written for @find-me-with-orion as part of the prompt: selcouth - unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet wonderful
this wasn’t as long as i initially thought it would be 😅but still super soft. i have this headcanon that anakin builds obi-wan cute little droids all the time the same way other couples would leave each other cute sticky notes and then this prompt took that thought and ran away with it
enjoy!! thanks for the ask my dear ❤️❤️❤️i hope you’re having a lovely day
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Anakin can count on one hand all the times he’s witnessed Obi-wan voluntarily work on a droid. And yet, however unlikely, the scene before him in the dim evening light of their quarters is undeniable:
Obi-wan is hunched over their kitchen table, a grease stain swiped across his forehead as he fiddles with screwing a wheel back onto a mostly dismembered droid. His eyebrows are furrowed together in violent frustration, an expression he usually saves for only the most aggravating enemies, and when the wheel pops off and its bolt bounces off the tabletop and onto the floor, something that sounds eerily like a curse huffs out of Obi-wan. Anakin’s heart clenches; it’s so pathetic and endearing all at once.
Anakin gives a gentle push to the door behind him, letting the noise of the latch clicking into place act as a hello. Obi-wan’s head jerks up.
“You weren’t supposed to be home yet.” Obi-wan greets him, an oddly nervous—and guilty—glint in his eye.
Anakin lifts an eyebrow, lips quirked down in an amused smile as he sheds his outer robe and mindlessly throws it on the counter. “Hello to you, too.” He takes a few steps towards the table, standing next to Obi-wan, and looks down at the mess. “What are you doing?”
Obi-wan glances down at the contained junkyard and back up at him. “I’ve picked up your habits, it seems. I’m building something.” Obi-wan lies through his teeth and Anakin spots it a million miles away.
“Wait, is that—“ Anakin leans in, recognition sparking his movement, “—is that M6?”
Obi-wan stiffens.
“It is M6!”
About a year prior, on the evening of their first anniversary, Anakin had gifted Obi-wan an MSE-6 droid—a mouse droid—that was repurposed to trail after Obi-wan and tell him I love you in Anakin’s voice every few minutes. The initial intention had been a joke, something to make Obi-wan laugh, but as the days, and then months passed, Obi-wan grew oddly protective of it, swatting Anakin’s hands away whenever he offered to junk it.
A small sigh escapes Obi-wan, defeat evident in the slump of his shoulders. “I tripped over him earlier, and sent the poor thing straight into the wall. I think he’s broken.” He casts a downtrodden gaze at the scattered parts, looking like a kicked loth cat. His tone is sheepish, apologetic, and it takes everything in Anakin not to burst into laughter immediately.
“Why didn’t you wait until I got home?” Anakin asks, gently running a hand over the back of Obi-wan’s head, smoothing down his hair.
Obi-wan looks up at him with big, worried eyes. “I didn’t want you to be upset.”
Anakin can’t hold back his laughter then; it bubbles up out of him involuntarily. The whole situation is so endearing, and Anakin is so endlessly fond. It’s rare to see this side of Obi-wan, who tenderly cares for a droid just because it was a gift, the gesture reeking of attachment, and who visibly frets over the state of Anakin’s heart. Given the situation, Anakin would’ve expected Obi-wan to blame the will of the force and throw it into the trash chute without second thought. This—this uncharacteristic display of love—is strange and wonderful, an unanticipated treasure.
Anakin had always guessed the droid meant more to him than he let on, and this only confirmed it.
He leans down and delicately cups Obi-wan’s face, smudging the the grease stain further across his forehead in an attempt to clean him off, and kisses him, trying not to let his enamored smile ruin their embrace. Obi-wan tugs back at first, but softens, worrying Anakin’s bottom lip between his teeth.
Anakin gingerly shifts back, holding his face inches from Obi-wan’s. “I’ll fix him for you, okay?”—knowing Obi-wan’s history with droids, he can’t help but tease him a little—“I think you’re more likely to kill him right now.”
Slipping out of Anakin’s hold, Obi-wan stares down at the jumble of parts, pouting. “You better. I’ve grown quite fond of the little thing.”
“Who’d have thought the great Obi-wan Kenobi would ever like a droid?” Anakin chuckles, and presses one more kiss onto his forehead, right on the grease stain.
Obi-wan holds up the stray wheel. “Get on with it, then.”
OKAY I KNOW YOU ASKED THIS LIKE THREE HUNDRED YEARS AGO i am so sorry ive had to work a ton lately and have just been so tired, i havent written at all recently
BUT
here you go!! some nice sleepy vibes from yours truly at 2:20 am, apologies if there are any mistakes
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The only light on in their shared kitchen space is above the sink, drowning the space in a burnt orange color, like the warm glow of a fire. As he stumbles into the room, Obi-wan nearly misses Anakin sitting at the table, fiddling with droid parts, back curled over and head drooped to study a piece of machine in his hands. How he’s even able to see is far beyond Obi-wan, but he’s learned to let it go throughout the years.
Obi-wan turns the knob on the stove and shuffles the kettle to check for water, startling Anakin out of his meditative state.
“Oh, Obi-wan.” Anakin looks up at him and squints, exhaustion forming neat lines around the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t know you were awake.”
Before reaching up to the cabinet for a well-loved mug, Obi-wan catches how pale Anakin is, how dark purple blooms around his eyes like bruises, how he seems to shrink into himself. Obi-wan has seen Anakin look tired before, especially when he was younger and put so much pressure on himself to perfect his schoolwork, but this is on the particularly bad end of things. Anakin’s hair is greasy, the long curls pushed back and tucked behind his ears, and the small blanket draped around his shoulders does nothing to hide the fact that Anakin is still wearing the same shirt from two days ago. He looks absolutely horrible.
“You look absolutely horrible,” Obi-wan says, the mug settling on the countertop with a clink. “Have you even tried to sleep?”
Anakin frowns. “Hey, you don’t look much better. We’re both awake at what,” his head swivels around as he looks for a clock, and finding none, guesses, “four in the morning? What’s your excuse, old man?”
Obi-wan hums noncommittally at that, amusement assuaging the growing worry nagging at his chest. He pulls a tea bag out of the flimsy cardboard box left out on the counter, and rips the packaging open, letting the sachet dangle into the cup. He lets the silence linger.
With a softer tone, Anakin tries again. “You can’t sleep either?”
Obi-wan pours the boiling water into the mug, watching the color turn into a deep shade of purple, and he gently bounces the bag up and down, encouraging it to steep. “I think you’ll find, my dear padawan, that I’ve evolved past the need for sleep.”
Anakin’s eyebrows flatten, and he snorts. “I’ll make sure to pass that along to Cody, I’m sure he’ll agree with you.”
