I LOVE the story!!! It's more than I could've hoped for 😭 I can't believe that dumbass didn't realize, of course a random person off the streets can't just attend an official state funeral. Would've loved to see him grovel a bit more to show he's truly remorseful, but it feels like such an Obi-Wan response to go "yes yes I made a mistake so sorry" -- and just retreat 🤦🏻♀️
Did you have any fun writing it? We're so lucky to have someone like you still taking requests and entertaining our Obi-Wan obsession ❤️❤️
yes i had fun although i got sad because i hate punching obi wan in the gut with feelings he normally represses lol.
Heeeeyyy I have a one shot idea! Would you write something with Obi Wan and Reader reconnection after Order 66 and it making him confess (mutual) feelings? Like kind of angsty bc he thinks reader is dead and she thinks the same of him?
Loving the Dead | obi-wan kenobi x f!reader
summary: Obi-Wan thought you died in the Purge. A chance encounter in a dusty Tatooine market shatters a decade of mutual grief, proving that some ghosts are still flesh and blood.
warnings: MDNI, angst, mutual yearning, emotional reunion, trauma, grief, PTSD, survivor's guilt, flashbacks, mild NSFW at the end.
A/N: sorry, not my best attemp at exhile Obi :(
The Force has been quiet for years. Not gone—never gone—merely grieving. He keeps his head lowered beneath the hood of his worn cloak as he navigates the narrow streets, avoiding eyes that linger too long. He is simply Ben. An old hermit looking for supplies. Nothing more. Nothing less.
He reaches the market stall just as someone beside him speaks.
"...They're charging twice what this is worth."
The voice is soft. Calm.
No. Impossible.
His hand freezes halfway toward a pouch of dried grain. His heart forgets how to beat.
The voice laughs under its breath, a quiet, familiar sound. "They always overcharge travelers."
No. No. No.
He turns. Slowly. Afraid that if he moves too quickly, whatever cruel miracle the Force has decided to grant him will vanish.
And there—standing three feet away. A weathered cloak. Hair longer than he remembers. Older. Thinner. Faint scars crossing one cheek. The light in your eyes has changed, but it's you. Alive.
You look up. Your eyes meet his. For one impossible heartbeat, neither of you breathes.
"...Obi-Wan?"
The name barely leaves your lips before your face drains of all color. He whispers your name like a prayer. Like a confession. Like grief finally given voice.
You stare. Your hand rises to your mouth. "I thought—"
The words leave both of you at exactly the same time. Then neither of you moves. Neither dares. Because dreams are cruel, and the Force has shown him illusions before. He cannot survive another.
You take one careful step. "So you're real."
He lets out a laugh that sounds suspiciously like a sob. "I was about to ask you the same."
Another step. "I watched the Temple burn."
"I saw your transport explode."
Your eyes widen, and his chest tightens. "I was on that transport," you say softly.
"You—"
"I wasn't on it when it exploded."
He stares, the reality of it washing over him. "You survived."
"So did you."
Silence. Then suddenly, the distance between you disappears. You're running, and so is he.
He catches you before either of you can think better of it. His arms wrap around you with desperate strength, and you crash into him so hard he nearly loses his footing. Neither of you cares. He has held dying soldiers, grieving children, broken friends—but nothing has ever felt like this. You are real. Warm. Alive.
He buries his face against your hair. You cling to the back of his robes with white-knuckled fingers.
"I mourned you," you whisper.
His eyes squeeze shut. "So did I."
Your shoulders shake. "I searched."
"I couldn't."
"I know."
"I'm sorry."
"I know." you hide your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. ''I know.''
******
Later—much later—you are sitting inside the tiny, sand-scoured home he claims on the outskirts of the wastes. The lights are dim. The tea has gone cold, untouched.
You spend hours filling in the missing years. The Temple. The clones. The purge. Friends who never escaped. Names spoken quietly; names that deserve remembering. Every story costs something to tell. Every memory leaves another scar open.
Eventually, the conversation simply stops. Not because there is nothing left to say, but because there is too much.
Obi-Wan watches you across the table. You survived against every impossible odd. He should be grateful, but instead, he feels a crushing weight of guilt. Because all he can think is: Stay. Stay here. Stay alive. Stay with me.
He crushes the thought before it can become hope. Hope is dangerous. Hope destroyed the Jedi.
"...You're staring."
He blinks, pulling himself back. "My apologies."
"You've been doing it for twenty minutes."
"I'd forgotten how observant you are."
"I never forgot."
Silence settles again, gentler this time. Then you ask the question that has been hanging in the air: "Why didn't you look for me?"
"I couldn't risk exposing Luke." The words leave him automatically—years of instinct, protection, and duty speaking for him. Then, more quietly, he adds, "And because... I couldn't survive finding your grave."
You stare at him. His gaze drops to the table.
"I buried everyone," his voice barely exists now. "Master Qui-Gon. The Order. Anakin." His throat closes. "You."
Another silence stretches. He lets out a single, humorless laugh. "I became rather good at grieving."
Something inside you breaks. You move around the table before thinking, kneeling beside his chair and taking his hand. He startles, looking down. You are holding his hand like he is the fragile one.
"You don't have to anymore," you tell him.
Obi-Wan looks down at your joined hands, a broken, humorless laugh escaping him. "You don't understand. I cannot let you stay here. I cannot let myself hope for a life. It is dangerous."
"Obi-Wan—"
"I loved you," he says.
The words are sudden, crashing into the quiet room with the weight of a decade's worth of silence. He looks at you, entirely exposed, the walls he built over a lifetime of Jedi discipline completely shattered.
"I loved you before the war," his voice shakes. "During it. After it. I loved you while believing you were dead." His laugh is broken. "I suppose that makes me rather hopeless."
You don't answer right away. He nods once, bracing himself. "There. Now it's said. I'm sorry."
He pulls his hand back, instinctively preparing to retreat, to put the distance of his duty back between you. Because that is what Obi-Wan Kenobi does. He suffers, and he walks away.
Your hand darts out, gripping his forearm firmly.
"You are an absolute idiot," you say, a tear finally slipping down your cheek, though you're laughing.
He blinks, completely derailed. "I beg your pardon?''
"I loved you too," you say, your voice fierce despite the tears. "I spent three years convinced I was projecting my own pathetic wishes onto a perfect, unyielding Jedi Master. I thought you were just being polite."
A faint, offended flush creeps up his neck, a beautiful flash of the man he used to be. "I wasn't polite to everyone."
"No," you soften, leaning closer. "Just to me."
"Only to you," he admits quietly.
