#prompt: obikin | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tennessoui · 2 months

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Hey I hope you're having a good day! I'm sure you've already got a handful of prompts but how about *shakes magic 8-ball* number 17, meeting at a party whilst drunk au!

hello thank you for sending this in!! i'm still working down my list of prompts, and this one is: meeting at a party whilst drunk

i took some liberties with the prompt here though, so really this is meeting (again after a long time) at a party whilst drunk

(2.8k) (gffa, anakin leaves the order after the war au)

Usually, Obi-Wan is better about this sort of thing. It is, after all, a matter of utmost importance. It’s a matter of survival.

Usually, when he receives an invitation to an event, he does not commit himself to going until he can complete some reconnaissance about the other guests invited. Until he knows beyond a reasonable doubt that Anakin Skywalker, ex-Jedi and current husband to Senator Amidala, will not be in attendance.

It is much better this way. For everyone involved, really, but especially for Obi-Wan and his poor fool’s heart. It is much better if they keep an entire planet between themselves these days—preferably multiple planets. Preferably half a galaxy.

But this is a retirement party for Bail, and Obi-Wan cannot miss it. His old friend deserves better than that, better than Obi-Wan’s cowardice getting in the way of a celebration of his decades-long career in the Senate.

So he accepts the invitation without researching the guest list. He thinks—he hopes—that in the past nine years, Anakin Skywalker’s intense dislike of Bail Organa has not waned. Anakin, when Obi-Wan knew him, when he was Obi-Wan’s—Obi-Wan’s padawan—had a tendency to make a snap judgement about someone and never change his opinion.

His hatred had been like an impenetrable wall, unchanging and immovable.

His love had ebbed and flowed, drowned out by his anger or his irritation, coming in great waves when he was in a fine mood and resembling a desert’s drought when he was upset.

But his hatred had always been unshakable once assigned. The very first time Obi-Wan saw it in Anakin’s eyes when he looked at him, a year after he left the Order and the last time they'd seen each other, he’d known for a fact that he’d lost him. That the love had dried up and gone and that it would never return. It’d felt like watching Anakin leave the Temple all over again, like a hand clenched around his heart squeezing and squeezing and squeezing.

So he hopes that Anakin has chosen not to attend Bail’s retirement party. Oh, he knows that Anakin’s wife is here, and he has already downed two flutes of sparkling wine to prepare himself for the sight of her looking resplendent across the ballroom, but he hopes that Anakin has chosen to stay home instead of wasting an evening fawning over a man he never liked in the first place.

Besides, someone should look after the children. They’re nine now, Obi-Wan knows. If they are anything like Anakin was at that age, they must need constant supervision. And he has already seen Senator Amidala once tonight from afar, knows that she is here amongst the party-goers.

He tightens his grip on his fourth flute of wine and turns his attention back to his conversation partner.

It is rather rude to be so preoccupied in the midst of a conversation with another, but Obi-Wan is an old man now and a war hero. He’s allowed to get away with much more these days than he could in the past.

“Yes, I admit the Jedi Order still has far to go in order to rebuild itself,” he says, mind torn between the small talk and the drink in his hand. These sorts of conversations are easy to have. Yes, the war took a lot out of the Jedi Order. Yes, we are still working through the damages and the trauma. Yes, it’s been ten years since, but sometimes it feels as if it was only yesterday. Yes, sometimes it feels as if I am still fighting.

And then—

Then the woman he is talking to grows bold. She rests her hand on his forearm, the one that is holding the flute of wine, and steps closer.

And in the Force, there is a rumbling of pure, visceral hatred, the sort Obi-Wan has only ever felt in the air a few times.

The sort that is achingly, distressingly familiar.

He turns his head, even though he knows he should not look. He knows looking will take him out at the knees. He knows he may never recover if he looks.

He turns his head and he looks anyway. There, across the room, standing to the left of a load bearing pillar is the drawn and furious face of Anakin Skywalker, ex-Jedi, ex-padawan.

Obi-Wan’s first thought is that he looks older, though he realizes a moment later how absolutely inane that is. Of course he looks older. It has been nine years since he really talked to him, eight years since he last saw him, and he has tried to avoid any news or photos about the man at all. In his mind, he is still as he was in those days and months following the end of the war. But logically, he knows that the time has passed, that not even the Chosen One is immune to aging.

Anakin’s hair is streaked with shoots of silver. It’s short now, cropped close to his head though still curling as much as he lets it. His face is worn, wrinkled in different, unfamiliar places. He is wearing finery befitting that of a senator’s husband, the color of a midnight sky.

It is strangely comforting to see him dressed in the same colors he has worn since he was a youngling in Obi-Wan’s care. If he were wearing white or, or green or pink, then Obi-Wan isn’t sure he��d be able to recognize him at all.

“Are you quite alright, Master Kenobi?” the woman asks, words filtering in through the static noise in Obi-Wan’s head.

No. Of course he is not alright.

Yes. He is better than alright. He feels as if his head has broken the surface of the water he’s been trapped under for the past nine years. He feels as if the sight of Anakin Skywalker is a sip of water when he’s on the brink of dehydration.

“You know actually I am not sure,” he tells her, which is overly personal and not at all what he’d meant to say. But that is what the sight of Anakin Skywalker does these days. It throws him off, makes him loose-tongued and off-centered.

Fuck, he thinks once, viciously.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he tells her, carefully separating himself from her touch and taking a step away. She looks disappointed almost immediately, and Obi-Wan should care about the image he’s making, how impolite he is being, but he has bigger concerns right now.

Anakin Skywalker is here.