A smile tugs at Obi-wan’s mouth. “No, I,” he pauses, taking a breath, “I keep waking up. Figured a cup of tea would help.”
All of the mirth vanishes from Anakin’s face, leaving only unadulterated worry. Obi-wan looks down at his tea. They both know a euphemism for nightmares when they hear one by now, considering they’ve created half of them on their own. Fighting a gruesome, bloody, and endless war will do that to a person. Fighting a gruesome, bloody, and endless war where a good portion of the deaths are on your hands, on your conscience, even more so.
The air is still between them, but dense with emotion. Obi-wan rarely admits his nightmares to anyone, and by the myriad of expressions racing through Anakin’s features, he can tell Anakin is struggling with the right response.
Obi-wan sips his tea.
“Sometimes, I,” Anakin starts, clearing his throat, “I wish I knew them better, my men who died. I see them in my dreams.” He’s staring down at his hands, either as a distraction or remembering the blood he’s washed off. The droid parts sit motionlessly beneath them.
Obi-wan leans back on the counter, holding the steaming mug up to his chin. “So do I,” he nearly whispers, grateful for Anakin’s admission, his attempt to empathize with Obi-wan. He wants to say more, wants to sit down and let out the demons haunting his dreams, but he’s afraid that they’d rip all his bandages on the way out and tear him apart completely. It’s easier, he thinks, to keep it all inside, contained, controlled. But in the dim and molten light of the kitchen, with his face hidden in the shadows, he wants to be vulnerable. He also wants Anakin to get some rest.
“Do you want to come sleep with me?” Obi-wan asks, eyes darting up to Anakin’s face.
Anakin’s eyes go wide, and he straightens up in his seat. “What?”
He suddenly realizes what he’s said, and he can feel his ears burn. “No, not like that.” He dips the tea bag in and out of the mug, and Anakin relaxes a bit, though still wary, looking somehow disappointed. “When you were a youngling, you used to crawl into bed with me when you couldn’t sleep. You thought I never noticed.”
“You remember that?”
Obi-wan smiles to himself, gazing wistfully down into his mug. “Of course, dear one. You weren’t the only one who slept better.”
Anakin’s eyebrows are knitted together, his lips parted. “Oh.” He looks thoughtful. “Sure, then. Your room?”
Warmth floods Obi-wan’s chest in anticipation, not at all feeling guilty about his careful manipulation. He knows Anakin could never turn down helping others, it’s in his nature.
Anakin’s little droid project is completely forgotten as Anakin stares at him for an answer.
“Considering I don’t quite feel like tripping over half an engine, yes, my room.” Obi-wan takes one final sip of his tea and sets it by the sink, treading over the cold floor back into his room.
With a scoot of his chair, and loud, heavy footsteps, Anakin follows, sliding Obi-wan’s door shut behind him, leaving the pair in complete darkness. Obi-wan is still in his sleep shirt and shorts from before, so he slips into bed, pulling back the covers for Anakin to join him. He hears the soft thump of clothing dropping to the floor and then a dip in the mattress next to him.
Obi-wan lays on his back, as he assumes does Anakin.
Then there’s a shuffle as Anakin readjusts, and with a slight startle, Obi-wan feels a bare arm rest against his chest, a face in his neck, a leg thrown over his. It’s odd, but rather nice. Obi-wan doesn’t remember the last time he felt so safe.
“Is this okay?” Anakin mumbles into the crook of his neck, blowing hot air over his collarbones.
“Yes.” Obi-wan faintly wonders if Anakin can feel his heartbeat.
“What were your nightmares about?”
Obi-wan considers this. Blood, so much blood, headless bodies strewn over a hopeless landscape, their heads coming to life and blaming their deaths on him, his call, his decisions. Qui-gon, standing in the flames, yelling at him to be better, to have saved him, saved his men, to save Anakin. Stillness, as he stands utterly alone and deserted, everyone finalizing realizing they were better off without him, because he is worthless, unlovable, tainted-
“The war.” Obi-wan answers, his voice cracking. “And you?”
When no reply comes, Obi-wan wraps his arm around Anakin’s back, tracing his spine, the flesh warm and smooth underneath his fingertips. Anakin’s breaths come slow and even, and his hand twitches once.
Already asleep, then.
Obi-wan bites a lip to keep from chuckling. Maybe this is the trick to get him to sleep. He rests his cheek against his hair, presses a light kiss to the top of his head.
“I dream of losing you, dear one,” he whispers out to no one, letting the honesty linger in the darkness above them. He trusts the nighttime to keep his secrets.
When they both wake up in the morning, Obi-wan is sure there will be some level of embarrassment from cuddling, from cracking open their hard exteriors to each other. They’ll probably be sent out to the frontlines and never speak of this again.
He feels the sturdy muscles of Anakin’s sides, the dip of his waist and rise of his hips.
For now, Obi-wan holds him, keeps him safe from the torment of his own brain, and lets him get some much needed sleep.
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Light billows out from underneath the door when Obi-wan wakes, morning having come and gone long ago.
Anakin has curled further into him, practically seeping into his bones. There’s a leg thrown over his waist, face completely smooshed in his neck, and his arm drapes over his chest, Anakin’s palm cupping the side of his face. Delicate snores come from Anakin’s nose, and Obi-wan’s neck is hot from Anakin’s breath. Obi-wan’s hand is settled in the small of Anakin’s back, the other arm thrown up above Obi-wan’s head.
A languid grin finds its home on Obi-wan’s face, sleep tugging at his edges. He hasn’t felt so well rested in years.
Not wanting to wake Anakin, Obi-wan flutters shut his eyes, and lets himself drift back off, soaking in the feeling of love and security that pool together in his heart.
He can feel Anakin breathing steadily on top of him, peacefully.
“It’s freezing. Come here.” from the prompt list please~!
okay same thing as the other one, i know you asked this like five billion years ago, but life has been A Lot recently so i’m sorry this is late!! but here you are.
this one features anakin being a little shit, while also Hopelessly Pining~
enjoy, my dear!! ❤️
(also, all the science in this? fictional. would a space heater be picked up by scanners? would they be able to exist without life systems on? idk bro, just avert your eyes for the sake of the plot)
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Ilum, despite its significance for the Jedi Order, is a horrible planet. Anakin shivers in the small space of the command room, his bedroll and blankets doing very little to keep him safe from the cold seeping in through every crack in the ship. Beside him, Obi-wan sits cross legged on his own bedroll, rubbing his hands together, buried under layers and layers of material. A large thermos of tea sits in front of him, shut tightly to keep the heat in; it has to last through Ilum’s long, thirty six hour night.