You reach up, placing your palm against his cheek. He flinches slightly at the contact—unused to touch, unused to gentleness—and then he melts, leaning heavily into your hand, his eyes fluttering shut. His forehead comes to rest against yours. For a long, suspended moment, neither of you speaks. The Force, quiet for so many years, seems to breathe again around the two of you. Not loudly, not triumphantly, but with a profound, settling peace.
"I don't know what happens now," he admits, his breath warm against your skin.
"Neither do I."
"There are things I cannot abandon."
"I know."
His voice drops to a bare whisper. "We have both given everything to the galaxy. But if you'll allow it... I would like to stop mourning someone who is still alive."
The tears finally spill over your lashes. "So would I."
When he kisses you, it isn't desperate or rushed. It is gentle, reverent—like returning to a temple that somehow survived the fire. Like finding home after believing it had been permanently erased from the stars.
The warmth of his mouth against yours shatters the frozen landscape of the last ten years, dragging a deluge of buried memories to the surface. You remember the way he used to look during the war—not this ghost clad in coarse burlap, but General Kenobi in his pristine white plastoid armor, dirt-streaked and bloodied, standing over a tactical holotable with that fierce, brilliant focus in his eyes. You remember watching him from across a crowded command tent, his voice a steady anchor over the screams of the wounded and the rhythmic, deafening thud of artillery.
For a decade, that version of him had been a phantom haunting your sleep. You lost count of the restless nights spent on cold, unfamiliar planets, staring up at ceilings of durasteel or rock, listening to the unfamiliar rhythm of foreign worlds. In the suffocating dark of those nights, you had built this exact moment out of nothing but desperate imagination. You had conjured the phantom feel of his hand against your cheek, the specific cadence of his voice, inventing a reality where he survived just so you could breathe through the grief for one more hour. You had memorized the slope of his shoulders and the exact shade of his eyes, terrified that time would erode the image until you had nothing left.
Now, the illusion is gone, replaced by the heavy, undeniable weight of his hands on your face. His beard is rough against your skin, and the scent of him—sand, spice, and the distinct, grounding presence of his spirit in the Force—floods your senses. The phantom of the General dissolves into the reality of the man before you. His hands slide up to cup your jaw, his thumbs sweeping away the tears on your cheeks, grounding you both in the quiet, solid present of this small desert room.
"Obi-Wan," you breathe, the name a plea.
He groans against your skin, his hands sliding up beneath the hem of your tunic. His palms are rough, calloused from years of hard labor in the desert wastes, and the friction of them against your bare ribs makes you shiver, your hips tilting instinctively toward his. The contrast is intoxicating—the legendary, disciplined Jedi Master, completely undone by the touch of your skin.
"Tell me to stop," he whispers, his breath hot against your collarbone, though his fingers are already tightening, his thumbs tracing the curve of your waist with a fierce, possessive need. "If this is too much... if we shouldn't..."
"Don't you dare stop," you interrupt, your voice fierce through the dark. You take his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you, his blue eyes dark, blown out with a desire he has spent a lifetime suppressing. "We've given everything else away. Keep this. Let me keep this."
His gaze drops to your mouth, and whatever restraint he had left finally snaps.
Obi-Wan sweeps you up, the distance to the small, low cot in the corner of the room disappearing in an instant. When you hit the mattress, he follows you down, his heavy body pinning you into the blankets as the years of restraint finally dissolve in the dark.
"sir, this is the third time this week you've come to my door to explain why Obi-Wan's abandonment issues started before Naboo." "and i'll be back tomorrow."
You are by far one of the best Obi-Wan writers I've read!! Thank you thank you for insulting our x reader cravings 😭
One more for you if you're still into it -- something angsty about the time he faked his death. Reader is NOT a Jedi. Maybe not even a politician? (I know makes it harder then to figure out how they met but maybe not necessary here). Basically, as someone sooo far on the outskirts of his orbit, having to find out he's dead through a public announcement, and then feeling like she couldn't even attend his funeral to say goodbye. And when he returns it takes him way to long to understand why this was a devestation layer cake.
Up to you if you want it to end happy.
Someone To You I clone wars!obi-wan kenobi x reader
summary: After you buried the one person you loved most, he appears on your doorstep, but you no longer want him back.
warnings: ANGST! Post-Hardeen Arc, deception, fake death, grief/mourning, emotional hurt, hurt no comfort, established relationship.
A/N: this is THE most obi-wan thing imaginable.
The holonet cuts into a weather report with a solemn, electronic chime that makes your stomach instantly drop before a single word is spoken.
“Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi has been killed in action…”
The cup slips from your fingers. It hits the floor, shattering into a dozen pieces, splashing lukewarm liquid across your bare feet. You don’t even flinch.
The funeral is broadcast, too. Not all of it, of course—just the parts deemed suitable for public consumption. Just enough to let the Republic know its perfect soldier is gone.
Rows of stoic, uniform Jedi. Full military honors. The Chancellor delivering a speech that tastes like ash even through a viewer screen. The camera pans across faces that look shattered in ways they are trying desperately to hide—Anakin Skywalker looking like a man ready to tear the stars down from the sky; Senator Amidala with her jaw set, rigid as stone.
You search every frame, leaning so close to the screen your eyes burn. You look for a glitch. A mistake. A sign of him stepping into view from the wings, or someone laughing because it has all been some terrible, bureaucratic misunderstanding.
Nothing. Just an empty ceremonial bier.
You almost go. Twice you pack a bag. Twice you reach the crowded, noisy terminal of the Coruscant spaceport.
Twice you turn around.
What are you supposed to say if someone stops you? If a clone trooper demands your identification at the sector checkpoint? You aren’t a senator. You aren’t a member of the Jedi Order. You aren’t family. You aren’t military.
You are just…
Someone who knows he takes his tea too hot because he always forgets to wait, swallowing the first sip with a sharp, familiar wince. Someone who knows he absentmindedly rubs the bridge of his nose right between his eyes when he’s gone forty-eight hours without sleep.
There is no designated seating for someone like you at a state funeral. There is no protocol for the grief of an asterisk.
So you go back to your apartment. You light a small, tallow candle. You talk to the flame for nearly an hour, your voice a cracked, pathetic thing in the quiet room, telling him everything you should have said before the galaxy pulled him under.
Eventually, the routine changes. You stop setting out a second cup whenever you put the kettle on. You stop glancing toward the door whenever the sub-level lift groans to a halt on your floor. You stop thinking-
No. You never stop thinking. You just learn how to exist without expecting.
He comes to your apartment a week later.
He knocks three times, crisp and measured, as though this is simply the next conversation in a series you’ve been having for years.
You open the door.
There he is. Alive. Whole. Wearing a standard civilian cloak that smells faintly of mid-rim starports and ozone. He looks at you with a cautious, terrifying sort of hope.
“…Darling,” he says, his voice rough around the edges.
