#padawan!obi

Obi-wan combed through the skimpy little rattail growing from behind his ear then with the speed and dexterity of an expert wove the strands back together again in a uniform braid. Satine watched with no less jealousy the hundredth time as she'd felt the first.

Her own hair had met a sharp decline the moment she was forced onto the run. She didn't know how to do anything more complicated then tie it back away from her face.

In the first weeks she'd been lost with him she'd managed to lose all of her luggage and subsequently her comb. Her fine waist length hair had matted horribly, caked with dirt and sweat. Obi-wan had managed to find some cheap complementary plastic thing on the cleaning cart of a motel they'd broken into.

She cherished it now. Tucked into her pocket where it was never removed unless it was being used.

He'd helped her wash it then too. She sat mostly clothed in the cramped tub while he lathered her hair in conditioner and combed through it slowly undoing the knarls that tugged at her scalp. Then had her lay back while he rinsed and scrubbed away at the loose hair.

She managed to keep it better kept now. Though the best braid she could manage was a low uneven string of lumps she draped over a shoulder.

"No" Obi said as she stared sourly at his handy work.

"I haven't even asked yet." She andswered

"But you were going to."

She knew this game of his. He could be as stubborn as she was which made for an endless battle of wills between the two. But there was one advantage that she'd managed to find over him.

Satine huffed a long sad sigh and reclined against the stack of crates they were resting behind. She untied her own braid and ran her fingers through the long tresses, wincing at every tangle that she caught.

Obi twitched minutely at the sound but turned away stubbornly to scan their surroundings again.

"Please." She asked in a tone that was most assuredly not a whine.

"Skill is only obtained through struggle." He answered back.

"Ben"

His shoulders slumped minutely as he turned back towards her. Then he held his hand out expectantly.

Satine handed him her comb and shifted to sit flat on her butt as Ben took up his spot on his knees behind her. The comb was worked slowly through her hair.

He tugged at the top of her head and she dropped it back to allow him better access. He started at her crown braiding the top of her head into one braid to that ended in a ponytail. Then both sides were individually braided back.

Then both side braids and the loose pony tail were braided together into one long braid down her back.

It should have taken her team of three dressing attendants ten minutes to achieve a look like this. It took one jedi about the same amount of time.

Satine swept the braid over her shoulder and stroked a finger over one of the thinner braids. An admiring smile gracing her lips.

"Thank you, Ben" She masked a note of sincerity with their well-worn tone of banter.

; STEAMsummary: i raise you one more -- running into one another in the bathspairing: handmaiden!reader x padawan!obi-wana/n: hahahhahahah did someone order sexual tension

You stiffly clear your throat.

The baths in the palace were usually quiet around this time. You’d come to find that late in the evening you didn’t need to worry about running into anyone and, majority of the time, could bathe in peace. 

Not tonight, it seems.

The deep, marble-set pools of hot water smelt of fruits and flowers, fed by one of the hot springs running beneath the Theeds Palace and were lit by the hanging crystal lights along the tall, ornately painted ceiling. Steam hangs low across the water, hazing the room in a warm glow. 

You hadn’t expected to run into the Jedi Padawan here nor now -- certainly not when he’s waist deep in the water and scrubbing at the spiked buzz-cut of his hair, having just returned from a visit to the Gungans in the Eastern swamps. 

“Oh.”

Wide, blue-gray eyes pin you down as you suddenly whips around and sinks deep into the water. Up to his chin. 

“I --I’m sorry.”

You swallow down your shock, skin pricking with embarrassment as you duck your head and grip your towel a bit tighter. “No, no -- I... Do you mind if I...?”

If you get in?

Obi-Wan blinks. He then shakes his head, meekly swallowing down any vocalization -- he’s sure if he speaks, his words with shatter and squeak and he will lose any sense of pride he’d built in himself in the years after puberty. You have a wicked way of reducing him to a mere puddle. And now, still settled deep in the water, Obi-Wan has to try and remember how to function knowing he’ll be mere meters from you, naked.

The whole ordeal is painful -- only because he’s never been good at averting his gaze from things he finds beautiful, but he does for his own sake; you say nothing, only make a point of picking a bench far from the stairs he’d entered the baths from and settled your towel, comb and robe there. 

