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Chapter Text

Finally returning to the Temple feels like coming home . Obi-Wan Kenobi grew up in these halls. He was sick and nursed back to health here, spent his awkward adolescent years here, fumbled through his Padawan years here, and he became the man he is here.

He can’t help but wonder now, if he is still the same man. 

Plooma was . . . a life-altering experience. Sure, he’d had plenty of those. More than the average being in the galaxy, as a Jedi. No other experience had made him question where he thought his life would lead. For that time, he saw the arc of his existence bending another way, a quiet way. The life of a farmer, a citizen, a husband .

It’s much harder to see that now, here, among the corridors flowing with Jedi, with younglings and elders, busy with missions or wandering to the cafeteria. What had been such certain reality a few weeks ago, feels like a dream.

He was a Jedi. He is a Jedi. What else could he be but a Jedi?

Still, everything about being a Jedi that was ever good has never felt good. Anything that felt good was usually going against some rule. He tries not to think about how good you feel, how good it feels to be with you, how wrong that feels now in the Temple.

Of course, you are also a Jedi, and you are here, in the Temple. Somewhere. It’s much harder to sense you amongst all these Force users, but he’d glimpsed you eating breakfast in the caf this morning, and you’d be at the garage tonight. He will not overthink this. He is going to be in the present.

And in the meantime, Yoda had assigned him many youngling classes.

After finishing up the last class and dismissing the children eager for dinner and their free time for the evening, he wends his way back to his rooms, quelling the urge to hurry, breathing deeply to dispelling the excitement.

His rooms are quiet and dark, and even still, he can feel the echo of you here, the way you arranged the cushions and blankets on the end of his couch, the extra cup by the sink in his small kitchenette, the towel from your shower . He can’t help flushing at that. Both of you had been very careful about comporting yourselves in such a way that none of the other beings in the Temple could sense what else had bubbled up between you. It wasn’t the sex so much, although that would certainly also be frowned upon, but it was the undeniable, deep well of emotion that came with it.

A few eyebrows had been raised at your renewed closeness, but Yoda had quietly, yet firmly, pointed out that Obi-Wan had been the Master to see you through your Trials after the death of your own Master, and just like his tight brotherhood with Anakin, such a bond was not to be unexpected. Especially after being stranded together.

Yoda had given Obi-Wan a hard look afterwards. A knowing look, one that he couldn’t help but read as seem to be collecting unusually strong bonds with emotionally vulnerable Jedi, you are. Be wary you must.

Shaking his head, and bringing his attention back to the present, he hurriedly changes into the set of casual clothes he’d carefully kept at the back of his closet. He draws his dark brown robe overtop and sets out for the garages.

Sneaking out into the city has become so routine, it’s beginning to be a little too easy. You had excitedly suggested the cultural festival happening on one of the lower-mid levels of Coruscant a few weeks ago, and he had agreed, just happy to see you happy. 

His happiness living in another’s body is a sensation he still has to get used to.

He follows you through the stalls, watching as you move with the renewed grace he remembers from your Trials. The recovery time from Plooma had been long and grueling. He knew the sedation drugs used while the medics had recalibrated your bodies for normal atmosphere, gravity, and nutrition, had been hard on you, and between your nightmares and the grief you’d experienced, your healing had been much longer than his own.

His heart beats weird at the memory, and he makes the effort to refocus and be present in this moment.

“Obi-Wan,” you gasp, holding up a stunning blue stone carved with patterns that are similar to the patterns on Plooma. He can’t help but kiss your temple. You exchange respects with the stall owner and return the stone.

“It was almost as beautiful as you, darling,” he murmurs, taking your chin between his finger and thumb and tilting your mouth up for a kiss.

The moment your mouth opens up for him, he feels his need for you, his love surges up.

You whimper at the feeling of his coming alive for you, and he swallows it down, pulling away before you both get reported for indecency.

He laces your hands together and lets you lead, as you wander through the stalls. Neither of you have much money, but you’re just as glad to take in the sights and people watch. The little money you do have, you decide to spend on food. Food is a very justifiable expense at the Temple. The caf is only so able to create dishes that are preferable to everyone, and many beings have dietary or cultural preferences, and everyone benefits when they’re free and able to purchase what they want or need from the vendors on Coruscant.

Obi-Wan likes to watch the light play in your eyes as you take in the sights and smells. The lights are soft, but colorful, and they make you look radiant . He’s so in love with you. He can’t even pretend as if he isn’t, especially not here, out of the austere Temple.

“ Ice cream ,” you breathe. He follows your hungry gaze as it catches on the food vendor that’s caught your attention.

He laughs and takes your order, pays, and returns to you, a flush in your cheeks. From the night out, from excitement. From him .

You trade frozen treats with him halfway through so you each get to try both. As you finish, he takes the empty dishes to a recycling receptacle. 

As he’s turning around, he sees him . It’s Anakin , here, of all places. Kark . He’s twisting to find you in the crowd, so you can both slip away, but you’re no longer right behind him.

Just as he’s reaching out for you, he hears, “Obi-Wan! Imagine running into you here.”

You materialize at his side in that moment and glance up at him curiously. This kriffing night was going so well. 

He musters a smile and waves, and Anakin approaches, Padmė trailing behind him.

His stomach does something funny just then. 

He introduces you to the both of them. “You may have already run into each other at the Temple. Padmė is the Senator from Naboo.”

You reply, “Padmė, it’s such an honor to meet you. I’ve followed your career for many years now. I’m sure I’ve seen you around, Anakin, but it’s nice to finally put a face to a name!”

