Addiction to Fiction @koolio19 - Tumblr Blog

Home At Last

The suns hung low in the Tatooine sky, casting a honeyed light through the small windows of your modest home. The air outside was dry and hot, but inside, the stone walls kept things cool enough for comfort. You sat cross-legged on a woven rug in the corner of the main room, gently mending one of Obi-Wan’s outer tunics while keeping a watchful eye on your daughter.

Your baby girl, now nine months old, had recently discovered the joy of crawling and was currently babbling to herself as she chewed on the ear of a well-loved tooka doll. Her fine hair curled in soft tufts, the color already showing hints of her father’s auburn.

You paused in your stitching and smiled fondly. Her presence grounded you. Despite the grief and fear that had once filled your days, this—this—was peace. Quiet, uncertain, humble peace, but peace all the same.

A soft hiss came from the front door as it slid open.

Before you could even turn around, a delighted shriek pierced the quiet, followed by the rapid slap of small hands on the floor.

Your daughter shot across the room in a wobbly crawl, moving faster than you thought possible. You laughed as you dropped the tunic and rose to your feet.

Obi-Wan had barely stepped inside before the baby reached him, practically throwing herself into his boots with squeaky joy. Dust clung to his cloak, and his hair was sun-touched and tousled from the wind, but his eyes lit up as he leaned down and scooped her effortlessly into his arms.

“There’s my little shadow,” he murmured, his voice softer than a desert breeze. She squealed again and threw her chubby arms around his neck.

You walked over to him, and he reached out with his free arm to pull you in for a kiss—warm, familiar, the kind of kiss that whispered I missed you without needing words.

“Long day?” you asked softly, brushing sand from his sleeve.

“As long as they get on Tatooine,” he replied, glancing down at the baby, who was already tugging at his beard with fascination. “But this makes it better.”

With a small smile, he carried her to the sitting area—a simple nook with cushions and a low couch. You returned to your stitching, the quiet murmur of Obi-Wan’s voice filling the room as he settled with the baby on his chest.

“There we are, little one,” he said, his voice low and comforting. “Did you help your mother today? She looks far less tired than usual, so I imagine you were very well behaved.”

You could hear your daughter cooing in response, babbling nonsense syllables as if she were telling him about her entire day.

“Is that so? Truly? You don’t say,” he said with amused affection, as though every sound she made was a brilliant story.

Minutes passed. The house slowly grew quiet.

You set the tunic aside and stretched, noticing how still everything had become.

Peeking around the doorway to the sitting room, your heart melted at the sight.

Obi-Wan was reclined on the couch, his head resting against the worn cushions. His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly parted, his breathing deep and even. Your daughter was curled on his chest, her little hands tangled in the front of his robes. She, too, had fallen asleep, her cheek pressed to his heartbeat.

The last rays of daylight bathed them in gold.

You stood there for a long moment, your chest full. This was a far cry from the halls of the Jedi Temple or the heat of the battlefield. But for the first time in years, it truly felt like home.

Silently, you walked over and draped a light blanket over them both, pressing a gentle kiss to Obi-Wan’s temple. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake—just shifted his arm protectively around your daughter.

You sank onto the floor nearby, content to simply sit with them in the quiet, listening to the soft breath of the man you loved and the child you’d made together.

No war. No Council. No fear.

Just this.

Just you.

Just them.

Just peace.

holy-kenobi

How would you think hed be with a toddler??

Youd think shed get jealous when her dad has to go on a mission to save ANOTHER girl??(Leia we love u) Like dad??? Me and mom are all you need??? You’re literally MY dad?? And just clingy daddys girl that doesn’t want him to leave!!! My heart!!!!

Just One More Hug

The suns of Tatooine were beginning to set, soft orange light washing over the sands and filtering through the little homestead you called home. It was quiet—peaceful. But that silence didn’t last long.

Tiny footsteps slapped against the stone floor. A small figure burst into the room, arms stretched wide.

“Daddy!”

Obi-Wan turned just in time to catch her, her little body launching into his arms with all the strength a two-year-old could muster. He chuckled, staggering just a step as he caught her against his chest.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured.

She clung tight, arms and legs wrapped around him like she’d never let go.

“Missed you,” she mumbled into his neck, voice muffled and pouty.

“I was just outside, love,” he said, brushing her soft curls away from her face.

She shook her head, still holding on. “Long time,” she said.

You leaned against the doorway, watching them. You already knew—your little girl could sense it. She didn’t understand what, not exactly, but she knew her daddy was leaving. The air felt different. His pack sat by the door. And something in his eyes was distant, heavy.

Obi-Wan met your gaze, and your throat tightened. You gave a small nod.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly to the toddler in his arms. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“No,” she whined, shaking her head. Her face scrunched up like she might cry. “No talk. Stay here.”

He smiled sadly. “I want to stay. But I need to go help someone, okay?”

“Noooo.” She clung tighter, pressing her cheek into his chest. “No help. Stay wif me.”

You stepped in slowly, crouching beside them.

“There’s a little girl,” Obi-Wan said gently, brushing her hair back. “Far away. She’s scared. She needs me.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, brows drawn together. “Me scared.”

Your heart cracked.

Obi-Wan leaned in, forehead resting lightly against hers. “I know, my love. But Mama will be here. And I’ll come back. I promise.”

“Don’t go,” she whimpered, eyes glossy. “No bye-bye.”

“I have to, little one.”

She looked at him for a long moment, her bottom lip wobbling, then asked, “You love her?”

Obi-Wan blinked. “What?”

“The girl.” Her eyes narrowed, face squished up in a pout. “You love her?”

You stifled a small laugh and brushed your fingers gently along your daughter’s back.

Obi-Wan cupped her tiny cheeks. “No, no, love. I don’t love her. I love you. You and Mama. Always. I’m just helping her.”