You stare. The universe tilts on its axis, grinding its teeth.
“I imagine this comes as something of a surprise.”
A surprise.
Your vision blurs, hot and sudden. Before the logical part of your brain can register the movement, your palm collides with his cheek. It’s a sharp, stinging crack that echoes in the narrow hallway.
He doesn’t try to block it. He doesn’t raise his voice, there’s no flash of anger in his eyes—just a quiet, heavy resignation.
“You died,” you whisper.
“I know the circumstances-”
“You died.”
“I couldn't-”
“You died.” The third time, your voice completely breaks, the jagged edges of it tearing at your throat. “You let me believe you were dead.”
“I couldn't tell anyone,” he says, and he sounds so profoundly tired, but it doesn't matter. It doesn't fix the hole in your chest.
“I watched your funeral, Obi-Wan.”
“It was necessary.”
His expression changes then. Only slightly. A tiny twitch in the corner of his eye, a sudden stillness in his shoulders. But it’s enough.
“I couldn't even go,” you say, the realization tasting like bile.
“…You couldn't?”
“What exactly was I supposed to tell the Temple guards?” You let out a laugh, and it sounds horrible, a wet, ragged sound. “‘Excuse me, please let me through the barricades, I’d like to attend the service because sometimes he came over for tea and we fucked’?”
His mouth opens. Closes.
“I wasn't…” you whisper, looking down at his boots. “I wasn't anyone.”
He hadn't thought about that. You can see it in the sudden, pale slackness of his face. Not once.
The Council. Anakin. Satine. Everyone important had been accounted for. Everyone whose grief carried strategic consequences, everyone whose knowledge posed a security risk to the mission. He had accepted their pain as a tactical cost. Painful, but necessary.
He had never—not for a single second—considered the people who would simply have no place to mourn. The people who didn't exist on a Republic census of his life.
“I lit a candle,” you say, your eyes drifting past him to the empty hallway. “I talked to it.”
His chest tightens, his hand twitching beneath his robe as if reaching for you, then dropping.
“I said goodbye.” You laugh again, smaller this time. “I got really angry afterward because I realized if you were here, you would've told me the candle was a fire hazard.”
“I mourned you,” you continue, your voice dropping into a terrifyingly gentle register. “I did all the work, Obi-Wan. I cried. I packed away the books you left on the counter because looking at them made me feel like I was suffocating. I started to learn how to exist in a world where you didn't.”
You finally meet his eyes again, and they are clear, hard, and entirely devastating.
“And then you knocked on my door.”
“I am so sorry.” The apology comes instantly. Honestly. His voice cracks on the last syllable.
You shake your head. “No.”
“I am.”
“No.”
“You have every right-”
“You don't understand.”
“I'd like to.”
“No,” you say, your voice flatly final. “You don't.”
You walk past him, brushing your shoulder against his cloak as you move toward the little kitchen alcove. On the drying rack by the sink, there is only one mug sitting out. Just one.
“I already survived losing you,” you say, your fingers resting over the ceramic handle. “I don't know what to do with getting you back.”
Not you lied to me. Not how could you hurt me.
I already survived losing you.
He takes it like a physical blow, his shoulders caving in slightly, his weight shifting back toward the door.
“I can't ask you to forgive me,” he says, standing several feet away now. Careful. Like he’s trying not to startle a wounded animal.
“I wouldn't.”
“I know.”
“I can't even promise it would never happen again.”
“…I know.”
“The life I lead…”
“I know.”
Each of your answers is sharper than the last, a succession of small, neat cuts. He blinks, looking entirely confused—as though your agreement should have made this easier. As though understanding the grand, galactic reasons behind the lie should somehow erase the bleeding wound in the middle of your living room.
“I wish I'd known,” he says quietly, his hands catching in his sleeves.
You look up from the counter. “Known what?”
“That there was someone else who deserved the chance to say goodbye.”
Your throat tightens so fiercely it hurts to draw breath. “You did know.”
He frowns, a small, puzzled crease forming between his brows.
You look around the tiny, cramped apartment—at the worn chair he always claimed first because the springs were better, at the small, leafy plant on the sill he always watered without being asked, at the dented kettle still sitting cold on the stove.
“You just didn't know the galaxy would never count me,” you say.
The HoloNet had announced the death of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. High General of the Grand Army. Hero of the Republic.
No one had announced the loss of the man who drank tea in your kitchen, burned his tongue because he was too impatient, and always remembered to tend to your plants before he slipped out into the Coruscant night.
Those two men had died together.
Only one of them had received a funeral.
And that is the grief he cannot find the words to apologize for.
this is kind of specific but still take ur lovely creative libertiessss TOTALLY PICK AND CHOOSE WHAT U WANT IF IT DOESNT ALL SPEAK TO U :)
anakin x reader in which reader is being terribly overworked by the council (they’re both jedi) and literally like. COLLAPSES ON THE BATTLEFIELD one day. ani is MAD mad, but he stays by their side bc reader > giving council piece of his mind. maybe like reader actuslly ends up comforting ani so it’s the other way around which is ironic and kinda funny.
ILY AND UR WRITINGGGG
Nothing Left to Give I clone wars!anakin skywalker x jedi!reader
summary: you almost die on the battlefield, and Anakin Skywalker decides he is officially done following orders.
warnings: whump, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, severe physical exhaustion, battlefield collapse/fainting, medical emergency, panic attacks/shock response, protective!Anakin, angry!Anakin, possessive undertones, heavy angst, dark/unhealthy coping mechanisms
A/N: sorry i couldn't help myself, i love a darker side of ani :)
For the past three months, the Jedi Council had treated you less like a Knight and more like an infinite resource. If there was a diplomatic breakdown in the Mid Rim, you were sent. If a supply line was ambushed, you were redirected. Sleep had become a luxury you could only afford in twenty-minute increments aboard shaking dropships.
Anakin had warned you. He’d argued with Obi-Wan, paced circles in your quarters, and practically begged you to refuse the last deployment to this nameless, dust-choked Outer Rim rock. But the Council’s word was absolute, and you had thought you could handle it.
You were wrong.
The Separatist droid line was advancing through the canyon. Beside you, Anakin was a blur of blue light, his lightsaber deflecting a barrage of blaster fire with practiced, lethal precision.
"Keep pushing toward the ridge!" Anakin shouted over the din of explosions, his voice cutting through the chaos. "If we take the high ground, we—"
Your lightsaber felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Your vision didn't just blur; it fragmented. The red blaster bolts streaking through the air multiplied into a dizzying kaleidoscope. Your knees didn't buckle so much as they simply ceased to exist.
The hum of your blade died as it slipped from your numb fingers. The hard, unforgiving earth rushed up to meet you.
"Hey—hey!"
