all works that are listed below contain mentions of war, typical of star wars. each individual fic is marked for additional warnings. here is a new taglist form! :) thank you so much for reading i<3you
obi-wan kenobi.
falling (padawan reader, no pronouns, slow burn) -> multi-chapter, in progress
springtime (afab reader, professor kenobi, student reader) -> oneshot, completed
hope ur okay (jedi reader, no pronouns, angst) obi-wan embraces feelings of the past, wondering if any more jedi are truly alive. on the other side, you wonder about obi-wan as well. -> oneshot, completed
tech.
enamored (jedi reader, no pronouns used, slow burn) tech hasn’t had much of an opportunity to learn about the jedi order, and grows closer to you as he becomes more inquisitive. -> multi-part, in progress
part 1 | part 2 (posting next tech tuesday) |
anyone else but you (no pronouns used, fluff) tech struggles to understand the feelings other clones have about love, until he meets you. -> oneshot, completed
line without a hook (no pronouns used, angst) tech battles with logic versus emotion after having to leave the jedi he’s in love with on ord mantell, hidden from the empire. -> oneshot, completed
The Bone Wastes of Terokkar Forest stretched endlessly under Outland’s fractured sky, but inside the eastern wing of Auchindoun known as Sethekk Halls, the air was thick with incense, feathers, and lingering shadow magic. Once part of a grand draenei mausoleum built as a holy site, the halls had been claimed by the Sethekk. They believed themselves the true servants of a mysterious master, twisting ancient raven-god rituals into dark sorcery that echoed the corruption of the Shadow Council and the Legion’s touch on the land.
Duskwren and Stormpaw had come seeking forbidden tomes on shadow-binding that might weaken Legion portals. They had fought their way through the winding corridors lined with carved raven totems and glowing green braziers, clearing wave after wave of feathered zealots, time-lost arakkoa mages, and summoned avian spirits. Now, with Talon King Ikiss defeated, the halls lay quiet, save for the faint rustle of settling feathers and the distant echo of wind through shattered stained glass.
Stormpaw had spent most of the run in bear form, his massive brown bulk tearing through arakkoa lines with earth-shaking roars. As the last of Ikiss’s guards fell, emerald magic swirled around him and he shifted back to night elf form, tall and broad-shouldered. He wiped ichor from his claws-turned-hands and turned to Duskwren, silver eyes warm but serious.
“Victory is ours, priestess,” he said, voice low and gravelly with the remnants of battle. “Talon King Ikiss fell as the legends warned. His madness a mirror of what happens when one abandons balance for power. Darkweaver Syth summoned shades and familiars with that cursed staff, yet your holy light burned through them like dawn through fog. You fought bravely today.”
Duskwren leaned against a raven-carved pillar, purple hair matted with sweat and a few stray feathers, her golden-and-blue priestess robes torn at the sleeves and hem stained with shadow residue. She fidgeted with the hem of her robe and glanced around the now-silent hall. “Stormpaw… that was too much,” she whispered, voice higher and tighter than usual. “These halls reek of corrupted magic. Auchindoun was meant to be sacred. DRaenei dead resting in peace... until the Sethekk defiled it with their raven rituals. And you… you stayed in bear form through almost the entire run. The Druids of the Claw warned us back in Teldrassil: Ursoc’s gift is fierce, but linger too long and the wild claims pieces of your mind. What if the shadow magic here fed it? What if you hadn’t shifted back after Ikiss? I... I can’t lose you to that ferality in a place like this. The ghosts of these halls already feel hungry, like they’re waiting for one of us to slip.”
Stormpaw stepped closer, placing a large, calloused hand gently on her shoulder. His touch was warm, grounding. “I hear your fear, Duskwren, and it is not unfounded. Ursoc is ancient. Bearer of strength when the Legion first invaded Azeroth, guardian of the furbolg and the wild groves long before the Sundering. In these corrupted chambers, the whisper grows louder. I felt it pulling during Syth’s shadow bolts and Ikiss’s frantic cawing. But I am no fledgling druid. I have walked hundreds of years balancing the Claw’s teachings with the wisdom of the forest. Your light kept me anchored. Each time you healed me, it reminded the bear who commands it.” He offered a faint, reassuring smile, thumb brushing one of her cheeks. “We cleared the halls. The tomes we sought are secured. Now we rest here, behind barred doors in this inner sanctum. The risk is real, but so is my promise: I will not let the wild, or this place, take me from you.”
Duskwren’s shoulders eased a fraction at his words, though worry still lingered in her wide eyes. She sank down onto a cleared stone altar draped with discarded arakkoa banners, knees weak. “I’m serious, Stormpaw. The Sethekk’s rituals warped everything. Ursoc’s fury overwhelmed stronger druids than us in pure groves. Here, with this lingering raven magic amplifying every surge… it terrifies me.” Her voice cracked slightly as she looked up at him. “I chatter and heal and act all ditsy with my faith, but losing my druid to the bear in these defiled halls? That’s worse than facing Ikiss again.” She twisted a strand of purple hair around her finger. “But… if the pressure from the fight is still burning in you, if the wild needs release tonight to keep the whisper from winning… just promise you’ll fight to come back to me. For your priestess.”
Stormpaw knelt before her, taking her smaller hands in his. His silver eyes held hers with quiet intensity. “I promise you, Duskwren. The bear is my weapon, not my prison. As the Claw taught: respect the wild, and it respects you in return. These halls may echo with Anzu’s stolen power and the Sethekk’s heresy, but your faith, holy flame and moonlight both, burns brighter than their shadows. If the urge rises tonight, I will release it. And I will return to the druid who quotes the old texts, who protects his mate, and who cannot resist the sound of your voice even when it fills the silence with worry.” He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.
Heat flushed Duskwren’s violet cheeks, her nervousness softening into trust and desire. “Then… let the bear come. But talk to me like this again after, alright?”