She still looked suspicious. “No hugs. No kisses. Jus’ me.”

He chuckled. “Only you.”

She sniffled and leaned back into him, little fingers bunching into his robe. Her voice was soft and small again. “No go, Daddy. Please. Stay.”

Obi-Wan kissed her temple and held her close for a long moment, arms strong but gentle.

Then, very quietly, she murmured, “One more hug.”

He gave her one. Then two. Then three.

You finally stepped in and slowly, gently lifted her from his arms. She whined and squirmed, reaching for him. “No! Daddy! Daddy come!”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you rocked her, kissing her curls. “Shhh, sweetheart. It’s okay. He’ll come back. He always comes back.”

Obi-Wan leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead, then to yours.

“I love you both,” he whispered. “More than anything.”

You nodded, blinking hard. “Be safe.”

As he stepped out into the fading light, your daughter cried into your shoulder, little hands still reaching.

“Love you, Daddy,” she sobbed.

Obi-Wan paused at the top of the ridge and turned back, lifting a hand.

“I love you more, my little one.”

Then he was gone—his silhouette swallowed by sun, sand, and duty.

holy-kenobi

Imagine if the third sister found out about Obi wan’s family. Like at the end of the series where she goes and attacks Luke and his family. I can imagine Mrs. Kenobi going full protective mom mode to protect Luke and her daughter out in the desert from the inquisitor and obi wan just absolutely worried cause he knows that she hasn’t fought in years!!!

Also!

So glad ur back ^-^

The Spark That Remains

Ten years of hiding. Ten years of silence.

Tatooine was unrelenting—but it was anonymous. It had to be. For your sake. For your daughter’s. For the scraps of the life you’d managed to build out of exile and ash.

You’d given up the saber. You’d given up the Force.

But the war never really let you go.

⸻

Obi-Wan had left days ago.

His presence still lingered in the homestead like heat on stone. You could feel it every time you passed the spot where he’d kissed your forehead, or where he’d bent down and pressed his lips to your daughter’s curls before leaving. He hadn’t wanted to go. You could see it in his eyes. But Bail had asked. And Leia was in danger.

“It won’t be long,” he promised, his voice low and tight with dread. “Just a few days. I’ll be back before she even notices I’m gone.”

But she did notice.

And so did you.

Because even as he disappeared over the dunes, your gut twisted. The Force didn’t whisper—it screamed. And still, you stayed. You had to.

You had your daughter to protect.

⸻

The knock came on the fourth day.

You opened the door with a hand already on the blaster hidden in your robes.

Owen Lars.

Not a man who asked for help lightly.

“She’s back,” he said. “The Third Sister.”

You stiffened. “Reva?”

“She came to the farm again. Started asking louder. She’s not bluffing anymore.”

“About Obi-Wan?”

Owen hesitated.

“No. About Luke.”

Your blood ran cold.

“She’s circling. And if she finds out who he is… or that there’s another child out here with Jedi blood—”

Your daughter’s laugh carried from behind you. You turned to look—she was crouched in the sand, playing with a bundle of scavenged beads, her face lit with joy.

Owen caught your glance.

“I need help.”

You didn’t hesitate.

⸻

Beru was quiet when she came. Pale and breathless.

She packed fast.

“Take them both,” you said. “Luke and my daughter. You know the old cave system?”

Beru nodded. “She’ll be scared.”

“I know.”

You crouched to your daughter’s level, cupping her tiny face.

“Sweetheart, you’re going on a little trip with Auntie Beru. Can you be my brave girl?”

Her eyes—so much like Obi-Wan’s—blinked up at you. “Where’s Daddy?”

Your heart cracked.

“He’s coming soon,” you whispered. “He’ll find us. He always does.”

⸻

You hadn’t ignited your lightsaber in years.

It took both hands to steady it. Your fingers trembled as the blue blade snapped to life, casting a harsh glow across the sand.

Reva stood in the clearing, her saber already lit, her dark gaze locked on yours with unmistakable recognition.

“A Jedi,” she said, voice curling with surprise. “Buried here all this time. Hiding behind children and sand.”

“I was done fighting,” you said. “But I’ll die before I let you lay a hand on them.”

She tilted her head.

“I’m not after them,” she murmured. “I want him. The boy. Luke.”

You took a single step forward, blade raised.

“He’s not yours to take.”

⸻

Obi-Wan felt it the moment your saber ignited.

Not a flicker. Not a whisper.

A shockwave.

He dropped to his knees in the cargo hold of the transport, one hand clutching his chest as the Force screamed through him. It wasn’t Leia—it was you. Something had shattered across the bond you still shared, after all these years. Something old and buried had come roaring to the surface.

“Y/N,” he choked.

Your pain hit him next. Sharp. A stab to the ribs. A flicker of flame. You were hurt.

You were fighting.

He didn’t think. He barely saw. He changed course mid-hyperjump, overriding the ship’s settings, fingers flying wildly across the controls. His breath came fast and shallow, his hands shaking as the engines reoriented.

He could barely hear anything over the sound of the Force screaming through his skull.

“No, no, no,” he gasped, pacing the cockpit like a caged animal. “Hold on, hold on, please.”

He felt your fear. Felt your pain. Felt your determination.

But it was breaking you.

And it was breaking him.

⸻

When he landed, it was nearly nightfall.

The homestead was half-ruined—blaster scorch marks, signs of a fight. His boots hit the ground before the ramp had fully lowered. He ran. Sprinting, breathless, calling your name even as dread twisted in his chest like wire.

“Owen!” he shouted. “Where is she—where is she?!”

Owen was outside, blood on his sleeve, a split on his brow. “She’s inside. She fought her off. Barely.”

Obi-Wan didn’t wait.