Padmė smiles graciously, flattered and seeing a kindred spirit in some way, as she glides to your side, and you take each other’s arm. “You’re too kind. I’ve simply done what I could in service to my planet.” 

Their conversation fades as they move ahead and leave him and Anakin to catch up.

Anakin leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “So that’s her, huh?”

Obi-Wan aims a quelling look his way. “The one I mentored through the Trials and then got stuck with on a planet while trying to rescue? Yes, that’s her.”

Anakin smirks. “I don’t know, Master. You’re different now. I think she’s been good for you.”

“She’s a good friend , Anakin. We’ve been through a lot. Just like you and I, she and I have . . . history . And what are you doing here with Padmė anyway?” Obi-Wan turned the interrogation around, hoping to deflect his powerful friend’s nosiness.

He flushes and says, “We’re also good friends with a lot of history, Obi-Wan. If you’re allowed to spend an evening out in the City, then so can we.”

Obi-Wan can’t help but roll his eyes at his precociousness, but he catches Padmė’s look over her shoulder at Anakin, and it doesn’t take a particularly strong Force user to read what’s in her gaze. She’s always been careful with her expressions, her time as the Queen and with her Handmaidens required it. But Obi-Wan can see it, he can feel it. Hardly a glance at Anakin confirms that feeling is reflected back equally, if not more.

Obi-Wan Kenobi knows that emotion. It’s expanding in his chest as he in turn watches you resume your conversation with Padmė. Love .

How could he not see it before? It hadn’t been so long ago since Anakin and Padmė returned from the lake country on Naboo. Oh kriff . He didn’t think it had gotten so serious. It’s supposed to be just a childhood crush, just a flirtation. Certainly not sanctioned by the Temple, but nothing to get in serious trouble over. If Anakin and Padmė are in love with each other though, oh stars , Anakin will get thrown out of the Jedi Order. Padmė could lose her position as Senator. They’ll be cast out. The scandal . The Jedi reputation of being impartial, judicious, aloof, will all be brought under question. The Council will be furious , all their concerns about Anakin from the moment he stepped into the Council Chambers as a child, as possibly the most powerful Force user in generations, or ever , will be vindicated. Their faith in Obi-Wan shattered. He’d spent the last fifteen years defending Anakin, nurturing him, guiding him, and his own reputation , if they found out . . . .

About his attachment. Anakin’s attachment. Obi-Wan’s own attachment.

Obi-Wan can feel the ground shifting under his feet, and for a sickening second, he wonders if he’s back on Plooma. His heart is racing, pounding, there’s no oxygen left in this crowd, on this level, on this planet. Kark , what the kriff is he going to do? 

His gaze locks onto you, where you’re turning to look back at him in concern, able to feel the shape of the cataclysm happening inside his mind.

He sees Padmė look back too in concern, Anakin gripping his arm. He’s calling his name, but it’s distorted, coming from far away, at the end of a long tunnel.

“Jus- Just need . . . some air,” he gasps. 

The group pushes its way to the edge of the crowd, spilling into a little public park, squeezed in between the buildings, and containing a few benches.

You rub his back in slow, calming circles, murmuring quietly to the other two. “I think it’s a panic attack. He just needs some time. I still get them. The medics say it’s a post-trauma stress disorder.”

The four of you are mirrored on the benches, Anakin leaning forward to cup the outside of Obi-Wan’s knees, grounding him further. But as Obi-Wan Kenobi looks between the four of them, he wonders, if Anakin is ruining his own life by loving Padmė, how is he and you loving each other any different?

Chapter Text

When Padmė invites you and Obi-Wan to go speeder racing that night, you really aren’t sure what Obi-Wan will think. Ever since that night at the cultural fair, he’s been . . . distant, his eyes looking at unseen things. You tell yourself over and over that it’s just the PTSD, he needs time . Stars, your own recovery was difficult enough, is still difficult. You still startle awake in the night, falling onto the floor next to your bed, scrambling for solid ground, sure that it’s going to give away beneath you at any moment. You still wake yourself up, screaming and crying in grief.

You’re not perfect; Obi-Wan has never once demanded that of you. You can’t demand the same of him either.

But the coolness in his eyes is hard to bear. He kissed you once more that night, a lingering, close-mouthed kiss. When you touched your lips and watched him walk away, it tasted like goodbye.

It’s been days since you’ve seen him. You don’t like to think it’s on purpose, but you can’t help but wonder if he isn’t avoiding you.

When you knock on his door, you’re almost surprised it opens for you.

Based on his expression, he’s surprised that it’s you knocking.

“Hi,” you say quietly.

He gives you a small smile and gestures you inside. “Come in. Would you like tea?”

You shake your head. “I just came to ask if you wanted to go out tonight.” He looks troubled, so you continue, “Padmė invited us to go speeder racing with Anakin. I . . . I can tell her we can’t.”

You swallow hard. You’ve been bracing yourself for rejection, preparing your heart for more grief. If this moment is it, then you’d rather it be done. As difficult as it may be.

He turns from you, walking away to set a kettle on his hot plate to boil. He runs a hand through his hair, and you don’t reach out to him in the Force. You don’t want to push him, and you don’t want him to sense your own feelings and make a decision based on that. You pivot on your heel, ready to leave.

“No,” he interrupts your motion. He chuckles. “I could use some fun. If you’d like to go, let’s.”

You give him a smile over your shoulder, hope trembling in your chest. “Great, I’ll see you later then.”

When you, Obi-Wan, and Padmė approach Anakin’s borrowed speeder (he’d made a favorite out of the one of the many in the Temple garage available for Jedi to use and he’d modded it beyond anyone else’s ability to use, all of which Obi-Wan had conveyed to you in wry tones while you were walking down to the speeder garage), you could hear Anakin’s groan from several meters away.

