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warnings: ADULT CONTENT MINORS DNI (inappropriate use of the force kind of, fingering, blowjob) swearing, mention of death
a/n: you could probably read this on its own, but this is a second part to my first fic so you can read that here - thank you for bearing with me bc this took forever, also giant shout out again to @kyberblade for literally coming up with the plot for this and the entire ending, a genius if there ever was one!!!!! okayyyyyyy enjoy this
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
“I’m so glad you could all come today.” You say in what Obi-Wan can only describe as your most queen-like tone. You look up at him, worry flashing across your face. “What is it now?”
“Nothing! It’s good. Keep going.” He says through his hand, and looks down, fixating on the very plain floors. He doesn’t have to look up at you to know you’re flopping down on the bed, completely exhausted.
“I can’t do this. I totally can’t do this.” He hears you sigh, and pushes himself off the table. He’s been trying to help you create the perfect speech for the council, going through every small detail as you paced across the bedroom.
warnings: ADULT CONTENT MINORS DNI (oral f receiving, mxf intercourse, general sexual content) mentions of death, reader has deceased family so mentions of dead parents/siblings only briefly
a/n: sorry this is fucking LONG i dont even know why because there is hardly a plot but i tried. sorry but reader calls him master kenobi so thats hot? it’s fluff throughout tho bc CMONNNN ITS KENOBI HES SWEET AS. can’t believe the show is ending tomorrow i am so sad. manifest another season! okay bye!!
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
“You came all this way for me?” You smile at your former classmate turned Jedi council member, and he is just as gorgeous as you remember him. “I’m honoured.”
“You haven’t changed a bit.” Obi-Wan Kenobi bows slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. It was protocol, now that you had taken your rightful place on the throne of your home planet, but with the history you shared with the man in front of you, you quickly brushed off the gesture and came towards him. Pulling him into you, your arms wrapped around his significantly large frame. The last time you saw him, he was a scrawny padawan training under Qui-Gon, and had that ridiculous braid down his face, but seeing him now, you hadn’t realised how much you actually liked it.
warnings: ADULT CONTENT MINORS DNI (oral m and f receiving, general sexual content, obi-wan is a virgin but they don’t actually fuck but yeah) swearing, think that’s it??
a/n: obi wan i love youuUuUuUu. okay in honour of the show coming out i am finally letting go of this lil thing I made. i wrote it months ago but never felt like it was good enough to post but here we are!! im feeling okay about how it turned out so i hope u enjoy and if you didn’t just lie and say you did!!! also this is inspired by that one line from the clone wars u know the one. okay that’s enough goodbye!
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
“This is ridiculous! You can’t do this!” You shout to the Jedi council. In front of you is some of the galaxy’s most respected members, the most seasoned generals from the clone wars, and yet not a single one seems to be able to see reason.
“We must. For the good of the Jedi.” Mace Windu says from the corner of the room, not meeting your eye. Your face drops, unable to comprehend their callousness.
“How could you? You know me. I would never jeopardise my career. This is what I’ve done my entire life! I-’
“This isn’t permanent, however the council has made a decision. We cannot afford to have a Jedi falter in their cause - not now, in the middle of a war.” Plo Kloon says, empathy guarded behind the crushing words. So that was that. All this over one decision.
WARNINGS: Oral sex (fem receiving), friends with benefits situation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms. 18+, MINORS DNI
A/N: Maybe a part 2? 👀
~
The knock at your door was barely a formality.
You opened it just in time for Obi-Wan to sweep inside, soaked from rain, the hem of his robe clinging to his legs. He shrugged it off before you could even greet him.
“I—okay,” you blinked. “Hello to you too.”
He looked wrecked. Rain-damp hair clinging to his forehead, jaw set tight, tension in every muscle.
“I needed to see you,” he said, voice low and rough, eyes already locked on your mouth.
You didn’t ask what happened on the mission.
You didn’t have to.
He crossed the space between you and kissed you like he was afraid he’d disappear if he didn’t taste you fast enough. His hand cupped the back of your neck, lips warm and insistent, fingers trembling ever so slightly where they held you.
Your datapad clattered to the floor, forgotten.
“Clothes,” he muttered against your skin. “Off. Please.”
You laughed softly. “You’re so polite when you’re desperate.”
“I’m always desperate,” he growled, “when it comes to you.”
Your tunics were gone before you could form a reply. His hands were hot and firm, tugging them down your arms with near-frantic urgency, and then he dropped to his knees like it was the only place he belonged.
You gasped as his lips pressed to your hip, then lower, dragging down your thighs. “Obi—what are you—?”
His tongue answered before his words did, licking a slow stripe up your center that made your whole body arch toward him.
“Fuck—”
He moaned. The sound reverberated through your core. He hooked your leg over his shoulder and pulled you closer, face buried between your thighs, tongue stroking and curling and circling with single-minded purpose.
You reached down, fingers tangling in his rain-damp hair, breathing hard. “You—gods, you love this.”
He groaned again, openly, grinding subtly against the floor like he was just as wrecked as you were.
“Obi-Wan…”
He sucked gently at your clit and your knees buckled. His grip on your hips tightened, holding you exactly where he wanted you. You could barely keep your balance, chest heaving, every swipe of his tongue drawing you closer and closer to the edge.
“I—Obi, I’m gonna—” You whimpered, clinging to his shoulders. “Stars, I’m gonna come—”
He hummed in encouragement, eyes fluttering shut like the taste of you was divine.
You shattered with a cry, thighs clamping around his head, hips jerking. But he didn’t stop.
You whimpered again, breath hitching. “Obi—Obi-Wan, wait—I can’t—”
He kept going.
Even as your legs trembled. Even as you squirmed from the sensitivity. Even as you said his name in broken pleas that weren’t entirely protests.
“I said—oh—Obi, please—it’s too much—”
He looked up at you with those burning, focused eyes, lips slick, beard damp with you.
“I know,” he murmured. “Give me another one.”
You choked on a moan as he dove back in, tongue relentless, precise. His hands pinned your hips down as you squirmed, overstimulated and aching. He groaned again at the taste of you, fucking moaned like he couldn’t stop himself, like he was getting off on this just as much as you were.
Your whole body trembled.
You gasped, high and broken. “I—I can’t—Obi, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” he whispered, breath hot against your soaked cunt. “You will. You always do.”
And somehow, somehow, he was right.
It built again—hot and sharp and fast—until you came a second time with a cracked sob, thighs shaking, body twitching as it crashed over you.
Only then did he finally pull back.
He kissed your thigh, your hip, your stomach. Soft, reverent touches after the storm he’d just dragged you through.
You stood trembling, barely able to breathe, staring down at him. “You—fucking hell.”
Obi-Wan looked utterly gone. Flushed. Pupils blown. Chest heaving. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes fixed on you like he hadn’t had nearly enough.
“You look wrecked,” you whispered.
“So do you.”
You collapsed back onto the sleep couch behind you, limbs shaking, trying to gather yourself.
He stood slowly, towering over you. His tunics still clung to his body, dark with rain and sweat.
There was a long pause between you—one of those moments you both tried to pretend wasn’t anything more than physical.
“…Better?” you asked, still catching your breath.
He stared down at you for a beat. Then said quietly:
“No.”
You blinked.
“I won’t be better,” he murmured, brushing a knuckle down your cheek, “until I’m buried inside you.”
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Tags: hurt/comfort, nightmares, post phantom menace, obi-wan needs a hug, but so do you
Summary: With the recent loss of Qui Gon Jinn, Obi-wan has been struggling. But trying to keep it together as if the loss of Qui Gon didn’t impact you too is taking a toll on you. So when he seeks your comfort in the middle of the night you finally break.
Notes: one of my first fics and it’s not perfect but oh well, honestly just tired of looking at it so here it is
It’s been hard. And emotionally challenging. Sometimes you wonder how you’ve been able to keep it together without completely breaking down. When you came to his quarters after you’d heard the awful news, you tried your best not to break. Mainly for Obi-Wan's sake. Because he couldn’t stop sobbing when he broke in your arms, and your own tears followed soon after. When you were both done crying the sun was already starting to rise. But you were finally able to sleep.
The loss of Qui Gon Jinn would impact the both of you, more than either of you would realize in the long run. Qui Gon was someone you looked up to a lot. Sometimes you felt like he was your second master, simply because you were sent on so many missions with him and his padawan. That’s how you and Obi-Wan grew so close. But Qui Gon was not just a mentor, he felt like family. His steady force signature, his warm voice, his fascination with prophecies and the living force, those disapproving looks he’d always give you and Obi-Wan whenever you may or may not have ignored his direct orders…
But now he was gone. And it felt like a part of you had been ripped away from you. But there was a worse feeling than your grief for your lost friend. It was having to see Obi-Wan, his padawan, go through this. His guilt. Because Obi-Wan Kenobi was selfless and forgiving to a fault, but also knew how to beat himself up over every single mistake he made. Even when he wasn’t the one to blame. Over the past two weeks you’ve held him more times than you have in years as his defenses seemed broken and he completely shattered in your arms. Repeatedly. Which was so unlike him. And it was hard, having to see Obi go through this. But you told yourself to not break down because he needed you. He needed you more than ever. So you tried to put your own grief for Qui Gon aside, and ignore the overwhelming stinging in your chest whenever Obi-Wan’s sobs continued on long after sunset. But you were there for him. Because that was the only thing you could do.
Obi-Wan wasn’t the type to show vulnerability often. Oh no, he would rather force everything deep down to never be diggin up by anyone, not even by you. Not that he didn’t trust you, he trusted you with his life. And he had more times he can count. It’s because he didn’t want to hurt you since he knew you would worry about him immensely if he told you. And he hated that. He hated being the cause of your pain. Or anyone else’s for that matter. So Obi-Wan bottled things up. Even despite your best efforts to try to talk to him.
These past two weeks he’s felt so incredibly guilty of seeking you out after the simplest task during the day, simply because even that felt too overwhelming. Or at night when he’s been awake for hours and finally gave in and came to your quarters. Or when you came back from a day away from the temple for a mission. He felt guilty. But his overwhelming grief made him give in when you had offered him kindness and compassion. Because he needed it.
This wasn’t the Obi-Wan you knew. And it’s taking a toll on you without fully realizing it yet. But it hurt. Everything hurt. Maybe that was why you were soaked in sweat in the early hours of the morning and woke up gasping for air. Trying to calm yourself down you look around the room, and realize you woke from yet another nightmare. Dreams weren’t uncommon for you. In fact, they were very common, you were a highly skilled padawan and had a deep connection to the force. But this often led to you having visions in the form of dreams. Which made nightmares like these even worse. They were incredibly vivid. And what if they weren’t just nightmares? As you push away the covers and sit up in bed, you realize that deep down this was just because of fear. Your grief for Qui Gon, fear of losing Obi-Wan the same way, of him being so broken and overwhelmed with hurt you wouldn’t be able to heal him... And maybe you felt a little more strongly about Obi-Wan than most jedi. Or any jedi. But he couldn’t know that.
You sigh and still feel shaken by the terrors of your dream and decide to get up and walk to your refresher. Water would help. But as you drink from the cup you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and almost grimace. You looked awful. Pale and dark circles under your eyes. It’s like you hadn’t slept in days. So you turn away, unwilling to accept that the last weeks have been harder on you than you realize. But if anything, you were determined. Determined to make sure Obi-Wan would be okay and not force down every bit of grief he felt to become a scar that would forever remain unhealed.
But part of you longed for Obi-Wan’s comfort. Which was a stupid and selfish thought because he was hurting and you couldn’t just ask him for support right now. But he was your best friend. And you needed him. But not as much as he needed you, you tell yourself as you realize you’re suddenly freezing and grab your robe from a chair and wrap it around you. The familiar length of the sleeves providing some sense of comfort. You sit down next to your window as you look at the skyline of Coruscant. There were many speeders flying around in the still very much alive city at 0300. But lost in thought as you look at the familiar sight you realize how alone you feel.
You weren’t alone exactly, you’ve visited Obi-Wan every day the past few weeks (which normally isn’t irregular either) and your own master has been there for you. But you still somehow felt alone as the small but bright, twinkling lights of the coruscant traffic continued to move through your vision. Wrapping your robe tighter around your frame to provide some comfort, you lean your head against the window. You were trying so hard to be there for him. But would it be enough? What if after years he’d still feel like this? You had continued to reassure Obi-wan that this feeling wouldn’t last forever and that time heals, despite how annoying that may be, but what if it didn’t? Your vision blurred as silent tears started to spill from your eyes.
After a while you heard a soft knock on your door. You weren’t sure how long because time seemed to pass more slowly at night than during the lively and brighter hours of the day. A month ago you would’ve been alarmed by hearing knocking at this hour. But now you knew it could only be Obi-Wan. And it was, because this had happened four times before the past weeks. Or maybe it was five— you lost count. Sighing and taking a deep breath after you wiped away your dried tears with the sleeves of your robe, you stand up. Your chest felt tight still. But you try to push the thought away as you walk to the door and open it. And you’re met with obi-wan’s familiar features in front of you. Painted by grief. Which you had unfortunately gotten used to in just 2 weeks. Despite your efforts to keep it together your eyes soften when you meet his gaze. He seemed just slightly puzzled for a moment by the fact you’re wearing your robe but didn’t mention it. Yet.
“Can I come in?” He asked softly, almost timidly and not knowing what else to say. But both of you knew why he was here. He needed you. And you’d always help him. Because it was Obi. You couldn’t imagine your life without him.
So you nod and step away as he enters your quarters and you close the door behind him. Turning to him your eyes meet for a moment. You could still make out the dark circles under his eyes and his slightly too pale face. And his shoulders seemed to be slightly too tense as if he’d just endured something terrible. Or was haunted by phantoms of his failure, like he would call it. He looked tired. No, exhausted. Not just physically but mentally. That’s when you step closer to him and wrap your arms around him, when it seemed like he was already reaching for yours.
“Nightmare?” You ask softly as your head rests against his shoulder.
“The same one…” he mumbled softly and you could tell there was a deep frown on his face by his voice. He had told you about the horrifying nightmares he’s gotten since it happened. How he was always there, watching Qui Gon fight the rageful sith. Until he’d see the anguish look on his master’s face, as the sith gutted him through his chest. Or beheaded him with his gushing red lightsaber. Or choked him with the force. But he’d always die. In whatever way. And all Obi-Wan could do was stand by and watch from behind that force’saken ray shield. Your stomach twisted at the mere thought. You hug him slightly tighter after a moment. And you felt him do the same. Sighing softly, you realize that despite everything, Obi’s arms still made you feel at ease. Despite all the horrors he’s been through. And you close your eyes for a moment.
“Why were you awake?” He suddenly asks softly. Your eyes blink open again. “I wasn’t.” You tell him, and you’re not so sure why you’re lying to him. You’re just worried. “So sleeping in your robe has become custom?” He mumbled softly. Under normal circumstances his words would’ve been teasing, but there was a clear concern behind it. It made your heart ache because you knew how selfless he was, even when he’s hurting this bad he still seemed to care.
“I woke up earlier and couldn’t fall back asleep..” You reply after a moment and try not to focus on the tight feeling in my chest by focussing on his arms around you instead.
Obi-wan doesn’t respond for a moment. But instead leans his head against yours. It was a small gesture. But it sends waves of comfort through you. After a moment you realize you hold him tighter, because of the many emotions racing in your chest. And feel a shiver run through you. And he noticed.
“Are you cold?” Obi-Wan asks softly, almost slightly surprised. And you could deny it, but it’s one more way of pretending, and you’re exhausted. So you nod softly. And feel his arms wrap more securely around you. He tried to warm you up a bit by rubbing his hand up and down your back. And you felt comforted by it. By his touch, his presence, his compassion... He made you feel at ease. Despite everything going on. And after a few moments you can’t pretend anymore. And you feel tears start to spill from your eyes.
Obi-Wan noticed when he felt you start to tremble slightly, and as soon as he did he moved his head away to look down at you, but your face is buried against his shoulder. ‘’Are you alright?” He spoke softly. And that’s when your defenses crumbled. And you immediately feel guilty for crying. ‘’I’m sorry—’’ You choke out as you hug him tighter as if that would help hide the fact you’re starting to break. Obi-Wan doesn’t do or say anything for a moment, but then he tightens his arms around you in return. ‘’Obi— I’m sorry-’’ You manage to blurt out between sobs that escape you as tears wet his robe. ‘’No I am..’’ He says after a moment and then moves away from you so that he can see your face, but you just hug him tighter, afraid of letting go.
He pleads your name softly for you to look at him, his hands moving to your head to gently pull you away from his shoulder. You’re hesitant. But after a moment you give into him. Because eventually, you always do. And then your teary eyes meet his and you’re immediately filled with regret. Because he looks so incredibly sad and guilty. Normally he would’ve been better at hiding it, but not the past weeks. Obi-Wan’s hands move to gently wipe your tears away as he continued to look at you. And you lean into his hand slightly.
‘’I’m sorry..’’ He whispered. ‘’You’ve been there for me this entire time and I—’’ His words get caught in his throat. And you feel so bad for him. Tears continue to fall.
“No— don’t say that please—’’ you say between sobs and he continues to hold you. Neither of you were great at showing vulnerability, on the one hand because you were afraid of what others would see and on the other because of worrying people. Especially each other. ‘’I’m sorry.. I should’ve been there for you...’’ He spoke quietly. And you hated how remorseful he sounded. And how unfair all of this was. So after a moment you closed the gap between you and buried your face against his chest again. ‘’You always are—’’ You say, your voice slightly muffled by his robe. But Obi-Wan wraps his arms around you again and leans his chin on top of your head.
He stays like that for a while. Just like you had for him so often the past two weeks. And even though he didn’t say anything, no comforting words, lullabies or whispered reassurances, this was still enough. This was everything you needed. This was all he could give right now and that was okay. You just needed him. And he gave you exactly that. Then he shifts his head slightly.
‘’You should rest..’’ Obi-Wan says in a soft tone as if to not disturb the quiet moment. Or the way part of you already felt like drifting off into his arms. Months ago you would’ve argued, suggesting you don’t need sleep. But now everything was different. And you just nod slightly against him before opening your eyes and slowly moving away from him. Not too much though. And you realize he wasn’t moving away either as he placed his hands on your arms gently and looked down at you. Those cerulean eyes of his are somber. But somehow there’s still the tiniest bit of light in them as he looks down at you and noticed the care in them. His kindness. And in that moment you realize that it was the strongest force in the galaxy.
You both turn to bed then. And neither of you feels surprised when Obi-Wan lays down next to you and pulls the covers over you both. You’re already turned to him. And when he settles down and turns to face you, you realize you wouldn’t know where you’d be without him. Not after so many years.
You lean your forehead against his shoulder, not wanting to cross any lines. But his touch, his presence was healing in so many ways. And you close your eyes for a moment. After a moment you feel Obi-Wan’s arm wrap around you, and you don’t hesitate to move closer and lean into him. Hesitantly at first. And so was he. It’s not that you hadn’t done this before, laying next to each other, because you had, on multiple missions. It always made your heart beat too fast. But now it was different. You were searching for comfort in each other's presence, compassion and warmth. To hopefully get through the hours of the night. Peacefully. Because you’re both griefing the loss of Qui Gon.
Obi-Wan’s hand rests on your back and you sigh softly, trying to drown in the feeling of his warmth. Because you needed it. Your spark had almost burned out… His had. He lost it. And it painted you to notice it so well. He didn’t deserve all of this. It made you feel like you’d been stabbed. You nuzzle your head slightly more against his chest at the thought. Obi-Wan sighs softly and leans his head against your own.
“Obi?” You hear yourself ask softly, voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t say anything for a moment. But let’s you know he’s heard it by gently drawing circles over your back with his thumb.
You aren’t sure what to say. There were many things you hadn’t told him. Like how you could get lost in his eyes oh so easily, how you felt your heart beating faster every time he complimented you, looked at you, touched you.. how much you loved him. But you couldn’t tell him that. But he has always been there for you. And you didn’t know how you had gotten so lucky. And why he hadn’t. Because he deserved the galaxy.