He nearly tore the door off the hinges.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, half slumped forward, hand clutched to your ribs. Blood stained the fabric of your tunic, and your lightsaber lay beside you, deactivated. You looked up at the noise—and then froze, mouth parting in shock.

“Obi—”

He was already there.

He dropped to his knees before you, hands reaching, not touching, trembling in midair. His face was pale, his breath shaking, his eyes locked onto the wound at your side.

“I felt you,” he whispered, voice thick with grief. “I felt everything.”

You tried to smile. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not,” he snapped, eyes filling. “You’re bleeding. You fought her alone—you picked up your saber—you haven’t used the Force in years, and I—I wasn’t here. I should’ve been here.”

His voice cracked. He bowed his head against your knee, shoulders shaking.

“I left you. I left her.”

You moved your hand to his head, fingers threading through his hair.

“You did what you had to do. Leia needed you. You saved her.”

“I could’ve lost you.” He looked up, tears running freely now. “I couldn’t feel you for so long. And then suddenly—everything came crashing down. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was too late.”

“You weren’t,” you whispered. “You came back.”

His hands—finally, carefully—touched your side. Gentle. Reverent. Almost afraid. His brow furrowed at the burn there. He turned, grabbing the old medkit, shaking as he worked to clean and wrap the wound, his lips pressed into a white line.

“I couldn’t live with it,” he said hoarsely. “If something had happened. If she had—if you had—”

“I know,” you said softly.

You took his hand.

“I know.”

⸻

When Beru returned hours later with your daughter in her arms, Obi-Wan dropped everything.

The child saw him, blinked—and then ran to him full speed, squealing, “Daddy!”

He swept her up, clutching her so tightly she squeaked.

He kissed her head, over and over, closing his eyes.

And this time, he didn’t let go.

holy-kenobi

Something Like Gravity

A few years before Attack of the Clones

Anakin Skywalker considered himself a prodigy in many things: lightsaber combat, flying, dramatic entrances. But matchmaking? That was quickly becoming his most exhausting challenge yet.

His Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and you—a fellow Jedi Knight—were quite possibly the most emotionally constipated people in the galaxy.

And yet, somehow, the only ones who couldn’t see it were you two.

Anakin was tired.

Very tired.

—

“Master, I signed you up to assist with meditation tutoring this week.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Did you.”

“Yes. With Knight L/N.”

“…Did she agree to this?”

“Oh, she’s thrilled.” She wasn’t.

Obi-Wan sighed. “Anakin…”

“You both meditate. It just makes sense.”

And so, for two evenings straight, you and Obi-Wan sat in stilted silence with a group of Padawans who were far more interested in watching the two of you not flirt than practicing breathing exercises.

Even the younglings were catching on.

“I think Master Kenobi likes Knight L/N,” one whispered loudly, earning a panicked hush from his peers.

You cracked your eyes open, glancing at Obi-Wan.

He was doing that thing—his “serene” expression that wasn’t serene at all, just tight around the mouth and way too controlled.

You cleared your throat. “Let’s… return to center, shall we?”

Anakin, outside the room, smacked his forehead on the wall.

Strike two.

—

A week later, he tried again.

This time: a sparring session. He “accidentally” double-booked a training room and just so happened to disappear right before it started.

You showed up first, already stretching when Obi-Wan entered.

You gave him a look. “Let me guess.”

“Anakin.”

You nodded. “He’s persistent.”

Obi-Wan offered a resigned sigh. “I suppose we might as well make use of the room.”

Sparring with Obi-Wan was always dangerous—not because of skill or strength, but because of what it did to your heart. The way his expression sharpened with focus, the little smirk when he had you on the defensive. The way he always helped you up, hand lingering just a second longer than it needed to.

Your shoulder hit the mat with a soft thud. You grunted.

Obi-Wan stood over you, reaching down. “Are you alright?”

You took his hand. “Only my pride.”

He helped you up, and for a moment, your faces were far too close. Breathless, flushed.

You both stepped back at the same time.

He cleared his throat. “Good match.”

“Mm-hm.”

Anakin watched from the observation deck, groaning aloud. “Oh, come on!”

Strike three.

—

Then came the mission to Garos IV. You didn’t tell Obi-Wan goodbye. You didn’t need to. It was routine.

Until it wasn’t.

A skirmish. Blaster fire. A collapsed structure. You managed to shield the civilians—but not yourself.

Cracked ribs. Bruised pride. You insisted you were fine, and you mostly were.

But Anakin got to the report first.

“She was injured,” a medic told him.

“How bad?”

“She’s got some broken ribs and minor injuries. Nothing critical.”

Anakin blinked. “So… almost dead, got it.”

—

Obi-Wan was mid-mission debrief when Anakin interrupted.

“She’s hurt,” he blurted.

Obi-Wan froze. “What?”

“Explosion. Crushed under debris. Ribs broken—she could be dying—”

Obi-Wan didn’t hear the rest. He was already moving, robe fluttering behind him, fear slicing through his chest like a blade.

He searched the medbay. Nothing.

Finally, he reached your quarters.

He didn’t knock.

You jumped as the door opened. You were curled on your couch, mug in hand, bandage across your ribs, datapad in your lap.

“Obi-Wan?”

He stood there, stunned. Breathing heavily. “You’re… alright?”

You blinked. “Cracked ribs. I’ve had worse. Anakin said what exactly?”

He stepped inside slowly, as if unsure if he’d imagined the urgency. “He made it sound… catastrophic.”

“Well, he’s dramatic.”

Obi-Wan was still watching you like you might disappear. You’d never seen him look so shaken.

“You were worried,” you said softly.

“I thought—” he exhaled, voice low. “I didn’t know how bad it was. I didn’t realize how much I needed you to be alright until I thought you weren’t.”

The silence that followed was thick with everything you hadn’t said for years.