Anakin didn't just run; he moved with a terrifying, Force-assisted speed that blurred reality. Before your torso could even hit the dirt, his flesh-and-blood arm caught you, dragging your limp body behind a crumbling rock outcrop.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice dropping into a register you had never heard before—low, vibrating with a raw, dangerous panic. He deflected a stray bolt with his robotic hand, not even looking at the threat, his eyes entirely locked on your pale face. "Open your eyes. That’s an order. Open them."
You tried. Your eyelids felt like lead. "Ani..." you breathed, the sound barely clearing your lips. "I'm... just tired."
"No. No, don't do that," he snarled, though the anger wasn't meant for you. His hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you flush against his chest. Through the fabric of his tunics, you could feel his heart hammering like a trapped bird. "Rex! Cover us! Now!"
"Sir?" Rex’s voice crackled over the comms, laced with sudden urgency.
"Secure the perimeter! We’re holding position!" Anakin roared into his wrist-comm, his jaw clenched so tightly you heard his teeth grind.
He looked down at you, his thumb frantically brushing dirt off your cheek. Your skin was ice-cold and slick with sweat, despite the searing heat of the battlefield. The Force around you wasn't flowing; it was stagnant, drained to the absolute dregs.
They did this, the thought poisoned his mind, a sudden, blinding flash of pure, unadulterated fury. The Council. Yoda, Windu, all of them. Sitting in their comfortable chairs while they bleed you dry.
The anger rolled off him in waves so potent you could feel it even through your haze. The air around him grew heavy, oppressive. For a split second, the dust swirling around the rock outcrop seemed to freeze in mid-air, bowing to the sheer pressure of his rage.
"Anakin," you whispered, trying to reach for his hand, but your arm wouldn't obey. "Don't... don't be mad."
"I am mad," he choked out, his grip tightening around you, pulling you so close you could feel the trembling in his chest. His eyes were dark, a storm brewing behind them that terrified and comforted you all at once. "I told them you needed rest. I told them."
A mortar shell exploded fifty yards away, showering the outcrop with debris. Anakin didn't even flinch. He simply shifted his body, using his own back as a shield to protect you from the falling rocks.
"You're going to be fine," he muttered, his voice dropping into a desperate, fierce vow. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath hot and ragged. "Do you hear me? I’m not letting you go. Squeeze my hand. Come on, use the Force, do whatever you have to do, just stay with me."
You managed the faintest twitch of your fingers against his gauntlet.
It was barely anything, but it was enough to keep him from completely tearing the battlefield apart. Anakin closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, breathing out a shaky, fractured breath, before his gaze snapped back to the canyon, burning with a lethal promise.
"Rex!" he barked into the comm, his voice dropping all Jedi restraint. "Get the gunship down here now, or I will bring it down myself."
"General, the airspace is crawling with vulture droids! Bringing a gunship into the canyon right now is suicide!"
"I don't care!" Anakin roared, the sound tearing from his throat. The sheer force of his voice caused the dust at his feet to ripple outward in a perfect circle. "You get that ship down here, Captain, or you won't have a General left to command!"
He didn't wait for a reply. He clicked the comm off, his full attention snapping back down to you.
Your head rolled weakly against his shoulder. Your eyes were half-open, glazed over, staring blankly at the smoke-choked sky. The faint, rhythmic pulse of your life force felt like a dying ember in his mind, flickering precariously against the dark.
"Stay with me," he pleaded, his voice cracking, losing all of its terrifying edge and reverting to something fragile, almost childlike. He pressed his gloved hand firmly against your sternum, trying—desperately, clumsily—to push his own boundless, swirling Force energy into your depleted reserves. "Take it. Come on, take it from me. I have plenty."
A harsh gasp escaped your lips as the sudden jolt of his raw power hit your system. It didn't heal you—it couldn't fix the profound, systemic exhaustion the Council had inflicted upon you—but it forced your heart to keep beating. Your fingers twitched, feebly clutching at the dark fabric of his tunic.
"Ani..." you breathed, a tear cutting a clean path through the grime on your face. "It hurts. Everything hurts."
"I know. I know, angel," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours again. The proximity was dangerous, entirely un-Jedi but he couldn't bring himself to care.
Above you, the sky screamed.
A Republic gunship roared over the lip of the canyon, its laser turrets firing blindly into the smog to clear a path. Vulture droids swarmed it like angry insects, sparks flying as a heavy bolt clipped the ship’s left wing. It descended rapidly, tail sliding in the loose dirt, slamming into the ground a mere ten yards from your outcrop.
The blast doors slid open. "Sir! Move, move!" Rex yelled, leaning out of the hold, his DC-17 blasters laying down a wall of cover fire.
Anakin didn't hesitate. He scooped you up in one fluid, powerful motion, cradling you against his chest as if you weighed nothing at all. He didn't use a stretcher; he wouldn't let anyone else touch you.
As he stepped out from behind the rock, a battle droid managed to bypass the clones' line, aiming its blaster rifle directly at your limp form.
Anakin didn't even draw his lightsaber.
With a brutal flick of his mechanical wrist, a wave of pure, concentrated telekinetic fury slammed into the droid. The metal chassis didn't just fly backward; it imploded, collapsing in on itself before shattering into a hundred jagged pieces against the canyon wall.
He vaulted into the gunship, his boots hitting the metal deck with a heavy thud. "Get us out of here! Now!" he bellowed at the pilots.
The doors slammed shut, cutting off the deafening roar of the battlefield, replacing it with the high-pitched whine of the ship's engines as it pulled into a steep, vertical climb. The sudden G-force made your head swim, and a soft groan escaped your lips.
Anakin immediately slid down the wall of the gunship, keeping you securely locked in his lap. He ignored Rex, ignored the medic clone rushing forward with a scanner, ignored everything but the ghost of a pulse fluttering beneath your jaw.
"General Skywalker, I need to check their vitals—" the medic started, reaching out.
"Give me the oxygen mask," the General snapped, his eyes flashing a warning so severe the clone instantly froze, dropping his hands. "And prepare sedatives."
"No, Anakin no—" you weakly rasped but he interrupted you.
"Shhh. it's going to be okay. You don't have to worry about anything right now, they're going to help you." his gloved finger traced small circles on your cheek.
The medic quickly handed over the equipment and stepped back, exchanging a wary look with Rex.
With surprisingly gentle hands, Anakin fitted the mask over your face. He watched the plastic cloud up with your shallow breaths, his own chest heaving in tandem.
"Ani..." you breathed, the sound muffled by the mask. "Too... loud. Stop."
He knew what you meant. He knew his emotions were bleeding into the Force, battering against your already fractured mind. He tried to pull his presence back, tried to build the walls the Jedi masters always preached about, but the anger was too vast. It tasted like ash in his mouth.