“Thank you..” you say your voice drifting off to a whisper. Obi-Wan didn’t respond for a moment. Instead he nuzzled his head against the top of your head slightly more. You felt his lips brush against your hairline when he spoke.
“You shouldn’t..” he spoke softly and regretfully as he held you.
And for some reason that made you feel even more strongly about needing to thank him.
“Shut up.” you mumble softly as you shift and move your arm to wrap around him. Ignoring whatever lines this may cross. You didn’t care right now. Because you weren’t gonna accept any more of this- of him talking badly about himself. Not with what he’s going through. “Just let me thank you...”
Obi-Wan had to suppress the urge to say something. To make you understand that you didn’t need to thank him, that you shouldn’t. Because what could you thank him for? He only brought you worry, pain and the feeling you had to take care of him. He only brought you work. Because he was a mess. And he couldn’t fix himself. And yet here you were offering him comfort yet again when you were struggling. Just as much as he was. Maybe even more, because he kept acting like such a youngling seeking your comfort, your care and your strength. And he hadn’t even noticed just how bad you had been doing, how could he be such a horrible friend? He knows you better than that- he should be better than that. But he wasn’t going to argue with you. Not now. Not when you were clearly exhausted and he had drained you enough emotionally. So he sighed softly, and closed his eyes. Because he wasn’t gonna risk letting the last bit of remaining light in his life die out.
And you would both sleep in each oher’s arms for the rest of the night. Both unaware of just how much you cared for each other. And that wouldn’t change for a while even though it conflicted you both endlessly. But for now you laid in each other’s arms. Seeking comfort in each other's presence as you both tried to escape the terrors of the night. The traffic on Coruscant would soon start to become more lively. The moons would soon disappear from the night sky and be replaced by golden rays of the sun. But through all changes in life, no matter how big or small, you had each other. And that was enough.
Warnings: DUBCON ELEMENTS, SMUUUUUUT, religion kink, virgin kink, authority kink, degradation kink, praise kink, age gap, ohhhhh the list goes on y’all been here long enough
A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time im sorry
***
Obi-Wan feels like he’s going to be sick.
Dinner in the grand hall was difficult enough, forking down mouthfuls of expensive food he’s sure was absolutely marvelous, if he could’ve tasted it. The s’Ziscari clearly splurged on the celebrations—expensive food, expensive decor, expensive everything, down to the silk napkin he studied and fiddled with under the table as he awkwardly waited for you to finish your plate.
He felt uncomfortable, absolutely. He’s felt uncomfortable ever since he shuffled into this blasted, Maker forsaken robe not long after he left your quarters earlier.
Not black, no. Not like yours. Not like what appears to be an overwhelmingly vast majority of the people he’s encountered so far this dreadful evening.
Summary: The Clone Wars have launched the galaxy into darkness, and hundreds of Jedi have fallen. With nowhere else to turn, the Order seeks to ally with powerful Force users from the Unknown Regions. Just a three-cycle trip from Ilum, the planet s’Ziscari is home to the largest army of Force sensitives known to the galaxy, three times the size of the Jedi Order and with no current allegiance to the Republic. There, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and his newly ordained Jedi Knight are to negotiate an alliance with the s’Ziscari government on behalf of the Order and the Republic. As the separatist army grows ever stronger, the fate of trillions rests in their hands…
Warnings: THIS WILL BE A FUCK OR DIE-ESQUE FIC. Smut will come in the second part.
***
“Why is it,” you ask, the heels of your leather boots clicking in perfect synchronization with the cloaked figure to your left, “that the greatest negotiator in the Jedi Order wields a blue saber, and not a green one?”
While you’re unable to see his gentle smile from underneath your dark cowl, you sense a general wave of amusement reverberate through the Force from his direction. The energy somehow feels like the equivalent of a lift inside the cavity in your chest; transparent, tinted a soft blue in color, comfortable, calm, and familiar.
“Perhaps we should trade,” comes that crisp and precise Coruscanti accent you’ve ached to hear for the past two years. “No matter how much you lamented its color as a youngling, you know I have always been rather fond of yours.”
Summary: Padawan Obi-wan x padawan reader / plenty of banter, lil obi plays the hero and qui-gon gets the last laugh / this is as fluffy as it gets / follow up to something of mine, inspired by the request of @just-about-rio
Word count: 1.3 k
Warnings: Mentions of drowning (or what I think it'd be like for a jedi) / monster is inspired in disney's hercules lol
“You’ve been in there AN HOUR!!” You screamed as you banged the door of the washer.
Obi-wan opened with a smug smirk, half his face smeared with shaving cream. “And it will be an hour more.”
You controlled the impulse of rolling your eyes. “Come on, let me wash my hair real quick.” You asked, voice sweetened.
“Of course, my dear.” He moved from the door, returning his gaze to the mirror and continuing his work.
“Without you inside” you were trying hard not to throw a tantrum.
He turned to see you again, “just do your thing while I do mine. Don’t be shy.”
“Obi-wan!” You stomped one foot on the ground, failing at your previous task. “I will not take a shower with you inside the washroom.”
He scoffed, “well then, you will have to wait till I’m finished.” His hand pulled the razor across his cheek agonizingly slowly.
“FINE” you stormed inside of the washer, grabbing your bag of toiletries and a towel before rushing to leave the ship.
“Where are you going?” He chased after you.
Not until you had left the ship you realized he was only wearing a towel around his hips.
“Master Jinn ordered us to stay on the ship until he returned”
“Since Master Jinn has the un-fortune of knowing you, I’m sure he’ll understand it was impossible for me to remain close to you”
“I can not protect you if you go”
You scoffed, “I happen to be a Jedi as well, thank you very much”
“Where are you even going?”
“I’ll wash myself in the river” you kept your pace.
“The conditioner will mess up the environment” Obi-wan bickered.
You turned to him, huffing, a finger stabbing his chest, “YOUR BITCHING MESSES UP THE ENVIRONMENT”
He scoffed before returning to the ship.
You walked towards the river decisively, discarding your clothes until you reached the underclothes. Leaving your robe in a boulder near the water, you dipped in. It was not very deep, standing it barely reached your waist.
You washed your body first, scrubbing away the sweat and dust clinging to your skin, and then got to your hair.
Ever since the lightsaber incident you had taken a special assignment on its growth. Washing it often enough to avoid greasy scalp but not so often to promote breakage. A routine you had finally mastered… at the Temple. On missions it was another agonizing story, more so when you were sent with Master Jinn and Obi-wan.
They were not trouble, but ever since a royal from Force-knows-where called Obi-wan cute, he had become insufferably fastidious. Every morning, without fail: smoothing his hair, fussing over his cloak, keeping his face meticulously shaved. In your eyes it was absurd.
‘As if anyone would give him the time of day.’ you thought.
You rolled your eyes and dipped your head beneath the river’s surface, rinsing the last of the shampoo from your hair. As you surfaced, hands rising to wipe the water from your face, something seized you.
A sudden force yanked you upward, and instinct spun you toward it, only to find yourself caught in the massive grip of a creature. Its hand, clawed and scaled, wrapped around your torso with crushing strength. Cold blue skin, dripping river water, and two burning red eyes fixed on you with unmistakable hatred.
Your breath caught.
Driven by instinct, you reached for the Force, trying to project calm, but the creature responded with fury. In one swift motion, it slammed you back down into the river, submerging you completely.
You clung to your training, still reaching out through the Force, searching for any flicker of reason or understanding in the monster’s mind. But the current roared in your ears, your vision blurred, and its grip only tightened. Seconds stretched into agony.
Panic began to rise.
Your focus faltered. The practiced calm of a Jedi gave way to survival. You thrashed against the claws, struck out blindly, lungs screaming for air. Water poured in, flooding your chest. Your movements slowed… and then stopped, consciousness slipping into the dark.
When you woke up, Obi-Wan was giving you cardiopulmonary resuscitation, his palms firm against your sternum as water gushed from your mouth in reflexive coughs. The world came back in fragments—sky, breath, sound—and you found yourself leaning weakly on your elbows, gasping as though you'd never drawn air before. Your body trembled with the lingering chill of near-drowning, cold and fear braided tightly into every shiver.
“Are you alright?” Obi-Wan asked softly, his voice steeped in tenderness.
Tears pooled in your eyes, blurring him now too. “Go ahead, make fun of me,” you said, your voice thin and trembling.
He didn’t speak. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you, warm and unshaking. “You’re an idiot,” he murmured into your hair, but there was nothing harsh in it. Just the tremor of fear in his voice.
“Did you kill it?” you asked, sniffling as you tried to collect yourself.
“It didn’t get to that. It ran away when it saw my lightsaber.” His thumbs moved gently across your cheeks, wiping away your tears.
“Good, good. I was the intruder after all.”
“I told you the conditioner would mess with the environment,” he teased, lightening the tension off the moment.
You gave him a half-hearted shove. “Shut up.”
He smiled, and suddenly you weren’t trembling anymore..
“I didn’t even get to the conditioner.”
“I can tell.”
“Excuse me?” you asked, offended at the implication.
He reached for your hair, and your body tensed instinctively, still raw with survival instinct. But his fingers only caught a few strands, revealing them coated in slick, slimy mud.
“Iuck,” you muttered. “Let me just wash it and get it over with.” Shedding the cloak wrapped around your shoulders—Obi-Wan’s, you realized—you stepped toward the river. You bent to rinse your hair, but as the cold water neared your skin, your breath caught. This time, the fear didn’t just ebb—it clawed back to the surface.
Obi-Wan was beside you in an instant, arms wrapping around your shoulders again. “Let me help you,” he whispered in your ear, his voice low and soft.
He guided you gently down to kneel, then sit. Your back was turned to the water now, and he extended his legs so your nape rested against his lap, a living cradle. His fingers were soft and careful, cupping water and guiding it to rinse the mud from your scalp. His signature brushed yours, steady and calming, coaxing your breath into rhythm through the Force.
His hands moved in slow, circular motions—temples, scalp, down to the knotted, heavy ends. Shampoo followed, and with it a kind of tranquility you hadn't expected to find with him.
You opened your eyes, and found his gaze fixed on you, unguarded and impossibly soft. And even if you still thought him the most insufferable boy in the galaxy, you let yourself indulge in the view for just a moment longer.
He conditioned your hair and rinsed it, and deeply you found it endearing that he did it almost as religiously as you.
When he finished, he helped you sit up, and only then did you notice the state of him: pants soaked through, clinging to his legs from where he'd sat in the wet grass without a second thought.
“My apologies,” you said with the brightest innocent smile you could muster.
He waved it off with a casual hand. “It’s alright.”
With his cloak wrapped around your shoulders again, the two of you walked back to the ship in intimate silence.
Qui-Gon stood on the ramp, arms crossed and a smirk playing on his lips like he’d been watching longer than he let on.
“Care to share today’s adventure?” he asked.
Obi-Wan was practically yellow with embarrassment.
So, with the boldness of a padawan who’s not speaking to their master, you intervened.
“Obi-Wan helped me wash my hair,” you said, breezing past with your own smirk.
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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
CHAPTER 27 UPDATED!
The Jedi Council is seeking new ways to appropriately grow the numbers of the Jedi Order. Due to your strong friendship bond, Obi-Wan and you are now part of a pilot program to reproduce Jedi. Feelings grow and blossom over the years. Despite the turmoil in the galaxy, there will always be your little secret family.
Summary: It’s been years since Obi-Wan has last seen you. But the Clone Wars are finally over and he’s back on Coruscant. If only you weren’t so lovely…
Word Count: 7.5K I clearly went off on this
Main Masterlist
Star Wars/Mandalorian Masterlist
Warnings: Age gaps, unrequited feelings? Langauge? Angst. SmUt. Mentions of illness but it’s really just Obi-Wan being lovesick
May I proudly present....! My first reader insert, I wrote this for all you lovelies who follow/like/reblog/comment on my stuff. This is for you! Obi-Wan/You/Reader Insert. Master/Padawan, SMUT. SMUT. SMUT. That is all. Or is it? Should I write more???
Summary: After disappearing from your Master for thirteen years, the Clone Wars has brought you back to the same planet and a brush with death back into each other's lives. But you’re not his Padawan anymore, you’re a knight, right? No, you’ll always be his Padawan, and he, your Master.
~~~
He wasn't a fool; he had sensed your presence the moment you set foot on the planet, like a blinding light or the ring of a bell only he could hear. Of course, he could feel you—how could he not? At least, he could feel you for a while, long enough for him to be certain that he didn’t imagine it in a post-battle haze. You were here.
The first time your force signature vanished, his heart skipped a beat, and a cold rush of panic coursed through his veins and a horrible cold weight settled in his stomach, making him feel like he may be sick. Determined and distracted, he abandoned his conversation in a mad sprint. Searching. He tracked down anyone who had been alongside you on the battlefield, questioning them relentlessly, not caring how he came off as slightly unhinged as opposed to his normal calm and stoic manner, but each inquiry was met with disappointment and vacant glances.
It wasn't until he caught sight of the familiar sight of a blue and white lekku of Ahsoka that a glimmer of hope ignited within him, brighter than any lightsaber. Ahsoka, Anakin’s padawan. She was seemingly unaffected and greeted him with a smile as though she were seeing a dear friend or distant relative, and that in itself was calming. If Ahsoka wasn't distressed, it meant one of two things: either she hadn't heard of your demise, or, more optimistically, you were still alive.
A wave of relief washed over Obi-Wan as Ahsoka confirmed that you were indeed unharmed and engaged in another mission, your paths had briefly crossed long enough for friendly banter involving drinks later. You were not only alive but also hailed as a hero. Your proficiency with the light your orange, lightsaber had garnered admiration, and the news of your success spread across the battlefield.
As he processed this new information, Obi-Wan couldn't shake the questions that haunted him since the day you disappeared, thirteen years ago. What happened? Where had you been? Why had you left without a word?
Had he been too strict, too distant? He paced in his quarters, the weight of uncertainty pressing on his shoulders. Thirteen years of silence, and now he learned you were not only alive but thriving in the chaos of war. Had he been oblivious to your struggles and triumphs as a padawan? Had he overlooked something crucial?
His distress and confusion fueled his determination to find you, to understand the reasons behind your disappearance. The bond between Padawan and Master was meant to endure, but his had been severed without warning or explanation. The quest for answers became a relentless pursuit, driven by a mix of concern, guilt, and an unyielding desire to reconnect with the one he had lost.
Ilum's gift had bestowed upon you a most unique kyber crystal, weaving the essence of the Force into your arsenal—a radiant burnt orange lightsaber. Obi-Wan swelled with pride, recognizing that your exceptional skills not only ensured your safety but also turned the tide amid battle.
Sharing the tale with Ahsoka, Obi-Wan recounted the moments of uncertainty, the fear that gripped him when the disturbance in the Force signaled potential danger. Ahsoka responded with a knowing smile and a playful eye roll, acknowledging your tendency to dive headfirst into peril and emerge victorious as if it was the only possible outcome. Relief washed over Obi-Wan, mirrored by a grateful grin exchanged with Ahsoka, reassured that you navigated the challenges in your own distinctive way.
“She’s gotten quite good at cloaking, hasn’t she?” And with those words, all his nervous energy fell away.
The reality settled, Obi-Wan marveled at the intricacy of your Force signature concealment. Your mastery of the technique was so impeccable that it eluded even his well-honed Jedi senses. In moments of deep meditation, he attempted to reach out, seeking the familiar touch of your intangible presence, only to encounter a mysterious void. Your cloak, flawlessly executed, had transformed you into a Ghost—a moniker that, suddenly, filled him with pride for your evolving abilities.
Days melted into an endless procession of battles, the smoke of war shrouding the fates of those who entered its domain. Unable to locate you through the Force, Obi-Wan sought solace in updates from Ahsoka and the soldiers who served under your command, the Echo Squadron they were called. 'The Ghost,' a symbol of your evasive prowess, deepened his admiration for the padawan who had become an elusive figure amid the chaos of war.
Despite the promising news, Obi-Wan Kenobi's frustration deepened. Thirteen years had passed since he last saw you, his once-promising Padawan and the silence surrounding your disappearance gnawed at him. Pacing his quarters, he questioned the events that had led to this point. You had excelled in your Jedi trials, proving yourself worthy of knighthood, and yet, without a word, you vanished from his life.
The lack of closure weighed heavily on him. Had he failed you as a master? The memories of your training together, the countless missions you undertook side by side, haunted him. Had he missed something? Obi-Wan couldn't fathom why you chose to sever ties so abruptly and so completely. The bond between a Padawan and a master was meant to transcend time and distance even the Force itself.
His mind danced through potential reasons. Perhaps he had been too stern, too demanding, but he couldn't recall any unresolved conflicts or bitter disagreements. It fueled his restless pacing, so much he thought he might wear a hole in the floor. The war had claimed many, and the unpredictability of life in those times made such disappearances common. Yet, the absence of a farewell, a simple goodbye, perplexed him.
Obi-Wan stopped, staring at the transmission device on his desk. He contemplated reaching out through the Force, attempting to sense your presence, but a lingering doubt held him back. If you wished to remain hidden, he knew the Force would not easily reveal your location.
With a heavy sigh, he admitted to himself that he needed answers. The Jedi Master reluctantly accepted that, without your cooperation, he might never unravel the mystery of your departure. The internal conflict played across his features as he grappled with the uncertainty, the pain of an unanswered question tugging at his Jedi calm.
~~~
Obi-Wan flickered back into his senses, and he’d had enough, your Force signature, elusive and soft, presented a challenge to pinpoint. Yet, now seemed as opportune a moment as any to seek you out. He anticipated that the moment he reached out, you would sense it, and the possibility lingered that you might vanish as swiftly as you'd appeared. Despite the odds, he had to try.
For days, throughout his search, panic clawed at him as your signature exhibited erratic behavior—flickering, softening, going dim and occasionally blazing intensely. Unsettled, he worried about your well-being. Had something happened with your men or yourself? When news of Echo Squadron’s return came across his com, he decided on a more direct approach. The uncertainty fueled his urgency as he raced through the compound's halls, drawing closer to potential answers.
The revelations unfolded when the heavy blast doors swung open, and a chill gripped Obi-Wan's heart revealing a fractured company of clone troopers stumbling in, wearied from the throes of war.
Amidst the chaos, Obi-Wan's voice cut through the clamor, a determined command in battle's aftermath.
"You! Where is your Commander?" he bellowed to the nearest trooper. The man, a walking testament to the horrors he'd witnessed, appeared as if he had traversed through realms of death and fire. His gaze held the weight of someone who had glimpsed into the abyss, far beyond the immediate surroundings.
Obi-Wan called to the trooper, attempting to shake him from his trance, but it was evident that shock had claimed the soldier, rendering him useless for any immediate assistance. A surge of frustration gripped Obi-Wan, that familiar icy sensation taking root within him, he could stand it no more.
"Where is she?" he shouted, his voice cutting through the lingering echoes of combat. Heads turned in response, and a battle-worn trooper, fatigue etched on his face, stepped forward.
"General Kenobi," the trooper addressed him with a weary acknowledgment, capturing Obi-Wan's attention. With practiced discipline, the trooper began to relay the grim news that had been haunting his thoughts.
A surprise attack, swift and ruthless, caught the entire company off guard, unleashing chaos and claiming numerous lives. Amidst the chaos, your unwavering courage emerged as the linchpin that prevented even greater losses. The trooper, his voice tinged with awe, spoke your name with a reverence that echoed through the hushed murmurs of your fellow soldiers. Their expressions carried profound respect, acknowledging the pivotal role you played in turning the tide of the ambush.
The trooper went on to reveal a tale of resilience and determination. The men who managed to return from the battleground owed their lives to you. Your strategic prowess, coupled with an indomitable will, had become the catalyst for the survival of those under your command. The atmosphere grew heavy with gratitude and admiration as the trooper unfolded the narrative, and the unspoken bond between soldiers resonated with the unyielding spirit that defined your leadership.
“Injured?” Obi-wan breathed not wanting to believe it, “How badly?”
The trooper wore a solemn look before explaining; three. You had been hit by three blaster bolts and thrown back in an explosion that you had only barely managed to contain with your force shield, Obi-wan felt as though the breath had been punched out of his lungs. Murmurs of agreement sounded with troopers calling you a hero, and they would go into battle with you any day.