“I care about you,” he said finally. “More than I should.”

You stood, slowly, ignoring the twinge in your ribs, until you were standing close enough to feel the heat of him.

“Then stop pretending you don’t.”

The kiss was inevitable.

It wasn’t rushed. Just soft. Steady. Like falling into place after being off-balance for too long.

When you pulled apart, Obi-Wan rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed.

“I think Anakin might explode.”

You laughed, wincing slightly. “Then I hope he was eavesdropping.”

“…He probably was.”

Outside your door, a certain young Jedi very much was, quietly pumping a fist in victory.

holy-kenobi

Late Hours

The meeting had run far later than expected.

Obi-Wan Kenobi’s boots echoed down the dimly lit corridor of the Jedi Temple, the usual hush of night pressing in on him like a second robe. His shoulders ached beneath the layers of weight—physical, political, emotional. Another debate about troop movements, planetary negotiations, intercepted transmissions. It never ended.

He exhaled, long and low, as he reached his quarters. The door opened with a soft hiss, and warm light spilled from a single lamp inside.

The sight stopped him mid-step.

She was there, just as he’d hoped and half-dreaded.

Asleep.

Curled up on his couch, one of his tunics draped loosely over her body, she looked impossibly peaceful in contrast to the war-torn galaxy outside their walls. Her legs were tucked beneath her, a datapad resting on her stomach, its screen black with inactivity. A half-finished mug of tea sat cooling on the table beside her. The room smelled faintly of herbs and something floral—her perfume lingering in the air.

His chest tightened with something bittersweet.

She had tried to wait for him.

Obi-Wan moved closer, quiet as a shadow. Her lashes fluttered slightly, but she didn’t wake. He could see the crease in her brow from where she’d been fighting off sleep. Guilt tugged at him like gravity—he hadn’t meant to be so late, but even Jedi Masters didn’t always get to choose their timing.

And yet, she had chosen him. Even when the galaxy hadn’t.

He knelt beside her, resting one hand gently on her knee. “Love,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

She stirred faintly but didn’t wake.

He watched her for a moment longer, then exhaled, resolved.

Carefully, he slid one arm beneath her knees, the other around her shoulders, and lifted her into his arms. She instinctively curled into his chest, her face finding the hollow between his neck and shoulder. A soft, sleepy sigh escaped her lips.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice so quiet it barely existed.

The walk to the bedroom was slow, deliberate. He nudged the door open with his foot and laid her gently on the bed, the soft sheets whispering as they shifted beneath her. She stirred again as the cool air touched her skin, her brows drawing together in protest.

He bent down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Shh. You’re home,” he whispered.

She relaxed almost instantly.

He pulled the blanket up over her body, tucking it around her just enough. Then, for a moment, he simply stood there and watched her breathe. Each rise and fall of her chest felt like a miracle—one he hadn’t realized he’d needed until now.

This—this quiet, this warmth, this closeness—was a luxury. Something he couldn’t take for granted.

With practiced ease, he slipped off his utility belt, boots, and robe, leaving them neatly by the door. He eased into the bed beside her, the mattress dipping slightly with his weight.

And then her hand found his.

She didn’t speak—wasn’t quite awake—but her fingers curled around his with certainty, like they always did. Like they knew exactly where they belonged.

He turned on his side to face her, their hands clasped between them. Her face was still soft with sleep, her lips parted slightly, her breathing even. He studied the curve of her cheek, the way a wisp of hair had fallen across her temple, and felt something shift inside him. Something quiet. Something sacred.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For being late. For everything that keeps me from you.”

She didn’t respond—but she didn’t let go, either.

And for Obi-Wan Kenobi, in a life full of sacrifices, that simple, sleepy grip felt like a kind of absolution.

He closed his eyes, his forehead resting lightly against hers.

The galaxy could wait.

Tonight, he had found peace.

holy-kenobi

Return to You

You stood at the window again, watching the golden light dissolve into the violet dusk of Coruscant’s endless skyline. Below, traffic streamed in glowing rivers, indifferent to your anxiety. Jedi weren’t meant to dwell on fear or attachment—but what was left of the Code when someone you loved was supposed to be back days ago?

Obi-Wan’s mission to Christophis had been routine. A diplomatic extraction—high-risk, yes, but hardly his most dangerous operation. He was supposed to return three days ago. There had been no word. No message. Not even a delayed report from the Temple. And you couldn’t ask—not without raising questions about why you cared so much.

The mug in your hand trembled. You set it down before your fingers betrayed you further. Sleep had become a stranger, replaced by the dull ache of unspoken panic and half-finished prayers to the Force.

Then—just as the stars began to pierce the sky—your door hissed open.

You turned.

And for a moment, you didn’t believe it was real.

“Obi-Wan?”

He stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the corridor’s dim light, his shoulders slumped, cloak ragged with dust, one arm clutched against his side. But his eyes—stormy blue, rimmed with exhaustion—found yours and softened instantly.

You crossed the room in three strides, barely able to breathe. “You’re late.”

“I know,” he said, voice rough. “I’m sorry.”

And then your arms were around him.

He gasped softly at the contact, and you pulled back, panic flaring. “You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing serious. Just cracked a few ribs on the landing. And maybe… got shot. Once.” He attempted a half-smile that crumpled quickly.

You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. His beard was coarser than usual, his skin chilled from the Temple wind. But he was here.

“I thought you were dead,” you whispered, voice shaking. “For three days. I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again.”

“I wanted to send word. I tried. The mission… got complicated.” He leaned his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. “But the entire time, all I could think was—I have to make it back to you.”

You swallowed hard, your breath trembling against his cheek. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“It’s the truth.”

You pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. The moment it sealed, he sagged against the wall, fatigue finally overtaking him.