“You know it throws off the inertial dampeners when you bring guests,” he complains to Padmė.

She gives him a cajoling, angelic look. “If I have to risk my life on these wild races, then I at least want good company.” She giggles, clearly this is an ongoing joke between them.

After some more sighing and grumbling between the two of them, good natured joking, which makes you smile fondly at Obi-Wan, both couples settle into the speeder. Anakin and Padmė are strapped into the front, and you and Obi-Wan take the second row of seats.

Helplessly, you remember the easy-going playfulness of your time on that stars-forsaken planet. It certainly hadn’t all been bad. You wish desperately you knew the way to reclaim that here, in the city, on Coruscant. But there’s simply too much, too much duty, too much sterility in the Temple, too much history here for you both, compared to that short time on Plooma.

On instinct, you reach for Obi-Wan in the Force. The spark and crackle of his Light is almost drowned out by the roar from Anakin. He’s so loud, so much . Padmė is quietest of all, but still a cheerful birdsong in the mix, powerful in ways the Force can’t encompass.

The speeder purrs to life and then you’re off, Anakin flying with the reckless abandon that he radiates. He navigates through the levels, sliding through the traffic with the precision and foresight the Force provides.

As you take in the sights of the city, beautifully lit up at night, scintillating with so many different colors. It’s truly beautiful here, even as you wonder what natural wonders had to be supplanted to make room for what’s here now.

At last, the similar sounds of souped up speeder engines box you in. You all pull full face helmets from the floor and secure them. No one wants a face full of fine grit or loose parts when traveling at speed. They will also conveniently conceal your identity from cameras or patrol.

The pack of speeders coasts along for a while until, at some unreadable signal, each engine starts to whine, picking up speed, and then with a sudden increase in G forces, you’re slammed back into your seat, and Anakin takes off, gaining the lead.

The group of racers have chosen a route on the edge of the city, flirting with the boundaries of the industrial zone, and Anakin has to weave in and out, above and below the flow of the ebbing evening traffic.

The non-racing speeders honk out their indignation and peel away, leaving the way clearer for the speeders behind you.

They’re starting to gain now, making up the difference Anakin’s head-start bought him. They’re bullying in all around, reforming the pack and jostling the speeder. Every time the speeder is bumped, the inertial dampeners have to recalibrate, and the dip of zero G’s makes your stomach swoop.

There’s some show-off in a flashy red speeder who’s taken control of the race, and he’s dropping levels. 

“ Kriff ,” Anakin’s voice comes over the comm system in the helmets. “ The lower levels are way more built up. There’s less room to maneuver. ”

“ Anakin, ” Padmė cuts in. “ That sounds like trouble. You can still drop out of the race. ”

There’s a crackle of static that sounds like a pfft from Anakin’s comm.

You glance over at Obi-Wan, and you can practically feel the eyeroll from him even through the opaque helmet.

Anakin is hot on the show-off’s tail, everything about him challenging every instinct in Anakin to be the best. You can feel the Force vibrating around him, a nexus like the north and south of a magnet, bending around him.

The race becomes twice as difficult, more , as Anakin is fighting against the infrastructure down here, the wires and pylons and makeshift platforms. 

The lead racer ducks and deploys some probably illegal fins to make a tight turn, banking on the other racers being unable to make the same turn and either slamming into a permacrete support block or spinning out and falling hopelessly behind.

Your speeder is close enough to watch the trick, and with the Force, Anakin brakes hard, twisting the controls and pushing off the permacrete. He slams the accelerator to close the distance.

You can hear the other racers behind you, their stabilizers screeching, a few crunching against the barrier, playing right into that scughole’s plan.

Now that the corner is cleared, you could see that there’s a straight-away created by the alley between buildings, and beyond that, the outskirts open out into the industrial areas.

Now that Anakin and the lead racer can open up the throttles, the buildings whir past, and Anakin is close to drawing level.

As the remaining racers shoot out of the canyon, Obi-Wan yelps and swears, “ Anakin, the power couplings !” 

But it’s already too late, the speeder is trembling, the electricity crackling all over you.

“ Kriff, ” you grit out, between tightly locked teeth, you can see now there’s a series of them, and the lead racer had used his narrower speeder to coast in the trough below the couplings. Anakin can’t maneuver below the power couplings, but his speeder is resisting his attempts to pull up.

The next power coupling catches you, sending more sparks down your nerves, it feels like your whole body has gone to sleep. Your muscles are twitching and spasming, tightening in waves up and down your body. 

Anakin is just barely keeping control of the vehicle, his knuckles have gone white with clenching the steering controls. After several more power couplings, there’s just a length of service corridor. Anakin drops all the thrusters, and drops down on top of the speeder, forcing it down to scrape against the permacrete surface of the corridor.

Anakin takes shaking fingers to switches and toggles and eeks out a boost of speed, taking the lead and pulling up at the deadend it terminates in, signaling the end of the race. 

He’s cheering boisterously and Padmė is laughing with him. Obi-Wan is begrudgingly complimenting his skills. You’re trembling, and offer a shaky, “ Congratulations! ” from the back of the speeder.

Obi-Wan’s helmet tips toward you, and he reaches out a hand, tangling the tips of your fingers together on the center of the bench seat.

Anakin pilots the speeder to a cantina on a lower level, cheap, poorly lit, and therefore quite anonymous. All four of you pull off the helmets and return them to their spots under the seats. “C’mon Obi-Wan, have a drink! We have to celebrate,” he entreats, already leading the way inside. 