Rumors of Separatist forces stealing bits of kyber from the crystal cave had snaked their way back to the council, which had been received with profound distress; the cave is sacred to the Jedi, not to mention a large component in making weapons. Anakin, nor the council, doesn’t think Separatists are making lightsabers, but the fact is, he doesn’t know. No one knows why they would be here.
Thus, Obi-wan and Anakin, The Team, had been sent to investigate.
Investigating looks a lot more like parking outside the entrance of the cave and sitting inside of a cold, nondescript shuttle with the engine and life support systems turned off, to ensure no scanners or droids would pick them up. The only light in the shuttle streams in through the transperisteel viewport from Ilum’s two moons, casting most of the command room into shadows. At least they had brought plenty of blankets, warm clothing, and a small radiant heater that had been charged prior to landing.
Anakin notices Obi-wan shaking, his many layers and fur-lined jacket doing nothing to hide the tremors. His fingertips are pale around the thermos when he pushes the lid off, bringing it to his hooded face to let the steam waft up into his chin. He takes a small sip and closes his eyes, focusing on the warmth flooding his chest. He looks miserable, and Anakin feels helpless in making it better, cheering his old master up. He knows it isn’t his responsibility, and that Obi-wan is more than capable of taking care of himself.
Still, he wants to do something.
They’ve been sitting in silence for the better part of the night, having run out of conversation hours ago. When Anakin speaks, his voice is scratchy, like he had just woken up.
“Hey, it’s freezing, c’mere,” he motions for Obi-wan to scoot closer to him.
Obi-wan’s eyes blink open slowly, full of caution and distrust. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but absolutely not.”
Anakin scoffs. “I’m not planning anything, just get over here.”
“Anakin I practically raised you, I know when you’re up to something.” Obi-wan is still holding the thermos to his chin, huddled into himself. He closes his eyes again, and if Anakin didn’t know any better, it would look like he’s meditating. He does, however, know better.
“Just, get over here, will you?” Anakin makes an exasperated noise and pat pats the space next to him. “Let me warm your hands up.”
Obi-wan sighs, as if the universe had cursed him with such a nuisance of a padawan, and peels his eyes open again. He pushes the lid of the thermos closed, disgruntled, and scooches closer to Anakin, pulling his nest of blankets with him. He begins to hold his hands out, but pauses, eyeing Anakin intently for any hint of mischievousness, and finding none, offers them to him fully.
Too easy, Anakin thinks.
He grins like an imp and darts his hands out to grab Obi-wan’s wrists, pulling Obi-wan’s hands up his shirt and into his armpits, where he squishes them into place and fortifies his grasp, prepared for Obi-wan’s initial recoil.
Obi-wan flinches, and screws his face up in disgust, trying to tug backwards. “Anakin, don’t be vile, let me go.” But Anakin is giggling like a schoolboy, clenching his arms down on Obi-wan’s hands, his grip on Obi-wan’s wrists impossible to break out of.
“No, I’m warming your hands up.” Anakin teases, and takes in Obi-wan’s outraged expression, his murderous glower a stark contrast to the fluffy pile of blankets that hang off him, and can’t help the bubble of affection that expands in his chest. He used to love pranking his master, used to love setting up harmless traps to gain a reaction out of Obi-wan Kenobi, the perfect Jedi. It’s been years since he’s had the chance to laugh like this.
Then a corner of Obi-wan’s mouth tugs back in a devious grin, and the bubble of affection pops, leaving only pure dread. Anakin immediately regrets his little stunt.
Obi-wan manages to squirm a little in his hold, rotating his hands enough so that his fingers can poke into Anakin’s armpits, tickling him. Anakin vaults backwards, but Obi-wan stays with him, tongue poking out in between his teeth, a full smile on his face.
“No, stop-” Anakin is suffocating with laughter, trying, and failing, to shove Obi-wan off.
Obi-wan shoves him back and hooks a leg over his stomach, straddling him. “But, dear padawan, my hands aren’t warm yet.” He’s snickering, all of his blankets pushed to the side in the tousle. Anakin’s shirt is pushed up to his chest as he lays on his back, exposing his skin to the cold.
Anakin knows he’s making obscene noises as Obi-wan tickles him, aborted laughs and high pitched yelps, and a string of incoherent no, stop, please, get off is bubbling out of his mouth before he can even think about it. Obi-wan’s eyes are alight above him, twinkling, full of glee.
After what feels like years, Obi-wan relents, coming to rest his hands on the broad plain of Anakin’s chest. They’re both heaving air, breathless from all the play fighting and laughing. “And here I thought you were actually going to be nice to me, for once.” Obi-wan leans down towards his face, cocking an eyebrow at him.
Anakin lets his head thump onto the ground, exposing his neck, and rests his hands on Obi-wan’s. “I’m always nice to you, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Shoving my hands into your armpits is you being nice, then?” Obi-wan snorts, and his eyebrow somehow hitches further up on his forehead. “If only that were true, darling.”
Despite the cold, Anakin feels himself reddening at the pet name, and his rather compromised position underneath Obi-wan. Their faces are only about a foot away, which feels like inches to Anakin. If he propped an elbow up, he would be close enough to close the gap and kiss him.
Sensing the sudden shift in energy, Obi-wan stiffens, as if suddenly aware that he’s straddling Anakin’s bare stomach, alone, in a dim and freezing ship. He clears his throat and awkwardly climbs off Anakin, gathering the mess of blankets left in the wake of their skirmish. In a better light, Anakin would’ve been able to see the blush burning away at Obi-wan’s ears, practically melting them.
Anakin sits up, yanking his shirt back down. “Do you want to-”
“We should-” They speak at the same time, and Obi-wan stops, gesturing at Anakin. “You first.”
“No, you go.” Anakin can’t quite look him in the eye, and he focuses instead of wrapping himself in his blanket again.
Obi-wan makes an exasperated noise in the back of his throat. “Anakin.”
“Maybe, we should, I mean only if you want to,” Anakin fiddles with the corner of the fabric, “huddle for warmth?” It feels as ridiculous as it sounds, and Anakin regrets it as soon as he’s said it.
“Oh, so you can maneuver my face into your smelly armpit?” Obi-wan jests, his tone laced with mirth, and he reaches for his thermos, always finding calm within his tea.
Obi-wan’s eyebrows jump once as he pops the lid off and takes a sip, shrugging. “Maybe not to you, my dear.”
Anakin, offended, pulls his knees to chest, resting his head on his kneecaps. “I was being serious,” he mumbles into the material of his pants. He’s freezing from being subjected to the cold air for so long, all of his body heated lingering in the air around them. “What were you going to say?” he asks.
Obi-wan makes a hm? noise as he lays down on his bedroll, and then says, “Oh, right. I was going to say we should try and get some sleep.”