“Come on,” you said gently, guiding him to sit on the edge of your bed. “You need rest.”

“I need you,” he said, and your heart clenched.

You knelt before him, carefully undoing the clasps of his armor, the familiar routine made reverent by the terror that had nearly broken you. He winced slightly as the chest plate came off, revealing the bloodstained tunic underneath. Your fingers hovered over the wound—burned cloth, bruised ribs—but he caught your hand.

“I’m alright.”

“You’re reckless.”

“I had a reason to survive.”

The words hung heavy in the air.

When the last of his armor was removed, you pressed your forehead to his knees, trying to catch your breath.

“I hate the waiting,” you murmured.

“I know,” he whispered, his fingers threading into your hair. “So do I.”

You rose slowly, brushing your lips to his—soft, tentative at first, like asking for permission. He kissed you back like a man starved of sunlight, hands pulling you close, desperate to feel that you were real.

The kiss deepened, but there was no rush in it. Only gratitude. Only aching relief.

“I’m here,” he said when your lips parted. “I’m late, but I came back. I will always come back.”

You nodded, hands still on his face. “Then stay. Tonight. Let me have you while I can.”

His eyes searched yours, full of everything the Jedi Code told him not to feel—and full of the quiet, fierce love that had carried him through war.

“Yes,” he said. “Tonight, I’m not a Jedi. I’m just yours.”

And for one night, the war paused. The fear faded. And you lay tangled with the man who had come back to you—late, bloodied, but yours.

⸻

You woke slowly, caught between warmth and the lingering ache of dreams. It took a moment to remember—where you were, who was beside you.

And then you felt it: the slow, steady rhythm of Obi-Wan’s breathing against your back, his arm curled around your waist like the war wasn’t waiting outside the walls.

Your heart stuttered.

He had come back.

The morning light poured through the tall windows in soft bands, casting gold across the room and painting his skin in gentle contrast to the bruises still fading along his ribs. You turned slowly in his arms, trying not to wake him—but his eyes blinked open the moment you moved.

“Good morning,” he said, voice still rough with sleep.

“You’re awake?”

“I’ve been awake for a while,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to waste a second of this.”

His hand brushed along your arm, featherlight, like he still wasn’t sure you were real. You reached up and touched his face, thumb brushing along the faint crease at his brow—the same one that deepened every time he was sent away.

“You should be resting.”

“I am,” he said softly. “Right here.”

There was a stillness between you, the kind that came only in the rarest of moments—when no alarms were sounding, no messages were buzzing on comms, no urgent calls from the Council. The galaxy could wait.

“You were so still last night,” you said after a while. “I thought you were asleep, but… I could feel it. Your mind was somewhere else.”

“I was thinking,” he said, gaze drifting to the ceiling. “How strange it is, to feel at peace in a place where peace is forbidden.”

You exhaled slowly. “Do you regret it?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Then: “No. I regret not allowing myself this sooner. I regret the fear. But you—” He looked at you, full of the raw honesty he reserved only for these walls. “You are the only thing in this war that doesn’t make me feel like I’m losing myself.”

Your throat tightened, but you said nothing. You just leaned in and pressed your forehead to his. He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the mission.

“We don’t have much time,” you whispered. “If anyone finds out…”

“They won’t.” His tone was firm. “I’ll be careful. I always am.”

You nodded. You had to believe him. Because love was not something the Jedi were trained to endure—it was something they were taught to let go of. But neither of you had.

A soft chime at the door startled you both. You sat up, panic flashing across your face. Obi-Wan tensed instinctively.

He grabbed the tunic you’d folded neatly at the foot of the bed and began dressing with quiet speed. You slipped into your robe, heart pounding.

“Don’t answer it,” he murmured, tightening the sash at his waist. “It’s probably just a message delivery.”

But the moment was broken.

He crossed to you before he left, resting his hand at the curve of your jaw. “I’ll come back tonight. If I can.”

You leaned into his touch. “Be careful.”

He gave a nod, the edges of his beard brushing your cheek as he kissed it quickly, quietly. Like a promise.

And then he was gone, his presence retreating down the hall like mist in morning sun.

You stood there in the quiet, heart aching with both loss and love.

Another day would come. Another mission. Another waiting. But for now, you had the memory of his warmth still lingering in the sheets, and the words he hadn’t said aloud—but had told you with every look:

I love you.

holy-kenobi

More Than A Mission (5)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3| Part 4

He stayed kneeling on the floor for longer than he needed to. His hand hovered over the wound on your ribs, now cleaned and bandaged with the precision of someone who had tended to far too many injuries in his time. But the care… the care he gave this one was different.

It was reverent. Like this was a temple all its own. One he never thought he’d be allowed to enter again.

You leaned back into the couch cushions slowly, wincing with a sharp inhale.

Obi-Wan stood, finally, but didn’t step away. He remained close, hesitating like he wasn’t sure if you wanted him there.

You looked up at him.

“Stay.”

It was soft. Almost a whisper. But it made something in his face break.

He nodded once and sat beside you, keeping a careful distance. Silence stretched between you. Not uncomfortable—just full of everything that had passed between you. The weight of heartbreak. The slow rebuilding. The trust, fragile and new.

“You didn’t have to come,” you murmured.

“I did,” he said simply. “There’s nowhere else I would’ve been.”

Your eyes flicked to him, catching the depth of emotion etched in every line of his face.

“I was so angry,” you admitted, voice quiet. “I still am. Some days more than others.”

“I know.”

“But I never stopped loving you.”

He inhaled slowly, like your words physically filled his lungs with light.

“I never stopped either,” he whispered. “Not for a moment.”

You leaned your head back, letting the silence settle again.

“I want to forgive you,” you said, still watching the ceiling. “It’s not all the way there yet. But I want to.”

His hand was resting on the couch between you, open but still—waiting.