“As you wish, little priestess.” Stormpaw’s voice dropped lower, laced with hunger. Emerald druidic magic swirled fiercely around him. Bones cracked and expanded with deep, resonant sounds. Violet skin vanished beneath thick, coarse brown fur etched with faint glowing runes of guardianship. His elegant frame ballooned into the colossal brown bear: shoulders broad as ancient oaks, paws massive enough to crush stone, muzzle revealing long fangs. Between his powerful hind legs, the heavy sheath swelled, and a thick cock slid free, ridged and veined, the blunt flared tip glistening with precum.
Duskwren’s breath caught, nervousness spiking even as slick heat gathered between her thighs. “By the Light… you’re enormous like this. Ursoc made manifest in Anzu’s forsaken halls. But the lingering magic... what if it twists you further while we...”
The bear lowered his massive head, hot breath washing over her and silencing her anxious words with a gentle nuzzle against her shoulder. That broad, rough tongue dragged slowly down her neck, then lower, rasping deliciously over her robes until they slipped aside. He lapped at her breasts, the texture sending jolts of pleasure through her, before moving between her thighs. Duskwren whimpered, nerves making her tense even as her body responded. “S-Stormpaw… careful. I trust you, but the shadows here still feel alive…”
His tongue covered her sex in one broad, powerful stroke, curling deep inside while the flat surface ground relentlessly against her clit. Pleasure crashed through her lingering fear. She came hard and fast, crying out, thighs quaking around his muzzle, but still gasped breathlessly, “Don’t let the halls claim you… stay with me…”
A deep, rumbling growl vibrated straight into her core. Satisfied, the bear nudged her gently onto all fours atop a pile of cleared cushions and fallen banners. He reared up, front paws planting like pillars on either side of her, his heavy chest pressing her down without crushing. The scorching heat of his cock slid along her spine, leaving a thick, musky trail, before the blunt head nudged insistently at her entrance.
Duskwren gasped, pushing back despite the flutter of nerves. “It’s so much here… what if I can’t... ah!”
He rocked forward. The thick head breached her, stretching her wide. Inch after girthy, ridged inch sank deep into her dripping heat, filling her completely until his heavy, furred balls rested against her. She trembled, stuffed full and overwhelmed, the stretch burning deliciously amid the faint hum of residual shadow and ley energy. “Ursoc’s mercy… you feel like the wild heart these halls tried to corrupt.”
Then he began to thrust. Slow, deep rolls of his powerful haunches at first, dragging every ridge over her most sensitive spots. Duskwren’s nervousness melted into broken moans, fingers digging into the banners as the bear claimed her with primal intensity. The pace quickened, turning savage: powerful drives slamming home with wet, echoing slaps that mixed with the distant creak of settling stone.
“Harder... please... claim your priestess before the raven shadows or the whisper win...” she gasped, words tumbling out in a haze of pleasure and radiant light.
The bear roared. A deep, earth-shaking sound that rattled the raven totems, and pounded into her relentlessly. Duskwren shattered with a scream, her pussy clenching like a vice around his massive shaft as holy light exploded outward in a brilliant golden flare. It intertwined with his emerald aura, momentarily purifying the chamber of Sethekk corruption and pushing back the faint avian spirits at the edges.
With a final bellow, the bear slammed to the hilt and erupted. Thick, hot ropes of seed flooded her, far more than her body could contain. It spilled out in creamy rivers down her thighs and pooled on the stone, tingling with wild magic and faint dissipating shadows.
He stayed locked deep through the aftershocks, heavy body draped protectively over hers, deep rumbling purrs vibrating through her bones like a living lullaby. Slowly, carefully, he eased back and curled his massive form around her small frame, one paw gently draped over her waist.
Duskwren nestled into the thick brown fur, still panting, legs shaky, a sated smile curving her lips despite the faint tremor of spent nerves. She traced a glowing rune along his flank with a fingertip. “You came back… this time. The halls didn’t claim you. Don’t let Ursoc’s shadow, or Anzu’s stolen power, win, my bear. I need the druid who quotes lore after battle and protects me… and the one who claims me so thoroughly in the heart of it all. Both.”
A soft, affectionate chuff answered her, silver eyes clearer and calmer in the afterglow. Outside the barred doors, the Bone Wastes whispered with wind over bones, but within the cleared Sethekk Halls, holy light and feral power held the darkness at bay. Two souls entwined where raven shadows once reigned.
The shattered red rock of Hellfire Peninsula stretched endlessly under Outland’s fractured sky, the air thick with the sulfurous reek of fel corruption. Demons still prowled the ridges near the Dark Portal, their fel-green eyes glowing like dying stars.
Stormpaw had insisted they push deeper than most adventurers dared. He suggested scouting a Legion supply cache rumored to fuel the next wave of doomguard incursions. He had spent the last three days in bear form, massive brown-furred shoulders rolling with each thunderous step, claws gouging the stone as he tore through felguards and doomhounds alike. Knowledge was his weapon as much as tooth and claw; he had recited the ancient kaldorei texts on Legion portal mechanics even while his jaws crushed a pit lord’s lieutenant.
Duskwren trotted behind him in her flowing golden-and-blue priestess robes, the hem already stained crimson from the blood-soaked ground. Her short purple hair bounced with every skip, the twin red blade tattoos slashing across her eyelids giving her an oddly fierce, almost playful look, like a kitten pretending to be a tiger. She was featherbrained on the walk, chattering nonstop.
“Stormpaw, do you think the fel orcs use the same portal runes as the ones in the old Ashenvale texts? Or did they change them after we kicked their scaly butts back through the Portal last week?"
He had only grunted in bear form, a deep rumble that somehow conveyed both affection and mild exasperation. She had healed him through every slash, every fel-fire burn, her holy light weaving around his feral bulk like moonlight on dark water. Without her, even a druid as ancient and powerful as he would have fallen hours ago.
Now the sun... if Outland’s warped orb could be called that... was sinking, and they had found shelter: a shallow cavern carved into a cliff face, shielded by jagged crystals that hummed with faint arcane residue. The Legion cache had been destroyed; the mission was done. Stormpaw finally allowed himself to shift.