Anakin half heartedly nods his head best he can against his legs. A shiver tears through him, and he hunches into himself, wishing they could turn the ship’s heaters on. As fun as their shenanigans had been, it left them both significantly colder than before. He reaches out to see if the radiant heater will go any higher. It won’t.
“Anakin,” Obi-wan says, softly. “Come here.”
Anakin is dubious. “Why?”
“You’re right. Body heat is probably our best option right now, given the circumstances.” Obi-wan unwraps his blankets and begins unzipping his thick jacket, holding the space open for Anakin. “Here, before I get cold.”
Anakin’s heart stutters in his chest.
He crawls over to Obi-wan’s bedroll and sheds his jacket, tucking himself into Obi-wan so that his back is flush with Obi-wan’s chest, Obi-wan’s breath hot on his ear. As Obi-wan snakes a cold hand to rest on his chest, Anakin pulls his jacket on backwards so that his arms stay warm, and spreads the blankets out on top of them evenly, best he can.
He feels...at home in Obi-wan’s arms, he thinks, and mentally kicks himself. Obi-wan is only doing this because of the impending frostbite if they don’t.
Silence settles over the pair, only the sounds of their slow breathing to keep them company.
“Do I really smell, master?” Anakin whispers into the dark.
Obi-wan snorts into his neck. “Always, dear one.” He pats Anakin’s chest to console him.
Anakin turns in place, lifting his arms above Obi-wan’s head, shoving his face into his armpit. “How about now?”
48. kisses with trembling lips from these prompts!
HI FRIEND HOPE YOURE READY TO BE SAD
this takes place right after the deception/rako hardeen arc, right after obi-wan gets his real face back. because what the FUCK was that whole arc. anyways, hope you’re having a wonderful day! thank you for the ask ❤️❤️ here you go love:
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Anakin can hardly feel the sharp edges of the chair beneath him, his anguish and rage drowning out his senses as he waits for Obi-wan to return to their quarters.
Nothing has changed, of course. Anakin hadn’t had the heart to move his stained and loved mug, his inherited and half-dead plants, his discarded robes, and treasured books, rare and precious, much like their owner. He felt a pang of solidarity for them: he, too, was one of Obi-wan’s forgotten things, abandoned in death.
When Obi-wan opens that door, it’ll be like he never left.
Except that’s not quite true: how can Anakin even begin to explain what havoc Obi-wan’s wreaked on his heart?
The kitchen is sterile, devoid of Anakin’s habitual mess, and poorly lit. He doesn’t want to face Obi-wan in the light; he’d rather be able to hide his grief in the shoulder of his dear friend, the shadow, who has seen so many of Anakin’s hot, quivering tears. Only the emergency lights that backlight the sink have been left on, solely because Anakin can’t turn them off without tripping the alarms. The place glows a bleak, navy blue, like the rain that falls from a weeping sky.
Their door creeps open, hesitant. The face that follows is so familiar Anakin can’t help the minuscule gasp that rips out of his throat.
“Anakin?” Obi-wan asks, genuinely surprised. Guilt laces through every feature, tugging on upturned eyebrows, pleading eyes, and pressed lips, pulling his entire body taunt.
“What, did you think I’d be asleep?” Anakin scoffs, malevolent.
Obi-wan doesn’t respond, but the downturn of his mouth tells him the truth: he did think Anakin would be sleeping.
“How could you do that to me?” Anakin whispers, each word violent, a dagger that Anakin wants to tear into Obi-wan with. He’s holding onto his rage like it’s the only thing keeping him together, and in a way, it is. If he lets go, all the grief and yearning will come pouring through and empty him out completely.
Obi-wan closes the door and treads lightly over to Anakin, pulling out a chair and taking a nervous seat next to him, knees close enough to touch. His face is cast in shades of blue from the emergency lights, full of sorrow.
“It was wrong of me. Please forgive me.”
Anakin takes in his apology, but there’s so much anger left, a sickness he needs to spew before he can heal.
“Obi-wan, I”—he whimpers, emotion clogging his throat—“I held your dead body. I grieved for you. I watched them bury you.” His nose stings with unshed tears, vision going blurry. “And for what? So you could...could use me in some plan? I mean, how did you think I would feel? Huh?”
Obi-wan looks anywhere but his face, studying the fine grain of their standard issue tabletop.
Anakin has been sitting still up until this point, hands in his lap, but now he turns to Obi-wan, shifting in his seat so that their knees are interlaced. He leans into the man’s space, and with each inch closer, the sharp tendrils of fury melt into the all-encompassing ache of heartbreak and suffering. Of longing. Of regret. Of a keen and simple yearning for more.
Or, blending them all together, the messy and complicated condition of unrequited love.
He’s waited too long to tell Obi-wan, and has learned the hard way that the regret of unspoken feelings is a ravenous beast, waiting to devour the hopeless.
“And I never got to tell you that I loved you.” He corrects himself: “That I love you.” With shaking hands, he ghosts his palms over Obi-wan’s cheeks, cupping his face. “Do you know how much that haunted me?”
Obi-wan’s eyes are blown wide, and he’s holding perfectly still, his lips parted in disbelief. When he doesn’t respond, Anakin takes the opportunity to skim his fingers over Obi-wan’s forehead, into his hairline, over the curves of his ears, into the soft skin of his lips. He runs his palms down Obi-wan’s shoulders, his athletic and sturdy arms, and into the calloused skin of his hands, where he holds tight. Obi-wan’s fingers fold around his: their lifeline.
“I can’t believe you’re alive.” He says to Obi-wan’s hands, to himself.
He hears Obi-wan swallow and breathe in through his nose.
“I thought you wouldn’t…” Obi-wan trails off, his voice tight with emotion. “I thought you didn’t…”
“What? Care?” Anakin looks up at Obi-wan with leaking eyes. “Are you kidding me?”
Obi-wan feebly shakes his head, and breathes out his response. “Notice.”
Anakin just stares at him, looking from one eye to the other as Obi-wan formulates the rest of his thought. The cool air swims like a pool of blue between them, the somber lighting paling Obi-wan’s skin out.
“I didn’t think you’d notice I was gone.”
The entirety of Anakin’s face crumbles at the thought. But before he can answer, Obi-wan continues:
“I didn’t think I was important to you anymore. You’re not my padawan—you don’t need an old man like me anymore.” His voice cracks, and for the first time since Anakin was a child, he sees water pool in the corners of Obi-wan’s eyes, glistening, staining the murky whites a painful red. A droplet escapes onto his lower lashes, and traces over the curve of his cheek.