You reached out and let your fingers touch his.

His breath hitched, but he didn’t move. His hand didn’t close over yours, though every line of his body screamed that he wanted to. Still, he waited for you.

So you turned to him slowly, gaze meeting his with a softness that hadn’t been there in months.

And then you leaned in.

It was the smallest kiss.

Just your lips brushing his—light, brief, like a sigh of wind across still water.

But his eyes fluttered closed as if you’d given him the galaxy.

When you pulled back, you felt the faintest ghost of a smile tug at your lips. “That’s all you get tonight.”

A quiet huff of breath escaped him. It wasn’t quite a laugh—but it was close.

“That’s more than I ever hoped for.”

You shifted gently, leaning against his shoulder, your temple resting against the robe that once hung on your chair like a memory. Now, it felt like home again.

He didn’t say anything else. Didn’t ask for more. He just stayed there, solid and warm beside you, as night slowly folded over the Temple outside your window.

And for the first time in weeks, your chest didn’t ache when you breathed.

holy-kenobi

More Than A Mission (4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Healing wasn’t linear.

You didn’t forgive him overnight. But you stopped avoiding him. The conversations came in fragments—small things, quiet moments. A shared meal in the Temple dining hall. Passing comments in the corridor. Meditation in the gardens, sitting side by side in silence. Just… being near him again.

It started with a brush of your hand against his on the stone railing. You didn’t flinch away when your fingers touched. And he didn’t push for more. He just smiled—sad, hopeful—and let you decide the pace.

Eventually, you even let him walk you back to your quarters again. You didn’t invite him in, but he never asked. He was simply… there.

Present. Patient.

And that was enough.

Several Weeks Later

Your mission to Denorith IV hadn’t gone as smoothly as planned. A small ambush. A blast to your ribs that seared when you breathed. Nothing fatal—but enough that every movement felt like a battle.

You refused medbay assistance when you returned. You didn’t want healers. You didn’t want attention.

You just wanted to lie down in your room where no one could see you wince.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t accounted for Anakin Skywalker.

⸻

Anakin stood tall, arms behind his back as he reported on the mission.

“Minor casualties. Mission was a success overall,” he said, then paused—glancing directly at Obi-Wan across the Council chamber. “But Knight Y/L/N sustained an injury to her ribs and refused treatment.”

He held the stare. Just long enough for it to say: Go to her.

Obi-Wan didn’t hesitate.

The moment the meeting was adjourned, he was already gone.

⸻

The knock was firm, but not forceful.

You lay on your side on the floor just inside your doorway, struggling to stand. Every breath burned. Every attempt to rise made stars burst behind your eyes.

“Y/N?” Obi-Wan’s voice was muffled through the door. “It’s me.”

You grimaced, bracing against the wall, trying to pull yourself up. “Coming,” you managed to rasp.

He must’ve sensed your pain through the bond, because the next moment, his voice turned desperate.

“Please don’t shut me out. Not while you’re hurt. Let me be there for you.”

The door hissed open.

You were halfway upright, one hand clutching your side, the other gripping the wall for balance. Your lips parted in surprise at the panic in his eyes when he saw you.

“Stars,” he breathed. He didn’t touch you—not yet—but he stepped forward instinctively, voice soft and pleading. “Why didn’t you tell anyone how bad it was?”

“I didn’t want anyone fussing over me.”

“You’re bleeding,” he said, nodding to the soaked fabric at your ribs.

You looked down. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s bad enough you can barely stand,” he said gently. “Please. Let me help.”

You looked up at him, wavering. Every instinct told you to be strong. To be composed. To not give in.

But this was Obi-Wan. And his voice—his eyes—held none of the cold distance you feared. Only quiet, desperate care.

You nodded once.

That was all it took.

He moved to you carefully, one arm slipping around your back, the other hovering by your side.

“May I?” he asked, eyes locked with yours.

You nodded again.

His hand slid under your arm as he helped you sit down on the couch. He didn’t ask more questions. Didn’t say I told you so. He just knelt in front of you, gently peeling your tunic back from the wound.

His fingers were steady but reverent—gentle as breath, slow as forgiveness.

You hissed when the cloth stuck to the burn, and his hand faltered.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’d take it from you if I could.”

You looked down at him—kneeling before you, shoulders taut with restraint, eyes filled with aching devotion.

And in that moment, you believed him.

To be continued…

holy-kenobi

More Than A Mission (3)

Part 1 | Part 2

Warning: Spoilers for The Clone Wars Season 4, Episodes 15 through 18

You avoided him like the plague.

He waited outside your quarters more than once—silent, unmoving, like a statue carved of guilt and hope—but you never opened the door. Sometimes you were inside, sometimes you weren’t. Either way, you didn’t let him in.

You changed your sparring schedule. You ate in the Archives. You took missions further and further away from the Temple. You did everything short of leaving the Order entirely to avoid seeing his face again.

Because you had loved him, truly, fully. You had trusted him in ways you’d never trusted anyone else. And he’d let you grieve him like a widow—while he breathed, and walked, and lied.

⸻

“She slapped you?”

Anakin leaned on the rail overlooking the Temple’s hangar, arms crossed. His smirk was half-hearted, but the amusement was real.

Obi-Wan didn’t answer. He just stared out into the distance, jaw tight.

“I mean… I’m not saying I’m glad. But. You kind of had that coming.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan said quietly.

Anakin turned his head toward his former Master. “You really didn’t tell her anything?”

“It was part of the plan.” Obi-Wan sighed. “I didn’t want her involved. If anyone had sensed the depth of our connection—if she’d reacted publicly—she might’ve been targeted. Or compromised the mission.”

Anakin nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get it. But…”

“I know,” Obi-Wan repeated. “I thought I was protecting her. But I just—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “I hurt her instead.”