Obi-Wan agrees with a sigh. “I suppose.” He looks to you, and you grin at him. Frankly, you’re just happy to spend any time with him you can. Especially when he’s like he is now, a little more relaxed, with a sparkle in his eye. You rub absentmindedly at where the inside of your arm hurts. Probably where the speeder harness was rubbing.

Padmė secures a round of drinks, and Anakin finds a good booth, tucked into a corner with a clear view of the exits and the dance floor. Anakin and Padmė take generous swallows from their glasses before Padmė tugs Anakin toward the dance floor. 

You and Obi-Wan sip at the very alcoholic and arguably too sweet beverages. The silence between you isn’t as tense as it could have been, and after a few moments, Obi-Wan slides closer to you, leaning far into your personal space.

“Are you alright?” he asks, near shouting to be heard over the pulsing dance music.

You nod, before turning your head to shout back him, “Yeah, the power couplings really got me.” When you pull away from the side of his head, you realize he’s also turning to you, and your mouths are centimeters apart.

You let out a shaky breath, about to pull away, not wanting to push him.

He tilts his head, parts his lips, and murmurs your name. In the Force, it feels reverent, a prayer, a plea.

The first brush of his lips is heady. He cradles your head, kissing you like it’s his vocation. His lips are soft and determined, sliding over yours slowly. He sucks at your lower lip, tugging at it with his teeth.

You grip the front of his shirt, a soft, light blue that’s tucked into high waisted pants. You can feel the heat of him, and it’s intoxicating.

You’re suddenly desperate to feel his skin pressed against yours, and you hurry to crush the thought. 

Obi-Wan groans, tightening his fingers, pulling slightly at your hair. You must not have been fast enough to bury your desire.

His Force presence brushes at the edge of yours, and he says, “No, don’t. Don’t hide.” You can feel his voice crack a little, and he doesn’t disguise the heat of his own desire.

Anakin’s and Padmė’s laugh as they approach the table interrupts you, and you release Obi-Wan.

You expect him to jump apart guiltily, but he lingers for a moment when you pull away from his mouth. He doesn’t slide away from you, rather staying nearly bent over you, his front pressed against your back, since you’ve turned to face your friends. You press at the tender spot on your arm.

Anakin is grinning and flushed when he slides into the booth. “Padmė is ordering another round.”

He tips his glass back and drinks another third of it. You pick up your drink and raise it to him in a toast before taking a drink yourself, and Obi-Wan follows your lead. 

Padmė appears, a server just behind her bearing a tray of drinks, which is promptly deposited, and the server departs.

Padmė sits down in the booth next to Anakin, fanning her face with her hand while she sips from her beverage.

“Let’s go to the dance floor,” Obi-Wan rasps in your ear. His words send a flush through your whole body. Either that or the alcohol. Maybe both.

You nod eagerly and lead the way, yelling at Padmė and Anakin where you’re going. Anakin’s gaze follows you both with heavy lidded eyes, pupils dilated, the black edging out his storm gray irises.

Obi-Wan follows you as you lose yourselves in the crowd. You turn to him, and his big hands bracket your waist, while you let yours rest loosely on his shoulders, absentmindedly playing with the little hairs at the back of his head.

He arches toward your ear, his beard tickling your cheek. “I have a confession.” 

“Yes, Obi-Wan?” you ask, unable to keep your snicker totally to yourself.

“I don’t know how to dance,” he replies, letting the slightly less frantically pulsing beat lead his swaying, as you both shuffle in a circle. Your inebriation making you a little giggly.

You watch the other dancers, at first covertly and then more openly. Obi-Wan must sense it, because his fingers tighten as he too starts taking in the gyrating, grinding moves of your fellow dancers. Most of them dance in groups of three or more, closely connected at the hips, their movements mimicking far more sensual actions.

You spin around in his arms and start to move sinuously, copying the others dancing in pairs. You put your hands over Obi-Wan’s, encouraging him to pull you in closer, matching your movements. He threads your fingers together and uses the Force to dissuade the other dancers who look interested in joining you both. 

His fingers are possessive and tense on you, but getting bolder under your influence, teasing the underside of your breasts and the crease at the top of the front of your thighs.

Your breathing gets shorter and shorter as your arousal takes up more and more space inside you. He starts kissing and sucking at your neck, pulling aside the collar of your shirt to leave a bruise. 

Every time someone turns to look at you hungrily, his fingers tighten and his kisses become bites. When your ass brushes the front of his pants, you can feel his increasingly hard erection.

Between his hands and the dancing, the fire in the Force between you getting hotter, your arousal is starting to leak out of you.

“Obi-Wan,” you gasp, and he must hear the sheer need in your voice because he groans your name into your neck. “I’m . . . I-I need to use the ‘fresher,” you finally manage to get out.

You’re fairly sure he can feel just how wound up you are, and you can certainly tell that he’s in a similar state.

You pull away and turn to watch as he runs his hand through his hair, trying to bring some order to his disheveled state. You bite your lip and catch his darkening gaze as he watches you in return. 

Finally, you tear yourself away and head for a hallway where there’s a line of refreshers. You slide into the first empty one that doesn’t smell irredeemably awful.

You splash cool water on your hot cheeks. After a moment, you pull your arm out of your shirt. There’s a blister on the inside of your arm. You shake your head, the alcohol making it a little hard to think. You feel like your head is on a delay and everything feels light and easy and fun.

You straighten your clothes and return to your table where the other three of your group are sitting close together.

You join the huddle, the conversation a series of chuckling inside jokes and half-told stories. You pick up your glass and finish your drink, slumping against Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

Padmė reaches across the table and interlaces your fingers, giving you a bright eyed grin.