The trooper initiated the playback of the security holo, and the room was enveloped in the eerie glow of the holographic display. The flickering images revealed a chaotic battlefield, where your orange lightsaber danced in a brilliant display of skill, deflecting blaster bolts and cutting through the air. The scene, however, took a grim turn as the explosion unfolded.
The trooper's narration painted a vivid picture of your unwavering determination. Your face, illuminated by the glow of the lightsaber, displayed a fierce concentration as you called upon the Force. The protective barrier you conjured was a testament to the immense power you harnessed. Smoke, flames, and debris relentlessly assaulted the shield, crashing against it with an intensity that seemed insurmountable.
As the holographic depiction continued, the strain on your shield became evident. Each impact pushed you back, a slow and relentless retreat under the overwhelming assault. The trooper's commentary reflected the increasing tension in the room, capturing the collective breaths held by those witnessing the event. Finally, with a heart-wrenching collapse, the protective barrier gave way, and your motionless form was violently thrown backward by the force of the explosion, resembling a discarded puppet.
The disturbing imagery etched itself into the minds of those present, leaving a haunting impression of the sacrifice you had made for your comrades. The room fell silent as the holographic display faded, and the gravity of the moment lingered in the air.
“Where is she?” Obi-Wan’s voice a hoarse whisper.
The troopers exchanged puzzled glances, their expressions shifting from a state of surprise to one of guarded curiosity. Why did General Kenobi, the renowned Jedi leader, express such concern about the whereabouts of a single Jedi, especially one who hadn't reported directly to him? The very nature of Jedi loyalty was well-known, but this level of interest seemed unusual, especially considering General Kenobi had never spoken your name and had no prior connection with your company.
In the austere world of warrior monks, emotional attachments were often deemed a distraction, a sentiment echoed by the Jedi Code. The troopers, accustomed to the stoic and disciplined demeanor of their Jedi commanders, found it perplexing that General Kenobi, known for his wisdom and strategic brilliance, was showing a level of personal investment that transcended the typical chain of command.
As the trooper spoke, the realization hit Obi-Wan like a sudden gust of cold wind. The men, once indifferent, now wore expressions of awe and respect. He had been the mentor to their leader, the padawan of the legendary General Kenobi, and none of them had been aware. It was a revelation that changed the dynamics within the group.
“I apologize, General Kenobi, we didn’t know.”
Obi-Wan's confusion deepened. How was it possible that you had never spoken of your training under him? He couldn't fathom why you would erase any mention of your master, especially considering the strong bonds that typically formed between Jedi and their mentors.
“What do you mean? Has she never spoken of it?”
The trooper shook his head solemnly. His name had never left your lips. There was no connection with Obi-Wan Kenobi, and your silence regarding your master left him perplexed and troubled. What had transpired to make you erase the very existence of your training and relationship with him from your history? It was a mystery that left him with an unsettling sense of guilt and regret.
Dread settled over Obi-Wan as the clone recounted the events in the medical wing. The last remnants of the company had made it back, battered and bruised, their fallen comrades in tow. However, you were conspicuously absent, having been transported to the medical wing for intensive care due to the injuries you sustained. Without a moment's hesitation, Obi-Wan set his sights on the medical facilities.
In his urgency to find you, Obi-Wan maneuvered through the bustling corridors, barely sparing a glance for those he unintentionally bumped into. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the low hum of medical machinery. The chaos within the medical wing mirrored the turmoil in Obi-Wan's mind as he scanned the rows of occupied beds and the busy healers tending to the wounded.
He sought your name among the patients but found no trace. Panic tightened its grip on him, as each unoccupied bed intensified his worry. In the organized chaos, Obi-Wan grappled with the fear that he might be too late, that he had lost you in the vast sea of casualties.
"She’s alright. She was moved out of intensive treatment yesterday; she’s recuperating in private quarters on deck five."
Obi-wan's tension eased at Ahsoka's reassurance. The weight that had settled on his shoulders lifted as he absorbed the news. Ahsoka's brief but impactful update became a lifeline, giving him direction in the chaos. Gratitude filled his eyes as he nodded, silently expressing his thanks. The urgency to find you intensified, but now armed with information, he promptly set off towards the turbo-lift, leaving Ahsoka with the unspoken promise that he would find you.
Inside the lift, the monotonous hum did little to alleviate his restlessness, in fact, it made them worse. The usually swift elevators felt unusually slow on this particular day, and he entertained the thought that taking the stairs might have been a faster option. As he impatiently waited unconsciously tapping his boot, the seconds felt like an eternity. When the doors finally opened on the desired floor, he bolted out, the urgency in his steps reflecting as he raced down the corridor. This was the most cardio he’d had in days. His eyes darted around erratically, scanning the room names, and he eventually found yours.
Adorned next to the door like a beacon, and with a mix of hope and trepidation, he pressed the call button, but only silence answered back. He pushed it again. Then again. And each time the ominous silence was his only response. Mad with anxiety he pushed to override the security lock, a move usually foreign to his respectful nature.
The door slid open, and his heart stilled, there you were on a sofa bathed in daylight from the small window close to the ceiling. Relief surged through him, but it was fleeting; his heart remained uneasy and it would until he saw some indication that you were truly alive. Striding purposefully, he crossed the room, the force signature around you echoing your weakened condition like a medical monitoring device would communicate a pulse or heartbeat.
The aftermath of battle left its gritty mark across your features—bacta patches firmly affixed your shoulder and upper arm worked to make you whole though the tendrils of bruising could be seen around the borders. The marks on your skin were like a gritty painting, telling the vivid story of explosions, blaster fire, and flying debris. Scratches added rough brushstrokes to your face, tracing the chaotic path of the battlefield. Minor burns left fiery imprints on your neck, marking close encounters with searing heat. Bruises, like somber echoes, formed a mosaic on your arms and hands, narrating the intense dance with projectile-like debris.
Despite this, you lay in peaceful repose on your side, facing him, eyes closed in sleep; an elusive serenity amidst the chaos of war. Your head was cradled in your arms, one leg casually folded beneath you while the other stretched out, a blanket loosely entwined around your legs and gathered at your waist. As he crouched down to study you, he sought the familiar essence of the padawan he remembered. The passing of thirteen years had left its mark in the longer strands of hair and the refined, soft features that shaped you into a woman, a stark departure from the Padawan he once guided. No longer bound by the apprentice title, you had evolved into a Jedi Knight—a seasoned warrior.
A close call with death, all for the sake of your men who deeply admired you, almost snuffed out your light. But, your command and growing mastery of the Force made him prouder than ever at that moment.
A subtle shift in your sleep saw a strand of your hair falling gently over your face, just over your nose each little breath lifting it slightly, It brought a smile to his face, and for the first time in days, he felt a sense of tranquility, his pulse calming in the warmth of that precious moment. The chaos of the war outside felt distant within the confines of the cozy room.
Unbeknownst to him, his hand had instinctively reached out, delicately brushing the strand of hair away from your face, inadvertently prompting you to stir in your sleep, accompanied by a soft, sleepy groan.
Wakefulness pulled you from the warm embrace of sleep and instinctively you stretched, a grimace of pain crossed your lips as you moved, prompting you to recoil slightly into a ball once more. Then your eyelashes fluttered open gradually met by crystal blue eyes, quickly filling with a storm of fatigue, confusion, and curiosity.
"Hello, young one," he uttered, his voice a gentle murmur rich with affection, and his smile extended to the corners of his eyes, creating subtle crinkles.
"Obi-Wan?"
"Yes, it's Obi-Wan."
Was this a dream? It didn't feel like one. You scanned the room, casting a questioning glance at your surroundings and the unfolding reality. Your expression wasn't one of pleasure upon seeing him; instead, it bore confusion and distance, as if you were looking at a stranger. He couldn't ignore the palpable sense of disconnect. Hoping for a misunderstanding, that perhaps you had maintained secrecy for a mission, he observed the passing seconds, realizing it wasn't as simple as that.
"What day is it?"
Not the question he had expected, but he was so relieved to hear your voice, that it didn’t matter.
"Primday. You've been in medical for two days, released from the intensive treatment wing just yesterday."
Thirteen years melted away, and those familiar, brilliant blue eyes, so kind and warm. Nostalgia washed over you, and you couldn't deny the yearning for the comforting presence of your former master.
However, as the waves of reminiscence subsided, the reality you'd been avoiding for thirteen years resurfaced. Obi-Wan's knowledge about your condition, coupled with his intense worry, unsettled you, you had to get away from him. Sitting up was a struggle, and as you finally managed to rise, the blanket slipped away, laying bare the toll of battle on your body—a sight that triggered anger, and concern in Obi-Wan's eyes.
A large portion of your left thigh was concealed beneath a sizable bacta patch, and the same superficial injuries that littered the rest of your body continued, it seemed no part of you had been spared, your less-than-optimal state caught him off guard.
“You should be in a bacta tank! They released you like this?” Obi-Wan was flabbergasted, the worry etched on his face evident. “Come, I’m taking you back to the medical wing.”
“Absolutely not!” Your bold assertion caught him off guard and he stopped, there had only been a handful of times where you had defied your master. You adjusted your tone to a more calm and measured cadence before adding, “The bacta tanks are at capacity, and there are far more injured than I. –I’m fine. Just scratches.”
He blinked rapidly, his concern escalating. “Scratches? These are NOT scratches.” Oblivious to your state of undress, he gestured to your leg. “You were nearly killed! I saw the holo myself!”
Feeling the weight of responsibility on your shoulders, you searched for any excuse to put more space between you and your master. Ignoring his pleas for you to stay put, you tried to stand again, driven by your stubborn nature. It wasn't until Obi-Wan physically stepped in, restraining you, that you finally came to a stop.
“You can't go back like this,” he insisted, “You're in terrible shape, you need time to recover.”
You made a final attempt to push past him, but Obi-Wan wasn't having it. A firm but considerate hand on your chest gently pushed you back, and a wave of discomfort washed over you as the dull throb of your muscles crying out caught up with your exertions. Glancing to the side table, he spotted a hypo syringe, and without hesitation, he reached for it, eager to bring an end to your pain. However, you extended your hand and vehemently shook your head, intensifying his disbelief as you refused pain medication despite the evident discomfort you were in.
“I don’t need it,” you insisted, defiantly rejecting any relief for your pain. Obi-Wan couldn't fathom your refusal, considering the severity of your injuries.
“You were hit by three blaster bolts and blown up, and you refuse pain medicine?” His voice rose unintentionally, a mix of concern and frustration evident. He shook his head in disbelief, disappointed by your seemingly stubborn choices. He set the syringe down and rose turning away from you, hands on his hips trying to make sense of you but you’d never made it easy on him.
“And you expected to make it down the hall, into the turbo life through the halls, and into the squad bay like this?” He gestured vaguely to you and huffed out a breath The internal conflict of caring for someone who refused care etched across his face and he shut his eyes in exasperation. “What am I to do with you?”
The room settled into a calm stillness, and he could feel the Force flowing gently, like a quiet river moving past him. Eager to offer support, he laid a comforting hand on your shoulder, connecting his own Force presence with yours. A tranquil hush filled the space as you both embraced the ancient practice, seeking solace for the aches and pains that lingered.
The room filled with the soothing hum of the Force, a brief moment of relief washing over you like waves tickling at your toes, easing the discomfort. The pain began to melt away, replaced by a comforting warmth. Yet, as soon as you felt his added touch, your eyes snapped open, and you jerked back abruptly cutting off both the Force connection and the physical contact. It was as if you pulled back as if the sensation burned you. Confusion widened his eyes, hurt creasing his handsome features. He lowered his head into his hands, his voice tinged with a tremor of pain as he grappled with the mystery of your sudden distance and coldness toward him.
"What have I done to you?"
His eyes closed in unbearable agony, and his head bowed forward, hair cascading over his face.
"How have I wronged you? In what way did I hurt you so profoundly that my own padawan refrains from uttering my name to her company, or anyone else? That she remains a secret, that no one knows she was mine?"
His?
An ocean of hurt filled those beautiful blue eyes as he looked up, and for the first time, he saw you gaze back at him and actually see him.
"Nothing, you did nothing. Obi-Wan I–"
Shaking your head, you reached out to him, but this time it was he who recoiled, taking several steps back, attempting to regain control over his faltering composure. Pain welled up within you, the knowledge that you tried to follow what you believed was right, what you were taught was right, and still it had caused harm.
"I must have done something to you for you to treat me this way." His voice carried a hint of indignation now. "Was I too harsh? Unjust? A cruel master? What did I do to make you harbor such hatred towards me?" Hate?
No, no, no. This was all wrong. What had you done?
"I don't hate you," You pleaded, your voice carrying the weight of regret. "I could never hate you, Obi-Wan."
"Oh? What else am I left to believe? One moment I'm watching you being knighted, the youngest of your clan, my heart swelling with pride at knowing the galaxy will never see another Jedi like you. And the next, you're just gone! No goodbye, no farewells, no communications, nothing. As if the years I trained you were of no consequence, as if the bond that follows a Padawan and Master throughout life meant nothing."
Your heart hurt, and you weren't sure which was more painful: the idea that he thought he had wronged you so much that you hated him, or the realization that you had hurt him and continued to do so.
"That's not what it was."
Your voice was meek, and you struggled to explain but it felt useless, the damage had ben done, by your hand. You had hoped to avoid this conversation, knowing there was only one inevitable outcome: the loss of your relationship with your master, forever. Yet fate seemed determined to unfold it now.
“Then what? What, padawan?”
As he closed the distance between you, your internal turmoil heightened. You clutched the blanket tighter around yourself, a feeble attempt to shield not just your body but the vulnerability you felt at that moment.
"Please, don't call me that."
You sank into the protection of the blanket, avoiding the term that carried memories of a time when things were simpler, a time you desperately wanted to distance yourself from. The weight of the past lingered in the air, leaving you exposed and uncertain about the path this conversation would take.
He seemed both confused and offended now. How could such an important name hold such bitterness for you?
“Padawan,” You flinched at hearing him speak the word in what felt like spite, each syllable caressed by his thick Coruscatnti accent.
“Look at me, padawan.” His commanding presence made it difficult to resist, but you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, you just couldn’t. The last threads of resistance faded when he spoke as he had whenever you were in trouble, “You will obey your Master’s command,”
Of course, you would. You always would when he called, as instinctive a reaction to you as breathing. Painfully slowly, you looked up eyes still fighting it the whole time hoping he would understand without any further explanation, but stubbornness and snark was something the Great Negotiator was famed for, and he would not be denied any longer.
As your eyes locked with his, an unexpected vulnerability washed over you, and you felt more naked than you were. It had been more than a decade since you looked into those eyes, yet the magnetic pull was just as potent now as it had been thirteen years ago. You subtly shook your head, silently pleading.
As the seconds passed, realization dawned on him. Your face, colored by shades of shame and embarrassment, betrayed the unspoken truths. The hand reaching up to your temple was the final revelation, leaving you with nothing to do but let him see.
In the jumble of thoughts racing through your interconnected minds, fragments of him surged to the forefront. His deep blue eyes, the warmth of his smile, the soft touch of his hands—all tangled memories, causing a storm within. He saw the moment you grappled with the painful truth: the man you desired could never be truly yours, shackled by the rigid Jedi code and Obi-Wan's unwavering commitment. Faced with this agony, disappearing into the void seemed like the only refuge, a self-imposed exile to shield both of you from inevitable heartache. So, when you had heard Master Yoda speaking of a mission on the other side of the galaxy, you seized the opportunity. Leaving right away? Perfect. Despite hating the choice, it felt like the only way. You’d have done anything to protect him from yourself.
He understood now, that whenever he uttered "Padawan" the word brought you pain because it was as close as you could ever be. The pain reverberated, and he, peering into your thoughts, could sense it all. As he withdrew, his eyes conveyed not disappointment but a poignant sadness, leaving a lingering ache that cut deeper than any vibroblade could.
The emptiness he left in your thoughts was unbearable. Your head sank into your hands as you whispered apologies—apologies for keeping secrets, for causing him pain, for leaving him, for unintentionally making him believe you were angry or had betrayed him with these unspoken thoughts. The weight of it all overwhelmed you, and grief started to take hold.
"You ran away, for my benefit?" the weight of his words hung heavily in the air.
With a single nod, you admitted the harsh truth. And what good did it do? The heartbreak you'd been dodging finally caught up with you, but you’d given it one hell of a run.
You could hear him taking a cautious step back as if you were a dangerous threat to him, but then again, weren’t you? The impending void that would stretch between you two loomed now, and it would stretch for far longer than the span of a few years. This was exactly what you'd hoped to avoid—the door opening, him walking away, and leaving behind an emptiness that nothing could fill.
In the aftermath, you'd head back to your company, join your men, skillfully avoid their questions, and bury the sound of his name so deep it might never resurface. No more uttering it, not even in the quiet corners of your mind. The once-warm memories of your kind master guiding you in the Jedi ways would become bittersweet relics, stained by your own choices.
A profound hopelessness settled in as you rested your head against your hands, hair falling like a curtain. You braced for the tears, waiting for the sound of the doors to open and close one final time before you’d let them fall, shutting your eyes tightly to keep them in. Any second now.
However, the doors remained sealed, he was still there. Was he about to scold you? To make you feel more the foolish girl who should have had better control over her stupid emotions? Guess every wound needed a little salt, though, didn’t it? The situation seemed to only get worse and you found yourself wishing that the blast you struggled to hold back might have killed you instead, that you might be spared this pain.
His voice was almost a whisper, prompting you to glance up. "You don’t hate me?"
You shook your head vigorously, "How could I?"
Was there a chance to salvage this? In any way? You struggled to get back on your feet, your movements thwarted by a shooting persistent pain that would sooner see you fail in your attempt to reach him. And stumble you did, barely managing a few steps before you failed, but your master was right there, catching you before you could hit the ground. With his support, you managed to stand, though he still towered over you. His arm wrapped around you, a reassurance that you were safe. This shouldn't be happening, and he should have left, but he stayed. Why? Would this be it? It had to be.
Giving in to a momentary desire, you let yourself enjoy a small gesture—your fingers slipping through the back of his neck, remembering the softness of his hair. It was shorter now, and although it suited him, you couldn't help but miss the longer locks that used to invite such thoughts.
“What am I to do with you, padawan?”
His choice of words sent a shiver down your spine, but not in the way it used to. There was a strange undertone in his voice, something you hadn't heard before. You had no answers to his question, but it seemed like responses didn't much matter to him. Then, out of the blue, he stooped down and picked you up in his arms, something you'd only dared dream about.
"What're you doing?"
"Taking you to bed, where I can take you properly."
You froze. What did he say? Could he really mean what you thought he did? There had to be some misunderstanding. Your love-struck brain must be playing tricks on you. Your master wouldn't actually give in to those desires, right? Your blood raced, your heart thundered and your skin tingled as he effortlessly carried you, making your weight seem inconsequential.
The bed, though not exceptionally soft, transformed into the most comforting spot in the galaxy as he tenderly placed you upon it. Kneeling beside you the mattress dipping to accommodate him as well, he cradled your face in his hands, prompting a shaky "Wha-?" from your trembling voice.
"Stubborn girl," his words hung in the air, accompanied by that unforgettable tone, yes, it was slightly critical but there was something else to it. "You're not leaving this bed until you're fully recovered. Understand, Padawan?" Confusion swirled in your mind at hearing his command, but you managed a small nod. "You will obey your master's commands, won't you?" The authoritative tone was unfamiliar, prompting another slow nod from you. "Say it."
"Yes, Master."
"Good girl," he affirmed, drawing closer, and his lips met yours in an unexpectedly ferocious kiss.
His mouth quickly took control of yours, leaving no room for confusion about what his intentions were when he said ‘take you properly’. It felt like a tempest, threatening to engulf you, carrying you to the darkest depths but after thirteen years of wanting, and needing, the storm could do as it wanted, if he was the storm.