“She’s not sleeping. Won’t admit it, but she’s not. I passed her in the Archives. She’s holding together by sheer will.”

Obi-Wan didn’t respond.

Anakin glanced at him sidelong. “You want her back?”

“With everything I am.”

Anakin scratched the back of his head. “Then do something about it. Really do something.”

⸻

Three Days Later

You returned from a short mission to find something strange waiting in your quarters.

It wasn’t a message. Or flowers. Or something loud and performative.

It was a lightsaber crystal.

Your kyber crystal—the one that had cracked years ago and been replaced. The broken one had disappeared, and you’d assumed it was lost forever.

But here it was—restored. Perfectly healed.

Beside it sat a holo-projector.

You hesitated. Then activated it.

Obi-Wan’s voice came through, low and steady.

“I found it a year ago, tucked behind the wreckage on Nar Shaddaa. I’ve been trying to restore it ever since. It wouldn’t bond with anyone… until recently. I meditated with it again during the mission. It calmed. Like it remembered you.”

“I never stopped loving you. I know I may never deserve to hear you say it back again. But I need you to know it’s still yours. I’m still yours.”

“Please. Let me try to make it right.”

You stood there for a long time, crystal in hand, tears burning behind your eyes.

⸻

That Night

You found him in the gardens just before sunset, where you used to sit together between missions. He rose when he saw you, startled—but didn’t come closer.

“I listened to the message,” you said quietly.

His throat moved with a tense swallow. “I meant every word.”

You nodded once. “I know you did.”

There was silence for a long moment.

Then: “You hurt me, Obi-Wan. You broke something in me.”

His expression tightened with grief.

“I cried myself to sleep every night for a week,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t breathe. You kissed me like it was the last time and let me believe you died without saying goodbye. I keep wondering if I said ‘I love you’ loud enough for you to carry it with you.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks. “And I hate that I still love you.”

Obi-Wan’s entire body tensed. He didn’t move. He didn’t touch you. You could see the war inside him—the way his hands flexed at his sides, the way his breath caught. But he stayed still. He let you grieve. Let you speak.

“You don’t get to hold me yet,” you said. “You don’t get to take my pain away. Not until I say you can.”

“I know,” he said, hoarsely. “I won’t ask. Not until you’re ready.”

You stood in front of him, chest heaving, eyes wet.

And for the first time in weeks, you didn’t walk away.

To be continued…

duchess-of-mandalore

Obitine's Year on the Run: What We Know About the Timeline

I can't believe that I've never made a masterpost for this issue. But I've seen several posts about it recently, so it's time.

It's always been difficult to sus out when what year Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, and Satine spent on the run (and whether or not a certain "nephew" could actually be Obitine's secret child) ... made even more difficult because currently the CANON explanation (originating in a 2021 reference books) is simply wrong.

So let's figure out what the most reasonable answer is AND where the reference book authors erred.

Let's start with the timeline as it applies to Obi-Wan's life, and then we'll see how it compares to the Mandalorian context:

I got into The Clone Wars during 2020. At that time, we didn't have a canon year for the Year on the Run. All we knew from the show is this ...

So starting off, our date range for the Year on the Run is between 44 BBY and 32 BBY. Those are the years Obi-Wan was Qui-Gon's padawan.

Claudia Gray's Master and Apprentice (2019) also gave us a little more clarity. This book takes place in 40 BBY when Obi-Wan is 17 years old. The fact that Mandalore is not mentioned in the book is a mark in favor of the idea that the Year on the Run hasn't happened yet (as are Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan's character and relationship dynamics: for example, Qui-Gon says that Obi-Wan needs to see more of the world).

This assumption was accepted by Kiersten White, who later wrote Padawan (2022), which takes place in 41 BBY, when Obi-Wan is 16.

Timeline of Obi-Wan Kenobi's Early Life: - Born: 57 BBY - Becomes Qui-Gon's Padawan: 44 BBY [13 years old] - Padawan: 41 BBY [16 years old] - Master and Apprentice: 40 BBY [17 years old] - The Year on the Run: [???] - Becomes knight (TPM): 32 BBY [25 years old]

So far, so good, right? It makes sense that Obi-Wan (and Satine, who must be around his same age) were young adults when they met.

In 2020, most people (especially Korkie Kenobists) put the Year on the Run when Obi-Wan and Satine were around 18-20 years of age, though you could have pushed it further, to when they are in their early-20s.

But then, in 2021, there was a reference book that came out that chilled Obitine/Korkie Kenobi fans to the core. It established that Obi-Wan was only 15 years old when he protected Satine.

(On the Obitine Discord server, we dubbed this scandal "Teengate", lol.)

Whether it was Pablo Hidalgo or another one of his lore crew, whoever was in charge of this page neglected to consider the impact that Master and Apprentice had on this timeline.

Obitine fans got criticized for saying the book was wrong. We were told that we didn't know as much as the people who wrote the book (even though they make mistakes in these books alllllll the time) and that we just needed to accept that Obi-Wan and Satine were only in their mid-teens when they fell in love.

(During this time, anti-Korkie-Kenobists even started to say that people who still held to the Korkie Kenobi theory were pedophiles, as if it hadn't already been a widely accepted theory for over a decade before that dumb book came out. It was ... a time.)

However, I couldn't let it go. I did some sleuthing in order to figure out why the writers of this book would have come to the conclusion that Obi-Wan was 15 when he first met Satine. I believe that it can be (mis)attributed to a single piece of vague information that we know about the Mandalorian context during this time.

To understand this, we need to talk about Satine and Bo-Katan's father, Duke Adoniram* Kryze and the Mandalorian Civil War/Great Clan War:

[Note: I use the name Adoniram because Duke Kryze's canon name is a name of God considered very sacred by many people.]