The bear melted away in a swirl of emerald druidic magic. Bones cracked and reformed, fur receded into smooth violet night-elf skin. Long bluish hair spilled down his back like a midnight waterfall, the twin tattoos of Elune’s crescent moon and silver bow gleaming silver-white across his broad shoulders. He stood tall, bare-chested, wearing only a simple leather kilt that barely contained the powerful lines of his thighs and the heavy bulge already stirring beneath the hide. Scars from a thousand battles crisscrossed his chest, but the fresh ones from today were already fading under Duskwren’s earlier heals.
Duskwren stopped mid-sentence, mouth falling open. “Oh… wow.” Her cheeks flushed a deeper violet. “You… you’ve been hiding that under all that fur for three days? I mean, I knew you were handsome, but Elune’s grace, Stormpaw, those shoulders. The tattoos. I could trace them for hours.”
He turned those serious silver eyes on her, the same eyes that had studied the Burning Legion’s tactics for ten thousand years. “The forms are practical,” he said, voice low and gravelly from disuse. “But tonight… I want to feel your light on my own skin, Duskwren. Not through fur.”
She bit her lip, suddenly locking in the way she always did when healing or when something mattered. The ditsy chatter vanished. “Then let me give it to you properly.”
The cavern was warm from residual fel heat, the crystals casting soft teal glows across the stone. Duskwren stepped closer, her small hands rising to rest on his chest. Her fingers traced the Elune tattoos slowly, reverently, sending little sparks of holy magic into his skin that made his breath hitch. He could smell her. Wild lavender from her hair, the faint ozone of her priestly power, and underneath it all, the sweet musk of a woman who had been riding beside a feral druid for days and pretending not to notice how her body reacted.
“Stormpaw,” she whispered, voice husky now, “you’re always protecting me. Always the serious one, quoting lore while you rip demons apart. Let me take care of you tonight. All of you.”
His hands, large and calloused, slid down her back and pulled her against him. The kiss started slow, almost reverent, his lips claiming hers with the same deliberate power he used in battle. But when she moaned softly into his mouth and pressed her hips forward, grinding against the thick ridge of his cock beneath the kilt, the feral side surged.
He growled and spun her around, pressing her back against the smooth cavern wall. Robes whispered as he tugged the clasps open. The fabric pooled at her feet, revealing the lithe night-elf body beneath: small, firm breasts tipped with dark violet nipples already tight with need, the curve of her waist flaring into hips that begged to be gripped. Between her thighs, she was already glistening, slick with days of unspoken want.
“Beautiful,” he rumbled, dropping to one knee. His long bluish hair brushed her stomach as he nuzzled between her legs. The first long, slow lick of his tongue over her clit made her cry out. He was knowledgeable not only on the battlefield, but even here, circling, sucking, two thick fingers sliding deep inside her to curl against that perfect spot while his tongue flicked faster. Duskwren’s hands fisted in his hair, short purple strands sticking to her sweat-damp forehead, red blade tattoos scrunching as her eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.
She came hard. Her thighs trembled around his face as she rode the orgasm, gasping his name like a prayer.
He rose, kilt already discarded. His cock stood heavy and proud, thick as her wrist, veined, the head flushed dark violet and leaking. The Elune tattoos seemed to glow brighter as he lifted her effortlessly, pinning her against the wall with her legs wrapped around his waist.
“Tell me you want this,” he said, voice rough but eyes gentle. “Tell me you want your druid. Feral and all.”
“I want you,” she panted, locking in completely now, eyes blazing with that rare focus. “All of you. Fuck me, Stormpaw. Hard. Like the bear you’ve been hiding.”
He thrust in with one powerful stroke, burying himself to the hilt in her tight, wet heat. They both groaned. She was so full, stretched perfectly around him, and the way her inner walls fluttered and clenched made his hips snap forward on instinct. He fucked her against the wall with deep, rolling thrusts. Each one dragging his cock over that sensitive spot inside her while his pelvis ground against her clit. His mouth found her neck, teeth grazing the delicate skin, marking her the way a mate should.
Duskwren’s nails raked down his tattooed shoulders, leaving faint glowing trails of holy magic that only heightened the pleasure. “Harder—please—yes, like that! You’re so deep, I can feel you everywhere—”
He shifted angles, one hand sliding between them to rub tight circles over her clit while he pounded into her. The cavern echoed with the wet slap of skin, her breathless moans, his low feral growls. When she came again, screaming his name, her pussy clamped down so hard he saw stars. Only then did he let go, thrusting deep one final time and spilling inside her with a roar that shook dust from the ceiling. Hot pulses of his seed filled her, dripping down her thighs as he kept rocking through the aftershocks.
They slid to the cavern floor together, still joined, his long bluish hair spilling over her chest like a blanket. Duskwren traced the Elune tattoos with lazy fingers, suddenly ditsy again in the afterglow.
“Wow… I did remember to pack the extra blankets. And… um… I think I love you, Stormpaw. Like, a lot. Even when you’re a grumpy bear.”
He chuckled, the sound rare and warm, pressing a kiss to her purple hair. “And I love you, little priestess. Ditsy or locked in, you keep this old druid alive. In every way.”
Outside, the Legion’s fires still burned across Hellfire, but inside the cavern the only light was the soft silver glow of two night elves wrapped around each other, holy healer and feral druid, hearts and bodies entwined beneath Outland’s burning sky.
Tomorrow they would rise, shift forms, and fight again. Tonight, they belonged only to each other.
A messenger from the Cenarion Circle found them near the borders of Val’sharah, breathless and pale. An ancient corruption had stirred. If left unchecked, it would rot the forest from the inside out.
Stormpaw listened to the messenger in silence, jaw set. Duskwren stood close beside him, fingers tightening around her staff.
“We’ll take it,” Stormpaw said simply.
The grove lay in a sunken vale where the trees grew twisted and sparse. The air itself felt heavy, resistant, as though every breath had to be earned.
Stormpaw wrinkled his nose as they stepped past the first line of twisted trees. “That’s not moss,” he muttered. “That’s corruption trying very hard to pretend it’s moss.” He regretted shifting in a cat early on, even though it felt safer, his nose was suffering.
Duskwren noticed his wrinkled nose and squinted at a gnarled root. “Are you sure? Because it does look like moss.”