The gunship suddenly banked hard to the left, a violent explosion rocking the hull. Sparks showered from the ceiling.
You gasped, your body tensing in Anakin’s arms as a spike of pure, unadulterated pain shot through your nervous system. Your eyes flew open, but they were unfocused, wild with panic. You didn't see the gunship; you were still back in the mud, under the blaster fire, drowning in the endless, suffocating weight of your duties.
"I can't," you choked out, your hands clawing blindly at Anakin's chest, tearing at his tunics. "I have to... the ridge... the Council said we have to hold the ridge... I can't fail them..."
"Shh, shh, look at me, you're not there," Anakin pleaded, his voice breaking as he caught your flailing hands, forcing your fingers to intertwine with his. He pressed his lips to your sweat-dampened forehead, his heart shattering at the absolute terror in your voice. "You didn't fail anyone. You hear me? Screw the ridge. Screw the Council."
"They'll... they'll be disappointed..." you whispered, your vision beginning to tunnel into blackness again. "I have to get up..."
"No. You're staying right here," he said, his voice dropping into a register of absolute authority, laced with a terrifying undercurrent of dark promise. He poured his own vital energy into you through your joined hands, a burning, desperate tide to keep your consciousness from slipping into the dark. "Let them be disappointed. Let them judge us. I don't care anymore."
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, his voice a fierce, possessive whisper that the clones couldn't hear over the roaring engines.
Your eyes drifted shut again, the warmth of his power finally overriding the panic in your chest, pulling you down into a deep, healing sleep. Anakin didn't let go. He held you tighter, his gaze fixed on the closed blast doors, waiting for the ship to land, his mind already burning the bridges that connected him to the Jedi Order.
obi wan and reader get into an argument, maybe about their future after TCW, on the jedi order and stuff, maybe starting their own family or something, but they disagree. obi is the perf lil jedi, wanting to obey the order.
BUT. THEN READER GETS TERRIBLY HURT. omgomg Im thinking ANGSTY ANGST. maybe in obi’s arms for the extra ANGSTT? and he realizes he would choose them over the jedi order.
BUT LIKE THEY LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER :D
have a lovely day and thank u in advance if u decide to do it! if not, no worries!! I ADORE ur writing but some weird tumblr glitch doesnt let me comment GRRRRR
Where We Belong I obi-wan kenobi x f!reader
summary: He is the perfect Jedi, loyal to a fault—until a devastating strike leaves you bleeding in his arms, forcing him to choose between the Order he serves and the person he cannot live without.
warnings: hurt/comfort, injury, ANGST, mentions of blood, near death expierience, fluff at the end.
A/N: sorry for the wait darling, i had to rewrite this 2 times because i couldn't decide on the ending hah. inbox is always open :)
You stood by the glass, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, watching the Jedi Temple loom in the distance. The Clone Wars were grinding toward some kind of end—everyone could feel it—but instead of relief, a suffocating dread had settled into your chest.
"Say it again," you said, your voice dangerously quiet. "Look me in the eye and say it again, Obi-Wan."
Obi-Wan sat at the small holotable, his fingers pressed together in a perfect, meditative steeple. He looked exhausted, the lines around his eyes deeper than they had been a year ago, but his posture was rigid. The perfect, untouchable Jedi Master.
"I said," he began, his voice infuriatingly calm, "that when the war ends, my place is here. With the Order. My duties to the Council, to Anakin, to the Republic... they do not simply vanish because the fighting stops."
You spun around, the fabric of your robes sweeping against the floor. "And what about us? What about the life we talked about when we thought we wouldn't survive the week?"
"Those were... comfort in a dark time," Obi-Wan said, though a tiny fracture in his composure showed in the sudden tightening of his jaw. "We allowed ourselves to dream of things we cannot have. But the reality is that I am a Jedi. I have taken vows."
"Vows to an Order that is actively rotting from the inside out!" You took a step toward him, your voice rising, thick with a mix of anger and unshed tears. "You’ve seen what this war has done to us, Obi-Wan. Look at Anakin. Look at what they did to Ahsoka! The Council is blind, and you are willingly letting them keep the blindfold over your eyes."
"That is enough," he snapped, his voice dropping an octave. The calm facade cracked, just for a fraction of a second, revealing the raw, bleeding stress underneath. He stood up, towering over the table. "You cross a line. The Order has stood for a thousand generations. We maintain peace, we—"
"We are soldiers!" you shouted, the truth bursting out of you. "We are generals in a war that has no heroes! I don't want to lose you to this, Obi-Wan. I want more. I want a life where we don't have to hide. I want a home. I want a family. With you."
The word hung in the air, heavy and fragile. A family.
Obi-Wan froze. For a terrifyingly beautiful moment, you saw it in his eyes—the yearning, the desperate, aching human part of him that wanted to throw down his lightsaber, pack a ship, and never look back. He loved you. You knew he loved you so much it terrified him.
But then, the shutters closed. The Jedi Master returned, cold and unyielding.
"Attachment is forbidden," he whispered, the words sounding like a practiced mantra, a shield to protect himself from his own desires. "A family... it is a beautiful dream. But it is not my path. If I were to leave, if I were to choose myself over the galaxy, I would be failing everyone who relies on me. I cannot be selfish."
"Selfish?" You let out a harsh, broken laugh, a tear finally slipping down your cheek. "Wanting a life with the person you love is selfish? Wanting to raise a child in a galaxy that isn't burning is selfish?"
"Yes," he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "For a Jedi, it is."
You stared at him, the realization settling into your stomach like lead. He wasn't going to choose you. He was never going to choose you. He would march right into the jaws of whatever destiny the Force had for him, perfectly obedient, perfectly loyal, until there was nothing left of him but ash.
"You're a coward," you whispered.
Obi-Wan flinched as if you had struck him. His hands trembled slightly at his sides, but he didn't move to close the distance between you. He didn't reach out to wipe your tear.
"I am doing what is right," he countered, though his voice lacked its usual certainty. It sounded hollow.
"No," you said, taking a step backward, away from him, away from the warmth of the life you had imagined. "You're doing what is safe. It's easier for you to die for their code than it is to live for me."
You turned toward the door, your heart shattering into a million jagged pieces. You didn't look back to see the agonizing heartbreak painting his face, or the way he reached a hand out toward you, only to drop it back to his side, letting the Force swallow his silent cry.
******
The alarm klaxons inside the hangar bay were a deafening, rhythmic scream, but to Obi-Wan, the world had gone entirely, terrifyingly silent.
The smoke was thick, smelling of ozone, burning durasteel, and blood. Only an hour ago, the Separatist ambush had ripped through the sector. Only an hour ago, he had been a Jedi Master, commanding troops with a stoic, detached precision.