Duke Kryze was a great warlord (and likely the equivalent of Mand'alor) who eventually realized that the endless wars on Mandalore would only be stopped through peace and diplomacy. His death was what kicked off the Year on the Run.

So how do we narrow down when the Year on the Run happened? The best way would be if we could establish a death date for Duke Kryze, because that is what kicks of the year on the run.

Unfortunately, we don't have a specific date, for this, but we know he died during the Great Clan Wars

[Note: The Great Clan War(s) was a Mandalorian civil war. The problem is that off and on, "Great Clan War(s)" and "Mandalorian Civil War" are used interchangeably, even though there are a number of conflicts throughout Mandalorian history that are called "the Mandalorian Civil War(s)." It's frustrating, I know, but we have to work with what we're given.]

So imagine that you are the person in charge of creating Obi-Wan's timeline in that reference book. You know that the Year on the Run started with Satine's father's death, so you think, "I'll go to Wookieepedia to confirm which year that was."

[Note: This is what the Wookieepedia page looked like for Satine's father on May 26, 2021 (around the time the "Teengate" reference book came out). It looks different today, but the logic they use to determine dates is no better now, unfortunately.]

See the date? 42 BBY is the exact year that Obi-Wan would have been 15 years old. It's very likely whoever wrote Obi-Wan's timeline in the "Teengate" reference book saw the date on this page, took it as hard fact, and called it good.

But was that a good assumption for them to make? NO. And here's why.

The date is "CIRCA 42 BBY" and that "circa" is doing a LOT of work.

Look at the note below to see why the Wookieepedia editors used that number. A magazine article established that "the Mandalorian Civil War [Great Clan Wars] took place around 20 years before the Clone Wars."

The Clone Wars started in 22 BBY, so 22 + 20 = 42.

That's it.

Not exactly precise dating, right?

Well, it gets worse.

Because that date marks the START of the Mandalorian Civil War.

Not the end. And definitely not Adoniram’s death date.

Which we know is a problem, right?

Because Obi-Wan and Satine were on the run for an entire YEAR after Duke Kryze's death. If Duke Kryze died on Day 1 of the war, the war still would have had to last longer than one calendar year.

And that makes sense. Mandalore's wars were described as ENDLESS. Over and over, we are told that the Mandalorians were exhausted from war. It would be ridiculous if the war that killed "most of Satine's people" (as "Voyage of Temptation" says) only happened in a single year. That's not usually how wars work.

But whoever created that reference book timeline doesn't seem to have thought about that.

THAT'S how we got this "canon" explanation that Obi-Wan and Satine were only in their mid-teens.

I've tried to explain this to people at Wookieepedia in the past, but they've been hesitant to change anything on the site as long as that "canon" reference book still exists.

All this to say, we cannot rely on canon to establish this timeline for us. The lore "experts" aren't perfect, but there's no way for me, a lowly fan, to convince them that they used faulty logic to determine when the Great Clan War took place.

So ...

Here's my Non-Canon-But-More-Accurate-Than-Canon Timeline (featuring my giant whiteboard):

This is the timeline I created as I was working on my fanfic, The Peacefighters (on hiatus, but I'm feeling the urge to write again!). There's stuff on here related to the Republic, but focus on the top two registers, which are related to the Mandalorian context (Register #1) and the Kryze family (Register #2).

So let's say the Great Clan War does indeed begin in 42 BBY (the same year I believe Adoniram Kryze takes the throne as Mand'alor). Unlike what the "canon" explanation says, the fighting goes on for several years. Duke Kryze sends Satine to Coruscant to get her degree in statecraft and diplomacy. She's there for several years (probably between the ages of 15 and 18).

Duke Kryze dies in 38 BBY (four years into the war). Satine, Adoniram's heir apparent and the person most likely to lead the New Mandalorians, is still on Coruscant and is entrusted to the protection of Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi (It's my headcanon that Adoniram and Satine were both pursuing diplomatic relations with the Jedi, whom most Mandalorians saw as their enemies, before Adoniram's death, which is why they knew Satine and knew she needed protection).

The Year on the Run takes place between 38 BBY and 37 BBY, starting when Obi-Wan and Satine are around 19 years old and ending when they are 20 years old. The Great Clan War ends, Satine is confirmed by the clans as the new Duchess/Mand'alor, and Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon leave. Korkie Kryze is born 9 months later, just around the start of 36 BBY.

So, for my Korkie Kenobists, does this timeline work?

Korkie's age has never been explicitly confirmed, and it's difficult to determine based on his appearance alone.

However, Darth Maul: Shadow Conspiracy establishes that in Season 5, Korkie is in his late teens ...

… but that he and his friends haven't yet graduated from the Academy, which would be their equivalent of high school.

I think the best estimate is that Korkie is about 17 years old in Season 5.

There are about 1.5 years that elapse between his Season 3 appearance (21 BBY) and Season 5 appearance (19 BBY), which means that he's about 15-ish years in Season 3.

If Korkie is 17 years old in 19 BBY, then he was born in 36 BBY, exactly where I have it listed on the timeline, less than a year after the end of the Year on the Run.

So yeah ... this issue is never going to be fixed unless there's a retraction in the reference books. I wish I could get Pablo Hidalgo to look at this more closely and recognize that the Great Clan Wars must have taken place over more than one year.

But I hope this is at least a helpful resource to other people to see how logically, the timeline still works for Obi-Wan and Satine to fall in love when they're young adults, not in their mid-teens, and why Korkie Kenobi is still a valid theory.

And remember the words of Dave Filoni: “I have a joke about Korkie['s parentage] that would set the fanworld ablaze.” That ginger-haired dork is half-Stewjoni!

Feel free to let me know what you think and if anything is confusing (I know this post is a monster i'm sorry!) or if there are other questions you'd like to have answered!