Stormpaw flicked his back leg outwards, clearing off some of the moss that was suctioned to his fur.
“It’s trying to eat us.” He chuckled at her.
“Oh.” She nodded solemnly. “Rude moss.”
As they descended, the first wave struck. Corrupted wildlife burst from the undergrowth. Once-gentle forest creatures now warped by shadow. Stormpaw attacked without hesitation, claws meeting claws as he intercepted the charge.
Duskwren stayed behind him, heart racing but focusing to soothe where she could and strike where she must.
“Left!” she called.
Stormpaw pivoted instantly, trusting her voice without looking. A shadow-creature lunged and fell as vines snapped tight around it.
Stormpaw looked at Duskwren. His gaze didn't linger for too long, but he shouted, "Stay behind me.”
“I am behind you,” Duskwren insisted, waving her staff as roots whipped up around a lunging creature. “I’m just… aggressively supportive.”
Stormpaw rolled his yellow eyes as another creature lashed out at him. He swatted it down easily. “You know you're not a melee priest? Try not to aggressively support into danger.”
They fought like they always did. Stormpaw charged in with confident ferocity and Duskwren backed him up with spells that were sometimes a little overenthusiastic but always well-meant. When a shadow-creature nearly clipped Stormpaw's flank, Duskwren yelped.
The deeper they pressed, the harder the forest fought back. At the heart of the grove stood the source, a massive growth wrapped around an ancient world-root, its surface crawling with dark energy. The ground trembled as it sensed them.
Duskwren’s voice wavered. “Stormpaw… the energy is feeding on the root itself.”
His gaze settled on her softly, noticing her concern for the world-root. His eyes followed her figure and... he snapped back into their task at hand.
“Then we sever it,” he said. “No matter the cost.”
The corruption lashed out, shadow tendrils tearing through the air. One struck Duskwren hard, throwing her back into the dirt. Her cry cut through Stormpaw sharper than any blade.
Stormpaw roared, fury breaking through his calm as he surged forward, placing himself between her and the darkness. He took the next blow full-on, staggering but refusing to fall.
“Stormpaw!” she gasped, scrambling to her feet.
“I’m fine,” he said through clenched teeth.“Focus.”
She did.Planting her staff into the soil, Duskwren poured everything she had into the spell. Not raw power, but intent. Hope. Connection. She reached for the forest not as a weapon, but as a wounded friend. Gold light flared, bright and defiant, pushing back the shadows inch by inch.
Stormpaw held the line while she worked, every strike measured, every breath an act of will. When the corruption finally screamed and tore itself free from the root, dissolving into ash and smoke, the grove went silent all at once.
Then, slowly, the forest breathed again.Stormpaw shifted into human form and dropped to one knee, exhaustion finally catching him.
Duskwren rushed to his side, hands glowing as she tended his wounds, tears threatening but never falling."You scared me,” she whispered.
He smiled faintly. “You say that like it’s not my natural state.”
She huffed, then pressed her forehead to his. “You can’t just jump in front of horrible shadow monsters like that.”
“Yes I can,” he said gently. “You were supporting me.”
Her ears flushed. “That’s not— you know what I mean.”
His hand found hers, thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. “I know. And I’ll try to be less heroic if you promise not to get thrown.”
“No promises,” she said, smiling softly. “But… thank you. For always catching me.”
“Anytime,” he replied. “Literally. I seem to do it a lot.”
She pressed her forehead to his, just briefly, grounding herself in the warmth of him. “Thank you." His hand found hers, squeezing gently.
“Always.”
As the grove healed around them, leaves brightening, roots settling back into place, they remained there a while longer. And when they finally walked away, Duskwren leaned just a little closer than she needed to, and Stormpaw let her.
They didn’t go far after the fight. Stormpaw insisted they make camp just beyond the grove, somewhere the trees grew healthier and the air didn’t feel like it was actively judging them. Duskwren pretended not to notice how close he stayed to her the entire time.
The fire crackled softly, casting warm light over them both. Duskwren sat with her knees pulled up, cloak wrapped tight, staring far too intently into the flames.
Stormpaw noticed immediately.
“You’re being quiet,” he said. “That usually means you’re either planning something or blaming yourself for something you shouldn’t.”
She glanced at him, startled. “I can’t believe you noticed.”
“I notice most things about you,” he replied easily, then paused, realizing what he’d said.
The corner of her mouth turned upwards to a slight smile. “Oh,” she said softly.
The silence stretched. Not uncomfortable. Dangerous.
Duskwren took a breath. Then another. “Stormpaw… can I tell you something?”
He turned fully toward her. “Of course.”
She fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve, words tripping over each other before she even spoke them. “I’m really bad at this, so I’m just going to say it before I lose my nerve.” His heart picked up pace.“I know I mess things up,” she rushed on. “I trip, and I panic, and sometimes I point the wrong direction when monsters are trying to eat us... but when I’m with you, everything feels… steadier. Like I’m braver just because you’re there.”
He opened his mouth, but she kept going, cheeks glowing with blush.
“And I think—no, I know—that somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking of you as just my mentor, or my friend, or the druid who keeps me from walking into trees.” A shy, breathless laugh escaped her. “I care about you. A lot. Maybe more than is practical. Definitely more than is safe. And if that’s foolish then I—”
“Duskwren,” he said gently.
She finally looked up at him, eyes wide and shining. The world seemed to pause. Stormpaw stared at her, stunned—not by the words, but by how right they felt. He reached for her hand, thumb brushing her knuckles, expression softening into something unguarded.
“Duskwren,” he began, voice low, earnest, “I’ve wanted to tell you—”
A horn blast shattered the moment. Both of them jumped.
“What?” Duskwren yelped.
Another blast echoed through the trees, followed by hurried footsteps and a very panicked night elf shouting, "SOMETHING IS VERY WRONG. WE NEED TO LEAVE THE FOREST!"
Stormpaw closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, forehead dropping gently to hers. “Azeroth has the worst timing.”
The interruptive night elf ran into their camp. “The emerald dream is corrupt, it's spreading quickly to here. You both must leave!”