Now, he was just a man tearing through the debris, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped animal.
"Where are they?!" he roared over the comms, his voice stripped of all its usual Coruscant refinement. "Anakin, where is the medical transport?!"
“Obi-Wan, the bay took a direct hit from an orbital strike,” Anakin’s voice crackled through, panicked and strained. “We’re trying to clear the rubble, but—”
Obi-Wan didn’t listen to the rest. Through the haze of smoke, the Force didn't just whisper to him; it violently pulled him toward a collapsed support pillar. He dropped his lightsaber entirely, throwing his hands out to lift the heavy durasteel beam with a desperate, chaotic surge of telekinesis. He flung it aside, crashing it into the far wall, and plummeted to his knees.
There you were.
"No," he breathed, the word a fragile, broken thing. "No, no, no..."
You were pale, your breath coming in shallow, agonizing hitches. A jagged piece of shrapnel was embedded deep in your side, and the crimson stain spreading across your clothes was impossibly large, pooling onto the cold metal floor.
Obi-Wan slid his arms beneath you, pulling you onto his lap, his hands instantly slick with your blood. He gathered you against his chest, his body trembling so violently that your head lollled against his shoulder.
"I am here. I have you," he choked out, pressing a trembling hand over the wound, trying in vain to stop the flow. The brilliant, perfect Jedi Master was entirely gone; he was just a desperate soul begging the universe for mercy. "Look at me, darling, please. Keep your eyes on me. Help is coming. Anakin is bringing medics."
You let out a weak, wet cough, a trickle of blood staining your lip. You tried to raise a hand to touch his face, but your arm lacked the strength, dropping heavily against his chest. Obi-Wan caught your hand, crushing it between both of his, pressing your knuckles against his lips.
"It hurts," you whispered, a tear cutting a clean line through the soot on your cheek. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry we fought..."
"Shh, don't speak, save your strength," he pleaded, his voice cracking completely. Tears were streaming openly down his face now, dripping onto your forehead. He didn't care. He didn't care about decorum, or the clones nearby, or the Code. "It doesn't matter. None of it matters. I am so sorry. I was wrong. By the Force, I was so wrong."
The Jedi Order. The Republic. The Council. The thousand-generation legacy.
As he held your fragile, fading body in his arms, the entire galaxy shrank down to the space between his chest and yours. The grand ideals he had defended his entire life suddenly looked like ash. What was a Republic if it demanded the sacrifice of the only soul that made the universe worth saving? What was a Code if it forced him to look at the person he loved dying and tell himself it was 'the will of the Force'?
It was a lie. It was all a hollow, terrifying lie.
"I would leave," Obi-Wan sobbed, bowing his head until his forehead rested against yours, his nose brushing yours, breathing in your failing breath. "Do you hear me? If you stay with me, I will leave it all behind. We will go to Naboo, or the Outer Rim, anywhere you want. I don't care about the Order. I don't care about being a Jedi. I choose you. I choose us."
"Obi-Wan..." your eyes began to drift, your fingers loosening their grip on his robes.
"No! Stay with me! Stay with me!" he screamed into the smoke, pulling you impossibly tighter, as if he could physically hold your soul inside your body. "Don't you dare close your eyes! I love you, I love you, please..."
In the distance, the hangar doors finally hissed open, and the frantic shouting of medics echoed through the hall, but Obi-Wan didn't look up. He just rocked you in the ruins, weeping into your hair, never being so scared in his life.
—
"You DIED?!" your daughter, Siri, gasped, her blue eyes wide with pure, unfiltered shock.
The look on her face made you chuckle, the sound warm and light against the backdrop of the soft Naboo breeze filtering through the open terrace. "Not exactly, sweetheart," you said, smoothing a hand over her hair. "But I did sleep for a very, very long time after that. I nearly sent your father to an early grave."
From the small kitchen table, Obi-Wan huffed, setting down his teacup with a tiny, indignant click. "I do not find that funny in the slightest," he murmured, though the fierce look of adoration in his eyes betrayed his stern tone. "I was truly terrified, darling. My heart didn't properly beat again until you finally opened your eyes."
"I'm sorry," you softened, leaning over the back of his chair to press a lingering, apologetic kiss to his bearded cheek. He sighed, leaning into your touch, his hand reaching up to warmly cup the back of your neck.
"And what happened after you woke up, Mommy?"
You looked down at your four-year-old son, Qui, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, tugging insistently on the hem of your tunic. His small brow was furrowed with the utmost seriousness.
You smiled, sitting down on the rug beside him and pulling him into your lap. "Well, your father and I had some very serious conversations. He realized that a certain dusty old Temple wasn't where he belonged anymore. So, he kept his promise. We packed our things, left Coruscant far behind, and came to live right here."
You gestured to the sun-drenched villa around you, the sound of the lakes in the distance a peaceful, permanent reminder of the choice he had made. "In our home. Together."
Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock.
It wasn’t a polite request for entry; it was a tactical assault on the front door.
Obi-Wan’s shoulders dropped, a heavy, long-suffering sigh escaping his lips. "Speak of the Sith," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.
You laughed, kissing the top of Qui’s head as you stood up. "I'll get it."
The moment you slid the door open, the peaceful serenity of your Naboo afternoon was instantly vaporized.
"I told you we should have called ahead!" Padmé’s voice cut through the air, exasperated but carrying that familiar, fond warmth. She stepped into the foyer, looking effortlessly regal as always, though she was currently trying to juggle a wicker basket of fresh Alderaanian fruits and a very squirmy, six-year-old Luke.
"We didn't need to call, Padmé, we’re family," Anakin insisted, striding in right behind her. He looked completely unchanged—messy curls, black tunics, and a mischievous grin—except for the fact that he had a laughing, six-year-old Leia slung completely over his shoulder like a sack of meallura fruit. "Besides, I wanted to see the look on Obi-Wan’s face when I—whoa!"
"Uncle Anakin!" Siri shrieked with delight, completely abandoning her spot on the couch. She bolted across the room and launched herself straight at his waist.
Anakin caught her expertly with his free arm, lifting her up with a booming laugh. "Hey, there's my favorite niece! Look how tall you got! Leia, look, Siri’s catching up to you."
"Nu-uh!" Leia protested from her upside-down vantage point, kicking her legs. "Put me down, Daddy, I want to play with Qui!"
"Anakin, put the child down before you break something in their house," Padmé sighed, though a smile tugged at her lips as she caught your eye. She walked over, pressing a brief hug against your shoulder. "I am so sorry. He insisted on a surprise visit."
"Are you kidding? I love the chaos," you laughed, taking the heavy basket from her arms.