The warmth of your friends’ close bodies, the buzz of inebriation, you’ve never had better friends.

After the drinks are mostly gone, Padmė tugs your hand to get your attention from where you are staring starry-eyed at Kenobi. 

“I rented us rooms around the corner. We can take the speeder back in the morning,” she says. After a moment, she cuts her eyes to Anakin and oh. It’s the same look you’re sure is plastered all over your face.

Once everyone has declared they’re done with their drinks, you follow Padmė outside. Anakin gets in the speeder but doesn’t even strap in. He maneuvers to an adjacent docking area, lined with uniform doors. 

Padmė approaches one door and enters a code, letting you and Obi-Wan see the numbers she enters. The door promptly slides open revealing a sparse room. She smiles at you before taking Anakin’s hand and walking down several doors to their own room.

You slip inside ahead of Obi-Wan and look around. It’s barely furnished, but there’s a large enough bed, and an open door to a refresher.

He comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you back into him, reminiscent of your earlier dancing. 

“I was not expecting this when you asked me about speeder racing this afternoon,” he mumbles, slipping his hands under your shirt.

You bury a hand in his hair, lightly scratching his scalp and tugging at his hair. “Mm, neither was I.”

His hands roam across your stomach and climb your ribs. “Do you want . . . ,” he rasps brokenly, shying away from the near-pain-need of wanting you.

You nod, repeating yes over and over again.

He groans as he pushes you to the bed, his hard length pressed tight to your ass.

The Force trembles where you meet each other, weeks of denial, of loneliness fanning the flames between you.

He pulls down your pants just far enough to give himself access, and you feel him working behind you on his own.

You’re panting, the place between your thighs swollen and slick, needing to be touched.

He pushes you belly down on the bed, grabs a pillow, and positions it under your hips, elevating them. 

“This okay, dove? I just- I . . . blast . I c-can’t wait. Need you so bad, right now,” he bites out, also breathing hard. 

His roughness with you, and really, it could hardly be called that, he’s just not as slow and worshipful and careful as he usually was, sends jagged bolts of pleasure to your core. 

“Yes, please, Obi-Wan,” you whisper brokenly. 

He dips the tip of a finger into your entrance and hisses, “For me? You’re soaking wet.”

You let out a whimper. “All for you, want you now. N-need you, please Obi-Wan.” His finger circles your clit, and you tremble, begging for him now. “O-Obi-Wan, now . Please, for stars’ sake.”

He groans and places his blunt cockhead at your entrance. Your position with your legs trapped by your clothes around your thighs keeps you from spreading your knees to make room for him.

He huffs out a breath at the tightness around the tip of his cock. He braces himself above you, quivering with the restraint to hold back, to keep still, to not cum just yet.

Your inner muscles start clenching around him, eager for more, and with a shudder, he gives it to you, sliding deeper. He eases out, before repeating the cycle, gaining another few centimeters each time.

When he’s sunk in you up to the hilt, some of his tension releases. “Oh stars. Stars. Needed this. So bad. W-wasn’t sure . . . . You’re so tight like this. Fit under me so good. Why haven’t . . . kriff, should’ve tried this a long time ago.”

He’s so big, he’s pressing against every inch of you. You feel like there’s not enough room left for you to breathe. It’s so good . It’s perfect. He slides a hand softly around your throat, just wanting to feel you. 

All you can manage is to babble, “Good, ‘s good, so good. Obi-Wan, yes.”  You can feel yourself throbbing, the pressure from your trapped position stimulating you in so many ways.

He thrusts in and out of you, at an unrestrained pace. “Darling, c-can’t . . . not gonna last.” He works a hand down between your body and the pillow, working the length of a finger along your clit, increasing the pressure and adding the stimulation of his knuckles as his thrusts rock your hips. You start moving back against him also, fucking back onto him as much as you’re able and also working your clitoris against his finger.

You let your desperation and pleasure spill over so Obi-Wan can feel it through the Force. You feel his own need, the heat in his lower belly, the electricity that crackles up his spine with every thrust. 

“Oh, f-fuck!” you yell into the bedding below you, your orgasm suddenly, strongly upon you. Fireworks burst in your brain, lights sparkling behind your eyes as your cunt muscles pulse around Obi-Wan, milking him as he thrusts hard into you and cums deep inside.

He pins you to the bed, his hips tight up against yours, as his body relaxes and covers you.

The echoes of orgasm pass through your spasming inner muscles, to him, cock throbbing as he spends, and back again, prolonging your pleasure.

When you’re both a little more recovered, he begins kissing your back and shoulders, biting and sucking marks into your skin. 

“Obi,” you murmur, face still smushed into the blankets. 

He grunts, sucking one more mark into your skin. “Sorry,” he slurs. “Need them to know. Mine.”

You shiver beneath him, nodding. “Yours.”

“You can shower in my quarters, if it’ll give you trouble,” he says, getting his hands under him.

He slowly eases out of you, he’s only half hard and curses. 

You can feel him still behind you, and for just a moment your mind whirs, until you feel his finger at your entrance. He’s teasing you, and you turn to look over your shoulder to watch him. 

He looks fucked out . His eyes are black pools, his hair mussed, his mouth parted, his gaze locked on your pussy. 

You probe gently at him in the Force, and you get an unfiltered flood, he’s pushing his cum back inside you, marking you, making you his in the most deeply biological way he can think of. He can feel his cock twitch again, already a deeprooted need to seat himself inside you again, fucking his spend deeper inside, cumming again, making you scream his name out in pleasure. There are shadowy images lurking, dressing you in something off the shoulder and beautiful and ethereal, displaying his marks to Anakin, to Padmė, to everyone . He wants you in his quarters, every night, every minute of the day, he wants you . . . .