Stormpaw stood, offering Duskwren his hand. She took it without hesitation, heart still racing. As they followed the other night elf into the trees, his fingers squeezed hers gently.
“We’ll finish that conversation,” he murmured.
She smiled up at him, bright and hopeful despite everything. “Promise?”
“I don’t make promises lightly,” he said. “But that one? Absolutely.”
Stormpaw and Duskwren continued to follow the night elf to where the rest of the crowd was waiting to make a getaway to somewhere safe. They were able to escort the crowd of people just outside of Moonclaw Vale where it seemed peaceful for the moment.
Duskwren looked up at Stormpaw. "Well, so much for rest. We should probably see if anyone was left behind." She sat down on a stump and put her head in her hands.
Scratching at the group with his paw, Stormpaw tried to give some encouragement. "We will have plenty of rest time once everyone is safe. Their lives could be in danger if they're stuck in Moonclaw Vale."
His yellow eyes peered onto her form. He was gauging her reaction and how enthusiastic she would be about the situation.
She angled her head so that she was looking at him straight on now, still resting her chin on both of her hands.
She studied him for a moment, and then patted his head. "You're right, good kitty."
She stood quickly and gave him a couple more pets on the ear. Stormpaw's heart raced at her touch. What affected him even more were her words. He shook his head to clear his mind, and then announced they should be on their way.
They should have pulled apart when the patrol of Satyrs passed. They didn’t.
Stormpaw kept his arms loosely around Duskwren, not holding her, just there, like if he let go, something fragile might slip through his fingers. She stayed pressed against him, forehead against his chest, listening far too intently to his heartbeat. She noticed it was unfairly steady compared to her own.
She almost wanted to be even closer to him. When the voices finally faded into the forest, neither of them moved right away.
“…They’re gone,” Duskwren said, very quietly.
“I know,” Stormpaw replied. Still, he didn’t let go.
She tipped her head back to look at him, the tips of her ears warm with color. “Then why are we still standing like this?”
His thumb brushed, almost accidentally, along her shoulder. “Because if I step back, I don’t know if I’ll have the willpower to stay away from you."
Her breath caught. “Oh,” she said softly. “That makes two of us.”
The air between them felt tight now, charged with all of the shared glances and unfinished thoughts.
Duskwren swallowed, courage flickering back to life. “I keep thinking about it,” she admitted. “What it would be like if I just… leaned in. And then I don’t. Because I don’t want to mess things up.”
Stormpaw smiled faintly, a little rueful. “I replay that moment every night. Right up until the part where I convince myself I should wait. For you.”
She laughed quietly. “You’re very good at waiting.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” he said. “Wanting something and choosing patience instead.”
She smiled coyly at him. Her hand slid up to rest against his chest, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his armor. “You don’t have to be patient all the time.”
He stilled. “Duskwren…”
“I’m just saying,” she rushed on, flustered but determined, “if you kissed me right now, I wouldn’t...” She stopped, flailed internally. “I mean. I wouldn’t object. At all. In fact I would be very supportive of it.”
His laugh was soft and breathless. “You’re making this very difficult.”
Her fingers gripped his chest piece tighter, almost as if she was pulling him in closer. “That’s my specialty.” She giggled.
Slowly, so slowly, he leaned down. Not enough to kiss her. Just enough that his breath brushed her lips. She tilted her head up instinctively, eyes fluttering half-shut.One heartbeat. Two.Then he stopped.
Duskwren opened her eyes, confused and a little devastated. “Stormpaw?”
He rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed. “If I kiss you now,” he murmured, “I don’t think I’ll want to stop. And I don’t want our first time to be rushed. Or stolen between patrols and half-finished quests.”
Her chest tightened in the best and worst way.“…You’re very inconveniently thoughtful,” she whispered.
He smiled. “You still like me.”
“I like you too much,” she said frankly.
That did it.
He kissed her forehead instead. Slow, lingering, unmistakably affectionate. When he pulled back, she looked dazed.
“That was unfair,” she accused softly.
“I know,” he said. “But it’s a promise.”
Her fingers gripped his armor tighter. “Then next time,” she said, eyes bright with determination, “I’m not letting you stop.”
His smile turned warm and unmistakably hopeful. “I look forward to that.”
Moonlight filtered through the wooded boughs of Ashenvale as Stormpaw padded forward, paws barely brushing the mossy ground.
“Duskwren,” he said, glancing back with a crooked smile, “you are healing me this time, right? Or are you planning to admire the scenery again while I get smacked by another satyr?”
Duskwren blinked and looked at him with eyes wide open. Her staff clutched in both hands. “I was not admiring the scenery,” she said earnestly. “I was… strategically observing the moonwell. For morale.”
Stormpaw snorted. “Uh-huh. Sure you were.”
They’d been sent to cleanse a corrupted grove. Nothing too dangerous, but enough to require teamwork. Stormpaw shifted into bear form with practiced ease, charging ahead with confident ferocity, while Duskwren followed, tossing out radiant prayers a half-second too late but with heartfelt determination.
“Sorry! Sorry...oh, Elune, you’re fine, right?” Duskwren called as Stormpaw shifted back, brushing leaves from his armor.
“I’m always fine,” Stormpaw replied, though he leaned just slightly into the soft glow of Duskwren’s healing magic. “But… you can tell me I did good. It helps. For morale.”
Duskwren smiled and remarked, "You did very good, Stormpaw.”
Stormpaw cleared his throat and straightened. “Good. Excellent. Let’s keep moving.”
By the time the grove was cleansed and the last traces of corruption faded, exhaustion settled in pleasantly. They made camp beneath a silver-leaved tree, the night quiet except for distant owls. Duskwren offered Stormpaw a waterskin, their fingers brushing. She paused, then almost shyly, rested a hand against Stormpaw’s shoulder, giving a gentle, absent-minded pat.
Stormpaw froze.“…You can keep doing that,” he said softly.
Duskwren smiled, a little surprised, but continued. “You really were amazing today, you know.”
Stormpaw didn’t joke this time. He just sat closer, the space between them disappearing as the fire crackled low and the stars wheeled slowly overhead. The night carried on, peaceful and unhurried, as their voices faded into quiet murmurs and shared warmth beneath the moonlight.