"Chaos is an understatement," Obi-Wan’s voice echoed from the living room. He walked out into the foyer, his arms crossed over his chest, though the massive, bright smile on his face entirely ruined his attempt at looking stern. "Anakin. I see you still haven't learned how to use a comlink. Or a doorbell."
Anakin dumped Leia safely onto the floor—where she immediately grabbed Qui's hands and started spinning him in circles—and grinned at his former master. "Why use a comlink when I can just sense your old-man energy radiating across the continent, Obi-Wan?"
"My 'old-man energy' is called peace and quiet, Anakin. A concept you are clearly still warring with," Obi-Wan retorted, but the moment Anakin stepped forward, your husband met him halfway, pulling him into a fierce, tight hug.
He caught your gaze over Anakin’s shoulder. Stepping away from his former Padawan, he navigated the chaotic minefield of discarded toys and rushing children until he reached you. Without a word, his hand slid around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.
You leaned your head onto his shoulder, watching Anakin try to referee a tag game while Padmé laughed from the living room.
"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" Obi-Wan murmured, his voice a low, velvety rumble against your hair. His thumb brushed comforting, slow circles over your hip.
"About how close we came to losing this?" you whispered softly, looking up at him. "Yeah. Sometimes."
Obi-Wan stopped watching the terrace and turned fully to you, pressing his forehead gently against yours. The heavy, agonizing grief of that smoke-filled hangar bay belonged to a lifetime ago, completely washed away by the warmth of his gaze.
"I am glad we didn't lose it," he breathed, a tender, breathtakingly soft smile breaking through his beard. He leaned down to press a sweet, lingering kiss to your lips—one that tasted of safety, of home, and of a lifetime of promised tomorrows. "I am right where I belong, darling. With you."
If you're open to it -- I'd love to get your take on an Obi-Wan love triangle situation between Satine and the reader. Not necessarily an active love triangle, maybe just the reader feeling unsure, or sensing that he still cares for her, or maybe she's jealous. IDK, I don't have a clear direction in mind. I'd just love to see how you think Obi-Wan would navigate that and what he feels 🙏🏻
The Other Woman I obi-wan kenobi x f!reader ft. satine kryze
warninigs: hurt/comfort, emotional reassurance, mutual yearning, mention of past canon relationships, mild angst / relationship insecurity.
A/N: obi wan kenobi is ruining my life (affectionate)
The flickering holographic map of the Outer Rim cast a cool, sapphire glow across the strategy table, but it did nothing to take the chill out of the room.
You stared at the glowing blue topography, pretending to study the Separatist supply lines. In reality, you were acutely aware of the two people standing just a few feet away.
Obi-Wan and Duchess Satine Kryze.
They weren’t touching—they rarely did, given her staunch pacifist protocols and his strict adherence to the Jedi Code—but the space between them was practically humming. They were locked in a sharp, witty debate about Republic troop deployment on Mandalore. It was a dance they had mastered years ago: a rapid-fire exchange of teasing barbs, exasperated sighs, and a deep, unspoken history that hung heavy in the air.
You shifted on your feet, suddenly feeling incredibly small. And incredibly out of place.
Technically Obi-Wan wasn't sneaking off into the shadows with her, nor was he stringing you along. In fact, since you and him had quietly crossed the line from trusted allies to something much deeper, he had been nothing but attentive. But seeing them together always felt like watching a masterpiece you weren't allowed to touch. Satine represented a whole lifetime of what-ifs for Obi-Wan. She was the woman he explicitly admitted he would have left the Jedi Order for.
How were you supposed to compete with a ghost from the past that was currently standing right in front of you?
"The Republic cannot simply march its clones into Sundari, Obi-Wan," Satine said, her voice a perfect blend of regal authority and familiar exasperation. "It undermines everything I have built."
"And leaving you unprotected undermines my ability to sleep at night, Satine," Obi-Wan countered, his tone dropping into that soft, fiercely protective register that usually made your heart skip a beat.
Right now, it just made your chest ache.
You quietly stepped back from the table. "If you'll excuse me," you murmured, keeping your voice even. "I should check on the security detail for the Duchess's transport."
Satine offered a polite, elegant nod. Obi-Wan’s eyes tracked you, a slight crease forming between his brows, but the Duchess asked him another sharp question before he could speak, pulling his attention back to the map.
An hour later, you were standing on one of thehigh balconies, watching the endless streams of Coruscant traffic blur into streaks of light. The night air was crisp, but it didn't cool the restless, looping thoughts in your head.
I should just step back, you thought. He deserves that kind of uncomplicated devotion. They have a history. I'm just... here.
"A credit for your thoughts? Though, given the look on your face, I suspect they might be worth a bit more."
You didn't need to turn around to know it was him. The soft rustle of his robes and the sudden, grounding warmth in the Force gave him away. Obi-Wan stepped up to the stone railing, leaning his forearms against it. He wasn't looking at the traffic; he was looking at you.
"Just thinking about the strategy for tomorrow," you lied smoothly, keeping your eyes fixed on a distant speeder.
"Is that so?" Obi-Wan’s voice was gentle, but it carried that infuriating Jedi intuition. "Because your presence in the Force earlier felt less like a tactical mind at work and more like... a storm brewing."
You let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sigh. "You don't miss much, do you?"
"Never when it comes to you." He shifted closer, his shoulder brushing yours. The casual intimacy of it made your throat tighten. "Talk to me. What’s troubling you?"
You hesitated, gripping the edge of the stone railing. "Seeing you two together today... it just reminded me of how much history you share. She’s a Duchess. She’s magnificent, Obi-Wan. And she’s someone you would have changed your entire life for." You finally looked at him, your voice dropping to a vulnerable whisper. "Sometimes, I feel like I'm just a footnote in a story that already has its grand romance."
Obi-Wan stared at you, his blue-grey eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and sudden, profound sorrow. The tease left his posture entirely. He turned fully toward you, reaching out to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin, his palm warm and steadying.
"Oh, my dear," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Is that truly what you think?"
"It's hard not to," you admitted, leaning into his touch despite your doubts.
"Listen to me," Obi-Wan said, his tone leaving absolutely no room for debate. "What Satine and I had... it was a beautiful chapter of my youth. It was a lifetime ago, built on who we used to be. I cherish her, and I always will, as a dear friend and a brilliant leader."
He stepped even closer, closing the distance between you until you could feel the steady beat of his heart. He placed his other hand on your waist.
"But Satine is my past," Obi-Wan whispered, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that burned away the chill of the night. "You are my present. And if you'll have me, you are my future. What I feel for you is an entirely new chapter, and I wouldn't trade a single line of it."
The sincerity radiating from him in the Force was staggering. It wasn't the practiced reassurance of a diplomat; it was the raw, honest truth of a man who loved you. The heavy knot of insecurity that had been tightening in your chest all evening finally began to unravel.
