh that makes him shiver.
"Can I take three?" she asks innocently and he wants to curse.
And he nods to himself, before adding. "Yes. Three. Is Good."
He remembers her pussy stretched around his own fingers and takes a steadying breath.
"Did I ever tell you how much I love your hands?" She doesn't wait for an answer. He is not sure he can say something anyway. "They feel so different from my own. They feel so good on my skin. You have those-- Callouses on your-- Your index finger."
He swallows and all cars in the front give a sudden lurch and roll. He can even shift into second gear for a moment before they stop again. Still too far away from her.
His cock is very hard and pressing against the zipper. He adjusts himself and presses a hand down for a moment. Fuck.
"It feels so good on my clit." she continues and he gives an involuntary groan.
"Tell me what you do, Pad."
"I have three fingers in me. And with the other I am--"
Oh, he knows what she is doing. He has seen her do it countless times. She cannot come without touching her clit, so he has a good idea of what her other hand is currently up to.
She moans in his ear and it's nothing like hearing her when they are in bed together. It's flat and tinny, while her voice is throaty and warm when she is like this.
There is a frustrated sigh on her end.
"I can't pinch my nipples," she complains. "Why do I only have two hands, Ben?"
He laughs.
"Usually I am helping you out with another two."
"You are too far away."
Again, the cars start up and they keep driving. The construction site comes nearer and could it really be that he will be past it in a few seconds?
He doesn't say anything. He doesn't want to jinx it. The three lanes merge into two and even though some people still don't get the zipper method, he is so not going to get frustrated by that .
And then he is driving. At a normal pace.
"Ha," he says and grins. " I might not be that far away."
" Really ?" she asks and it seems to pull her out of her trance.
"I am going to be there in ten minutes." Then he remembers Leia. "What about--?"
She seems to already know.
"You can park in the garage. We leave the door open and stay in the laundry room. We'll hear her when she wakes."
"You are brilliant, you know that?"
"I know."
"That also means that you have to be quiet." He loves it that she is almost incapable of keeping it down.
"I guess you need to kiss me a lot then."
There is some silence, where they listen to the other breathe and it feels good. It's not mindless frustration now, but anticipation that hums through him. It feels like they are in this together. Partners in crime.
"I had this fantasy that you would fuck me in my old bed, you know?"
"Yeah?" he grins. "You are a naughty girl, Padmé."
She giggles. It's delightful.
"How old were you?"
"Fifteen."
His eyes widen and his smile drops.
"Wha--?" he chokes. "I was almost 25 back then, love!"
"It was a crush. Just that first summer when you visited your uncle."
"I never-- Not until later."
"I know," she reassures him. A lot of people judged them and especially him after they had gotten together because of how long they had known each other and how much older he was . "I just remembered when we came back and I saw that my mother had renovated the guest room. I had dreamed about you sneaking into my bedroom and taking my virginity."
He draws a breath. There is something uncomfortable and hot in his belly. Underneath is still the simmering of arousal, but on top lays the big fat feeling that this is taboo. He shouldn't be thinking of it. But she is his wife and even though he never saw her like that back then, there is something about it. He feels almost flattered, awed, that she would trust him like that.
This girl, fifteen, with gangly limbs and big brown eyes. It's a gift, he realizes, It's safe to say it here, now. Even safer due to their distance. But also safe because it's part of their shared past. It's just for them.
So he gets comfortable with this feeling. Allows himself to sink back into that warm cocoon they have created here.
"I realize now that I wasn't ready for any of that, back then. But I imagined it. You. Because you were safe. I know you would've never broken my trust."
"Love."
There is so much intimacy at this moment and he swallows around his constricted throat. She laughs softly .
"But you know what?"
"Hmm?"
"We're so much better than everything I imagined."
He pulls into their street. He can see his in-law's house at the end of it.
"Almost there," he whispers and presses the little remote for the gate to open.
"There you are," she breathes and disconnects the call. He drives into the garage, opens his window all the way up, and kills the ignition. Getting out of the car is hard. He is definitely walking funny. The gate shuts with a soft click.
Stepping through the door at the side of the garage into the laundry room, he spots Padmé coming down the stairs on the other side of the room .
"Hey," she says and she looks done. Frazzled, tired, mom-bun hanging down loosely , too big shirt and black leggings.
"Hey," he replies and grins. They stare at each other for a second and it's awkward before they both start laughing and walk toward each other . Jup, still walking funnily .