Warnings/Tags: explicit content, smut, drug use, dubcon, elements of noncon, angst, hurt/no comfort
Description: There are only so many excuses a master and padawan can make to kiss under "extenuating circumstances" before circumstances stop arising and start being created. You are an expert at your craft - a Jedi knight in service as a spy for the Republic. When your former master Obi Wan joins you on a mission, it's clear things aren't the same as they once were. The trials you face together may break your bond, or turn it into something else entirely.
☆☆☆
"We were drugged."
You let the words fall flat in the room.
Obi Wan doesn't say anything; doesn't acknowledge that you've spoken. His back is turned to you, his feet slung over the side of the bed with sheets haphazardly draped over part of his body.
Your eyes wander slowly back to the wall in front of you. Your head is still throbbing with the after-effects of the Pyrepenol and you know water would likely help, but the thought of drinking - the thought of moving - makes your insides twist.
You stare at the wall. Little nuisances cry out from every part of your body - your hair is hanging in your face and your muscles are sore and bruised. But you don't push the hair from your eyes and you don't stretch your body to relieve the tension. You just. Stare.
After a silence that looms over the both of you threatens to seep into your veins and become a permanent fixture, you crack open your mouth again to try talking.
"It wasn't us. Not really."
It's a feeble attempt. You don't even believe the words, yourself. But you want to hear them out loud.
You can't hear anything from his side of the bed. No movement, no breathing. Then, at last, he shifts forward and drags his clothing from the floor onto the lower half of himself.
He sits for a moment, shirtless, shoulders low. You almost think he's about to speak to you, but too much time passes, and he doesn't move. Then he slowly stands up and walks out of the crew quarters. He stops to pick up his dark brown undershirt from the floor outside, where he left it. He pulls it on with his back still facing you. He leaves his bloodied tunic where it lies. He disappears beyond the door frame.
You collapse into yourself, the stinging in your throat turning hot. You clench your teeth, taking uneven, shuddering breaths. You can't remember the last time you'd cried. It isn't very becoming of a Jedi. But then, you're not much of a Jedi anymore.
What are you, then?
You feel your chest tighten and tears start to well up - which is too far. You naturally reach out to the force to calm your emotions, but you stop short, wondering if it's even safe. You remember the sheer, raw energy that surged through every cell of your being, and how it felt to not just wield the force, but to be consumed by it; no longer a person but only a vessel for a power you could hardly comprehend.
...the terrified expression permanently engraved on his face as his head fell to the floor.
He was unarmed. He was unarmed...
It's like you've been swimming all your life, and suddenly you've been pulled into the air. You can't breathe. All you want is to reach the water and be safe, but the water is poisoned, now. You don't know if you can live without the presence of the force, but the thought of reaching out to touch it again fills you with such dread and overwhelming sorrow.
You squeeze your hands into the sheets, slowly wringing them to your sides. You're trying very hard not to think about the events of the previous day, but of course, that only makes the vivid memories cycle through your brain at a faster and more violent pace.
What scares you more than the memories, however, is how much you can't remember. The last thing in your blurred vision before the darkness took you...
The golden glow of his skin, the sharpness of his smirking gaze, the touch of his hand as it slid down your thigh to hold your knee, spreading you for himself...
Would he ever look you in the eyes again?
Would you ever be able to look him in the eyes again?
He had asked you to stop.
You had driven him to it. You had done everything in your power to bring him as low as you were. You had even - stars help you - used the force as a weapon against him.
You swipe the palm of your hand up the side of your face, smearing the tears away from the corners of your eyes as if they were streaks of dirt. You force yourself to the edge of the narrow bed, dropping your feet to the floor. Thankfully the bed is built for Pykes, short and squat, so it doesn't take much effort. You sit there in silence for long enough that you start to worry you'll enter Coruscant's atmosphere before you gather the strength to stand up.
Finally, your thirst brings you to your feet. You put on your clothes, piecing your outfit slowly back together, trying to ignore how far apart you find each article of clothing, and then wander the unfamiliar ship until you find the fresher. You tip your head under the short faucet and drink until you gasp for breath, coming up to splash a bit of the water on your face. You hadn't realized just how numb you were until the water hits your skin, and you feel a little more real.
Wiping your mouth, you leave the cramped room and head toward the main bridge to check your coordinates and see how much time is left in your journey. You don't know whether you're hoping for more time or less. You have no idea what will happen at your destination.
Just when you've reached the controls and started to queue up the charts, a door slides open next to you and Obi Wan emerges from a corridor. He's put his belt back on, you notice, and his lightsaber is clipped to it, although he's only half-dressed, his stained tunic remaining on the floor.
He looks a little surprised, but not startled. In fact, he seems to have been looking for you.
"I must apologize for leaving," he says, after the pause between you goes on too long to bear. "I needed to meditate."
Your eyes dip to the control panel briefly. Of course he surrendered himself to the force immediately. Of course he didn't think twice about whether it was dangerous. He belongs there. He's grounded by it. His confident embrace of the force is so unlike your tentative grasp.
"Did it help?" you ask, surprising yourself with the bitterness in your tone. You hadn't meant to say it that way; you'd meant it genuinely. Your emotions are out of balance, but you hadn't realized how far out of balance until now.
He's clearly noticed. He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it, expression uncertain. He opens it again. "No. It didn't."
Another long silence.
You want to apologize. You just aren't certain that if you start apologizing, you'll ever be able to stop. If you lower your protective walls long enough to say you're sorry, the tears will come along with it. So you look at the floor instead.
Obi Wan lowers himself into the seat next to you. His knees are close together, his hands in his lap as if he doesn't know quite what to do with them. "Are you alright?"
The question is enough to tighten your throat again. You have no idea where to begin. But he answers his own question before you can.
"Of course not."
You look up at him, surprised. "I'm not hurt, if that's what you're asking."
He's never been good at talking through things like this. He always leaves so much unsaid, just waiting for you to fill in the blanks.