Anakin is heartbroken, indignant, and devastated all at once. He abandons his chair in favor of straddling Obi-wan’s thighs, bringing his hands up to Obi-wan’s face again. With trembling lips and tears, he peppers soft kisses to the lines of Obi-wan’s features: the salty, tear-stained crinkle of his eyes, the worried creases in his forehead, the edges of his wobbling lips.
“Of course I need you,” he keens. “I’ve always needed you.” He rests his forehead against Obi-wan’s, closing his eyes. “I’ll need you as long as I live.”
Obi-wan takes a few breaths, his exhales hot on Anakin’s lips. “Oh,” he says, softly.
Anakin closes the distance and kisses him deeply, the feeling of Obi-wan’s pliant lips a salve to Anakin’s hurts. It’s barely a start to what Anakin wants to do with him, but he pulls back and instead gathers Obi-wan up in his arms, cradling the back of his head in one hand, shuffling his hips forwards so that he’s completely enveloping Obi-wan’s torso in his own. They melt together, Obi-wan threading his arms around Anakin’s waist and squishing his face into the hard space of Anakin’s shoulder.
“I love you, Obi-wan. Never do that to me again.” He mumbles into Obi-wan’s hair, feeling like he might crack under the weight of his own heart, his own love. It’s so much, and he’s had to carry it alone for so long.
“I love you too, dear one. And I’m so sorry.” Obi-wan confesses.
And in each other’s arms, Anakin sees the path forward; he’s been lost in the desert, stumbling around for a future, ready to hit the hard sand and crumble to dust, but now he sees Obi-wan on the horizon, and he’s running, slipping, bounding towards the man as if he held life in his hands. The terrain might be rocky, forsaken, depleted, but together, they’ll make it out okay.
Because Obi-wan is still alive, folded neatly into Anakin’s arms, resting against and inside of his beating heart, forever, where he’s always belonged and always will remain.
Ooh!!! "No more today, you’re at your limit.” ? ❣❣
Hi anon!! Thank you so much for sending this prompt in, I had so much fun writing it (also thank you for waiting, I’ve been a little slow with writing lately)
do we want 3.2k of obikin in the bath? idk but i wrote it! (also do the apartments in the jedi temple even have baths? idk. in this story they do LMAO)
as always, i write at 3 am, so if there are any mistakes, please.. just dont look at them
enjoy!! 💖
____
Obi-wan throws a side kick that lands square in Anakin’s stomach, sending him stumbling backwards. He rolls over a shoulder, ready for the next attack. He blocks a fist to the face, and counters with a punch to Obi-wan’s stomach, which is easily batted to the side.
They’ve been going at it for hours, lightsabers tossed to the side in favor of hand-to-hand combat. Their robes lay messily off to the side of the training room, discarded hours ago as the room sweltered in the summer heat, the pair left only in their pants rolled up at the ankles. Anakin can see Obi-wan faltering, making easy mistakes that cost him light bruises; he must be incredibly tired, just having returned lightly injured from a mission to the Outer Rim. Anakin would so much rather see Obi-wan resting and curled up over a cup of tea, or taking a nap on Anakin’s chest so he can pet his hair down and hold him. But Obi-wan had wanted to spar, and Anakin would never say no to that.
Anakin sees the opportunity and tackles Obi-wan to the ground, straddling his bare stomach and pinning his arms above his head. Obi-wan bucks his hips to roll Anakin over, but Anakin had been prepared for that, digging his knees into the mat to keep grounded. Both of their chests are heaving, and a droplet of sweat drips off of Anakin’s chin and onto Obi-wan’s neck.
“I think we should call it quits for today, old man.” Anakin releases his grip on Obi-wan’s wrists and perches back on his heels, looking down at him.
Obi-wan smirks. “And stop while you’re ahead? No, let’s go again.” He makes to get up, pushing his elbows into the mat, but Anakin stops him with a hand to his chest.
“I’m serious. No more today, you’re at your limit. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Anakin’s tone is serious as he can be, his eyebrows raised, features stern.
Obi-wan falls back to the ground, closing his eyes as he catches his breath. “As far as I was aware, it’s you hurting me, but point taken, love. You win.”
Anakin leans down and pecks a kiss to his cheek, tasting salt, and stretches his lips in a wide smile. “I’ll grab us dinner from Dex’s and I’ll meet you back in our quarters, okay?” He shifts his weight to the side so he can slide off of Obi-wan, wincing at the ache in his already sore muscles. “And go shower? You need one.”
Obi-wan shoots him a wry look. “What, you don’t like the smell of sweat? I can’t, anyhow, I have to go report to the council first.”
“Do you want your usual?” Anakin ignores his sarcasm and hops to his feet, making his way towards their forgotten robes, wishing he had remembered to bring a towel with him.
“Of course, darling.” Obi-wan answers from the floor, still lying on his back with his arms stretched out above his head.
Anakin dons his robes loosely, grabbing his ‘saber from the floor, and takes in the sight: Obi-wan is covered in a thin sheen of sweat, making him glow, and his hair is pushed back, giving him an oddly attractive tousled look. Anakin’s dick twitches in his pants, wanting to do nothing more than take him apart right then and there. But the desire to get some food in Obi-wan and see him rest and relax overwhelms the sexual urge. There will be time for that later on, no doubt.
He makes his way back to Obi-wan in easy, long strides and squats down, kissing him sideways, holding his sweaty head in between his palms. “I’m serious, you stink. The council can wait. Go shower.”
Obi-wan snorts. “No, they really can’t. Tell Dex I said hello.”
____
Anakin shuffles through Padme’s favorite body shop, where she used to drag him when they had briefly dated years prior. He never would’ve admitted it to her, but he relished the fancy baths she had created for them, and had returned to the shop alone innumerable times since they politely ended things. His body always thanked him after a hot soak.
With how tired Obi-wan seemed when he had come back from his mission and padded into their quarters earlier, and how sore he must be after today’s intense practice, Anakin wants to do something special for him. Besides, they’ve barely been able to spend time together because of the war, and Anakin misses it just being the two of them. He hopes the bath won’t be too much for Obi-wan, but he knows the man has a soft spot for fancy things under that rigid exterior.
The shop is crammed and dense, with low ceilings littered with dried flowers hanging upside down, casting a faint rose hue over the entire place. Soaps in muted colors, wrapped in bright shades of paper line the walls, leading down to the wooden tables that hold syrupy oils and linen bags of flowers and herbs. Coarse soaps and lotions in clear tubs sit in wire baskets underneath the tables. The whole room smells like a meadow in bloom, and Anakin eyes the candles burning in the corners of the room in consideration.
Thankfully, he’s the only one in the shop currently, so he can take his time picking the right products. He pops the cork out of a bottle of bath oil and takes a whiff: light, and flowery, with a faint hint of jasmine. Throwing it in his cart, he adds some cream soap, and, hesitating a little, a bag of assorted flower petals to hover on the surface of the water. He already has floating candle lights for the bath at home.