"I guess this wasn't how you imagined me?" she says a bit self-conscious, between kisses, while he crowds her against the washing machine . He pulls her leggings down, realizing that she is not wearing any underpants.
"This is exactly what I had in mind." he says and grabs her hips to hoist her up.
"Don't lie!" But she seems pleased that he is being a besotted idiot.
"I am not lying," he mumbles against her lips. "I've never wanted to fuck you more than I do right now."
There is an instant when they lock eyes and he feels like all those years ago when he fell in love with her. They belong together, he knows it. They are like magnets and he feels sappy and lucky to have her.
"You need to fuck me now. I want your cock inside of me." Her breath is on his lips, warm and moist.
"Gosh, you have the best ideas. I really love you."
"I know, I know, I know. Come on now, Kenobi."
Padmé's hands are at his zipper and it's pure relief when it slides down and she pushes his jeans over his hips. Without preamble, she takes him into her small hand, firm, and guiding. He leans his forehead against her shoulder for a moment to buck up and feel her work him. She smells like fabric softener and her shower gel. Those slow steady strokes make him gasp. She knows exactly what he likes.
She pulls him forward, towards her entrance. He feels her slide onto the very edge of the washing machine so that she can meet him halfway .
That first moment of penetration is amazing. And he knows she enjoys it, too. He is being enveloped by her blissful heat. The noise she makes in the back of her throat tells him exactly that she wants him as much as he wants her.
Their bodies start a gentle rocking motion. The eye contact makes it that much more intense. He realizes that they are both testing the waters, waiting for something to happen.
"No one is going to come," she whispers. "Except for us."
And then they are on each other. They kiss, deep and urgent, her hands clawing at his neck and shoulder. Legs wrapping around him, urging him on with her heels digging into his lower back.
The sharp points of her nails make him lose his mind a bit. She begs for more and he gives in. He wants her with a passion that's borne out of frustration and missed chances. It's usually not like this. Not this hard, not this intense.
"I'm not gonna last."
"'s ok." she slurs.
"If you ease up I can--"
"No, just keep on fucking me. Come inside of me, please. I want to feel you come."
"Padmé!"
"Make me feel it."
Her muscles tighten around him and he yelps, his hips pistoning into her ceaselessly . She keens and grabs his arse as if she could pull him closer. As if there would be a way for him to get deeper into her.
But the idea alone, that she wants him like that, needs him like that makes him come. It's a rush and he can hear himself making strangled punched-out noises, but he doesn't care because Padmé is still chanting a steady yes, oh yes into his ear . It fades a bit while his body is getting the needed release. He shudders and holds on.
The low buzzing of rushing blood through his veins makes him a bit unsteady, but there is nowhere to go with both of them leaning on the washing machine .
He kisses her again. Her lips are red and lush and even if she would be dressed to the nines, her flushed face and glazed eyes tell a clear story of what they did for the last 10 minutes .
His hands glide over the sides of her face, to pull the hair back that is hanging into her eyes. Pulls her nearer so that he can see the gold in her eyes and rub their noses together.
"You look ridiculous," she says grinning. "You are so red. And sweaty."
He laughs and tries to pull away, but she doesn't let him.
"No." she searches his face. "Don't leave. Please."
It's a nice moment.
She holds him while he softens in her gradually . He holds her and pats her hair, kisses her soft neck reverently.
Then there is a whiny: "Mama?!" coming from the open door of the laundry room, where the car is parked . Like an afterthought, Leia follows it with a questioning "Papa?"
"I am coming, baby!" Padmé croons but doesn't move.
Before they do anything else, they kiss one more time. More like themselves now. Loving and tender. And he asks himself if the last twenty minutes weren't just a particularly good fever dream and he is going to wake up any minute now .
"Pass me my leggings," He steps back, sliding out of her and zips up. Leaning down he grabs the pants and helps her get into them. She hops down from the washing machine and pulls the black fabric over her arse.
The sight is lovely.
Leia calls for them again, but it's not frantic. Just a reminder that she is there. She seems to be talking to Lola.
Padmé licks her lips, leans forward into his space, and says quietly : "I can still feel you. If we get the chance you can lick your cum out of my pussy."
He came less than 5 minutes ago, but his cock gives a twitch. Thanks for the effort, buddy.
She kisses him again, very tenderly. He huffs a laugh.
"Fancy meeting you here, Mrs. Kenobi."
"What a lucky coincidence."
And with that, she hurries over to Leia who greets her with all the excitement only a 4-year-old can have.