"That is not what I'm asking." He pauses, then shakes his head gently. "I'm... so sorry. I know I can never take back what is done, but... I can't tell you how sorry I am."
You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly so you can speak evenly. "Don't apologize. It's me who should-"
You stop short, hardly able to get the words out. You force yourself to look into his eyes and say it. "I'm the one who should apologize."
"You?" He looks genuinely confused.
"I may not have been in control of myself, but it's no excuse for what I... did to you."
"What you did-"
You talk over him. "What I did, yes."
Your tone is becoming urgent. You'd rather not say it all out loud, but it's worse to let it go unsaid.
"I've known you a long time, Master. You've never shown a hint of what... what I saw last night. But I admit, I've felt things for you. And I know that if one of us is responsible for what happened, it's me. You saw me do it. The drugs made you susceptible, and I used a mind trick to..." you trail off, unable to finish the thought. You know he's able to take your meaning.
He stares at you, eyes darting between yours, leaning forward in his seat. You're unsure what he's looking for, but you find it difficult to hold his gaze. And it's precisely at this moment that the ship's auto pilot chooses to drop out of hyperspace.
The viewport fills with the bright surface of Coruscant, sparkling between the two of you like a jewel. You should be comforted at the sight of your home, but it only fills you with dread.
Obi Wan turns his chair slightly, pressing a few buttons. As he starts the calculations for landing, he lets out a soft sigh and turns back to face you. "We'll need to continue this conversation at another time."
You want to cry in frustration, but instead you nod blankly. A Jedi is what you were meant to be, and a Jedi you will continue to be today.
Despite what you've been through, you both know you're sitting on critical information. You can't afford the luxury of holding outside the atmosphere, taking time to talk when you should be reporting to the Jedi Council immediately.
The Council...
Your heart skips a beat. You hadn't thought that far ahead, yet. In minutes, you'll be on the surface and you'll need to share every detail of your experiences, as you always did. Written mission reports were discouraged when sensitive information - such as the total breakdown of relations between the Republic and the Pyke Syndicate - was involved. You would need to speak directly before the Council.
"Obi Wan," you say quietly, watching as he enters the atmosphere and receives instructions for your landing dock.
He looks over at you, briefly distracted from his approach by the use of his name. He blinks, and you continue.
"Our reports... what, exactly, should we include?"
He tightens his hand on one of the levers. "Everything. Exactly as it happened."
"I see," you respond automatically, struggling to keep the emotion from your voice. "I thought... perhaps there were certain elements we didn't need to share."
He swallows. "All of it is relevant to any steps they may take next. With the Separatists, and with us."
You lower your eyes. "I... understand that. And I understand we must tell them we were compromised, for everyone's safety, and our own. But what happened was... personal. I don't see how it has any bearing on the decisions that should be made about our abilities."
The ship is coming to a stop at a dock not far from the temple. The walk will be short. Obi Wan starts the engine cooldown procedure without looking at you.
"I will not keep secrets from the Council."
You expected as much, but some part of you had still hoped. You'll be humiliated beyond recovery. None of them will ever look at you the same way again - at either of you the same way. You're willing to believe that you won't be expelled from the Order. But a Master who took his Padawan to bed, regardless of the circumstances... your reputations will be destroyed overnight.
"I'm not asking you to keep secrets. But some things are best left to be dealt with by those involved, don't you think? I don't tell the Council everything from all my missions, but that doesn’t mean I'm keeping secrets. They don't need to know every time I sneeze."
"This wasn't a sneeze," he says warningly. His voice is sounding more like himself - more like your Master, which is both comforting and frustrating. He stands up to walk to the ship's exit hatch.
"I know," you tell him, following. "I know. It's just..." You reach out, surprising him by grasping at his arm to hold him still. He surprises you in return by allowing it.
"After all we've been through... So much has been taken from us in the past few days. I don't know if I can stand to be disgraced and lose everything else."
His eyes soften and he stands in the doorway, letting you grip his arm, just looking at you. Then he pulls his arm gently away and opens the door.
"You must understand... your reputation matters a great deal to me. It will always be my responsibility to protect you," he says slowly; haltingly. "But my life belongs to the Order. I will not lie when I am questioned. And I expect you to do the same."
He holds your gaze for a long time, then turns to start walking down the platform. You follow a few steps behind, trying to keep your back straight and your expression neutral. Not for the first time, you try to find the strength within yourself to match his, yet you find yourself falling short.
After a short and silent walk, you enter the temple. When you reach the Council chambers he stops outside to enter an alert at the datapad near the doorway, requesting the presence of all available Council members. Then, as he starts to walk in, you stay behind. He looks back at you expectantly.
"Are you coming?"
You hold back, shaking your head. "I'll give my report after yours. First, there's something else I need to take care of."
He furrows his brow just for a moment, looking slightly betrayed. Then he evens his face, tilting his head in calm acceptance. "When you are ready."
He turns to enter the Council chambers, then turns back just as you start to leave. He calls after you.
"When you are finished... perhaps we can continue our earlier conversation."
You're surprised. Nearly every other conversation that had ended with 'we'll discuss this later' had meant 'I don't want to discuss this now, or ever'. It seems he'd actually meant what he'd said on the ship.
You nod. "Where can I find you?"
"Come to my quarters when you're ready."
You nod again as he turns to enter the chambers and alter the course of both of your lives forever. You stand outside, hesitating, before heading toward your own quarters to wait, and to think. You don't have anywhere else to be, but you want to speak to the Council alone. There's a certain request you'd like to make, and it would be less complicated if you did it on your own.
Hours later, as the Coruscant sun grows darker and the city lights grow brighter, you walk down the long hallway to Obi Wan's personal quarters.
He's seated in meditation position when you open the door, entering after he calls for you to come in. He unfolds his legs, standing to meet you, wrapped in clean, new robes. You note his new tunic as well. You wonder if he ever went back to collect his stained tunic from the ship. You expect not. He thanks you for coming as you walk in, offering something to drink.
"No, thank you," you tell him. Your stomach is unsettled and you don't think even water would be received very well. He gestures for you to sit. You take your place at a small seating area as you have countless times before, in a time long past.