He’s fiddling with his Padawan braid when you finally enter the water, sending steaming ripples across the baths as you settle low into the pool just like him. Maybe it’s a bit childish, hiding from one another like this -- but, Obi-Wan reasons that if he were to truly see you, bathing naked in the baths in the glow of the steam, his heart would give out, he’d slip below the water and drown, never to be seen or heard from again. 

A rather wonderful way to go, really, if he was being honest with himself.

Not that Qui-Gon would appreciate it. If Qui-Gon knew about the way you two had held hands in the gardens earlier that day, the way he’d kissed the corner of your mouth all for a smile, Obi-Wan doubted his Master would appreciate that either. 

The mud from the swim earlier in the day -- visiting the Gungan’s Eastern regional clan -- was still caked in his scalp. As much as Obi-Wan felt the need to run for the sake of his beating heart, he also couldn’t stand the feeling; and so, the Padawan moved to continue scrubbing at his scalp with the rose-scented soap he’d assumed was for hair. 

(He wasn’t entirely sure. It looks like shampoo. Smelt nice enough. None of the bottles were labeled -- just intricate and crystal.)

You move slowly through the water, toes reaching to push you up at the deepest part of the pool as you move towards the middle -- the floating marble counter was home to a wide array of soaps and salts and salves. 

Obi-Wan is staring out of the corner of his eye, fingers working a hard lather in his hair, as you swim around the collection of soaps and pull yourself up the counter and reach for a bottle on the third tier of the shelf. 

His heart stutters as you push up on your palms, rising our of the water high enough that he spies two dimples along the base of your spine -- an image that strikes him right in the gut. One that will stick with him for months to follow, no doubt, when it’s late and he’s alone and he’s biting his knuckles as takes care of himself while thinking more about the image. Your hair sticks to your shoulders, running rivers of water off your skin as you snag the bottle and slip back below the water. 

He’s stuck in his place, hands having stopped moving moments ago and you notice. It’s rather cute if you’re being honest. His cheeks are flush from the heat of the water and his hair is strewn about in light pink suds. His Padawan braid clings to his neck and chest as he stands there, water stopping above his hipbones. Obi-Wan Kenobi is a sight to behold; slack-jawed, flustered and naked as the day he was born in the baths of the Naboo Palace, alone with the woman of his dreams whom he’d kissed earlier that afternoon in the sprawling gardens of Theed.

Bookishly picturesque. 

Until he gets soap in his eye and curses, that is.

You muffle a laugh, stealing a glance his way as you place the shampoo on the side of the bath and gather some into your hands -- he’s gone and dunked himself under water completely now, emerging with a disgruntled look on his dimpled face. 

“You alright over there?”

It’s soft. It echoes.

Obi-Wan makes a soft sound of discomfort, gathering water in his hands and splashing his face once more before speaking. “Remind me never to visit the swamps with Jar-Jar again.”

“Oh no.”

You make a face. He raises both his brows and quirks his head to the side, a small laugh huffing out his nose as he does. “How I’ve gotten mud in some places, I do not know.”

It’s your turn to laugh -- light and melodic -- as you comb the shampoo through your hair and lather it quickly. Obi-Wan is mesmerized by the action, blue eyes glued to you entirely. You’ve submerged yourself deep enough to let his imagination roam; but the curves of your body are there and if he looks hard enough, he’d see them.

But, he doesn’t, mostly because he’s trying not to faint, drown, and perish at the hands of your insurmountable beauty. 

For Qui-Gon’s sake, if not his.

The Phantom Menace Appreciation Week; Day One (x)

↳ Favourite Scene

This is my favourite lightsaber sequence in all of Star Wars. It’s got such intensity and such urgency. Obi-Wan needs to end this quickly so he can get to Qui-Gon; maybe it’s not too late to save him. The stakes are so high.

My heart sits in my throat every time. Obi-Wan is doing his best, but it’s not clear it’s going to be enough. His master, one of the best duelists in the entire order has just been bested - how is he, the apprentice, meant to do better?

Are you trained in hand to hand, then? 

What of languages? How many do you speak?

Do you own as many gowns as the Queen?

As many shoes, then?

What of blaster training? Are you a good shot?

Have you ever defended the Queen from a threat?

“Have you ever been the decoy?”

You’re in the gardens, skin of your shoulders hot under the afternoon sun. It’s peaceful out here, stillness framed by the quiet chirping of birds, and the grass under your fingers is cool to the touch. Beside you, Obi-Wan is happily sprawled in the patch of lush, green grass -- he’s on his back, a blade of grass between his fingers and his attention anchored on you. 