He smelled like blaster fire, adrenaline, smoke, and lightning—the aftermath of the battlefield sticking to him. Mingling with his scent, like the promise of rain, held traces of incense, taking you back to moments meditating in temples and deserts during your years of travel together. It was a smell that whispered safety and felt like home, a unique cologne you'd spend countless credits on. Something you wanted to drown in.
In countless dreams, you'd imagined moments where your master sought you out after hard battles, dangerous missions, or late at night, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you two. You dreamed of clandestine rendezvous with his hand covering your mouth urging you to be quiet.
Now, it wasn't just a fantasy; it was real. His lips moving against yours, licking at your lips, sucking on the tip of your own tongue, fueled by hunger as intense as that of a starving man, confirmed the reality of the moment.
During your trials, he had worn his beard and mustache, and it had long sparked your carnal curiosity about the sensations they might bring – a persistent tickle or a pleasurable burn? It turned out to be both, exquisitely and painfully so, surpassing the allure of any narcotic. The intensity of his mouth against yours was relentless, lips brushing yours before his tongue entered the equation. It delved into your mouth, leaving your usually sharp mind in a state of struggle, accompanied by shaky moans. Yet, none of it mattered. The moment he pressed himself between your legs, seizing the hem of your shirt, all rational thought vanished. Your hungry mind could only process the overwhelming realization that your master was kissing you, his tongue licking at your mouth, and he was pawing at you, undressing you like your clothes were an unforgivable offense.
His hands, leaving trails of smoldering embers, intensified the moment, but the euphoria came at a cost. When you moved to discard your shirt, a sharp pain shot through your shoulder, stealing a cry from your lips. Clutching your wound, you fought back the urge to cry.
The sudden sound shattered the enchantment, and his eyes snapped open. He pulled away abruptly, looking as if he were shocked to find himself in this situation with you. Clarity returned to his gaze, and a heavy feeling settled in your stomach as he stepped back, his features clouded with alarm, shaking his head.
"No, we can't," he uttered, releasing you abruptly. In an instant, it was over. A desperate breath escaped you as you reached out, but he vanished.
The urge to scream, cry, or tear down the walls clawed at you, but none of it could change what had just happened. Flopping back on the bed, your shoulder met the mattress with a wince. Anger pulsed through your core, fueled by both the recovering blaster wound and the missed opportunity.
He'd kissed you, and touched you, and just when the promise of something more seemed within reach, it slipped away, leaving a bitter taste of disappointment. The thought of his bare skin against yours, a tantalizing dream, now felt elusive. Despair settled in, but the sudden sound of hurried steps shattered the silence—Obi-Wan's unexpected return.
Before you could fully rise, he gently pressed you back down, his body covering you. His lips sought yours again in a softer, slower kiss, dispelling confusion but introducing a new layer of uncertainty.
He hadn’t left. "Master?" You could barely get the word out before his lips crashed into yours again, a hungry, intense kiss that made you forget about everything—the sudden exit, the unexplained return—all vanished in the heat of the moment. A sharp sting in your arm brought you back, and you pulled away with a surprised 'Ow!' Glancing down, you noticed the hypo-syringe in his hand and the red mark on your arm. "Wha-?"
He came back for another kiss, a hungry and urgent embrace that left you breathless. His tongue teased at your lips, an intrusion you found hard to be angry about. During this heated exchange, he murmured, "I'm sorry," between breathless kisses, his hand entangled in your hair, adding an electrifying thrill to the encounter.
His voice, heavy with sincerity and restraint, trailed down your neck as he continued the assault of hungry kisses. “I don’t want to hurt you,” The tingling sensation from the hypo spread through your body, replacing pain with a welcomed numbness. Now his words made sense – he had injected you with an anesthetic, he wasn’t going anywhere.
"But being gentle is not an option right now," he confessed against your skin, his lips sending shivers down your spine. "And I can't wait any longer."
And neither could you.
His presence enveloped you, a promise to soothe the ache that had haunted you. Rational thoughts and hesitations melted in the passionate exchange, leaving behind an urgent desire for his tongue to dance with yours, to savor the taste of you.
The pain became a distant murmur, overshadowed by the seductive cadence of his armor shedding away. The unmistakable sound of metal parts cascading to the floor filled the air, a harmonious unveiling that played like a haunting melody, laced with the promise of imminent closeness. Each metallic clink and rustle, orchestrated with practiced finesse, blended seamlessly with the mounting heat, composing a sensual symphony that underscored the unfolding intimacy.
"Padawan-” He sounded so full of need. “Have you waited this whole time to touch me, only to just lay there?"
No, you hadn't. Your senses snapped back into focus, and the relentless ache demanded action. Rising up with fiery determination, you seized his lip between your teeth, fingers tangled in his tousled locks. Leg wrapped around his waist, you provocatively thrust your hips into his, stirring a primal hunger. A low, appreciative groan escaped him, and the remaining shreds of restraint evaporated in the scorching intensity of the moment.
“Very good, padawan,” he whispered between searing kisses "Now, tell me what you want. Tell me every craving, every ache you've hidden from your master."
The legendary negotiator, renowned for his poise, eloquence, grace, and dignity in the heat of battle or the midst of a debate, was always portrayed as a polished and composed figure. However, the General Kenobi before you was a stark departure from that image—a persona that sensually grazed your neck with his lips, tenderly explored the curves of your breasts with his hands and moved his hips in a rhythm that ignited an intense passion. This wasn't just the great negotiator; it was the manifestation of a double life—a formidable lover hidden beneath the veneer of a respected leader.
His shorter locks proved to be the perfect handhold, their soft strands entwining with your fingers. The subtle roughness of his beard intensified the already electric atmosphere, adding an extra layer of intensity to the moment.
In the fiery dance of passion and longing, he'd always preached the power of actions over words. Guided by that intimate lesson, you eagerly set out to unravel the layers of his robes, with a gentle push, he rose back up to stand while you sat on the bed, your hands moving with a fervor fueled by desire. The belt surrendered first, dropping to the ground with a soft thud, the lightsaber noticeably absent, carefully stowed away. Urgently, the ties of his loose robe followed suit in the passionate race to undress him. The linen shirt glided away from his broad shoulders, gracefully descending to the floor, revealing the lush expanse of his bare chest. With unwavering determination, you committed every inch of your master's body to the canvas of your memory, each touch a sensual exploration of his lean, muscled skin, a sensory feast that ignited the flames of desire.
"This."
Your fingers traced the shape of his already hard length beneath the fabric of his trousers, coaxing a low moan from Obi-Wan against your neck. "Master, I want this." A firm squeeze elicited a shudder, coursing through him as you continued to tease through his clothing. "I want it in my mouth." His breath hitched, and his hips responded eagerly. Slowly untying the laces of his trousers, your hand slipped inside, embracing his him. The guttural groan that escaped him sent warmth rippling through your body. "Between my legs."
Your master's throbbing cock pulsed in your hands, radiating heat against your skin—hard and demanding. Each stroke elicited untamed pleasure, breaking through the disciplined walls the Jedi Order had meticulously built over the decades. The symphony of his responses played out in sensual notes: the quivers across his skin, the ragged gasps, and the vulnerable moans, all orchestrated by your skilled touch. Hypnotized by the power you held over him, you savored every moment, captivated by the way his body reacted to your every movement. How his hips surged forward in a hungry plea as your hand teased and retreated, and then faltered when you squeezed him with deliberate, unhurried strokes. An irresistible urge surged within you, a yearning to fulfill the fantasies that had simmered within your soul for a decade.
“Master, your padawan wants your cock.”
His hips faltered again at the sheer filth that you spoke of, the way your voice caressed such dirty thoughts, he twitched in your hand and you tried not to moan. Like a siren call you began to dip your head forward, desperate to satisfy the curiosity of how he tasted, your goal so close, a breath away from your lips when it was cruelly ripped away from you. His hand wrapped gently but assertively around your throat giving the softest squeeze that prompted you to rub your thighs together to still the full body shudder.
“My padawan will learn patience. I asked you to tell me your thoughts, not to carry them out.”
You wanted to cry, maybe he expected a submissive little padawan.
“Up, further on the bed.”
He let you go, and you followed his command, scooting back towards the middle of the bed. The intensity of his gaze made it challenging not to tremble. The sight of your master, shirtless, messy hair, swollen lips, and trousers hanging dangerously low on his hips, carried the knowledge that his hard arousal had been in your hands. Knowing you had driven him to that point made obeying his commands a fierce internal struggle. The difficulty only intensified as he knelt on the bed, crawling toward you like a predator closing in on its prey. His eyes held an unfamiliar, burning intensity, setting your own desires ablaze. How was it possible for blue eyes to burn?
His voice, low and commanding, demanded you to lie back, leaving no room for protest. The once-lacy barrier of your panties and bra felt like an unnecessary formality as he leaned over, his arms creating a delicious trap against the bed. Escape wasn't even a consideration, not that you wanted it. He peered at your shoulder, voice holding a hint of soft concern as he asked, "Are you in any pain?" With a shake of your head, A wolfish grin played on his handsome face. "Good. Though, you might when I'm done with you." Oh, stars. Denying you a proper kiss, his tongue traced the trail of desire from your lips down your jaw and neck.
“Going to have to punish you a bit for abandoning your master,”
What? He was going to punish you? Your heart threatened to burst as his lips drifted down your chest, lavishing every imperfection marring your skin with a sweep of his tongue and a caress of his hands.
Despite having command of the force all your life, the very notion that it may be used against you, that it could be unseen hands acting on Obi-Wan’s will, tearing the rest of your clothes off thrilled you. But he surprised you, it seemed he was more hands-on, the bra you wore was quickly gone and that hot mouth of his found its way to your nipples delicately teasing. Slow and purposeful swipes of his tongue coupled with the soft seal of his lips and the gentle scrape of his teeth made you arch wantonly into his waiting mouth with a whimper.
Was this what he’d meant about punishment?
He quickly answered that for you, the gentle vibrations of his moan passing through your teased nipples as he switched from one to treat the other to equal pleasure.
“Your punishment can wait though,” That eloquently talented tongue of his drew sensual circles that brought a choked sob past your lips. “First, I’m going to take care of my padawan. Make her come for me in all the ways she’s ever dreamed, so she’ll never leave me again,” Your heart skipped a beat, several in fact, “Till her body shakes and she can no longer bear not having my cock in her.”
He finally released your aching nipples moving down the soft flat expanse of your stomach tongue dipping into your navel. “My powerful,” he kissed your hip, “beautiful,” he sucked on the skin as his fingers tucked into your panties “Sensitive,” and pulled them down your legs. “Neglected,” His breath ghosted over your thigh, tossing the garment aside. “Padawan.”
Never again would the word Padawan cause you pain, never again would it represent ache and loss and missed opportunities. Your chest rose in shallow breaths and you were fairly certain you were going to have a heart attack. Your eyes fixed on a point on the ceiling before fluttering closed completely, listening to your master's voice, feeling his hot breath on your most delicate body parts. And for a few terrible moments he let you sit there feeling his breath, the occasional brush of his beard on your skin, the anticipation more horrible than a thousand lonely nights with only your fantasies and touch.
“Master.” You wished you hadn’t sounded so pitiful, so needy and pathetic but you were and you couldn’t help it. Naked on a bed with your master’s breath teasing you between your legs, you were ready to beg.
“Padawan,”
The word whispered, barely audible a fraction of eternity passed before you felt the sweetly sinful furnace of his mouth on your lips before his tongue swept past them to taste you. A shrill and sudden intake of breath shattered the stillness of the room, and your hips canted up against his mouth and you cried out in a drawn-out moan. Not in any pain but the desperate tens of thousands of lonely nights where you cried his name in your mind each time you came against your hand.
His strokes were sweet and slow and left no part of you untouched. You’re lungs seized up momentarily and your brain misfired too many impulses, the instinct to jump away upon the startling contact with his mouth warred the desire to watch him, which also struggled against the urge to seize his hair and beg him to take you right then and there.
All impulses crashed into one another with each broad stroke of his tongue against your pussy, you lay back practically panting desperately trying to remember how to breathe properly, but with every flick of his tongue saw to it that you forgot whatever it was you were trying to remember.
Your toes curled slightly in shameless pleasure when you felt his fingers stroking your entrance, teasing you with the promise of sublime ecstasy to be had if he would only use his fingers. The very ones calloused from years of wielding a lightsaber now brought blistering pleasure with every touch. The sounds of his breathing intermingled with deep groans as he lapped at you like he was dying of thirst, only adding to the symphony of sex you would play over and over in your head until the end of your days.
As you lay there losing your mind in the velvet embrace of your master’s mouth, Obi-Wan was studying you, learning your pleasure through each taste, stroke, and flick of the tongue. Committing to memory how you reacted when he licked hard or sucked softly the cadence of your breathing and the buck of your hips, what drew sweet whimpers or unabashed moans. He found a rhythm, long, slow broad strokes, that made you gasp each time no matter how often he did it, you could never get used to it. Followed by the quick teasing flutter of his tongue on your clit, fingers sweeping gently along the length of your lips throwing fuel to the fire he that was beginning to rage out of control. The hot lazy hunger of his mouth was better than anything you’d ever felt and it was impossible to keep your eyes open for any length of time, it just felt so good, as if your brain was struggling to keep up with what was happening it would occasionally rapid-fire messages to you as though you were unaware of exactly what was going on.
‘Master’s mouth is between my legs.’
‘Stars! He’s licking me.’
‘He’s going to make me come!’
Somewhere in the back of your mind you registered the soft sound of a deep and throaty chuckle, the reverberations stole your breath and sidetracked your thoughts.
‘Yes, padawan, you will come for me. Until I grow weary of the noises you make.’
The words played out in your mind as if they came from everywhere echoing off the walls of your thoughts, but when you glanced down, Obi-Wan was focused on you. Not even a teasing expression, his eyes seemed closed in rapture as though he were enjoying an exquisite, delicacy catered to his palette only. And enjoying it thoroughly.
When not dancing teasing touches to your entrance, his hands stroked the inside of your thighs opening your legs further each time, mindful not to agitate your wounds, his touch so delicate that it made your skin tingle with sensitivity.
It was unbelievable how quickly he’d gotten you so close to cumming but then his voice in your head tell you the most wicked thoughts aided in that considerably.
Never before did you ever think such a thing would happen, your master hungrily feasting on your pussy. It had to be a dream, it was too good, any moment when you were nearly ready for the rolling torrent of orgasm to crash upon you, you would wake up and cling to the remnants of this dream while hurriedly bringing yourself to climax while muffling any sounds into your pillow.
“No, my padawan, this is no dream. I’m going to make you come for me now.”
His mouth found your clit again, giving it a series of slow licks and gentle, open-mouthed kisses before spreading your lips open giving you no reprieve from that masterful mouth of his. Then he truly went to work on you, stimulating that little bundle of nerves by flicking the tip of his tongue over and over increasing in speed until you could scarcely breathe and your body was writhing on the bed, the moans tumbling from your mouth. Your wails combined with your desperate pleas carried through the room with lick, swirl, and suckle.
Obi-wan’s voice continued calling to you whispering so many salacious things to you; that he loved how you tasted so sweet to him, “My darling, padawan, your taste is divine, so sweet.”
That your moans were what he would play in his head when he stroked himself if he couldn’t have you, “Yes, sing for me, tell me how good I’m making you feel,”
How he knew you were going to strangle his cock when he finally let you have it, “S’going to feel so good when I bury my cock in you, isn’t it? Going to strangle me, aren’t you?”
How gorgeous you looked like this for him and it was only for him, “So, beautiful all laid out for me, only for me, aren’t you?”
And for each whispered thought in your mind you moaned a ragged “Yes, master! Yes! Yes!”
This was it, he was going to kill you, this was how you would join the living Force, wildly in the throws of orgasm. You couldn’t even manage his name, barely able to utter the first syllable, voice raising in pitch, your body growing rigid as it all culminated towards an exquisite peak. It was the sound of Obi-wan’s half breath, half moan, and the demanding cadence of his order sounding in your mind rising above all other words; the command to come for him, and you did. The thick throaty satisfied moan of a man who wanted to be no other place than between your legs, reverberating through your flesh and raced up your core.
Waves of fire, hotter than any star, more molten than any lightsaber, radiated from your thoroughly stimulated pussy overtaking your body as his mouth worked you over slowly teasing out every ounce of pleasure he could, wringing it from you like water from a rag.
Repeating the word "Master" like a mantra, a symphony of desire and surrender as you writhed against him. No longer in control, you became a willing captive to the relentless pulses dictated by Obi-Wan. The euphoric journey continued an unending cascade of sensations and shared ecstasy. And it didn’t stop, like a fire it grew more and more intense, shocking you, never before had you experienced sensations like what he was giving you. You just kept coming.
Would it ever stop? The overwhelming wave of pleasure seemed boundless. It was intoxicating, almost too much. As the peak of ecstasy subsided, it left behind little electric shocks of overstimulation with each additional stroke of Obi-Wan's tongue, trying to coax out a little more. The intensity lingered, a sensation that bordered on both pleasure and sweet torment.
The sweet agony of pleasure mixed with the sting of overstimulation was a cruelty of human physiology. You wanted more, a hungry desire pushing him to give you everything. But your body rebelled, aching for a momentary escape from the relentless assault. Your hips wriggled and began to buck trying to throw him off in a wordless plea for him to ease the intensity. Yet, he pressed on, undeterred, as you grappled with the conflicting sensations, lost in the dizzying dance of pleasure and pain.
“Master! Please! No more– I-I can’t!” The way your words sounded so weak and your voice nearly broken seemed to finally reach him and he slowed to a stop, depositing one final deep kiss and drawing an unadulterated moan from you before he finally released your overworked, quivering flesh.
Your body shivered as he moved up the bed to kiss your lips. The lingering scent and taste of your orgasm clung to his mouth—a mix of sweat and satisfaction, intensified by the unique aroma coming from him. It was potent enough to make you teeter on the brink of another climax, a fortunate secret he remained unaware of.
For some reason you felt like you needed to thank him, which was ridiculous, thank him for what? For giving you the most amazing orgasm you’d ever had? It seemed a bit awkward and out of place but somehow given this new dominant side of your master, he might enjoy that.
He breathed in deeply as if savoring the aftermath of a fulfilling workout. But the look on his face spoke of more than just exertion; it was a blend of delight and contentment.
You, on the other hand, felt a bit like you'd had one too many drinks. The air seemed to swirl around you, and his disheveled hair falling over his face only added to the effect. His smile was downright criminal, it seemed almost unnatural for a man to look so good wearing nothing but a smile.
"Thank you," you mumbled, the word sounding feeble even to your own ears, but Obi-Wan's pleased expression suggested he appreciated the sentiment.
“Did you enjoy that, my little padawan?” The endearment sent a shiver down your spine, and all you could manage was a nod. As his lips met yours once more, a wave of euphoria washed over you. Soft, powerful, firm—his kisses were everything you'd hoped for, stirring desire in every part of your being, and the knowledge that he’s just used that mouth on you made your heart race and your cunt ache.
“Tell me, before I take you, how many?” The question hung between you, a mix of desire and curiosity in Obi-Wan's voice. You were a bit baffled, trying to figure out the context of his question. Orgasms? It wasn’t something you kept tabs on. Sensing your confusion, he clarified, “Men. Lovers. How many?”
An awkward lump formed in your throat as you replied, “None.”
His eyes widened, and he licked his lips. There was a momentary flicker in his expression that could almost be mistaken for anger, but his subsequent fervent return to kissing dispelled that notion. “None? How is that possible? That I am the first to ever touch you like this?”
“The first man.” He froze, his expression shifting to shock at your admission. The truth was, you couldn’t bring yourself to be with a man when the one you desired was out of reach. Women, however...
“I’ve had lovers, just not any men; I didn’t want them.”
“You’ve taken female lovers?” he asked. You nodded, hoping he wouldn’t disapprove. His grin returned, now carrying a wolfish quality, and his mouth found its way back to your breast. His kiss turned fierce, hungry—a prelude to the kind of passion that precedes throwing someone onto a bed and ravishing them. “Naughty thing,” he murmured. Relief flooded through you, quickly followed by euphoria. “Did you enjoy that? Letting other women touch you?”