You blink and pull away, afraid that you’ve pushed too far, seen too much, but when he glances up at you, sliding his finger from your slick heat, lifting it to your mouth so you can eagerly suck it clean, you see him , the man you knew on Plooma. A man who isn’t afraid of his wants, of his vulnerabilities. Obi-Wan Kenobi who wants to be honest instead of withdrawn.

You turn over and beckon him closer, needing him with you now.

At some point, you wake and use the refresher. As you slide under the water, washing away the grit from the speeder race, the adrenaline and alcohol, the sweat.

You hear the door to the refresher cycle, and after a moment, you feel Obi-Wan’s hand on your back. He joins you, and you both shower quickly, the water already losing its temperature.

Still slightly damp, you tumble onto the bed together. He lays you out and puts his mouth on you, your nipples, your tummy, between your thighs. This time he’s slow and reverential, each kiss a prayer, each suck a confession.

He coaxes two shattering orgasms from you with his mouth and fingers, groaning his approval at your pleasure.

You convince him to give you a break and tug him upwards and kiss him, the taste of you still on his tongue. You reach down between you and stroke his hardness, and you can feel where he’s leaking at the tip. Hungry now for him too, you ease him back and treat him to your mouth, letting him buck up into you as you worship him with your tongue. You cup his balls, gently rolling them and listening to the gasps and moans he lets out.

His fingers tighten in your hair, and he pulls you up, kissing you hungrily, returning the favor and tasting his precum from your own tongue. He presses his forehead to yours, murmuring quietly, praises and pleas, fragile like snow in the dawn.

You straddle him, and his fingers flex against your hips, eager and trying so hard not to rush, to savor every moment.

You’re both wet, with saliva and precum and slick, your body so relaxed, that you take every centimeter in one delicious stroke down on his hard cock. His hands can’t stop roaming over you, squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples, running over the smooth bumps of your rib and spine, tracing the soft concentric curves of your belly and belly button, grabbing your ass.

You can’t keep your hands off him either, and you lean down to lick and suck at his nipples, starting a cascade of sweet noises from him that end with deep, furious strokes that make your cunt flutter around his cock.

All the immediacy of your physical need has been drained away by your earlier, frantic fucking, so now there’s nothing but the being together. Physically, but also mentally and in the Force. Both your presences blurring together like sunlight through mist, the unity of two halves finding their whole.

Each of your climaxes, when they come, in the latest hours of night, or the earliest of the morning, are afterthoughts, moments of bliss along a journey of pleasure.

The next morning, after Anakin pauses at Padmė’s residence to drop her off, when the three of you arrive at the Temple, the sun not yet cresting over the horizon, hazy with exhaustion. Obi-Wan kisses you once more in the shadows of the Temple, the memory of last night freshly seared into both your minds.

 It’s later that week, that you all receive orders that will change everything.

Chapter Text

You, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Anakin stand in the Jedi Council Chambers, just Mace Windu and Yoda sitting in front of you on the chairs.

“A delicate situation on Naboo there is. Only a few Jedi can we send. Your presence has been requested,” Yoda says, his hands pensively stacked on the top of his wooden cane. 

Mace Windu sits with his arms crossed, a whiff of disapproval about him. “Senator Amidala has uncovered a droid plot on Naboo. They believe they know where a secret base is located, but it’s inside Gungan territory. She’s requested you three, specifically,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “To go and investigate this concerning revelation.”

Anakin’s emotions shift so suddenly in the Force, you almost stumble with it. Apparently Padmė and Jar-Jar Binks went to the suspected location of the secret base. 

Captain Typho introduces a young Gungan named Peppi Bow who was the last to see the Senator.

Anakin quickly leaves with Peppi to try to find them, his emotions roiling like a hot spring. 

You and Obi-Wan listen to the briefing Captain Typho can provide. The descriptions of the bombs loaded with the deadly Blue Shadow Virus sends chills all over your body. You try to slow your breathing, but you can’t help imagining the horrific implications of this threat thrumming through you. The schematics of the secret laboratory glow blue and sections light up red as Typho explains the intel they’ve gathered.

You feel acid in your stomach as you realize how precarious Padmė’s situation is. That virus must never be allowed to spread. You have gotten very fond of Padmė yourself. She’s a truly wonderful, inspiring person, and you know how upset Anakin must be. How upset he will be if he learns that they have to prioritize destroying the virus over Padmė.

In fact, it may come down to sacrificing Naboo, and everyone on it, to this deadly contagion to prevent the spread of it.

You and Obi-Wan return to the hangar, waiting to hear back from Anakin.

“I hope they’re okay,” you mutter, distracted and trying not to be.

Obi-Wan lowers his voice, “Are you alright, dove?”
You shake your head. “This is potentially a mass extinction event. No . . . no I’m not alright. How are you so calm?” You can’t help but think that you’re finally excited to be living life again, with him by your side. You’re not ready to lose that so soon.

“I’m just better at hiding it than you are, darling,” he replies.

You start to say something else, but his comm beeps, interrupting you.

Anakin’s fuzzy blue figure appears, confirming that he’s at the base, but Padmė isn’t there.

Obi-Wan takes over explaining the plan, the layout of the base, and emphasizing, much to Anakin’s dismay, that he should not, absolutely should not , try to break into the facility.

Your connection with Anakin is nearly nonexistent, but you can sense him through Obi-Wan, like the faint crackle of audio from a commlink someone else is having a conversation with.