“Are you all set?” Sasha, the elegant female Twi’lek that owns the shop, leans against the register, eyeing him fondly. She used to tease him all the time about coming here alone, but they’ve moved past that, into a tentative friendship.
“Yeah.” He slides his basket onto the counter between them.
She eyes his items, cocking an eyebrow. “Is this for someone special?”
He can feel the blood rushing into his cheeks and ears, but doesn’t want to admit it one way or the other. “Maybe.”
She barks out a laugh at his bashfulness. “Lucky person, whoever it is.”
“Uh.” He doesn’t really know how to answer that. “Thanks?”
Her smile is playful, like he’s a child that just said something particularly cute. With the efficiency of someone who’s been doing it for years, she rings out the total and wraps all the items up in a paper satchel, sliding it back across the counter at him.
“That’s going to be 83 credits.”
He really hopes the council doesn’t look into his expenses, he wouldn’t know what to tell them.
____
The door to their quarters swings open cautiously and Anakin peeps inside, worried that he took too long. After popping by the body shop, he swung by Dex’s as promised, and Dex had wanted to catch up, and rightfully so; it had been too long. Anakin had shifted from foot to foot the entire time though, anxious about getting home to draw the bath before Obi-wan returned from meeting with the council. But Dex is a viable source of information, a fantastic cook, and most importantly, a long time and loyal friend, so Anakin had plastered a good natured grin on his face and quieted the nag of unease in his stomach.
The living room and kitchen is quiet, and Anakin doesn’t hear any noise coming from either the ‘fresher or their bedrooms. Anakin is in the clear.
He drops the food off unceremoniously onto the kitchen counter, throwing his outer robes over a chair on his way to the ‘fresher, bag of goods in hand. Flipping on the light, he starts up the hot water and pulls out the candle lights that sit underneath the sink. As the scalding water rises to the top, he pours in the oil and soap, and sprinkles the flower petals across the water, deliberately placing the candle lights in last so he could perfect their destination. They glow to life as soon as they make contact with the water, and Anakin smiles at the sight.
Stretching back up to stand, he turns the light off and shifts the door shut, letting the dim incandescence float through the room, a heavy orange that immediately adds intimacy to the space.
He has to admit, he’s outdone himself.
Then: a creak of a door hinge, the shuffling of tired steps, and crinkling of the take-out bag as Obi-wan no doubts sneaks a fry in before Anakin catches him.
Anakin bounds back to the kitchen, like a child bursting at the seams.
“I have a surprise, before we eat,” he says to Obi-wan’s back. (He is sneaking a fry.)
“That’s never good.” Obi-wan replies, turning around to lean back against the counter, chewing thoughtfully.
“All my surprises are good surprises.”
“Oh, like the time you superglued my datapad to the ceiling so I would pay more attention to you? You could have just asked, dear one.”
Anakin huffs, and covers the distance between them in two short strides, nudging Obi-wan towards the ‘fresher, covering both of Obi-wan’s eyes with his hands.
“Just,” Anakin murmurs, “trust me on this one.”
They lumber towards the ‘fresher, Anakin pushing a blinded Obi-wan forwards with each step. When they make their way to the entrance, Anakin stops them, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Smells good, at the very least.” Obi-wan hums, in no hurry to have his sight back.
Anakin, however, cannot wait and eagerly pulls his hands back, watching Obi-wan’s face for a reaction.
The smile begins in Obi-wan’s eyes as they crinkle, and then it moves down to his cheeks and into his mouth, which is pulled back in a twisted, tender way. Joy sings through every feature, and Anakin is elated.
Obi-wan turns his head to look at him, his gaze tender. “Is this for me?”
Anakin bites the inside of his cheek. “For us, to share, if you want. Unless you want to be alone, I’m more than happy to go lay down, but I thought-”
“For us, then.” Obi-wan leans in and kisses him on the jaw, already undressing. For the second time that day, Anakin looks down at a small heap of clothing. He closes the ‘fresher door behind them.
As soon as he slides his legs into the water, Obi-wan moans, and Anakin, no matter how many times he’s heard it, blushes, his breath quickening. Obi-wan is somehow both the most proper, and most obscene person Anakin has ever had the good graces of knowing.
The petals dance away from Obi-wan, ripples in the water sending them cascading in circles. “Come on, then,” he says to Anakin, who is still staring down at him with a dopey smile on his face.
Anakin makes quick work of his clothing, standing naked next to the bath. He motions for Obi-wan to lean forward so he can nestle in behind him.
The water is still piping hot, almost uncomfortably so, but Anakin makes a small ahh noise at the feeling of it on his sore muscles. He snakes his legs on each side of Obi-wan, pulling him back so that Obi-wan’s back lays flush against his chest, having to shoo a candle light out of the way. It bumbles along their sides, and out towards their entangled legs, illuminating the peachy bubbles and sunset tinged petals that bob in their wake. Obi-wan tilts his head back, resting it on Anakin’s shoulder, and sighs in contentment.
He drops a kiss on Obi-wan’s temple, breathing him in, his arms finding their home around Obi-wan’s waist. The skin on Obi-wan chest, arms, and face glimmer in the candlelight, flickering orange, more radiant than any Tatooine sunset, and Anakin wants to fall face first into the radiant gleam of his heart, wants to crawl into Obi-wan’s chest and bask in the warmth of his love, his light.
“This is lovely,” Obi-wan whispers, fluttering his eyes closed. “Thank you.”
Anakin’s hold around his middle tightens a bit in response, trailing a hand up and down Obi-wan’s stomach in repetition, a mindless gesture. “You seem tired lately.”
Obi-wan turns his head toward Anakin’s, resting his forehead in the crook of Anakin’s neck. He doesn’t get a response for a few heartbeats, and Anakin wonders if Obi-wan heard him. And then:
“Well, we are at war.” Obi-wan’s tone is flat, nondescript. Anakin knows Obi-wan is mincing his words for his sake, and as a bad habit of holding tight to all of his problems, like sharing them would break him. Anakin wants to share the load with him, help carrying the burden.
“Are you sure that’s all?” He mumbles into Obi-wan’s humid forehead, sweat beginning to glisten at his hairline from the searing water.
Obi-wan lets out the faintest of sighs through his nose, carefully considering his response. “I wish I…,” he grabs Anakin’s hands in the water, laying them on top and threading his fingers into Anakin’s, “I wish I could help more. Do more. None of it ever feels enough.”