"Sometimes." He appeared puzzled, and you nonchalantly shrugged, steering clear of his penetrating gaze. The notion of accepting disappointment felt like a subtle form of judgment.
"Women can be selfish lovers too." The idea of your satisfaction not being guaranteed seemed to trouble him. He shook his head slowly, 'tsking' you, as though imparting guidance on what was and wasn't acceptable.
"That won't do at all," he declared, lowering his lips to yours in a kiss that sent electric shivers down your spine. "I’m going to erase every memory of anyone who’s ever touched you." His tongue danced over your nipple again, barely tasting it and he stopped to savor your little breath. “Going to fuck you until you cry out my name, going to make sure you’re never left wanting again.” With a flick of his tongue, his hand started massaging your other breast, “Would you like that, padawan, for your master to make you feel good?”
“Yes! Please, Master! Please!”
“So respectful when you’ve had your cunt devoured, aren't you?”
Those words, oh, they hit you in all the right places. You never thought he had it in him—the raw, unfiltered sexuality. Suddenly, you weren't just yearning for his touch; you wanted to be the one to make him quiver and groan, to do to him, what he did to you. To see how your words and caresses could unravel the composed Jedi Master. It wasn't just about fulfilling your own cravings; it was about sharing a dance of passion and exploring uncharted realms of desire together.
Strength surged within you, not the physical kind, but a potent force you had at your command. Calling upon the Force was as natural as breathing, and with a graceful wave of your hand, Obi-Wan found himself unceremoniously tossed onto his back, a look of astonishment etched across his features as if captivated by an unexpected dance. Yes, you had just harnessed the Force against your master.
The sight of your master supine, his bare chest rising and falling with each breath, hair tousled in disarray, trousers precariously low on his hips, and all because you had put him there. His eyes held a mesmerizing blend of surprise and desire, mirroring the emotions flickering within yourself. Seizing the moment before he could recover, you took a daring leap and went in to lay siege.
Obi-Wan, caught off guard by your bold moves, sank into the softness of the bed. Your fingers danced through his hair and beard, jerking his head back to expose his neck, ensuring he wouldn't forget this moment. A low, appreciative purr escaped his chest, silently praising your audacity. With each kiss and playful nip, he seemed to yield to your lead, responding with soft sounds of approval.
You savored the blissful aftermath of victory, those suspended seconds lingering in the air. In that fleeting time, your senses buzzed with playful thoughts, tempting fantasies, and desires long confined. He might have allowed the moment to stretch a bit more, but then came your teasing nips, tracing the spots that made him flinch with delightful sensitivity.
“Want to taste you,” You muttered, fairly certain you hadn’t imagined that little ‘oh.’
"Padawan..." His voice, a touch hoarse, accompanied the journey of your fingers down his ribs and along his toned stomach. Moving closer to the tantalizing waistband of his trousers where your prize awaited you, the desire to feel him in your hand became almost unbearable. Yet, you found justification for a bit more teasing. Fingers dipped just inside the band of his trousers, close enough to feel him twitch and buck at your almost-touches, it was too delicious to only do once.
Perhaps you shouldn't have pushed your luck.
Because, like the fabric of Jedi robes, his patience wore thin. It was then that your Master's restraint snapped, like a stretched cord finally giving way.
In an instant, he grabbed your waist, executing a swift and aggressive flip that left him looming above you, pinning you down on the bed. His body pressed into yours, and a sly grin hinted that the game was about to get a lot more daring. The air hummed with anticipation as he shook his head, capturing your mouth in a kiss that left you breathless.
"What were you thinking, Padawan?" His voice, low and husky, carried a thick layer of desire, each word steeped in need. His intense gaze locked onto yours, silently questioning.
"Touching your master without permission?"
Stunned. You struggled to form a response, your lips moved, and no words broke free. Was he serious? After the intoxicating dance of his mouth had just brought you to an unparalleled climax, he expected you to ask permission to touch him? It felt absurd.
Questions raced through your mind. Was this some kind of test? A dominance play? Your stomach dropped. Maybe this was the punishment he’d spoken of, an exercise in humility? Searching his cerulean eyes for a hint of jest, the intense atmosphere from before remained, now layered with a different kind of tension. He simply shook his head slightly. The weight of his expectation hung in the room, leaving you torn between the impulse to surrender and the desire to meet his challenge with your own fiery response.
"Yes, I do. I expect my padawan to remain obedient and respectful, no matter how she hungers."
His fingers lingered just above your cheek, a subtle reminder of his ability to pluck your thoughts effortlessly, like plucking a flower from the grass. However, you had long since outgrown the status of a padawan, having ascended to the rank of Jedi Knight. If he expected pleading or begging, he was in for disappointment. A steely determination cast a shadow across your features. With narrowed eyes, you threw down a challenge. If he sought access to your mind, you were prepared to offer more than he had bargained for.
A coy smile danced on your lips, causing his own smile to falter ever so slightly. That mischievous glint in your eyes was a familiar precursor to something daring, and you had no intention of disappointing your master in this unexplored realm. Shutting your eyes, you tilted your head, letting his fingers brush against your face, shifting the battleground from the physical to the unseen.
Instead of engaging him through physical means, you chose to confront him on the mental plane, projecting your thoughts with an intensity that demanded attention. He took a sharp breath, caught off guard by the rush of images, thoughts, and sounds hitting him like a brisk breeze. The unexpected depth of your mental communication briefly disrupted the seamless flow of the physical connection.
This wasn't just a subtle act of rebellion; it was a declaration that you were no longer the Padawan he once trained. As a Jedi Knight, you wielded more than just a lightsaber—you possessed a will of your own, armed with a bag of tricks beyond anyone's expectations.
Though he could still address you as Padawan to elicit a reaction, you were so much more. Long-concealed thoughts, years hidden in secrecy, surged forth, intertwining with stolen glances and intimate moments—all now laid bare before Obi-Wan.
A mosaic of self-indulgent pleasures unfolded—whispered calls of his name amid moments of personal bliss. Stolen encounters, and lingering desires, all painted a picture of your yearning. The once-private fantasies, meant for the sanctuary of your thoughts, now exposed—a checklist of desires you had secretly harbored for him.
Breathless, he found himself caught in the private corners of your mind, imagined scenes unfolded, that saw you in a passionate dance, bodies entwined, covered in sweat, exploring countless positions. An insatiable hunger for him, even if he lay prone and exhausted, pleading with him for more.
The many ways you wanted to touch him, to pleasure him, and hear him echo your name as you had cried his— to render him powerless and explore his body until he succumbed to climax after climax and could give no more.
He shivered with excitement, lost in the fantasy of the intense bliss you painted in his mind. Those throaty moans of pleasure felt so real, almost like he could taste them. Surprised by the raw intensity of your craving to taste him and drink him, he moaned your name in the tangled passion, every drop of his essence landing on your eager tongue as he lay back lost of the haze of sex and stimulation.
It wasn't merely about satisfying him; your desire surpassed that. There was an unquenchable hunger for him to seize control, to witness him unrestrained and consumed by passion and dominance. Whether he threw you onto the bed or pressed you against the wall, positions that brought a delightful twinge of discomfort on your end, all aimed at bringing him ecstasy, standing unassisted became an impossible task. The profound intensity of your yearning unfurled like a revelation, taking him by surprise.
The cat was out of the bag; the secret lay bare. Now, with an untamed glint in his eyes, it seemed you might have ventured into territory beyond your expectations.
"Padawan, my sweet, sinful, Padawan," His lips dipped to your ear, and the warmth of his breath sent shivers down your spine. "Perhaps I should enlighten you with some of MY thoughts."
Composure became a fleeting notion as he placed his hand firmly on your temple and a rush of sensations overwhelmed you, powerful enough that the right touch might send you into another blinding climax, akin to a torrent of whitewater tossing a stick of dry driftwood.
His unfiltered thoughts surged into your mind, a river of forbidden fantasies and suppressed desires. In the shared space of his consciousness, visions unfurled like an intimate tapestry—a clandestine gallery of how he yearned for you, each scene a seductive exploration of passion.
In one vivid fantasy more powerful than your own, you found yourself pressed against the cold metal of a ship's wall, arms held captive overhead by an unseen force naked while he still wore his full robes. Your leg draped over his shoulder, he knelt before you, entirely at the mercy of his desires, and he had none. He skillfully coaxed orgasm after orgasm from your quivering form, every touch and caress hearing you cry out and wail his name until you were hoarse. Overwhelmed by the sensations, until you were rendered speechless, too weak to utter the word "Master" as pleasure consumed your senses.
Then the landscape shifted with your master now behind you, his hands exploring your body with practiced skill. Fingers danced between your legs, teasing your aching clit, perfectly synchronized with the slow, deliberate thrusts of his hips. In the shared intimacy, he praised you, “Such a good girl” and admiring your patience in holding back on coming until he granted permission. His voice, a velvety whisper, encouraged you to hang on, promising to reward your patience but only after he had cum inside you, again.
“You think your desires are greater and darker than my own? So innocent of you…”
His words hit you like a revelation, unraveling a new side of Obi-Wan Kenobi that forever changed the way you saw him.
Another shift of vision saw you in the High Council Chamber, he sat naked in his seat, his strong thighs spread wide, and there you knelt before him. His hand gripped your hair, guiding his cock down your throat, and you obediently swallowed it all. With a gritty grunt, he demanded you not waste a drop, telling you to swallow all of it, praising your beauty as you served your master on your knees.
Your body pulsed and throbbed with each vision he gave you until the sights, sounds, and sensations grew so powerful all it took was the gentle stroke of his fingers between your legs to set you off. You threw your head back into the bed and moaned as the strength of your orgasm was amplified by your connection to your master as his most private thoughts continued playing in your head.
As he let you go, the fantasies slowly faded, and you found yourself returning to the tangible present. It was like your vision was coming back to focus, bit by bit, from the edges to the center. The room's immediate surroundings started to replace the lingering echoes of those intense daydreams.
In that moment, it was clear—he had won. The sly grin on his face revealed a man who knew he was about to get what he wanted. It was the look of someone who had conquered and was eagerly anticipating claiming their prize.
“Tell me, Padawan, are you ready to ask your master if you can touch him?”
But there you were, a flicker of fight still dancing in your eyes. Trying to push against him to sit up, that burning desire to kiss him ignited, fueled by a longing to make him yearn for you. You wanted to kindle the flames of passion until he begged for your touch. Yet, your Master had other plans. Suddenly your body refused to cooperate, stubbornly resisting your every attempt. Even the simplest tasks, like wiggling your toes, proved to be impossible.
As your efforts were thwarted, Obi-Wan's grin grew, taking on a dark intensity. His stormy eyes promised something profound, something that transcended the physical. His gaze seemed to revel in the power he held over your immobilized form, piercing through the struggle within.
“Use the Force on your master to tease him, will you? Let us see how you like it?” His lips ghosted over your breast, barely warming your nipple, teasing it with the tip of his tongue. “You will ask permission, Padawan. I can wait.” His mouth enclosed over the hard bud lazily stroking, teeth occasionally grazing as your pathetic little whimpers danced in the air.
He seemed perfectly content in his torturous teasing, but he had to be aching himself. Had to want to fuck you as badly as you wanted him to fuck you. This wasn’t fair, this wasn’t fair!
"Life is never fair, padawan," he murmured, as if reading the turmoil in your mind. "I had a very different plan for you until you chose to utilize the Force on your master. Now, you'll beg for the privilege to touch me."
His words sent shivers down your spine, and as he continued his fervent exploration, his hands tracing paths on your body that bordered on pain due to the lingering sensitivity from previous climaxes, you couldn't fathom how he remained so composed. The dichotomy of your desperation and his controlled demeanor only added to the maddening allure of the moment.
“You have no idea how much I want to sink my cock into this tight, perfect cunt,” His fingers grazed your lips and you were powerless to stop him, you could barely tremble at his touch. “How badly I want to feel you squeeze my cock, but I’ve not achieved the rank of master without considerable discipline.”
He returned to your breast sucking harder, as his fingers employed a more delicate touch between your legs, which you were powerless to close, soft, sweet strokes on your thighs, and your lips but cruelly or mercifully avoiding your clit. Your lips trembled at the delicate touch, and in that moment, the unfairness of it all struck you like a tidal wave.
For years, he had been your mentor, teaching you the art of patience and urging you to play the long game. "Be patient," he would say, "gauge your opponent."
But in the whirlwind of your desires, the very lessons he drilled into you seemed to crumble. Impatience surged, a desperate yearning for instant gratification that clashed with the wise teachings of your master. He offered to fulfill your every desire, promising pleasures beyond imagination. Yet, in your haste to assert newfound power, eager to prove you were more than just his padawan, you discovered there were still lessons for him to teach, more wisdom to share.
Your urgency led to a clash of power dynamics, revealing your master still held the upper hand. A soft sob of frustration escaped, breaking his focused demeanor. His once passionate cerulean eyes now held a glimmer of concern and curiosity as he paused.
"Say the words, padawan," His voice entreated gently, a soft call laced with a plea that tugged at the strings of your stubborn pride. You might have resisted longer if not for the unsaid words that reverberated in the echoes of your mind. "Padawan, please!"
Your eyes shot open, scanning the room for any hint that the desperation in Obi-Wan Kenobi's gaze was just a figment of your imagination. Yet, there it was—a pleading look that intertwined compassion and desire in a delicate dance across his face.
At that moment, it dawned on you: you had won. The silent struggle between you and your former master, the unspoken battle of wills, had reached its conclusion. The walls you'd built around your emotions had crumbled in the face of that unspoken plea. It wasn't about conquest; it was a surrender, and the victory was yours.
You might be the first to say the words but he was the first to beg.
"Please, Master," Your voice, a sweet melody of desire, reached into the core of his being. His gaze narrowed, and he froze, the invisible bonds around you weakening, his resistance giving way. "Let me touch you, Master," You pleaded sweetly, your words dripping with need. "I want you," You added, turning up the heat until the bonds snapped completely. “Let me taste you, let me have you.”
With their release, he was on your lips again, kissing you with a desperate hunger, untamed and wild. Yet, despite your newfound freedom, you lay still beneath him, a silent presence he couldn't resist.
"Padawan! Are you going to touch me or not?"
His outrage was amusing. A playful grin toyed with the corners of your lips, hinting at your delight.
Feigning innocence, you shot back, "You haven’t given me permission to touch you."
His eyes widened in surprise, a jolt of anticipation coursing through him as a deep, appreciative groan escaped him, acknowledging your skillful play as his Padawan.
"Darling, please, touch your master,"
With a surge of passion, you seized the moment, fingers seizing his hair with purpose, jerking hard enough that he cried out, a pull that danced on the edge of sweet pain.
Defying the limits of control, you launched a fervent attack on his lips, reclaiming the kiss with an intensity that screamed desire. Your tongue demanded entry, a forceful and unapologetic dive into the depths of his mouth. A low grunt slipped from him, a mix of surprise and a hint of surrender, adding fuel to the blaze sparking between you. The dance of your intertwined tongues became a symphony of passion, a primal declaration signaling the end of any lingering boundaries.
Your hips rolled into a painfully hard erection, and any trace of Obi-Wan's usual witty banter vanished into the charged air. The playful banter was replaced by a more primal language.
Pushing him onto his back was effortless now; he offered no resistance. Finally. The tension that had once held him captive had melted away into bliss. His half-lidded eyes, lost in a dreamy state, promised memories that would keep you warm for days to come.
With deliberate intent, you explored every inch of his chest, savoring the taste of his skin. His deep breathing echoed in the room, accompanied by the subtle sounds of contentment that escaped his lips. As your journey continued downward, tracing the path of pleasure, you encountered the nearly pained expression that adorned his face. His chest heaved with anticipation as you approached his trousers, the memory of how close you had been to having him earlier playing in your mind. A grin danced on your lips, fueled by the sharp gasps escaping him, as you mouthed his cock through the fabric.
You couldn't wait to have him, the urgency taking over. The waistband tugged down in a hurry, your mouth watering in anticipation. Your hand wrapped around him, and he stuttered at the touch. His cock, just as perfect as you'd imagined—long, thick, and undeniably eager to be touched—and positively leaking. It felt like the room might collapse when your tongue licked at the pearlescent precum gathering from his weeping cock, you swept around his swollen head, savoring every delicious drop. His hands shook, gripping the bed in an immediate white-knuckled hold. As you kissed it and slowly swallowed the crown of his cock, he howled in ecstasy. The salty taste of him filled your mouth and he wept at the exquisite, wet heat. Jolting with every swirl of your tongue, each lick, and suckle, the delightful vibrations echoing from the back of your throat to his cock.
“Yes!”
His body arched, his signature flickering wildly, and then you truly went to work on him. Wanting to show him exactly how much you had thought of this moment. With each eager motion, you took more of him, brushing off the impending jaw ache. Your master was sprawled on your bed, fervently chanting your name, but coherent words were out of reach. He tasted just perfect, filling your mouth just right. You traced the veins on his cock like an old familiar map, committing every detail to memory. As you slid over his head sucking gently like one would enjoy a sweet treat, his hips surged, and he let out another wild moan of pleasure.
“Padawan! Padwan! Padawan!”
But you had more, oh so much more to give him, but you wouldn’t tease him as he had you, you gripped firmly what you couldn’t swallow, and aided by the slickness of your own saliva you stroked and twisted his length in your hand. And your other hand? It didn’t sit idle, no, it reached into his trousers to offer gentle almost tickling caresses to his neglected balls. Lesireuly massaging and softly squeezing. Surely, someone must have heard the moan that tore from his chest, it was primal and almost powerful enough to make you come again.
The flood of sensations overwhelmed him, a storm of desire and vulnerability that left him at a loss for words. Normally eloquent, his tongue now stumbled in this unfamiliar territory. His disciplined mind, usually a stronghold of wisdom, faltered under the onslaught of passion. Every muscle rebelled against his rational commands, caught in a moment of indecision the muscles of his stomach flexed and contracted wildly. The composed master was briefly overshadowed by raw, primal forces, his tense muscles reflecting the battle of a man surrendering control to overwhelming desire. He became a disheveled mess, mouth hanging open, eyes wide and then tightly shut, breath hitching in short, irregular gasps as if he kept forgetting how to breathe smoothly. His lips clumsily grazed the edge of words, catching and then losing them amidst the whirlwind of sensations.
“Oh! Maker!”
Oh, another word? Impressive. His disciplined nature must be paying off. Using the last bit of strength he had, he propped himself up on his elbows, determined not to miss the spectacle. There you were, between his legs, your lips wrapped around his cock, all slick with your saliva, disappearing into your mouth. It hit the back of your throat in a way that made him shudder from head to toe. He could watch you do that for as long as the stars lit up the sky. It was something else—beautiful, the way you handled his cock like his pleasure belonged to you.
You were determined to extract every ounce of pleasure from him, poised to take him to the brink, so close to tasting him completely, but your mission hit a pause when his hand gently grasped your jaw, urging you to meet his gaze. His needy “Please,” didn’t go unnoticed either. A slender strand of saliva linked your lips to his throbbing length, and the disbelief in his eyes was palpable. It was as if he couldn't fathom witnessing what lay before him. A ragged breath escaped him, followed by a hard swallow. Redirecting your attention from his pulsating, slick arousal, he steered you into a deep, passionate kiss, one you didn't resist.
“Darling, enough foreplay. I need to feel you on my cock. Tell me that’s what you want.”
His eyes sparkled when you whispered, "I want it, Master," with desire glowing in your own. It made you wonder if anyone had ever been so upfront with him, if anyone had looked into those captivating eyes and just said, "I want you." Had he ever known how it felt to be so openly desired before?
"Good girl, now, up you get."
He effortlessly lifted you onto his lap, surprising you even more because he didn't employ the Force; it was the strength of his own muscles at play. Observing them flex and shift beneath his skin was nearly as gratifying as witnessing him in the throes of pleasure. He held you over his lap for a moment, lips tangling with yours, muttering against them.
“Look at me, want to see you properly.”
How could you ignore a request like that? Oh, no, you couldn’t. And with a nod from you, he began to release you.