"Had a good nap, princess?"
"Yes, Papa! Lola, too!"
She gives him a beatific smile and climbs into Padmé's arms.
He watches Padmé talk to Leia, while she tells her all about their grocery store trip.
Being a parent is not that bad, after all, he thinks and smiles.
76 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Did we just --?"
"No!" she blurted out. "No, we didn't!"
Padmé stood up and walked over to the window, to bring space between them. Yes, not sitting next to him was a good idea. Standing here shrank any risk of kissing.
"I don't know what came over me." She almost didn't hear him. From the corner of her eyes, she saw him shake his head.
"Nothing happened," she said again, firmer this time. Who am I trying to convince? "It was nothing."
A moment of silence.
And then he asked: "But... Was it, Padmé?"
She whirled around.
"We're friends. We were confused . There is nothing between us. It's the loneliness. That's all. We're isolated and alone and there is no one but us and the children.
He swallowed, closed his mouth, and looked away.
"Loneliness." his voice sounded thick. He fidgeted with his hands. "Yes. Yes, of course. You are right."
She nodded and turned around again. She made out the second sun that was barely visible on the line of the horizon. It was quite some time until he spoke again.
" I think I heard Leia." It was a lie, she knew that.
"Friends kiss each other all the time," she said.
She turned around and saw him still standing by the door, halted in his tracks.
He gave a curt nod and left.
It took her a moment until she lifted her fingertips to her lips, still tingling from the contact. She felt alive. Her nerves were stretching hungrily , awaiting more. She wanted more. She wanted--
She clenched her fist.
They really had kissed.
#obidala#obi-wan x padme#crossposted to ao3#my fic#yddoo#double drabble#based on a writing prompt by screnwriter
30 notes
·
View notes
Text
Index for Yddoo
Since I know how important tags and trigger warnings are I made an Index for Your Dose of Obidala where you can check out if a fic is the one for you.
I know that Fic Collections can be off-putting because you don't know what you're getting, so I hope this helps!
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Your Dose Of Obidala News
After a lot of hemming and hawing, I decided to split multi-chapter fics from the original Fic Collection.
The first fics to get their own home are If This Is Love (Obidala 1950s AU with implied Anitine) and Loved By You (A/B/O AU with lawyer!Padme, and Professor!Obi in a relationship of convenience).
Both were revised and Loved By You has a new chapter and get's it's conclusion tomorrow evening.
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Your dose of Obidala - The hut
I have no clue where this came from. It's a first part, I guess. Maybe there'll be more. Who knows with my muse? Not me, certainly. Tell me what you think...
tw: angst, post-partum depression, hurt/comfort
They live in a hut.
In the first year, the walls of the hut are brown. The walls are rough and she pulls a face whenever she touches them accidentally. The hut is made of some type of clay, Obi-Wan explains but she turns away, dismissing the information outwardly.
She still doesn't talk to him if she doesn't have to.
He endures it with soft features, not a hint of bitterness around his mouth.
Not like she who lives on bitterness likes its sustenance.
The hut is not only brown and ugly and dark, it's also small.
It's smaller than any housing she ever lived in. The whole thing might fit in her childhood bedroom. It's too small for two adults and two babies.
Every time the twins wake her, he wakes too.
And without fail, he takes one, while she takes the other. She doesn't ask, she doesn't have to. They don't talk in the middle of the night. (They also don't talk during the day.)
Dusk is cold and clammy here and she hates it more than the days.
Because at night they have never enough blankets and she is always cold. They always sleep near each other out of necessity, the babies between them.
She is never warm anymore. She misses her planet and the green lushness of it. She misses the luxury of Coruscant. She misses Anakin and his warmth.
*
He is good with the babies.
But she would be good with them too if she could sense what they need.
*
She is getting better.
The first half year was hard. She hated nursing them. Hated their demanding, scrunched-up faces and their wailing that could only be stopped when she fed them her nipples.
She knew she waited too long to feed them and by that time they were ravenous and thrashing their heads from left to right blindly searching, searching like baby birds. Her breasts were raw and bloody and she felt a deep-seated aversion to her own children that made her recoil when she tried to think about it.
She cries in the darkness when she nurses them, her back to him, so that he might not see. She knows that he knows. You cannot hide in a hut this small.
He can feel her sadness, she is sure. Just like he can smell the curdled milk and the salt of her tears.
Moisture always comes with a smell in the desert.
The midwife says her children are always hungry because her milk is not nutritious enough. She cries and nurses them, cries and nurses.