"How was your debriefing?" you ask, unable to hold back the question for another minute.
"Productive," he answers, unsurprised by the immediacy of the question, and yet clearly still hesitant to answer. "And yours?"
"Very much the same."
He nods. "That's... good. I assume you informed them of the Separatist vessel?"
"I did. I gave them the information for several of my contacts in the Kessel system, though I imagine some of them will be lying low after the... disturbance we caused, which I also detailed for them. We discussed my lack of restraint, and the unfortunate collateral damage. They seemed relieved, honestly, after my report confirmed yours - that there were at least no innocent civilians involved."
You shift uncomfortably in the chair, and he mirrors your brief silence at the mention of your victims.
"Aside from that, I answered their questions," you look at him hesitantly. "And that was all."
You wait for his reaction. You know he understands what you're implying - that you didn't tell them anything outside of the information that had been directly relevant to your mission. That you had held back.
When too much time goes by without him speaking, you softly clear your throat. "And you?"
He speaks quietly, as if still at odds with himself over the answer. "Very much the same."
You lift your gaze to meet his. "As in...?"
"We discussed the damage done to relations on Oba Diah. I shared with them the Separatist cruiser's coordinates. And I reported on my conduct during our captivity."
There it is. The hot knife in your gut twists.
"I... understand."
He goes on. "I informed them that we may both be compromised and should be kept under close scrutiny for changes in our behavior, due to the merciless killings that took place while we were... beyond ourselves."
You wait for him to continue, but he doesn't.
"And?"
"And I answered their questions. We will both be required to report to medical check-ins twice daily."
You can hardly breathe, waiting for him to finish his statement. "And...?"
"And once I had told them all the revelant information, we ended the meeting."
You search his gaze, trying to decipher whether he's toying with you, but he's never been so cruel. "You didn't-"
His head gives a slight shake. "No, I didn't tell them anything else." He smiles sadly, softly, and adds, "I've taken enough from you, young one. I could not bring myself to do it."
Your mouth falls open. "I... appreciate that. But that's what I've been trying to tell you. Please, don't believe that you're responsible for what happened. I know myself, and despite your best efforts, Master, I know you, too. You would never have done what we did unless I had forced you into it."
Your throat catches, but you keep talking, knowing he needs to hear it. "You told me to stop. And I didn't listen. That's how I know - it was me. When you touched me, and... everything else. It was all me."
He swallows so hard that you can hear it, leaning closer. "You mustn't blame yourself. We both had a part in-"
"Please, don't try to reason your way into thinking you're at fault," you interrupt, mildly frustrated at his refusal to let you be furious with yourself. "We both know-"
"No, you don't know that-"
"I was the one-"
He raises his voice above yours. "Will you listen to me?"
You go quiet, mouth closing.
"I know with full certainty that I was not coerced, or confused, or mind-tricked. I regret what I did. But it was under my own free will."
"How can you be sure?" you ask, defeated, almost in a whisper.
He parts his lips, no sound coming out at first, just looking at you carefully, his expression strained. "When I told you about that day in the gardens... there was no way for you to have known that. And it was true."
Speechless, you stare at him with wide eyes.
"Some thoughts cannot be prevented; they can only be managed. I was weak. I allowed my thoughts to become actions, and I betrayed myself."
Even as he admits it, he doesn't look away from you, just states things as a matter of fact. "And we must both be aware of our part in this before we can move on."
Your head nods as if someone else is doing it for you. Obi Wan, looking at you with dark thoughts... it doesn't fit inside your mind. He's infallible. It can't be.
"I... appreciate your honesty."
It's all you can think to say. Your head is parsecs away, fixating on the "s" he had chosen to add onto the word "thoughts". You drag yourself back to the present moment as he sits before you, waiting for you to continue.
"I agree that we should both address our part in this, as well. And that's why I wanted to speak to the Council alone. I made a request."
His brows come together as he looks at you with a touch of concern.
"I've asked to be stationed at a remote outpost, somewhere I won't be easily contacted. I... need some time off from assignments. My connection with the force... isn't what it should be. I asked to be removed from my current duties."
"What?"
You continue to speak before he can interject. "The Council has placed me on a small, secret base on Ilum. I'll be monitoring traffic through nearby systems and doing routine security checks."
"Commander, this is-"
"Obi Wan." You stop him again. He's using your title either consciously or subconsciously to insist on your identity. But you know in your heart this is what is right. "The decision is made. And it's the right one."
The deep blue of his eyes is piercing as he holds himself back from speaking. Then, he lets out a breath, his shoulders lowering. "If you're certain this is what you want, I will not stand in your way. But if you need guidance in your connection to the force, I would implore you to let me help."
You smile wistfully. "Thank you, Master. But I must do this on my own."
He nods, then reaches out to gently place his hand over yours. "You may do this on your own, but remember that you are never alone."
His touch is sweet and soft and painful, and the perfect reminder of why alone is exactly where you need to be.
-
More than a year later, you still wonder every single day whether you made the right decision.
Today, you're returning from yet another grueling trek across the planet's frozen surface to check security points, and you throw open the door to your small home, wind howling as you enter and slam it shut behind you.
Your life on Ilum has been hard. The Council had chosen Ilum as you had expressed to them that your traumatic experience had led you to uncertainty in your relationship with the force. Their belief was that the holy site, with its high concentration of kyber cyrstals, would help you reconnect. It also helped that it was far enough away from civilized planets that you couldn't become too much of a problem if you became unbalanced in your training.
You unwrap your face, taking off several layers to allow yourself to see properly inside, and notice a message waiting on your holoreceiver. It's from the Council. They haven't checked in for months. Intrigued, you press play as you start to peel off your coat and the rest of your outer layers.
Halfway through the message you stop, hands still. You stand frozen in your living room, listening to the words you can hardly believe you're hearing.
They've asked that you return to duty for a short mission on a nearby Separatist listening post. You will be reporting onboard a Republic cruiser in half a rotation, and checking in with the Captain. You will receive your instructions thereafter from the Jedi assigned to lead the mission.
General Kenobi expects your arrival shortly.
--
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