Never had anything felt as exquisite as the moment his cock slid effortlessly into your pussy. The sensation of that satisfying first stretch surpassed any pleasure you had ever known—far superior to the touch of your own fingers, toys, or any previous lover. As gravity took its course, guiding you down onto him, there was nothing left to say or do. Your head rolled back and you moaned his name. His chest rose and fell with measured breaths, every ounce of strength dedicated to maintaining control. Surprisingly, his energy remained entirely serene.
The experience was a symphony of wetness, heat, tightness, and perfect slickness. His arms enveloped you, pulling you close, mirroring the way you squeezed his cock. It was perfect. You would ache for this later, he was right, you’d be sore to the touch everywhere he’d touched you but it would be worth it for the exquisite ecstasy you felt right now.
Damn the code, to hell with forbidden attachments; the High Council could go up in flames for all you cared. In this moment, he belonged to you—every inch of him. His response to your body defied description. He was unequivocally yours.
He uttered your name, his mouth tracing up your neck in search of your lips. "Darling, kiss me."
Not padawan, not master. He called you by your name.
Your lips met his, as he’d asked, sweetly, gently as lovers did. The high of shoving your tongue into hi mouth was wonderful but not so wonderful as this simple brushing of lips the added heat and girth of his cock buried in you, there were no more barriers. You kissed him like that for a few minutes until your cunt throbbed demanding more, then you shifted, rising up savoring the way his lips parted in shock before sliding back down slow enough you could see his eyelashes flutter. “Again,” His voice was so full of need and heat, how could you deny him? The warmth of his breath against your skin was like a balm, soothing every ache, alleviating every burden, and imparting tranquility to long-standing wounds.
As his arms encircled your legs, lifting you up to help you along, a surge of emotions overwhelmed you. The dichotomy of wanting to sing or cry left you unable to suppress the whimper rising in the back of your throat. His name escaped your lips again.
His arms held you securely, and he buried his face in your neck, releasing a deeply contented breath. With deliberate slowness, he began to thrust upward. Your hands found their way into his hair, pulling him up for another smoldering kiss, swallowing his moan.
Passion surged like wildfire between you and the man you had yearned for over the years. The connection between your bodies was intense, each thrust an urgent proclamation of desire. The air was thick with the mingling of hot breaths, punctuated by the sound of lewdly slapping skin and fervent kisses exchanged in the throes of lust.
His movements were powerful and rhythmic, and left you gasping for more, all you could do was hang on. With every thrust, he hit that perfect angle that sent shivers through your entire body. The sensation was electric, a tantalizing dance on the precipice of pleasure.
As your breaths intertwined, the shared rhythm hinted at the imminent climax, drawing you both closer to the edge.
In the throes of passion, your murmurs of his name reverberated against his lips as he quickened the pace, both of you on the precipice of an imminent release. The urgency in your voice only fueled his desire, and he nodded in approval as you moaned:
"Obi-Wan…"
Encouraged by your compliance, he implored you for more, his hunger evident. "Again, darling, say it again!"
In a cascade of breathless utterances, you willingly complied, chanting his name with increasing fervor.
"Obi-wan! Obi-wan! Obi-wan!"
With a fluid blend of strength, grace, and skill, he effortlessly tipped you onto your back. The swift change momentarily took you by surprise, but before the disorientation settled, he surged back into you with newfound intensity. Each movement reached deeper, and he committed his entire weight to each forceful thrust, immersing both of you in a realm of heightened pleasure.
His frame shook with each thrust, and with every motion, he felt a piece of himself slipping away, lost in the fervor of the moment. Desperation marked his every move as he teetered on the precipice of oblivion, but determined to hold off just a little longer. The urgency in his actions spoke of a desire to witness you unraveling in the throes of pleasure, to experience the cascade of ecstasy like a tidal wave crashing over him.
His fingers laced with yours, holding a connection that transcended the physical, while his kisses conveyed a hunger that mirrored the intensity of the act. Amid groans and the forceful snap of his hips, he dropped his lips to your ear, breathing hot against your skin.
"Come, darling, come for me!" He moved with an increasingly wild and intense rhythm, his passion reaching new heights. The affectionate term "Padawan" slipped from his lips like a whispered plea, an irresistible command, urging you to surrender to the pleasure he was offering, to climax for your master.
And you did, your body arching in response to the unrelenting intensity, hips bucking wildly against his, meeting his every thrust. Lips locked with his, you welcomed the furious pace he set each time he bottomed out, your bodies entwined in a dance without inhibitions. He threw his weight behind every motion, determined to make you feel every bit of him, to give you everything he had.
His desperate cries of "Padawan!" grew louder in the heated air, a mantra underscoring the intimacy of the moment. The repetition of the endearing term only served to heighten the exquisite pleasure, acknowledging a connection that surpassed the physical act. As he reached the pinnacle of ecstasy, a shudder ran through his entire body, and a helplessly primal howl escaped his lips. The heat of his seed spilling deep within you was the final catalyst, triggering a powerful climax of your own that rocked your entire body.
The Obi-Wan Kenobi you knew, with all his composure and eloquence, had vanished into thin air. In his place was a man, wild and satisfied, fucking you senseless, thrusting his erupting cock hurriedly back into your cunt as though he might die if he stopped. It just kept coming, he thrust harder with each rope you pulled from him until his body had nothing left to give and he began to still after one final hard thrust.
His breaths slowed, and he fought to stay upright. The only thing keeping him from melting into the mattress and pulling you into him entirely was the awareness of your injuries. Thankfully, the pain that had plagued you earlier had quieted down during your passionate love-making, granting a brief moment of relief. His cerulean eyes shifted from the storm of passion to their usual cool and compassionate state. The aftermath unfolded a scene of vulnerability—echoes of shared passion and lingering concerns for your well-being.
He wrapped his arm around you, drawing you close, and skillfully rolled both of you onto your sides. With his arm firmly around your waist, he stayed seated, still in your warmth, unwilling to leave it just yet.
In the ensuing silence, the room was filled only with the sounds of your shared and labored breathing.
"Are you alright?" His voice returned to its soft and warm timbre, the familiar hum that felt like a safe, warm home. When you remained silent, he shifted slightly, concern lacing his words, "Darling, is your leg in any pain?" Despite his own exhaustion, his concern for your well-being was touching. The way he called you darling further added to your sated state, and it made you smile.
"What leg?"
A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest, a comforting warmth you hadn't felt in ages. Shifting to a more serious tone, he inquired again about your injuries, but the light-hearted demeanor lingered.
"I don’t care. Ask me in the morning," You replied unbothered, arms wrapping around his neck. Nestling into the comforting warmth of his chest, you threw a leg around his hips, pulling him closer. His gasp of pleasure, maybe mixed with a hint of overstimulation, brought a satisfied smile to your face, ignoring the subtle throb echoing through your body. It was worth it—the pains, the frustrations—just to lie in your master's arms, his cock still buried in you basking in warmth, safety, and a newfound satisfaction.
"Mmm, Master?" You murmured, your voice laced with the weight of drowsiness.
He chuckled bashfully, "Darling, you don't have to call me Master, anymore."
"Just trying to be an obedient padawan," you teased, planting a kiss on the sensitive spot on his neck, earning a delightful twitch from his cock.
"Careful, darling. I still owe you a punishment for abandoning me," He playfully reminded, his words hanging in the air. "What was your question?"
"If I abandon you again, and you happened to find me. Would you follow through with your 'punishment' against the wall on a ship?"
The recollection of that fantasy, coupled with the echo of his playful threat, coaxed a deep groan from him, as both of you relived those shared fantasies. "Please, Master?" You breathed against his neck, your request underscored by a subtle roll of your hips.
His arm wrapped possessively around you, the warmth of his breath tingling against your ear. A soft growl slipped past his lips, melding with the restrained rhythm of his hips, you could feel him driving into you once more wringing out a moan from your lips. His voice, tinged with both amusement and authority, whispered,
"It seems my Padawan still needs a bit of instruction."
Why, yes, there's more...
~~~
If you would like to see more stuff like this (reader inserts) let me know and let me know if you'd like to join the tag list! For my faithful Obi-Wan content readers! @split-spectrum (you helped inspire this!), @heyhawtdawgs. @pickleprickle @decembermidnight
When JJ found out you had this kink he decided he would use this knowledge every. single. day. It got to the point he would do it in public. Playing it off as some funny joke between you two. But really. It was something that would get you and him so horny. Resulting in quickies everywhere.
It’s exactly like that today. He had snuck into your bedroom, avoiding your family once again. They’re not his biggest fans at the best of times. So finding out he was with you alone. Yeah, not ideal.
But of course he does not care one bit. Laying on your bed like he owns the place. He only just kicked off muddy boots cause you begged him not to make a mess.
JJ’s fingers run through your hair, catching at the end as he fiddles with it. He needs his fingers occupied at all times it seems. He can’t sit still. Never sit still.
His fingers stop in your hair, his gaze falling from the movie and to you. The girl laying on his chest. Correction. HIS girl, laying on his chest.
His hands find your chin as he looks down at you. The tank top you have worn giving him a beautiful sight of your tits. Oh thank you god.
JJ is a simple man really. He can get turned on from just a glimpse of your body. You laugh a little and your tits bounce? He’s harder than a pole.
So this sight in front of him is a blessing and a curse. But of course he’s going to act upon it. No self-restraint from that boy.
His fingers move to your chin as he holds it. Pulling your gaze away from the screen and up at him.
“Hi?” You mutter softly. A little lost on what he’s doing. But then you see that look in his eye. Oh. Oh it’s clear.
JJ’s fingers find their way to your lips. Gently tracing them before you open your lips. Letting him push his two index fingers inside.
“Such a good girl.” He coos. Gently letting his fingers be sucked by you. Holding your cheek with his other hand.
You whine softly around them as he pushes in, out, in, out.
“Fuckkkk. Baby. This is a sight. Looks like when you suck my cock.” JJ stills his movements before leaving his fingers in. Other hand wandering down your body beige finding your shorts.
You give him a nod before his hand slips inside. Rubbing you through your panties as he looks at your face.
“There’s a good girl. Keep sucking my fingers.”
You moan around them as he moves your panties to the side. Fingers entering you.
And the whole time he’s fingering you, he’s got his fingers in your mouth. And god is this the most attractive thing he’s ever seen.
“Yeah, keep going.” His fingers in your cunt never stop the pace. Getting even faster as he sees you. His cock pressing against his pants, forming a tent. A groan escaped his lips as he readjusts himself. He's going to need you in a moment. And he’s going to need to keep his fingers in your mouth the whole time.
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I’m rewatching Star Wars and falling heavily back into the obsession😭 don’t be surprised if my posts from here on out are all just obi wan and anakin for the foreseeable future
Tags: sexually explicit content, elements of dubious consent, light bondage/restraints (handcuffs), masturbation, edging, orgasm denial, nipple play, oral sex, fingering, unprotected sex, cum play, this is 100% pure smut from start to finish
Length: 10.9K
Summary: Obi Wan chooses to undertake a trial that prevents him from sex for one year, and asks you to serve as his witness. As his close friend, you don't mind helping him. The rules of the trial are very clear. You make it your personal mission to find every exception.
☆☆☆
"I'm sorry," Obi Wan murmurs against your lips.
He says it even as he continues to kiss you. Even as his thumb nudges against your jaw, rubbing up the soft skin of your cheek. His hot breath is still inside your mouth as he whispers, "I don't know what came over me."
It's been over since it began. He's pulled away repeatedly, humming variations of denials and apologies against your lips, your cheek, your neck. But stopping still seems nearly as impossible as starting did.
The two of you don't do this. You don't kiss. You flirt, and you fight, and you share stolen moments that you can later pretend never happened. You touch him in the dark, and you don't talk about your feelings. You don't look at one another with heady desire coursing through your veins anymore. You just don't. You just can't.
And that's why, when he leans in again, instead of melting into his touch the way you want to, you glance up from his lips, catching his eyes. It's the barest of hesitations, but it's enough to make him slow down, swallow, pull back.
"Sorry." He says it low, stuck in the back of his throat, and it makes you feel like you're drowning.
It fucking kills you to hear him like this - quietly losing his air of formality. His hair is mussed where you'd grabbed onto it, and as he pushes himself up from the bed, he grazes thumb and forefinger over his short beard, like he's trying to wipe the taste of you from his mouth.
You watch his movements, entranced and silent. He glances back at you, and suddenly the distance between where you lie and where he stands feels like a growing chasm. You lean your weight onto your elbow, about to get up and join him. You don't know what you'll do or say, but you can feel him pulling away, back into himself.
As you sit up, he takes a single step back, and just like that, it's over.
"I-" he starts quietly, eyes meeting yours and then darting away, "I need to... clear my thoughts."
Your mouth falls open, his name about to come out. But you don't know what follows it. For once, he's tied your tongue.
"I'll be in the refresher," he says, turning abruptly. "Excuse me."
Before you can begin to think of anything to say, he's heading toward the refresher, the warm, damp air from your own use billowing out when he opens the door.
He stops only to gather a change of clothes, not even glancing back as he closes the door behind him.
--
When the room is quiet, and all you can hear is the soft sound of water flowing in the distance, you roll onto your back, closing your eyes. That had been too far. That had been looking for trouble.
And fuck, you're still aching for it.
You're still reeling at the things he'd said. His walls had dipped for the briefest of moments, letting you in, and somehow, you'd managed to blow it, snapping him back to his senses at the worst possible time.
He'd caught you off guard. If only you hadn't hesitated, he would have found relief. Instead, you have to lie here, just thinking about the way his mouth felt against yours. Thinking about the way he'd instantly started to pull you apart at the seams, from the moment he'd gotten his hands on you.
You're practically throbbing under the soft fabric of your sleep clothes as you slip your legs beneath the covers. Stars, what you wouldn't give for some privacy right now. Years of discipline are failing you spectacularly as you squeeze your eyelids tight, trying to think of something - anything - besides the way his beard had brushed against your neck when he'd been talking in your ear.
Your hand is flat against your leg, rubbing thoughtfully, when you hear the door open again, Obi Wan emerging fully clothed.
You try not to be obvious, glancing over at him only once, then returning your stare to the bunk above you. When he shuts off the light, you listen to his bare feet as he crosses the room, then vaults gracefully up the short ladder to his bed above you.
It almost feels like you've been caught at something, even though your hand is still resting at your side. You try to focus your thoughts, calm down, and go to sleep. But all you can think about is how big and warm his hands were when they'd held your waist. How hungry his kiss had been. How deep and dark his voice had gotten against your ear.
"I should thank you..." A softer, more subdued shade of that same voice drifts down from above you.
You nearly flinch at the break in silence.
"For keeping your promise," he adds.
The hum of the ship is the only sound as you process his words. It's the last thing you'd expected him to say, though you really hadn't expected him to say anything. Usually, you don't have trouble spotting his sarcasm. This time could be an exception. You aren't certain what would be appropriate to say back.
"You're welcome," you venture.
You fight the urge to admit that it had never been your intention to stop. That despite your better judgement, you still want to take things as far as he'll let you.
After a few long heartbeats, you speak up again. "I uh, thought you felt it was a mistake. Asking me."
A soft exhale. "I should never have said that. I've put you in a difficult situation. Forgive me."
Your eyes search the darkness. As usual, he leaves so much up to your interpretation. Another long moment passes. Suddenly, you want to keep him talking. Something about the way he's holding you at arm's length tells you that if you let things end here and go to sleep, your friendship is going to shift in ways that can't be undone. So you try to think of something else to say.
"How was your shower?"
"Cold," he answers. "Very cold."
Your eyelids flutter. You try not to picture his rigid body, his hand braced against the shower wall as the cold water pulls him back from whatever might have been on his mind.
"I'm sorry if I've made things more... difficult for you."
He doesn't answer for a long time. Then you hear him slowly shift in his bed. "I suspect that by this point, things would be difficult regardless of anything you had done."
"You mean going this long would have been hard for you no matter what?"
"No," he says quietly. "I mean that this was a terrible time for us to be assigned to a joint mission."
"Oh?" you reply, your heartbeat kicking up as you try to keep your tone casual. "Why is that?"
His hesitation is palpable, almost like you can hear him holding back his response.
"You can tell me," you encourage, letting your voice grow soft and breathy.
"Well," he lets out slowly, "I spent the majority of our conversation in the galley thinking only of taking you against the wall. If this was a solo mission, I would like to believe I could avoid such thoughts."
For a moment, all you can hear is the white noise of all the remaining blood in your head rushing to your center, and you ignore the urge to make an embarrassing noise. Instead, you swallow, replying, "It's a good thing I wouldn't have let that happen."
Another pause. "Can you be so sure?"
Your face is growing hot. It's like you can feel him toeing the line, waiting for you to pull him back. You open your mouth, words coming out tentatively. "It's, uh... it's my 'sacred duty', isn't it?"
"I might have tried to coerce you," he responds.
If he keeps offering up blunt confessions wrapped in his soft, chaste delivery, you're going to lose your mind.
"I'm well acquainted with your tactics of persuasion, Obi Wan," you say lightly, as if you aren't seconds away from touching yourself. "What would you have done to coerce me into letting you fail?"
"I think the question is better asked, what wouldn't I have done?"
Shit, he's doing this on purpose. He must be.
"You still haven't answered my question."
"I might have appealed to your sense of decency; tried to convince you to have mercy on me."
You should stop the conversation here. You should laugh and give him some clever quip about him never showing you mercy in training matches. You should tell him it would never work, and leave it at that.
But instead, your throat going dry, you simply ask, "How would you do that?"
It's an opening that shouldn't exist; a lit path that should have remained dark.
He answers, slowly, "I would have held you against that wall, rather than let you leave."
"Mm-hm," you hum softly, listening intently as his words become quieter.
"I would have ended that foolish argument."
Your fingertips graze the side of your leg again. "How?"
"I'd have kissed you. Properly."
"Yeah?"
"And I would have shown you exactly what you do to me."
It's hard not to let your words come out as an airy whine. "What- what do you mean?"
"You know very well what I mean."
Your chin tilts up. Your hand slithers below your waistband. "Obi Wan..."
"I might have pulled your clothes off, then and there. Would you have stopped me?"
You shake your head, though he can't see it. "No."
"If you'd let me, I would have touched you. Stars, I wanted to."
You can't answer. You're circling around your clit, wetness soaking your fingers.
"I wanted to ask for what you'd offered me before."
"Wh-what I'd offered?"
"Your mouth," he answers, sounding like the very thought is painful. "Though I couldn't. If you had said it, I would have had to refuse."
"Refuse?" you breathe, reduced to repeating his words. "Why?"
"Because I-" He cuts himself off. "I would have..."
You try to keep your panting quiet.
"With the way you... use your mouth on me, I couldn't have stopped there. I would have fucked you... I..." he grinds out. "I would have-"
A moan escapes your lips, and he goes suddenly silent.
The recycled air hangs still for an eternity.
He'd heard you.
You can do nothing but wait. Wait for the question. The confusion. The accusation.
But it never comes.
Then, finally, movement.
He rolls in his bunk, and you freeze, pulling your hand up and lying still as you hear him shift.
You want to say something, to make an excuse, to pretend nothing had happened. But the sound had been unmistakable. And your breath is coming too short to even speak.
You have no idea what he intends to do, but for some reason, he seems to be getting out of bed.
You can barely make out his form when he slowly steps down from above you, crowding into your bunk in the darkness. He comes closer, whispering your name, and when you don't reply, he leans down, giving you plenty of time to pull away.
You don't make a move; don't say a word. His mouth finds yours, and you sigh softly against it.
He kisses you, slowly this time, exploring you carefully and precisely. He waits to feel every movement that you reciprocate, brushing his bottom lip delicately across your top lip, waiting for you to spread open for him, which you eagerly do. Minutes pass before he finally slides his tongue into your mouth and drags a needy sound out of you.
He passes a hand down at the same time, reaching under your clothes and between your legs with a quiet certainty. Pressing his first two fingers down, he sinks into your wetness and draws them out again. His lips pull apart from yours.
"You were touching yourself," he says, the faint light in the room dancing in the reflection of his eyes. His hand drops to the bedding, evidence smearing across the fabric as he looks to you for answers.