It’s not good . You can sense the way Obi-Wan is already bracing Anakin for potential loss. The echoes of Anakin speak of bitter acknowledgement.

The clones arrive, and you climb aboard different drop ships, ready to go help Anakin.

You drop through the hole the explosives made in the top of the laboratory, landing in a hallway lit a distressing red-orange.

You cut your way through a doorway and feel relief when you spot Padmė and Jar-Jar, unfortunately cuffed to some kind of equipment.

“Padmė?” you gasp in relief.

A room full of battle droids and their bigger, more dangerous B-Series counterparts swivel towards you. 

“I wouldn’t take another step, if I were you.” The scientist, Nuvo Vindi chuckles. “Drop your weapons,” he commands, sliding on the helmet to a bio-haz suit and activating some type of electrical current that surges through Padmė and Jar-Jar, causing them to thrash and cry out in pain. His own gun remains trained on Padmė.

Your gaze flicks around the room, assessing. Fuck . The briefing made it clear this being was unhinged enough that he would absolutely not hesitate to kill civilians or bystanders. You sigh, your words sour in your mouth. “Drop your weapons.” 

The scientist turns and leaves with a case full of Blue Shadow virus. Kriff. You know you need to get Vindi, and quickly , but Anakin’s roaring fear-rage is pounding in your head.

You lunge forward, using the Force to summon your lightsaber hilt to your hand from where you dropped it earlier. You ignite your blade and move like a whirlwind through the droids, so fast and unexpected, the whole group of them barely getting a few shots off.

You make your way over to Padmė, asking, “Are you okay?” 

“I . . . I think so,” she says. 

Jar-Jar pipes up, “Mesa okie dey too.”

You make short work of their bonds, and quickly pivot to the door and Vindi’s retreating form.

You chase him from one end of the compound to the other, where you remember the docking lift was located. Your comm crackles with updates from Obi-Wan and Anakin, fighting their ways through the halls towards their various objectives. Including the dozens or hundreds of armed bombs, loaded with contagion and waiting to detonate.

Finally, after several callously tossed vials of the virus, and Peppi’s help, you have Vindi disarmed, arrested, and on a ship.

But because, of course, nothing was ever that easy, there’s a missing bomb.

While you start searching the rooms near the bomb room, you find an armory with racks of droid rifles, a long room with cells, some filled with lumpen shapes, but you feel no life here through the Force, and in the last room, you stumble into, databanks of backed up data. 

Kriff , these all need to be taken offline so that no one can access them and recreate the research.

You seal the door to prevent any droids from sneaking up behind you and get to work.

The updates from your comm keeps trying to distract you, between Padmė finding the bomb but now they’re missing a vial. You do a thorough sweep of the room, but you have to work fast before Vindi gets to the datacenter on his ship and completes the upload manually.

You hear a commotion from the bomb room next door, followed by the ticking of an activated bomb.

Oh fuck is your last thought before the racks of dataservers against the shared wall topple over on you, and you lose consciousness.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is on the ship when he staggers, taking a knee, hunched over by the way the silence sounds, by the way your absence feels. Ripping a hole right through his center. Who he is, who he was, who he will be. It all changes in that moment.

Obi-Wan watches numbly as Anakin greets Padmė. He averts his eyes, walks away. The grief is a roar in his head, it drowns out everything else. 

He throws himself into the war, motion and instinct require no thinking, no feeling. He’s calm on the outside, but it’s because he’s hollow on the inside. The best parts of him are gone, gone along with you.

He does find purpose again. Time gives him space and perspective. He finds refuge in the Force. Every second spent with Anakin and Padmė carries a sharp edge, a cold reminder of what he’s had and lost. He loves them both so much, he’s able to bear it for them.

He shoulders the weight of the war, the world, the galaxy. If he can’t have peace and a family, then he is determined to ensure every other being in the galaxy can .

As he falls to his apparent death on Utapau, he feels the Force sunder. The roar of grief comes back, reflected a thousandfold, all those lives, his mentors, fellow Masters, Knights, Padawans, children .

He keeps moving. He’s survived this rending pain once. He will do it again. He’s been alone for so long now. What’s another day, week, month? There is nothing but one foot in front of the other. Home, peace ceased to exist for him a long time ago.

He knows the merciful thing to do. He pants, thinking it over, his joints hurt from the prolonged fight. The heat is unbearable here. As he meets Anakin’s eyes, he knows that it must be so much worse down there, closer to the river of magma. Obi-Wan is betrayed. His brother, the child he grew up with, his best friend , has turned his back on everything good. 

Doesn’t he understand ? Death happens , people die, loved ones die. Obi-Wan burns himself for a sunrise he only ever wanted to spend with you. 

And Anakin decided he’d rather burn the galaxy to save Padmė, and yet nearly fulfills his own greatest fear himself. Obi-Wan feels disgust.

He knows the merciful thing to do.

He either cannot bring himself to kill his own brother, or he thinks Anakin deserves to feel the agony he brought on himself.

He holds a baby in his arms as Padmė’s life wanes and then vanishes. He’s so sad . His anger has burnt him to a husk. There’s nothing left but the tragedy of the Republic being consumed by the Empire. 

His life wasn’t supposed to be like this. He feels so old . He’s seen the Force personified, the rise and fall of an Empire and a Republic, he’s seen the endless sands of time. He and Yoda are the last two of their kind. 

Everything he was made to protect is gone.

He lands on Tatooine, Padmė’s son safely swaddled in a modified bunk on his ship. Yoda has also long departed for a far away place. Loneliness and isolation will be how they must survive. He tries to swallow his failures but they stick in his throat and refuse to be so easily ignored.