You offer a slow smile. “Maybe.”

His interest piques, even more than it already is, and you’re shocked all this royal handmaiden business hasn’t lost its thrill. He’s incredibly interested, sitting up to prop himself on his elbow. He grins, all boyish and amused.

“You have, haven’t you?!” he nearly cries, shocked.

“Maybe! It’s -- It’s hardly much fun --”

“Gods, I can’t even imagine.”

“Padmé is very smart -- and very wise for her age. We all try our best to be well-versed in regional politics as to not compromise the intent of the Queen; we’re briefed, though, and it’s not as terrifying the second time around.”

“You’ve done it twice?” 

He’s smiling, all dimpled and sweet, and you have to snicker. 

“Four times, actually.”

“My god,” he mutters, slipping back to lay down in the grass, “I can hardly believe I’m in the presence of royalty.”

“Four time royalty --”

He chuckles, chest shaking as he reaches above his head and snags another blade of grass. Obi-Wan toys with it between his thumb and forefinger, eyes cast across your frame as you mimc his same sort of fiddling; you’re smiling at your hands. 

“Should I start calling you your highness?”

You swat at his knee. “Don’t you dare.”

“Well, why not? You’ve been Queen before --”

“Four times.”

“Yes, yes, you’re quite proud of that, aren’t you?” he laughs, sitting up and nudging your arm as he does. It spurs another laugh out of you -- and as the Jedi Padawan hooks his arms around his knees and eyes you, the smile on your face doesn’t fade for a moment.

“Perhaps.”

“You ought to be,” he says firmly, “You’re a very accomplished woman. I’m proud to say I know you. Proud of you, as well.”

You have to break eye contact. The feel the words stir -- his voice stirs -- is a dangerous burn; warm and welcoming but dangerous. The air changes and you feel as though you can hardly breathe. Obi-Wan feels it, too. A bite at his heels, sending him closer to the feelings swirling in the homes of his heart. 

“Thank you,” you say tightly, “You’re very sweet, Obi-Wan.”

50 Days of Fics: Day 41

Prompt: Clearly up there

Obi-Wan squinted. There was a car up ahead with so many bumper stickers on it that it looked like they were holding the car together. He needed to get a closer look. Obi-Wan understood the appeal of bumper stickers, but the amount that this car had was just excessive. He swiftly maneuvered his car so that he was behind it. 

The bumper stickers on the man’s car were a mix of pop culture references and political movements. Obi-Wan was so engrossed in deciphering one bumper sticker that was mostly just a bunch of symbols when the car in front of him hit the breaks at the red light. He barely had time to hit his own breaks before slamming into the back of this man’s car.

“Kriff,” Obi-Wan said in panic. He had never gotten into an accident before. Now his insurance was going to go up, and he’d have to deal with whoever the person in the other car was. They both pulled over onto the side of the road. 

“Insurance,” he mumbled to himself.” I need my car insurance.” 

His hands shook as he fumbled with the glovebox, trying to remind himself of everything Qui-Gon had told him to do when he taught him to drive. Panic set in   as he saw the other man get out of the car. The other man did not look happy.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The man asked as he slammed his car door shut.

Obi-Wan scrambled to get out of the car. “I-I’m so sorry!”

“Sorry isn’t going to fix my car!” The man exclaimed.

Obi-Wan gave him his insurance. “I didn’t mean to!”

“Do you not know how to drive? Were you on your phone?”

“N-no, sir, I was not on my phone,” he stammered.

“Then what happened?” the man, Mace Windu by the information on his insurance, demanded.

Obi-Wan blushed, looking down at the concrete beneath his feet. “I was reading your bumper stickers.”

“My what?”

“The bumper stickers on your car. There’s so many of them. I wanted to see what they said. I was reading them when you braked and I didn’t have enough time or space to stop,” he explained.

Mace looked at him. “Boy, that is the stupidest reason to get into an accident.”

“I know, Sir,” Obi-Wan sighed.

Mace sighed. “Look. You have car insurance, I have car insurance. You car is in worse shape than mine. What’s your name, kid?”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he replied. 

“Well, Obi-Wan, I want you to promise that you’ll never let curiosity about something as trivial as bumper stickers keep you from driving safely.”

“I-I promise, Sir,” Obi-Wan said sincerely. “But, if I may... what does that bumper sticker stand for?” He pointed at the one he had been trying to decipher.