"I..." You're obscenely embarrassed, but you try to keep from dropping his gaze. "I didn't mean for you to... to notice."
His features have taken on an emotion you can't quite place. "How long have you felt... like this?"
Your face flushes. It must be a joke, but you have no idea how to respond. "What do you mean?"
He shakes his head. "I had no idea you..."
"What?"
"When you offered to help me, I hadn't thought..."
You look at him for a long time, taking in his blown-out pupils, his kiss-swollen lips, his undeniable sincerity.
The truth washes over you, slowly sinking in.
All this time, he'd thought you'd been simply putting up with his request. That you were being a good friend. That you'd only offered to help him out of obligation.
His gaze falls off to the side, then drags back to you. "I had thought it was for my benefit alone."
You try to find the words to express how fucking mad with want that he's been driving you this entire time, but you come up empty. Instead, at long last, all you can say is, "No."
"No?" he whispers.
You shake your head softly. "No."
For a moment, he looks as if you've punched him. Then his wide eyes flicker down to your lap. "Show me, then," he breathes. "Will you?"
When he lowers his hands to your hips, resting his thumbs inward, awaiting your permission, it's like his touch is scorching you; boiling you over, even through your clothes.
You suck in air, trying desperately to clear your head. There's a reason you can't just give in and let him sink his fingers back in exactly where you need them. There's definitely a good reason. If only you could think of anything beyond how good his hands would feel on your skin...
But, no. Biting your lip, you shake your head and use every remaining shred of your willpower to say, "If you want, I'll show you. But not like this."
His face falls, confusion staining his features as he pulls his hands back. "What do you mean?"
You try to keep your panting quiet enough that he can't hear it, pressing back on your elbows and lifting your chin to look past him, over the side of the bed. "Could you get my pack for me?"
His uncertain look lingers, but he pulls your pack up and hands it to you. Digging inside, you find what you need.
His demeanor shifts the instant he catches sight of them. "You packed them anyway."
You give him a shy shrug, looking at him coyly through your eyelashes. "Never hurts to be prepared."
He swallows. "Those would not be necessary for what I had in mind."
He gives a pointed downward look, and you try not to shiver. Steeling yourself, you answer, "If you want to watch, we should put certain... assurances in place. As your witness, I think it's best to be safe."
It's a lie, of course. A lie to finally get what you want, after all this desperate trying.
His reaction earlier had shown you that the only way you can be sure to finish what you start is to literally hold him in place. You can't risk him losing his nerve again. Despite the fog of sex clouding your thoughts, you know this is your final chance, and you have no intention of wasting it. You aren't just going to offer him simple, straightforward relief. You're going to draw it out until it's the only thing he can think of. Until he can do nothing but give in.
"So," you ask, dawning your best false bravado and sitting up to encircle one of his wrists in the first of the binders. He doesn't pull away, but he hardly looks pleased. "What's it going to be?"
As you ask the question, you activate the first binder and meet his eyes. The uncertainty is still there, but it doesn't completely mask the excitement beneath. He exhales, then tucks his other arm behind his back, allowing you to chain him to the handle of the durasteel panel at the end of your small bunk. His shoulders are pulled into a hard line and he rests in a kneeling position, looking down at you as you slowly lie back on the bed.
"Thanks for trusting my judgement," you tell him, getting comfortable in the soft covers, but hesitating before slipping your hand beneath your clothes again. His eyes follow your movement, and your fingers rest just shy of where they should be going.
"You left me few other options," he replies, settling back against his restraints.
Looking up at him, you suddenly feel self-conscious. Has your coercion gone too far?
"You had options," you clarify. "You still have them."
He smirks. "Hardly. Remain a free man, or watch you pleasure yourself. To call that a choice would make me a fool."
You give a soft breath, then your fingers drop low. You can see his smirk falling away just as your eyelids flutter shut.
Your hand glides easily to where it had been only moments before, listening to the sound of his voice as you'd touched yourself. Your chest is tight with the anxiety of knowing he's watching you, but it's equal parts unnerving and thrilling at the same time. You start to play with yourself and the mix of adrenaline and desire shoots through you like lightning.
"Undress for me," he instructs. "Let me see."
It isn't said with anything resembling a demand, yet you shake your head, leaning back against your pillow. You're in charge. He has to know that.
"I know you aren't used to it," you reply, wrist slowing as you give him a soft smile, "but I'm giving orders at the moment." Your hand stills. "You're here to watch, nothing more."
You can feel him tense as your movement disappears. He stays quiet, as if waiting for you to continue, and when you don't, he finally speaks up.
"Don't stop, darling."
His soft encouragement nearly makes you pull your slippery-wet fingers over your clit and come on the spot. Even as you begin to drag your wrist in achingly slow circles again, carefully avoiding putting too much pressure anywhere dangerous, you're thinking about it. Maybe you could afford to tip over the edge and bite your lip hard enough to hide it. But not after he's worked you up this much. You're going to be a mess, and you know it.
Instead, you use your other hand to unbutton the top of your bodice and breathe a little deeper, holding your voice steady as you casually reply, "There it is again. You called me that earlier."
"What?"
"Darling," you say softly, trying to let it sound like an offhand observation.
"I used to call you that all the time."
Your brow creases. "I don't remember that."
"Ah," he says, sounding suddenly reserved. "Perhaps it was under my breath, then."
You open your eyes to look at him, expecting a smile, but finding him completely focused between your legs.
Stifling a whimper, you push your pants off with hurried, uncareful hands, staring up at him the whole time. You've given in much too quickly - you were supposed to draw this out. But you can't help it. He's talking you right up to the edge without even trying.
"Oh," he groans, watching you spread your legs for him and delicately begin to play with your pussy.
You lower your lashes and drag your eyes down his still fully-clothed body. You need to keep focused - keep pushing him closer to where you are.
"I should confess, this isn't the first time I've touched myself thinking of you."
He gives a small nod, not tearing his eyes from their spot. "I know. The holos."
You swallow, building your courage. "Not just then."
His eyes briefly flick up to your face, an urgent question in his gaze, but they hang there for only a second before he's distracted back to your center.
Letting out a slow breath, you let yourself ease your middle finger against your clit, the air on your skin chilling the wetness running along the insides of your thighs. "After that night we fell asleep together."
A loud huff of breath escapes him. "You... you didn't..."
Building toward orgasm isn't going to take long. You're practically soaking your fingers as you admit it to him: "Right afterward; just like this."
You let out a little shudder, speeding up your movements when you hear the soft clink of him readjusting in the binders.
"Let me touch you."
You leave it hang, as if you hadn't heard it.
"I touched myself here, too, imagining it was you."
Your free hand lifts to your left nipple, brushing it softly at first and then circling it until it starts to harden. Your bodice is open at the top, but still held tightly together at the bottom. As you near the edge, you study Obi Wan's face, watching his frustration build at each slow, deliberate movement. You pull your other hand up and drag your slick over your sensitive skin, using it to bring your other nipple to a hardened bud.
"Have you ever been touched like that?"
He doesn't answer, jaw tight and eyes fixated on your roving fingers.
"I think you'd like it," you go on, cupping your breasts and lazily drawing your fingertips over your skin. Then, you sit up and crawl the short distance to him.
"What do you think?" you ask innocently, hands spreading under his outer tunic. You rub your hand experimentally back and forth a few times to see if he'll bristle, but if anything, he seems to lean into your touch. Sliding your hand beneath his outer tunic, you brush his nipple through the remaining cloth. Delightfully, you find that it's already hard.
You smile, pushing his outer tunic over his shoulders. "You're a little more indecent than I thought, Obi Wan."
His lips are parted as he stares down your body, then back to where you're touching him.
"You have no idea."
You suck the edge of your bottom lip into your mouth, then take both your hands and trail them lightly against the soft fabric of his inner tunic, from his shoulders down to his stomach, palms flat. Then you bring your thumbs up to his nipples and begin to tease. His eyes roll up, then fall shut. He doesn't say anything out loud, but his chest begins to heave with shallow, harsh breaths.
You go on like that for a long while, drinking in every sharp intake of air, every roll of his shoulders, and every time he opens his eyes to look at you through a glossy daze.
"Let's make you a little more comfortable, hm?" you finally say, reaching to remove his inner tunic as well, but struggling with the resistance of the rest of his clothes, the multiple layers all held tight by his belt. You lower your hand, then stop to look at him before gently tugging at it.
"Can I take this off?"
"Yes," he answers before you even finish your last word.
You grin, freeing his waist and shoving both his tunics back, pushing open his neckline to reveal the bare skin beneath, until he's naked to the waist. With his clothes still draped halfway over his arms, you simply stare. The muscles bound to every inch of his frame are almost too much of a distraction to notice the obscene bulge straining in his pants. Almost.
"You, uh..." Your voice nearly cracks and you carefully clear your throat. "You look... really good like this."
Obi Wan, still gazing at your nearly naked body, barely seems to have noticed you talking. "I can't say what I think of the way you look." After a moment, he adds, "There aren't words in Basic for the things I want to do to you."
You feel a pulse between your legs, then smile weakly. "Let's just focus on you for the moment."
Your thumbs brush over his bare nipples again and he gasps. "That- that feels..."
He dissolves into short breaths, going silent for a long time as you drag the tips of your fingernails up and down his chest with feather-light touches. His biceps flex in time with your hypnotic rhythm as his skin pricks into goosebumps.
"Good, isn't it?" you say softly, not expecting a response as you watch him curl and flex beneath your touch. You go lower, daring to slide your hands low enough that they graze the skin beneath his belly button.
When you can see his stomach beginning to tighten in apparent frustration, you start to tease his nipples again, and he lets out a noise somewhere between startled and relieved. You only tease him briefly, then give him a moment's break to catch his breath, tracing his bare shoulders with your fingertips.
"How..." he manages after his panting subsides, "...did you know..."
You give him a wry smile, flicking your thumbs back and forth softly over his nipples again. "How did I know you'd like this?" you finish for him. "Just a feeling."
He moans in response, hips bucking forward. His face is starting to get flushed, and you suppress the urge to lathe your tongue over his neck.
"Why don't you lie down for me?" you purr into his ear.
He pulls at the binders, making an obvious point. "You've made that rather difficult."
Hesitating, you look him over, trying to let the logical part of your brain swim back to the surface. On the one hand, you know taking him out of the binders is going to lead to a conversation about getting him back into them, which ultimately could put an end to this. On the other hand, the image of Obi Wan lying beneath you, spread out, completely at your mercy...
"Just one hand."
You hold his gaze for a moment, waiting for him to agree. He raises his brows in that charming way he has, not saying anything back. Ever the skilled tactician, even in a moment like this, he's not going to volunteer anything he doesn't have to.
"I'm going to let one hand free, just so you can lie down," you clarify, reaching behind him to use the fingerprint scanner on the pre-programmed binders. You rest a hand on his shoulder, leaning close to the side of his face. "That means you lie down as soon as I press this button, right? Nothing else. Nothing to break the rules."
His eyelashes are hanging low as he stares at your mouth, not answering. It takes him a long time to drag his eyes back up to yours, and when he does, your heartbeat kicks up wildly. You click the button, only vaguely aware that he hadn't yet answered.
His hand finally loose, he doesn't let go of eye contact as he reaches for your chest, lightly dragging his fingertips beneath your collarbone.
"L-lie down," you whisper, not moving as he smooths the side of his knuckle down your bare skin. You arch your back instinctively, letting out a short, soft moan when he grazes your nipple. Your eyelashes flutter closed, despite your efforts. You force them open again.
"My goodness," he says breathlessly, sweeping his hand up to your cheek. "You are beautiful."
Fighting hard against the flush that you can already feel is settling deeply in your face, you force a dismissive smile and lift your own hand over his hand. "The words of a man currently tied to my bed, who would say anything to make me let him loose."
He meets your gaze straight-on. "The words of a man too desperate to tell anything but truth."
"Obi Wan," you murmur softly, not sure if you mean to chastise or encourage him.
He slides his hand to your jaw, starting to lean in for a kiss. That finally pulls you out of your daze. Heart racing, you lean in first. And harder.
Before he can meet your lips in a slow, sensual kiss, you close your mouth over his, plunging your tongue deep and drawing out a moan from him.
Using the momentum to push him back against the panel, you raise his hand up above his head, kissing him with every bit of the passion you've been holding back, ignoring the pulsing need to give in and simply press your body up against him, kiss him, taste him. Instead, you focus on getting his hand into position, and give a satisfied hum against his mouth as you clip the second binder back into place.
He makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat, but he does not stop kissing you.
His lips are ravenous, as if he knows the second he stops, you're going to pull away. He isn't playing with you; isn't going along with your teasing. He's unabashedly trying to feel whatever he can get. You use it to your advantage, pushing his pliant body toward the bed, sucking his bottom lip as you ease him down until he's lying beneath you.
When you finally pull apart, you murmur against his mouth, "I'm sorry."
He's looking up at you, lips parted, looking slightly accusatory but overall like he would very much like to continue kissing. "That was quite unfair."
"I... I couldn't trust myself," you admit, sitting up.
He licks his lips, then answers in an infuriatingly calm tone, "You might have trusted me instead, then."
You sit back, letting your eyes travel brazenly over his body, his arms held above his head and the rest of him lying spread out for you. You swallow, then try to match his unaffected tone. "Well. You never agreed to the terms, did you?"
His chest is heaving, but he still maintains that silky-smooth intonation. "I was hardly given the chance."
You drag your fingers up and down his skin, starting with his arms, which look thick and bracing from this angle. The dark hair of his underarms is inexplicably salacious.
"And if I gave you the chance now?" you ask, fingers drifting lower, brushing over the sensitive skin of his sides. You watch him shiver, skin prickling.
"The terms were... quite restrictive," he retorts, then closes his mouth to breathe through his nose.
By the time you reach his waist, he's visibly straining under your touch. He no longer looks combative. He just looks very, very serious.
You brush your fingers along his pants, taking care to stay above the waistline. After you've run your nails along it a few times, you casually ask him, "Can I take these off?"
He nods his head, ruffling his hair in the back. "Please."
"Mm," you answer, then slide your thumbs back up to play with his nipples again. "Good to know."
He sucks in, letting out sharp, harsh little breaths as you toy with him. You bring one thumb up to your mouth, lick it, and then slide it across his right nipple. Then you lean over his body to blow softly over the wet skin.
He jerks, sucking air between his teeth at the sensation, and meets your eyes. "Wh-why did you ask, if you weren't - ah - going to..."
He trails off as you lightly drag your nails down his chest, not stopping as you brush over his hardened nipples. His back arches off the bed and you can see the muscles of his arms clench tight.
"Because," you reply, forcefully nonchalant, "I want to make sure you won't stop me."
"I assure you," he grinds out, "That is the furthest thing from my mind."
He's dangerously close to encouraging you. Should you remind him that he can't technically ask for this, or you will have to stop?
No. He knows the rules. He said it himself.
You tease a finger beneath his waistband, then go back to stroking him lightly over the chest, humming approvingly at every little panting breath he gives in return.
You try to think of a way to re-frame things, giving him a careful reply. "Besides... it's not like you have the means to stop me, if you wanted to."
He nods along vigorously, watching you get closer and closer to his straining cock with every brush of your hand.
"You're right," he breathes.
You palm him through his clothes, his head falling back in relief when you finally touch him. The weight of his cock in your hand makes you want to moan. He's leaking through the fabric, so hard it must be painful. He gives a small whimper at the contact.
Your mouth already watering, you continue to give him soft, slow strokes, watching his face contort beautifully. Enjoying the sensation, you intend to draw this out as long as possible. The thought suddenly makes you shake your head a little.
"I can't believe you thought I was doing this all for you," you say softly. "You really thought I wasn't enjoying myself? That I wasn't into this?"
"Believe me..." He pauses to catch his breath, opening his eyes to look down at you. "If I had thought that those holos you sent were anything but instruments of torture, I would have taken your door off its hinges getting into to your quarters."
"What?" you blurt out, hand stilling on his cock. "But... you wouldn't have been able to do anything."
His brows furrow slightly. "On the contrary. Giving myself pleasure is strictly forbidden. Giving you pleasure..."
"...would have left you even worse off," you finish for him, trying to be reasonable.
He gives you a rakish grin. "A sacrifice well worth making."
Fuck, you need his cock in your mouth.
You gather fabric tight in both your hands, dragging his pants off his hips all in one slow, deliberate pull. You keep the fabric taut, gripping hard until his cock bursts out, standing rigidly all at once. Enveloping the leaking tip in your mouth, you can't hold back any longer. You take him all in one swallow.
He gasps, shockingly loud this time.
The sound warms your cheeks, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach, and you begin to bob your head over the length of him as he lets out anguished sounds from deep in his chest.
You keep your hand wrapped around the base of him, pumping him steadily, drool filling your mouth embarrassingly fast. His hips are bucking to meet every jerk of your hand, and your eyes roll back at the feeling of him filling you up. You lift your eyes to see his face, but from this angle all you can see is the underside of his beard and his flushed, open lips. His head is thrown back in what looks like silent agony.
You slide your lips back to his head, sucking there until he makes a deliciously urgent, overwhelmed sound. Then you pop off of him for a moment, licking your lips and letting him catch his breath. His chest is flushed red, sweat beading at his brow. He looks down at you, eyes wild.
"Fuck," he whines raggedly. "Oh, fuck..."
You smile innocently. "Good?"
He drops his head back, panting. "Unbelievable."
You hum in response, gently kissing the side of his cock. He twitches, and you flatten your tongue, licking a slow stripe from his base to his tip, then spread your lips and take him again in one languid mouthful. You drag several more expletives out of him, gripping his thigh with one hand and starting to tease his balls with the other.
"Oh, yes," he moans, hands dropping limp against his restraints. "That's it. Don't- don't stop..."
Your eyes go wide and you slow down, hesitating. Isn't that... isn't what he just said...
You hold him with one hand, stopping and swallowing so you can speak. "I, uh- um..."
He sits up, pulling at the chain to look at you, eyes glossy and lost. "Your mouth," he rasps. "Please."
That seals it. Damn him.
He's at the edge of coming. You can feel his dick throbbing in your hand, and you could give it to him. You could, but...
"I... I can't," you answer, hating the words. You stroke him a little, not able to move away or let go. Not able to stop entirely.
Breath escapes him in erratic huffs. He sounds like he's almost laughing in disbelief, but his face is all desperate panic. "What?"
"I can't," you say, sounding like you're pleading. "You told me you couldn't ask for it. You made me promise."
His mouth is hanging open. All he says is your name as an obtestation.
Your face crumbles. "I'm sorry. I have to. You... you wanted this."
He shakes his head. "No, no, listen-"
"I should really..." You need to excuse yourself. Put as much distance between you as possible. Lock yourself out of the room if you have to. But looking at him like this... His hair is a matted mess. It's flattened against the crown of his head and jutting up behind his ears where he'd rubbed against his own arms, writhing under your touch. His jaw is slack, his chest ruddy and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. You've never seen him like this before. If you didn't know better, you'd think he'd seen battle.
"S-should really..." you repeat, face pinched tight in denial as you jerk him slowly and watch him buck at the slightest touch. "I should go."
"No, wait," he urges, voice cracking a little. "Just- just stay. For a moment."
"I don't think I should." You finally pull your hand away and he sighs roughly.
"Let me feel you," he pleads, eyes meeting yours.
"No, I... I'm not supposed to," you reply, wanting absolutely nothing more than to give in.
He shakes his head. "Please. Let me touch you."
A flush overtakes you, and you sit up to pull the edge of a blanket over your unclothed lower half. "I can't... let you do that."
He looks physically pained at your answer. "You cannot leave me like this. Only a touch. Just one hand. I'll do nothing to break our agreement."
His offer is so clearly going to make things harder for him, and perhaps it's selfish to accept it. Perhaps you should hesitate; let him take some time to reconsider.
Perhaps a better friend would have taken a moment to meditate on exactly what it meant for you to allow this one final concession. Or any of the other little concessions that have led you to this very choice.
But you aren't a good friend. You are a very bad, very fallible friend. And you release just one of his wrists. And he's sitting up, leaning toward you before you've even moved the blanket.