Anakin gazes over their tangled legs, barely visible underneath the bubbles drifting over the surface, and aches all over at the thought of Obi-wan feeling inadequate. He wishes Obi-wan could see himself as Anakin sees him: brave, selfless, the entire backbone of the war, and a brilliant General and inspiring leader. Anakin has, and would a million times over, follow him into the depths of hell. The petals stick to their skin, creating a small halo of reds and purples where their bodies meet the water.
“You’re doing enough.” Anakin sighs. “You barely sleep, you’re always doing briefings and writing reports, and when we’re finally on a break you’re off training younglings, sitting in for the council, kriffing asking for sparring practice.” He huffs a laugh of disbelief into Obi-wan’s hairline. “You practically run this war yourself sometimes. When do you ever rest?”
Obi-wan is silent for some time, probably thinking of some way to deflect everything. He comes back with rare and unusual honesty. “It feels selfish, taking time for myself when I know there are people out there dying. Innocent people.”
Anakin scoffs. “How are you supposed to help them if you’re ready to keel over yourself, hm?”
“We’re jedi, that’s what we do. Besides,” Obi-wan rubs his face on Anakin’s neck, tone turning sweet, “I have you to make sure I don’t.”
Anakin grins into the wet curve of his head, his hair plastered to his skull from the steam wafting up around them, making the edges of the room disappear into a soft and warm fog.
“You’re enough, and you deserve rest.” He plants an overdone kiss on Obi-wan’s skull, rougher than usual to make a point.
Obi-wan hums noncommittally and tightens his hold on Anakin’s hands, somehow sinking further into Anakin’s chest.
He squeezes once and then untangles his fingers from Obi-wan’s hold to trace over his body. The tops of his thighs are as far as Anakin can reach, so he starts there, letting his fingertips graze over sensitive and supple skin, over soft hair and old scars. He moves to the base of Obi-wan’s stomach, purposefully ignoring his cock in favor of showering him with pure adoration and affection. He’ll let his hands wander there after they’ve eaten and gotten into bed.
Anakin loves the broad plain of Obi-wan’s chest, loves to rest his head on it after a long day, so he spends extra time there, dragging his fingernails across the pink skin, smoothing the sting down with the flat of his palm. He glides up to Obi-wan’s neck and into the base of his auburn hair, gently massaging the tense bundles of nerves that always seem to gather after a long and stressful day, and Obi-wan melts into him, humming sleepily.
Overwhelmed that Obi-wan is his, that this breathtaking man is resting in his arms, seeping into his chest and finding home in his heart, he can’t help but want to stay like this forever: clean, warm, safe, and together.
“You’re so beautiful,” Anakin breathes out, voice cracking, “and I love you so much.”
The petals gleam in agreement, hovering in reverence near him, their red hues like Anakin’s beating heart, holding Obi-wan in place. He understands their predicament; he, too, would bloom and fall and bloom and fall for this man, would reach out as far as he can from the wet and mossy ground to be regarded and gazed at, plucked and taken home. Even if it meant dying, wilting away, it would be worth it to be held near his face, to be carefully tucked into a vase to watch over him in the final days. Him and these flowers are one and the same, always gravitating towards the brightest point in the room, his sun, his reason for blooming.
Soft and slow breaths escape Obi-wan, and his chest evens out in a regular cadence. He must have fallen asleep. Good, Anakin thinks.
Anakin holds him close and watches the bubbles pop, one by one, as the time passes. Candlelight reflects off of the still surface of the water, the rise and fall of Obi-wan’s chest the only movement causing faint ripples. This is the closest he’s come to meditation lately, and it feels so wonderful.
He’s not sure what time it is, and can’t be bothered to care if anyone has comm’d him. Here in the four corners of their shared space is Anakin’s entire universe, and bliss simmers in his chest.
Anakin’s fingers are starting to prune and sweat drips off of chin. The water is starting to cool, though, and if Obi-wan hadn’t been stuck to his body, he probably would want to get out. He doesn’t want to wake him though, as sleep is rare and precious these days.
His stomach, however, has a different idea, and growls loudly, startling Obi-wan awake, who chuckles at the sound.
“Maybe we should go eat that food you brought back,” he teases.
Anakin can’t help the guilty smile that creeps its way onto his face. “How does eating and going back to sleep sound?”
“Sounds like the best plan you’ve ever improvised, my dear.”
Anakin makes a psh noise. “I don’t ever improvise.”
Obi-wan scoffs, a high pitched laugh from the back of his throat. “So this was all planned, then?”
Anakin sees the opportunity and takes it. “What, falling in love with you? No, but that has been my greatest achievement this far.”
Obi-wan raises his head from Anakin’s shoulder and meets him at eye level, twisting his body around to kiss Anakin deeply, biting his lower lip and sucking. Anakin snakes a hand to the back of his head and kisses back, trying to pour all his love, his entire heart, all of him, into Obi-wan’s mouth. He wants Obi-wan to pluck him, and know he loves me, he loves me, he loves me with the pull of each petal.
Obi-wan breaks their kiss and leans back, staring into his eyes. “Well, unlike you, I do actually plan, and my greatest achievement this far will be devouring the order of fries waiting for me in the kitchen.”
a ‘what if obi-wan had been there with anakin on tatooine during his mothers death?’ au
no shame posting it here as well
im sorry, i made myself sad writing this
____
Grief needles into his heart, and like a nasty splinter underneath a fingernail, the pain spreads, transmuting into dripping anger the further it seeps into his body: the devil’s alchemy. He wants to scream—no, more than that—he wants to tear himself apart and let the howling of his soul reverberate across the entire godforsaken planet. There was so much—so much sorrow, so much rage, so much love, so much, so much, so much—
So he lets it out.
He reaches into the Force and pushes, sending Obi-wan and all of the Tuskens flying backwards, leaving him and his mother’s corpse the center point of an explosion. He’s heaving, keening, tears running down his cheeks in warm, spiteful rivulets, landing on the earth like a balm.
“No, no, please don’t die, you can’t—“ He pushes again, the screeching of the force crackling through him like electricity. It feels so good, so right, they had no right to kill her, no right to touch her body, no right to take her from him, no right to live after what they did.
Someone is screaming, and it sounds painful. Oh, it’s him.
“Anakin.” Obi-wan’s voice is barely audible over the rushing noise of the sandstorm circling him, the air vibrating, whirling around him. “Anakin,” Obi-wan cries out again, holding a hand over his ribs.
Obi-wan is hurt. He did this.
The sand falls, and everything is still.
Obi-wan rushes over to him in an instant, gathering Anakin up in his arms, an unusual display of affection, and cradles him against his chest. Anakin is sobbing, ugly, heavy tears that won’t stop coming, like his body is trying to exorcise all the pain out through his eyes. He melts into Obi-wan’s chest, completely boneless in grief, still holding his mother’s still face in his lap. The setting twin suns’ heat lingers on her tanned skin, giving the appearance of life, but Anakin knows it’s a lie. It was all a lie—everything the Jedi ever fed him about releasing his emotions to the Force, about ignoring his nightmares—look where it got him. His only family, gone.