"We can feed them Bantha milk," he says, in the darkness behind her, like it's a secret.
And somehow she cries harder, as if by taking this one act of kindness she is admitting to one more failing.
"Padmé," he whispers. ", did you hear?"
She nods her head. Her hair is matted where she lays on it and it rubs against her wet cheek. One of the babies is still biting her nipple. It hurts. It always hurts. And she can only bear it by telling herself she deserves it.
She thinks of her sister feeding her niece, and imagines her tranquil face and kind smile. Not once, did she feel like this.
The tears flow.
If she could nurture her children on her tears they would be fat and happy.
*
The hut is ugly.
Its colors are brown and beige and grey and brown. Always brown. Everything is rough and dry. But the hut means comfort because it's cool inside during the day and holds warmth during the night.
Obi-Wan works outside during the day and his skin is chapped at all times.
During those first weeks, his skin is burnt from the sun to a worrying degree. He never complains even though she knows that it must hurt. He is too fair. But the sun changes him. His pearly white skin turns red and angry and then a ruddy unbecoming tan.
"Sit down," she says, but doesn't wait for him and starts putting ointment on his face. He winces. It must hurt. Her fingers aren't gentle.
"You have to put this on your skin before you go out."
He doesn't say anything.
"Did you hear?" she asks and grabs his chin, the bristles of his beard rough under her fingers. She meets his light eyes.
"Yes," he says, and because he can't pull away he closes his eyes. In defeat?
Strange how powerful that makes her feel. There is a sensation in her chest, hot and achy and new. She lets him go as if burned by his skin.
"See to it!" she snaps, unable to look at that face: The burnt skin, the rough, dry patches with the ointment settling into it.
Maybe, she thinks, he is doing it on purpose, so she will tend to him.
Just to feel something else.
*
He uses the ointment and she doesn't have to touch him anymore.
And why should they touch? They never did before.
But the smallness of the hut, the constant touching of the babies, makes her realize what is painstakingly obvious: They don't touch because they fear that they wouldn't be able to stop once they started.
*
After the first year, he whitenes the walls.
One morning she rises, bleary-eyed and in need of kaff and he is already at it in the living room. He is only wearing beige pants that hang loosely on his hips. How didn't she notice how much weight he lost? She can count his ribs, could touch them, and feel them moving under the skin.
But what is even more fascinating is that there are constellations of moles on his skin.
She is transfixed by how white this secret skin of his is. She never sees him like this.
She has the urge to put her brown hands on him.
She shakes her head, trying to put this thought to rest.
She fails.
And thinks of it. Again.
And again during the day.
*
The first time she rides him is in the pitch-black darkness. They are only bodies and he helps her to slake her desperate lust.
She couldn't possibly say what he thinks. She only feels that he is hard, just like she is wet. And she knows they fit and it makes her feel whole.
He could be anyone, during those nights. But strangely, he never is.
She never imagines him to be anyone else.
Come to think of it, she never even considered it.
Her hands curl into his chest hair, certainly hurting him, but he doesn't say anything. Let's her. And she imagines his face, not anyone else.
His face.
In the morning she wonders how this could've happened.
Like so many things in her life, she lets them be, ignored but not forgotten. Ready to be considered at a different time.
Just not today.
It doesn't take Obi-Wan long to whiten the walls.
Maybe, she thinks, fucking him was her way of saying thank you.
She considers it, then dismisses it.
She will think about it some other time.
The thing about Tatooine is, that you have all the time in the world.
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
I just wanted to say thank you to the people who follow my little 7/11 (your dose of obidala) to get the unhealthy snacks they need (my fics) to get to the next proper meal (real fanfics with like plots and stuff)
I love and appreciate you. especially on a day like today it's a blessing to open my kudos email and go aaaawwwww 🥰
1 note
·
View note
Text
Fic Update
Loved By You, the Obidala A/B/O fic reached its conclusion tonight. There is smut. And a lot of slick. Well, it is an A/B/O fic, what did you expect? And there is a little bit topping from the bottom.
It's not what I thought I would write. But it is what it is. Have fun.
1 note
·
View note
Last Seen Blogs
mzaoab-blog
İsimsiz
bleedinginkpoetry
I want future generations to quote me
prince-rosies
Prince of Crystal Castles
fuentes-fantasy-writing-n-art
Fantasy Author RL Fuentes
adfmcbnrtg1cpadr7bbnjornalead
IMPEACHMENT BOLSONARO 2020