He kisses you, hand dropping down immediately, dragging from your stomach down to your navel. It feels like he's setting you alight. When he goes lower, you bite back a pathetic whine. You're already so worked up, the faintest attention from him is overwhelming.
"Uncuff me," he whispers against your lips, fingers grazing your sensitive skin.
You sigh helplessly. Stars, you want nothing more. You swallow, shaking your head in a feeble attempt to regain control. His fingers slide between your legs and his mouth falls open when he feels how wet you are.
"Oh, darling, uncuff me."
You shake your head again, eyes squeezed shut as his fingers delve deeper, your slick dripping over his hand. "N-no, Obi Wan, I can't," you plead, close to the edge already.
How can you tell him that the binders are now your last shred of self-control and you have no idea what will happen if they come off?
"Mm-" you whine high in your throat, letting yourself give into the feeling of him touching you, if only for a moment. Then you reach down to grasp his wrist, as if to stop him, but making no effort to actually go through with it.
Feeling his wrist move beneath your palm, you can't deny the thrill of letting him do this to you while holding onto his arm. You're acting as if you're holding him back when you're practically guiding him through it.
He curls his fingers up and presses them deep inside you, making you moan. It's such a needy, depraved sound that your eyes widen in surprise and you suddenly realize that you need to stop before you lose control completely.
Obi Wan catches the look in your eyes, though, and it's in that moment that you realize - you already have.
He leans forward to kiss your neck, pumping his fingers faster. "Let me taste you," he whispers against your neck, breath hot and ragged.
You lift your head, giving him more space to drag his tongue across your skin. "We shouldn't."
"There isn't a single rule you would be breaking."
You bite your lip, unable to focus on anything but the way he feels inside you.
"Please, let me hear you come, or I'll spend my nights dreaming of it until I go mad. Let me taste you. It's all I ask."
"Fuuuck." You drag out the word.
Every other day of your life, you can be a Jedi. You can be mindful and temperate and restrained. But not tonight. Not with his eyes so soft, his deep, accented voice sliding thick around your name, pleading for all these lovely sins.
If it had been anyone but him, you could have said no. But it's Obi Wan.
Obi Wan, whispering soft encouragement when you lean into his side, pressing your finger on the button.
Obi Wan, rolling over your body and wrapping you in his arms the instant he's free, pinning you to the bed and sucking at your neck like you're dripping honey.
Obi Wan, pulling you down to the edge of the bed with the strength and wildness of a man who's been denied far too long.
Obi Wan, kneeling between your legs and sliding his tongue into your pussy before you can say another word.
"Obi Wan..." His name spills out of you like a confession. Like you've been waiting to moan it like this since the day you'd agreed never to do it again.
His eyes are closed, his proud, regal nose buried deep between your thighs. He starts to drag his tongue up the river of slick pouring out of you, over and over and over while you squirm at the warm, unyielding pressure he's giving you. He's nowhere near your clit. This is all for him. Just tasting you, like he'd said.
It takes him a few minutes to gain some semblance of composure, finally pulling back to lick you properly, from the pool of your wetness all the way up. His tongue is flat and firm, and he makes a noise in the back of his throat when you roll your hips against him.
"Shit-" you gasp, pleasure winding steadily through your body with every methodical drag of his mouth. He's kissing you; sucking you - fervent, hungry, almost punishing. When his tongue delves into you again, the bedding twists beneath your hands.
"So good," you urge him on, wishing you could come up with better words to describe what he's doing to you, but your mind is half gone already, melted into a puddle of 'yes' and 'ohh' and 'just like that...'
You fight to open your eyes. It's going to be over too quickly if you keep them closed, letting the heat curl up hard and sudden. You need to stretch this out. You want to enjoy every moment, every detail. But looking down, you quickly realize, is only going to send you rocketing over the edge.
His eyes are still closed, his brows knitted hard together. You can't resist running your fingers through his beautiful golden hair, enjoying the way the dim light plays in the feathery locks. Running your hand along his ear, you sigh without meaning to. You could come just from the sight of him.
"We can... slow down," you force out, trying to make him give you a second to breathe. He just keeps licking you. Same steady pace. Same hard grip on your thighs.
"If you want," you try again.
He finally slows, murmuring warm words against you. "You haven't the faintest idea, do you?"
An electric thrill courses through you at the sound of his deepened voice, hearing and feeling it at the same time. "Mm?" is all you can manage to squeak out.
Then he pulls his mouth from between your legs and looks up at you, beard sopping wet and just the barest hint of a smirk on his lips. "How badly I've longed for this."
As he replaces his mouth with his thumb, rubbing softly at your clit, you gasp and stammer out, "Because of the Nikk-" you shudder, shocks of pleasure rolling through you as he slides the back of his index finger up and down, gathering your wetness. "Th-the trial?"
He slides that finger, along with a second one, back inside you. Your gasp turns broken, choked off in the back of your throat.
His blue eyes are piercing in their intensity, his voice low and a little rough when he gives you his answer before sealing his mouth over you again.
"No."
Your eyes roll back in your head as he plays with your clit, tongue stroking over you as your hands bury themselves in his soft hair.
"Obi Wan!" you choke out, all the heat inside you gathering tightly and ready to burst. "Fuck!"
He gives you perfect rhythm, working you from two directions at once; inside and outside, steady and merciless. You can feel the soft bristles of his beard against the tender skin of your inner thigh as his jaw moves, and you mentally file it away - knowing the memory is going to haunt you every time your own fingers bring you relief when you're alone.
When he finally sends you flying over the edge, your moans turn into ragged whimpers, your body tensing hard as your pussy convulses and twitches around his fingers. You cry his name again, almost in shock at how good it feels. He's wringing every bit of your orgasm from you, dragging his fingers in that perfect curl until you have to sit up, palms digging into the mattress and rocking your body forward as the pleasure starts to flirt with overstimulation.
When you do, though, you can see the motion his body is making. It's dark in the room, but the light coming off the nearby control panel is enough to see Obi Wan's hips thrusting even as his upper body stays pinned between your thighs.
A sudden wave of euphoria shoots through your veins as you realize he's fucking himself against the bed while you're coming in his mouth.
"Fuck," he gasps, pulling off only when you shove back his shoulders. His eyes don't leave your center. "I can't... I need-"
Your mouth is still hanging open as you collapse back on the bed, legs trembling. You blink at him through a daze, watching him where he kneels. His hand - the same one he's just slid out of your pussy - goes straight between his legs and he moans.
His expression is like nothing you've ever seen him wear before. He looks completely debauched; eyes so big and soft and tormented, deep red flush set high on his cheek bones, and mouth dropped open like he's fighting for his breath. Despite your bone-deep satisfaction, you feel a flutter in your stomach from seeing him like this.
"I can't," he repeats, using one big palm to cradle your thigh as he strokes his cock furiously. "Please..."
Your hand slides down to touch his as he grips your soft skin, thumb dragging through the wetness that's spread all over your inner thighs. Your head still in the clouds, you manage to pant out, "You... made me promise..."
"A promise, is that all?" he asks, voice shaking. "Keep it. I just... need to feel you."
Wondering if it's your hazy thoughts or his words that are making no sense, you loll your head to the side. "How... could we...?"
"It isn't against the rules. I swear it."
Technically, many things could be allowed within the rules. The way the Nikkama is worded... though it's been translated so many times...
There's the letter of the law, and the spirit of the law. Which one can you bring yourself to follow?
With Obi Wan staring up at you, stomach smeared with his own sticky mess from rubbing himself against a mattress instead of you, technicalities suddenly sound incredibly tempting.
"Damn," you say softly as you unabashedly stare at him. "You truly are a great negotiator."
His brows knead together. "Negotiating? No, darling, I am begging."
He sinks one knee into the edge of the bed, leaning over you. "This is a cry for mercy."
As he strokes himself, you find yourself spreading your legs.
"Obi Wan..."
"Please, I... a-anything," he stammers hoarsely, hand grazing his cock and then tightening as he looks down. "I need it quite- quite badly."
You watch the way he palms himself, brazenly drinking in every inch of your body. And you realize how truly weak you are.
"You... couldn't put it inside..."
Relief seems to flood him as he shakes his head, leaning into you and stroking himself faster. "No... no..."
He thumbs gently at your pussy, spreading you open, and groans.
You make a high noise in the back of your throat, not able to answer as the heavy warmth of his cockhead is pressed against you, sliding between the lips of your pussy.
Obi Wan makes a sound like he's taken a blaster bolt straight to the chest. He still has one leg on the floor and you can feel his thigh shaking, struggling to hold him up. He's half pressing himself down into your warmth, frantic and messy as his hips buck at their own pace.
You're still buzzing from your first orgasm, but there's something deeper than just the physical that's starting to burn again already. The look on his face alone is enough to make you throb.
"We... we have to stop," you say, in a voice that's anything but convincing. "We- we have to."
"It's alright," he pants out, eyes glassy as his hands slide to your waist, holding you steady to fuck through your slick, inviting warmth. "It's alright."
You know it's not, but feeling him rocking against you like this, desperate and needy and savage, you can no longer bring yourself to care.
"F-fuck." His voice breaks, dropping off from a whine. "It's too much-"
He drops his hand into the bedding, the other hand holding your leg open as he thrusts against you, slipping over and over through the wet mess of your pussy as you writhe beneath him, hips rolling at the stimulation. His thick head dragging over your clit with each thrust is stoking the heat inside you, building it up all over again.
He looks up at you with sudden, shocked eyes as if he's pleading for you to stop him, but you're too blissed-out and worked up to do anything of the sort. He reaches down, gripping himself and whimpering, still rutting against you, even through his fist.
His hips buck once more, twice, then...
"Fuck, I'm coming..."
He shudders, the head of his cock thrusting over your clit and shooting warm ropes of cum over your pussy, coating you until you're dripping with it. As each spatter of cum hits your skin, waves of pleasure and relief flood you, almost as if you're the one who's finally being allowed to come after weeks and months of building it up.
When he finally finishes, you let your head fall back, exhausted.
"Shit," you breathe out. "That... was incredible."
A low groan is all he gives you in response, still thrusting his softening cock against you. His eyelids dip low and he seems lost in a trance. You close your own eyes, letting yourself enjoy it. You can't deny your satisfaction, soaking in his sticky mess.
"I'm... I'm sorry, Obi Wan," you tell him after a few long moments of feeling him slowly drag against you. You wonder if he's quiet from disappointment, or something else. He doesn't answer you.
"I guess we failed, then?" you ask softly, trying to hide the desire in your voice when he slides over your clit. He doesn't stop moving, just slows to a pace that sends shivers down every inch of your body.
Still looking like he hasn't quite come back to himself, Obi Wan finally replies, "I wouldn't say that."
You smirk, but it's cut short when you feel him start to glide against your entrance. You stiffen, unsure whether it was an accident.
"I... I thought..."
"It's alright," he says soothingly again, just as he had before. He doesn't make any effort to elaborate.
He slides back and forth a few times more, then gathers some of the cum that's dripped down your legs with the head of his cock, pushing it back inside you. It's only when you feel him pressing at your entrance again that you realize he's starting to get hard.
"Obi Wan..." you murmur, eyes rolling back when he tenses, about to push in.
"Yes." He says it as a statement and a question, all at once. Looking up to meet your eyes, he waits, as if wondering if you'll ask him to stop. As if terrified that you will.
It's then that you realize, you aren't going to stop him. You simply don't have the power within you. Whatever it is that draws you so deeply to Obi Wan is stronger than you can bear to hold off anymore. But you have to put up a show, even if the lie is only for his benefit.
You swallow. "I don't think we should."
His eyes close with a particularly slow thrust. When he opens them, he replies with an edge of nervousness in his voice. "You don't think we should, or you don't want to?"
Trust him to get to the heart of the matter. You tamp down the hot whine in the back of your throat. "It doesn't matter," you reply, knowing you just gave your answer.
"I -ah - I won't..." he breaks off into a moan when the head of his cock presses shallowly into you.
"...won't put it in?" you ask, vulgar.
He shakes his head, mouth open. "No, I won't."
Your pussy sucks him tightly, making you gasp. "N-not all the way?"
He moves, and you hear the obscene sound of him sliding in and out of you. "No. No."
He shoves in a little deeper this time, making room for himself. Everything in you is burning to ask him for more. Feeling this much of him is like torture. He's right there, so big, so thick, and you just want him to fill you as completely as only he can.
Instead, you nod along with his words. "As long as you're in control."
He pulls out with a gasp, thrusting against the side of your pussy as if you've brought him back to reality for a moment.
Gasping to catch your own breath and fighting the urge to clench your thighs around him in frustration at the loss, you ask him shakily, "You're in control, right?"
He nods, arms trembling as he holds himself over you, still simulating fucking you with quiet ferocity.
"Perfectly," he promises, the word sounding drawn out, like he's barely aware he's saying it.
"Good," you tell him, fully concentrated on his cock spreading you open again, pushing into you with careful restraint. "Okay."
He holds there for one blissful moment, then frantically pulls out again, rubbing over your clit and moaning. The sound makes your pussy throb, clenching around nothing.
"I- I just need..." he lines up with you again, and you can feel a heavy spurt of precum dribbling from his cock just before he pushes inside. "Oh, need to feel you."
This time, when he stretches you open and you watch his face get drawn and tight, you realize this is the last time you can stand it. If he pulls out again, you will actually lose your mind. You feel like you've lost it a little already.
You reach a hand up, brushing back the hair that's fallen over his face, then wrap both your arms around his neck. "You are feeling me, Obi Wan."
He lets out a deep groan, pushing shallowly in and out of you.
"Do you want to come inside me this time?"
He makes a choking sound, hips stuttering wildly as he pulls back out. "You would let me?"
Heat warms your cheeks, as you suddenly remember his earlier words. "Well... didn't you say something about begging?"
Obi Wan meets your eyes, his cock hanging heavy against you. "Please, let me finish inside you."
It makes your stomach flip, and it takes your full concentration not to come on the spot. You force out a teasing, "What happened to your Jedi resolve?"
He's still holding you in his gaze as his voice goes low and plaintive. "You've broken it, darling." He gives a little groan as he pushes the tip of his cock back inside. "Along with the rest of me."
His hips shift down a little this time, and his next thrust is world-shattering.
You make a noise somewhat like a sob and he slowly pulls back, moaning deep in his chest.
"I'm sorry, that- that was a mistake, I-"
You spread your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, drawing him down to your lips for a kiss, and he sheaths himself again, fucking into you as if by instinct.
As you melt into the kiss, all the smiles and the wide eyes and the hesitating glances disappear instantly, as if a switch has been flipped. The air suddenly feels electric, and he's inside you, and everything is right in the universe.
He caves his body into yours, pounding into you with a desperate, relentless rhythm that you can feel humming in your blood. It feels like someone kick-started your heart for the first time in years.
"Thought about this for so long," you confess, losing yourself in the perfect strokes he's giving you. "You feel... so fucking good, Obi Wan."
He's panting out obscenities between every moan, but pauses to hear you speak. When he stops, at long last, it's to take off your bodice. Your breasts fall softly free of your clothing and you sigh in contentment as he pulls your naked body close, kissing you deeply.
His arms fall to your waist and he pins you down to the bed, fucking you hard and mean and perfect. His cock is so deep it's making you want to cry in relief as the waves of pleasure overtake you.
"I'm... I'm gonna come," you blurt, embarrassingly quickly.
He answers in a voice you've heard in devotary halls and senate chambers. A voice of smooth confidence and authority. A voice you've heard speaking countless holy words.
His voice is shaking as he begs.
"Come for me, please."
You gasp his name.
"Come on my cock."
Your fingers clasp helplessly around the muscles of his arm as you twitch and writhe, face pulled tight in devastating bliss.
"Come all over my cock and let me feel it."
You come for him, the feeling ripping through you with shocking intensity as he fucks you recklessly, hungrily, desperately.
He snaps his hips hard suddenly, a shocked, "Fuck, Fuck!" tearing out of him. He spills deep inside you, coming and coming and coming as your pussy milks every drop out of him.
"Oh, fuck," you moan, as he pulls back and stuffs you full again. You can feel his cum starting to leak out as his thrusts become slower and more ragged.
"Ohhh, stars," he breathes out, suddenly empty of obscenities. "Oh, my word."
He stays there, head bowed and cock deep inside you, draining the last of himself until both of you have quieted your moaning. Then your eyes meet, and you blush. You share a knowing look, and then you kiss him.
He kisses you back, cupping your jaw gently, then slowly pulls out, making you both groan. He lies down next to you in the messy blankets, pulling you close, and you roll over to look at him properly.
"That was..."
"I know."
He kisses you again.
You lie in silence, then, just enjoying the feeling of being held by him. Finally, you work up your courage and ask him the question that's been waiting at the tip of your tongue.
"Are you... I mean... was that alright?"
He regards you, looking confused. "My darling, how could you ask such a question?"
Your lashes flutter and you look down, caught off-guard for what feels like the hundredth time by his affection. "No, I mean... with the Nikkama, I'm just... I'm sorry if I let you down."
Obi Wan's eyes go soft, and he whispers your name. "Would you like to know why I chose to ask you to act as my witness?"
Despite your bone-tired body, you're suddenly wide awake. Finally, an answer to the question you'd repeatedly thought you'd figured out.
"Yes. Please tell me."
He looks down. "Because..." He pauses to lift your hand to his mouth, kissing your knuckles. "Of all the people in my life, there are few with whom I would feel comfortable discussing... well... matters of a carnal nature."
You nod, unsurprised.
"And... of those few, there was only one person whom I felt I could trust never to return any feelings of mine."
Your eyes go wide.
"No matter how absurdly attractive..." He kisses your hand. "How wildly intoxicating..." He kisses your cheek. "How maddeningly irresistible I may find her."
He leans down and kisses along your jaw, tracing his thumb alongside it. His words are making your head swim.
"Wh... why would you think that?" you whisper, utterly stunned and confused.
Obi Wan answers matter-of-factly, "When you ended things between us-"
"When we ended things," you interrupt, brows furrowed.
He looks at you evenly, then softly continues, "When things came to an end between us, you asked me to promise we would never behave inappropriately again. It was my belief that was what you wanted."
You feel like a rug the size of a planet has been pulled out from under you.
"We both agreed... I mean, I thought we both agreed we were becoming too attached."
He smiles gently. "We did agree on that."
"And I... I mean, we..."
"When you asked that we spend less time with one another, I certainly agreed it would do some good. What I didn't expect was that the next time I reached for your hand, you would pull away."
You can hardly speak. "So you never..."
He lifts his eyebrows good-naturedly. "You broke my heart, my dear girl."
Years of unrequited moments come crashing down all at once. Every time you'd looked at him longingly from across the room, wondering if things could be different...
And the way you'd treated him during this entire trial...
You'd been torturing him. It was no wonder he thought you were doing him a favor by indulging him.
"Obi Wan, I... I regretted ending things," you confess, looking up at him. "I thought so many times about telling you my feelings, but I always held back because I thought it was what we both wanted."
"Well," he replies lightly, though his eyes are penetratingly intense. "What do you think now?"
You capture his mouth in a kiss that's full of every emotion you've left unspoken for years. You don't need another moment to think about it. You've thought about it so terribly, terribly long.
He pulls you close, deepening the kiss as you sigh softly through your nose. This is where you want to be. No question.
When you part, you're both smiling like a couple of padawans. You lay your head on his shoulder and pull the blankets tightly around your neck. Obi Wan drags lazy kisses along your brow, and your eyelids begin to grow heavy. You should really get up and tidy things before you drift off, but right now there's nothing that could make you want to move from his arms.
In the silence that follows, Obi Wan draws slow circles with his fingers over the soft skin of your shoulder. You clear your throat quietly.
"Just to say it, though," you murmur into his skin, "I am sorry we didn't pass the trial."
You can feel him smile against the top of your head.
"What is achievement without failure? I am more than willing to try again. Provided that... you were there to help me?"
"In ten years?" You lift your eyes to him, warm in his embrace. "Of course I will be."
--
A/N: Thank you to everyone who waited so patiently for this final chapter! I hope you liked it! <3
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