"You're sure?" you asked, a small, tentative smile finally breaking through.
"I've never been more sure of anything." he muttered before placing a soft and loving kiss on top of your head.
Hiiiiiii my love omg I’ve been loving your Obi-wan x reader series I feel like there is a MASSIVE shortage of him and it’s killing me 😫😫😫
I was wondering if maybe you’d be interested in writing a angsty obi wan short? Like maybe he thinks she’s a distraction to Anakin who is his priority with training and perhaps it’s revealed that he it isn’t Anakin he’s worried will become distracted, but actually himself?
Like I loveeee sassy stubborn obi wan and I’ve been dyinggg for tension and enemies to lovers and angst 😫
Have an amazing day <333
Control Myself I OBI-WAN KENOBI X F!READER
summary: Obi-Wan thinks you're a distraction- but not to his Padawan.
warnings: TENSION, enemies to lovers, mutual pining, unresolved sexual tension, forced proximity.
A/N: you asked and I delivered :3
You weren't a Jedi. You were an attache from the Republic’s tactical division, assigned to aid the Jedi Order per the Chancellors request. You were also incredibly stubborn, entirely unimpressed by Jedi mystique, and, in Obi-Wan's official estimation, a complete menace to his Padawan's focus.
At least, that was the story he told himself.
"Your stance is too wide on the recovery," you called out, not looking up from your datapad. "If the enemy catches you there, you're off-balance before you can parry."
Anakin huffed, adjusting his feet. "I have the Force to balance me."
"The Force won't fix a bad center of gravity, Skywalker," you replied, your voice dripping with that quiet, maddening confidence that had irritated Obi-Wan from the moment you arrived.
He stepped out of the shadows, his boots clicking sharply against the polished floor. "She is right, Anakin," he said, his tone clipped, the perfect picture of a detached Jedi Master. "And that will be all for today. Go to the archives and review the layout of the Mid Rim sectors we discussed. I need to speak with our tactical advisor."
Anakin looked between the two of you, sensing the sudden spike of tension in the room, and wisely bowed, exiting without a word.
Once the doors hissed shut, the room felt instantly smaller. You didn't shrink under Obi-Wan's cold, piercing gaze. Instead, you tucked the datapad under your arm and met his eyes with a slight, challenging arch of your brow.
"Master Kenobi," you said, your voice smooth, carrying that slight bite he had come to expect. "You look particularly grim today. Did I violate another piece of Jedi protocol by telling your Padawan not to trip over his own boots?"
"Your instructions are fine," Obi-Wan said, walking slowly toward you. He stopped just a foot away, using his height to try and establish a dominance he didn't entirely feel. "It is your presence that is becoming an issue."
You let out a short, dry laugh. "My presence? I'm doing my job."
"You're overstepping," Obi-Wan said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it had dropped an octave, carrying a lethal, quiet edge that usually made politicians flinch. "Your mandate is logistics and tactical overview. It is not to undermine my instructions to my Padawan."
"I'm keeping him alive," you retorted, your voice equally low, equally dangerous. You took a deliberate step forward, off the mat and into his space. "Your 'instructions' are rooted in a centuries-old dogmatic rhythm that the enemies have already mapped out. I’m giving him unpredictable variables. If you can’t handle that, Master Kenobi, take it up with the Council."
"Do not hide behind the Council," he snarled, a sudden, violent crack in his pristine Jedi facade. He closed the remaining distance between you in two swift, predatory strides.
He stopped so close you could feel the heat radiating from his chest. The smell of the sharp, clean scent of his skin hit you all at once.
"You think you’re so incredibly clever," Obi-Wan murmured, his eyes darkening as they swept over your face, tracking the rapid pulse fluttering at the base of your throat. "You come into the Temple, you disrupt my schedule, you look at him with that smirk—"
"I don't smirk at him," you breathed, your defiance catching in your throat as his shadow completely blocked out the ambient light of the room. The sheer mass of his presence was overwhelming, a physical weight pressing against your chest.
"You do," Obi-Wan insisted, his voice dropping into a rough, gravelly whisper. "You challenge him, you invite him to push back. He is a boy. He is impressionable. He needs a master who commands his absolute, undivided attention."
"He gives you his attention!" you snapped, your hands coming up to press against his chest to force some space between you. Your palms met the rough fabric of his tabards, right over the heavy, rhythmic thud of his heart. "He practically worships you, Obi-Wan! This isn't about Anakin's focus!"
The use of his first name was the final thread snapping.
Obi-Wan’s hands shot out of his sleeves. His fingers wrapped around your wrists, not painfully, but with an iron, unyielding grip that pinned your hands flat against his chest, trapping you against him. You gasped, your eyes widening as you tried to pull back, but he didn't budge a millimeter. He leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your lips.
"Then who is it about?" he demanded, his gaze fierce, agonizingly intense, boring into yours with a desperation that terrified you. "Tell me. If it's not him, then who am I trying to protect?"
"Me," you whispered, the word a breathless challenge, your heart hammering wildly against your ribs. "You want me gone because you hate that you can't control me."
"I want you gone because I can't control myself when you are in the room!"
The admission tore from his throat, raw and bleeding, shattering the last remnants of his Jedi serenity.
The silence that followed was deafening. Obi-Wan was breathing hard, his chest heaving against your trapped hands. He didn't let go of your wrists. His grip shifted, his thumbs dragging slow, possessive circles over the sensitive skin of your pulses, feeling them race in tandem with his own.
His gaze dropped to your mouth, heavy and starved. For a fraction of a second, the tension shifted from a battlefield to a precipice. He leaned down a fraction of an inch, his lips almost brushing yours, close enough that you could taste the desperate, angsty heat radiating from him. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to close the gap, to pull him down into the ruin he was so terrified of.
He wanted to. The Force around him was a swirling, turbulent storm of desire and profound, aching guilt. He was a Jedi Master. This was betrayal. This was a fall.
And you were standing there, stubborn and beautiful, looking at him like you wanted to tear him apart.
With a sharp, ragged exhale, Obi-Wan suddenly wrenched his hands away, releasing you so abruptly you had to take a step back to catch your balance. He turned his back to you, his shoulders rigid, his hands trembling as he shoved them back into the safety of his deep sleeves.
"Leave," he rasped, his voice thick, staring blindly at the rainy Coruscant skyline.
You stood in the center of the training room, your wrists still tingling where his fingers had burned into your skin. Your breath was shaky, your mind reeling from the sheer, terrifying gravity of what had just happened.
"Obi-Wan—"
"I said leave," he repeated, tighter this time, a plea disguised as a command. "Before I forget every vow I have ever taken."
theartofmadeline
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
annaxmalina
vaporwave