“It hurts, I can’t—“ Anakin’s hoarse voice babbles out into the rough fabric of Obi-wan’s robes, sand stuck on his lips. His eyes are screwed shut, swollen, and he hunches further into himself, further into Obi-wan’s chest. The Force is violent and rippling around them, and distantly he can hear the sounds of the Tuskens scrambling away in fear.
“I know, I know, dear one.” Obi-wan smoothes a hand over Anakin’s messy and distraught curls, rocking them back and forth.
“She’s gone, and I can’t—“ A pained noise rips out of him, grotesque and wet. “I can’t— I loved her, Obi-wan.” His chest is a storm of fury and anguish, and it feels like being sucked inwards, a black hole, until there’s nothing left of him. He curls over his mother’s face, settling into Obi-wan’s lap as he breathes in the smell of her hair, of home, for the last time. The brown and dirty fabric of Obi-wan’s pants press into the side of his face, but he can’t muster up any dignity to care about the compromising position, letting Obi-wan pet his hair and grieve with him.
The anger melts into pure, unadulterated heartbreak with each quivering breath.
They stay like for hours, until the sun has set and the darkness envelopes their somber silhouettes, the cold creeping in and nipping at their limbs. His outburst earlier has left Anakin feeling completely hollowed out, a fragile statue ready to crumble if life beat him down again. Obi-wan shakes Anakin into movement, whispering about the temperature and how they should find shelter.
“I want to bury her.” Anakin replies instead, his voice indistinct from the whistling wind whipping past them.
“Here?”
Anakin nods, shifting out of Obi-wan’s lap to sit up, glancing around for suitable tools. He lowers his mother’s head to the ground gently, brushing strands of hair out of her face, as if she were merely napping.
Through the pinpricks and needles shooting through Obi-wan’s numb legs and the ringing throbbing of bruised ribs, he rises to aid Anakin in the search for a shovel, or anything similar. In the far corner of what Obi-wan assumes is some sort of weapon tent lies a handful of shovels, rusty and dented. He wordlessly hands one off to a swaying Anakin.
They dig all night, without the aid of the Force, gradually losing layers of robes as their muscles work. Anakin is sweaty, glistening underneath the harsh light of the moon, and each indentation into the sand and groan of his aching body feels like penance, an apology. If he had tears left to give, they’d drip into her grave and live in eternity with her, but his eyes are as dry as the earth around them.
Finally, an area adequate to fit her perfect body has been excavated, and with reverence, Anakin and Obi-wan lower her into the space. Anakin arranges her arms so that her hands rest against her heart, and sinks down to press one more trembling kiss against the curve of her forehead.
He holds himself there, hovering above her face, and a fresh wave of despair hits him forcefully. Part of him wants to crawl in there with her and suffocate on his own remorse.
They get to work shoveling the sand over her body, never taking a moment to rest.
Anakin doesn’t look at her face before the sand engulfs it.
The delicate warmth of morning murmurs to them a tentative greeting as Anakin finishes patting down the space they’d dug out. He kneels over where her head would be, and comes to rest on the ground, his knees pulled to his chest, making himself as small as the nine-year-old boy she once loved, once held.
“You were loved. I miss you already,” he breathes out onto the sand.
And then he gets up, and doesn’t meet Obi-wan’s concerned gaze.
“Let’s go.”
“Anakin, are you sure—“
“Let’s go,” he repeats.
Obi-wan furrows his eyebrows, and steps into Anakin’s space, tilting his chin so that Anakin is forced to look at him. The eye contact makes him feel so vulnerable, so raw, but he pours everything he can’t say into the pool of his eyes, and hopes Obi-wan knows how to tread water. And then hands are closing around his back, pulling him forward into a sturdy embrace.
And that’s how the golden rays of daylight finds them, wrapped around each other, holding on for dear life as the suns rise into the sky, witness to the impossible forward motion of life in the wake of wretched, human tragedy.
Selcouth and/or verklempt with obikin (if you'd like) from that prompt list!!
verklempt - completely and utterly overcome with emotion
hi love!! i plan on doing selcouth as well (its just a whole ass scene that will take me a hot minute to write)- i’ll tag you when i post it!! but here is a little happy thought in the meantime:
have a lovely rest of your day/night, wherever you are ❤️
thank you for the ask 😘🌷
________
“You love me?”
“Of course, Anakin.”
“No, but you really—“
Obi-wan cuts him off with a kiss, a brief embrace of soft lips, a stolen breath. Anakin stills, shocked, but melts into the feeling, pushing into Obi-wan as if he wanted to seep into his skin. It’s funny, Anakin thinks, how familiar it feels—is it really that strange, after all? Obi-wan had been his home for over a decade; he could probably tell you more about Obi-wan than about himself. They’re more than friends, more than lovers, like two halves of the same coin and—
Obi-wan loves him.
Joy climbs up his throat like upside-down tears, the emotion swelling so large in his chest that it bursts out of him in a laugh, hot on Obi-wan’s mouth. Once he starts, he can’t stop, and he presses his forehead into Obi-wan’s, cupping his face with calloused hands as he giggles nonsensically.
“What’s so funny?” Obi-wan’s question is cautious, curious, but padded by contagious delight.
Anakin shakes his head, both in a nothing and I can’t answer, peppering Obi-wan’s face with small, twisted kisses. His ribcage is shaking, abs clenching as puffs of air sneak up past his throat and into his nose, his mouth, and out onto Obi-wan’s face.
You love me, you love me, you LOVE me, and I’m just… I’m just so—
“I’m just so happy,” he manages to get out, kissing Obi-wan squarely on the mouth again.
Time seems to slow, as if waiting nearby with abated breath, watching. As Anakin kisses and kisses and kisses him, the clock stops, and it is only them, their hearts, and the floor holding them steady.
Anakin breaks away, letting hungry eyes linger on Obi-wan’s lips. “For the record, I love you too.”
Obi-wan snorts, and stares at him with all of his soul in his eyes. “I gathered that, love.”
And the giggling is back, as if Anakin’s body doesn’t know what to do with all of the hopeful bliss running ramped in his heart. There’s too much emotion to hold in his body; the laughter is simply an outpouring of love, falling freely like a waterfall.
Oh, Obi-wan, I love you, I love you, I LOVE you, and I’m just… I’m just so—
“I’m happy, too.” Obi-wan whispers, his face nearly split in half with a bright smile, eyes twinkling.