The sand sucks at his boots. This is the penance he deserves. A place for him to do contrition for all his many mistakes, where he could grieve the life he should’ve chosen with you.

Chapter Text

You’re watching Kea play with an old set of tools, tinkering with a broken droid. You would like to take her somewhere green and lush, but most of those planets are war-torn or at risk of attack. Tatooine is one of the only planets, controlled as it is by the Hutts, that remains out of the galactic war arena. 

You have made a few good friends here. Your helpful and compassionate nature combined with your training has made you a favorite on a planet where kindness is as rare as water yet your combat skills leave any beings who’ve tried to take advantage wary. 

You’ve taught Kea what you could, and she’s respected among the few children that survive here. 

Mostly you’re hermits though, by distance and by necessity. You can’t really know if you are hunted or not, in danger from the larger Republic or not. The news that makes its way to Tatooine is often questionable and old. And grim.

After a Naboo team tasked with dismantling and destroying the lab found you, they assumed you had been the only living test subject imprisoned in that long hallway of cages. The room had managed to stay sealed, so very little virus had gotten in. They had treated you anyway with the remaining antidote and let you recuperate in a healing center. 

There, they had informed you of your baby. Who had survived , safe inside your body.

You’d had a few days to decide whether you would reveal your identity and return to the Temple, surrender your child to the Jedi.

Or.

Or take your mistaken identity and be the mother you knew you’d wanted. You would lose Obi-Wan, forever, but you would have your child. What kind of choice was that? How was that fair? You certainly couldn’t ask it of him. It was nearly impossible to decide. You grieve. For the Jedi that you were.

You closed yourself off from the Force and disappeared.

Kea grins as she finally figures out how the harvester droid’s condenser fits in its housing and connects to the coolant system and the modulation components. Her smile is infectious and you feel its mirror image spread over your own face.

The warmth swelling in your chest is almost unbearable. 

It’s cut by a thunderclap of agony. You fall to your knees as you feel as though you’ve tipped backward into cold water. The Force shudders and rends, splintering into thousands of pieces, each piece sharp as shrapnel, edged with grief, bloodied with pain and the echoing of lost voices. Keening, screaming, desperate wails. Last gasps of life. Sudden fear, pain. Death. Death everywhere, amplified over and over. Loss. 

Kea feels it too and stumbles into your arms, feeling the loss of her siblings in the Force, the aunts and uncles she should have known, gone forever, taken back by the Force, leaving empty cold shells.

You are blind to the two setting suns, to the sand, and your droids. Visions flash across your mind’s eye and, shuddering, you try to wrench yourself free.

You usher Kea inside, provide dinner for you both, somehow, through the agony of it all, and hold her until she falls asleep. Your mind cannot yet grasp the enormity of it.

The next morning, the realization comes to you, and you have to press your face to your pillow, let it absorb your anguish. If that was the Jedi, perishing , then. Then. Oh stars . He’s gone. He must be.

A handful or two of day cycles later, you feel the impossible. A bond that Kea does not share with you pulls tight. 

Obi-Wan? Obi-Wan?

Just faintly, as though the dawn that you feel but cannot yet see, he is in anguish. Alive, breathing, no trembles of physical pain or injury, but you know he feels deep pain and loss.

More than your Jedi family. 

What . . . what has happened?

You reach for his Light and hope he feels you, feels your lended strength.

Obi-Wan reaches for the Force and the cool peace that flows to him. He has so many regrets. It is unbelievably cruel that he should see your Force Ghost now, wind-whipped, clothed in a loose tunic and tan pants, tending to evaporators. 

What hellish hallucination is this? Even the contrary echo of your Force signature is here too, the ripple of clear rivulets over sand, parching thirst, reviving. An oasis.

You still. And then you run to him, and even pressing his face into your soft neck, sun-kissed and scented with the desert, he can’t believe it. Your lips, your hands, your voice, everywhere.

Smaller hands tug at his tunic. “Is that a baby?” a young voice asks.

Obi-Wan Kenobi looks down in shock, meeting his own gaze out of a face that is both familiar and yet wholly strange. 

“Have you brought me another child, Obi?” you ask, a smile teasing up the edges of your mouth, now lined. Your words try to be playful, but they are full of heartbreak.

Obi-Wan Kenobi is speechless. He opens and closes his mouth, trying to fit all these surprises into his new reality.

“Ena-Kea, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi,” you say, kneeling down next to your daughter, taking her hands. “This is your father. Obi, meet your daughter. Kea.”

She looks up at him with eyes the same color as his own, smiles with a mouth bowed like yours, and shyly says, “Pleased to meet you. Can I see your baby now?”

Maul sneers, “Look what has become of you. A rat in the desert.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi replies evenly, “Look at what I've risen above.”

Maul continues his attempt to rile his old enemy up, “I've come to kill you, but perhaps it's worse to leave you here, festering in your squalor.”

The old Jedi Master reflects on his life, on the things that have given him meaning in the twilight of his years, “If you define yourself by your power to take life, the desire to dominate, to possess? Then you have nothing.” 

With an electronic hiss, one red lightsaber blade ignites, and he slashes it through his fire, dousing it with sand. “And what do you have?” 

Maul pauses, and in the space of a breath, the weight of everything Obi-Wan has, and doesn’t have, falls on his shoulders. 

“Why come to this place, not simply to hide? . . . Oh, you have a purpose here. Perhaps you are protecting something ? No... protecting someone .”

Obi-Wan’s blue blade bathes his face in light as he prepares to protect everything he has left.