“Enjoy your evening,” he adds as he raises his flute of wine to his lips and drains it in one go. “Unfortunately, I’m going to go get incredibly drunk.”

“Uh,” the woman says, but Obi-Wan is already gone. He can’t—he can’t stay. Not in this room, not under the weight of Anakin Skywalker’s stare.

Thank the Force he started the night by giving his congratulations and warm regard to Bail. If things turn sour, he’ll be able to slip away with only minimal rudeness.

And, if he’s being quite honest, things have already soured beyond the point of salvation.

But instead of leaving—instead of slipping out the room and running back to the Temple, tail between his legs, he stays. Inexplicably, he grabs another flute of wine from a passing server and retreats to a balcony.

Fresh air will sober him up, he thinks, even as he downs half the flute.

He should leave, he thinks, even as he stays.

He should leave—but he cannot bring himself to. Anakin is here and it’s Obi-Wan’s worst nightmare and it’s the only thing he’s desired for the past nine years.

Barely a minute passes before the balcony door opens behind him. Obi-Wan keeps his eyes pinned to the city-scape around them.

“Occupied,” he says, even though he knows who it is. Even though he knows the word is useless. Anakin will not leave until he wants to.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin says. Just his name, just three syllables.

Obi-Wan downs the rest of the flute. “Anakin,” he says, closing his eyes for a moment to gather himself before he turns to look at him.

Oh, he wishes he could blame the alcohol for how beautiful he finds him, but he knows that’s just some dark and twisted part of himself, some sinful and perverted aspect of his soul he has never been able to scrub clean.

“How are you?” He says, because he cannot let Anakin speak first. If he lets Anakin speak first, there will be a diplomatic incident, surely. If he lets Anakin speak first, Anakin will control the conversation—Anakin will tear through all of his shields and land on his sorest, most vulnerable spots. “How are the children?” “Do you even know their names?” Anakin spits back, eyebrows drawn dark and heavy over his expression. His face is flushed. He must have been drinking as well. “How old they are? Do not ask after my children as if you care about them at all, Obi-Wan—I know you don’t!”

“Luke,” Obi-Wan says. “Leia.”

Oh, he wishes Anakin were right. He wishes he didn’t know a damn thing about them, about him, about the life he lives now. One completely separate and void of Obi-Wan.

Anakin probably does not notice his absence. After all, he has a wife, two children. A part-time job, if Bail can be believed. He wonders if he still meditates facing the wrong way, back to the sun, and suddenly his heart feels so tight he can hardly breathe through the pain.

Anakin sneers. “Whatever,” he says and reaches into the folds of his robes to pull out a silver flask. He raises it to his lips and takes a swig, rubbing a hand over his mouth when he’s done, capping it and sliding back into his robes.

It is the alcohol that loosens his tongue, Obi-Wan knows it. Obi-Wan understands that he has had too much to drink tonight to be standing before Anakin Skywalker now, that anything that comes out of his mouth will be something he regrets in the morning.

But does it really matter? How could it matter? Anakin Skywalker was his whole life for a decade and a few years, and then he left. And now a decade has passed. In five years, he will have spent longer missing him than he spent loving him. What does a few words matter now?

Obi-Wan has already lost everything. He is already made of regret.

“I don’t know why you insist on acting so hatefully,” he says. “You left.”

He means, of course, that if anyone should hate anyone here, it is Obi-Wan’s right to hate Anakin.

Impossible, as it were, but his right. Anakin left.

Obi-Wan asked him to stay.

“You kissed me,” Anakin spits back.

And yes, alright. He kissed him as well.

His fingers itch for another flute of wine. Perhaps a swallow of the flask in Anakin’s robes. Anything. Anything to dull the white-hot ache of this conversation. Anything to escape these consequences.

“Nine years ago,” he says, quietly. “It’s been nine years, Anakin.”

Let it go.

He hadn’t—he really hadn’t meant to kiss him. It had been—a foolish mistake, something that had happened late at night, a few months after the end of the war, and they had been in Obi-Wan’s quarters, drinking and talking and Anakin had said something about leaving the Order, and Obi-Wan had said something about him staying, and Anakin had said, Padmé is pregnant, and Obi-Wan—Obi-Wan had kissed him.

A foolish mistake, made only survivable by the way that, for a handful of precious seconds, Anakin had kissed him back.

Before the yelling, the hatred, the anger. The leaving. Before all of that, Anakin had kissed him back.

“I have already apologized, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers, exhausted, and his eyes cut away from Anakin, turn back to the city. “I have thought of that moment countless times–-and I cannot begin to explain what came over me, what I was thinking at the time.”

He just—he hadn’t wanted Anakin to leave. Had thought that perhaps if he could—if he could give Anakin himself in all the ways one person could devote themselves to another, then maybe it would be enough. Maybe he would stay.

A foolish hope, one that Obi-Wan should have known better than to entertain even for a moment.

“I have thought of it too,” Anakin says. He clears his throat. He lurches forward, unsteady on his feet. His hand comes into contact with Obi-Wan’s arm, glove on sleeve. Thank the Force for the layers still in between them.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan murmurs, and the truth is that he means it as much as he does not. He is sorry for taking the brotherhood and friendship between them and shattering it. He is sorry that he kissed Anakin, that he hastened his leave.

But he is not sorry for knowing how his lips felt against his own. How he tasted.

Obi-Wan is a lonely old man, despite the family he has surrounded himself with at the Temple. Despite his new padawan that he has been training for the past eight years. Despite the trips he takes to see his retired men, Cody and the 212th scattered across the galaxy. Despite all the ways he fills his days, all the people he meets and talks to and trains with, he is still lonely. There is still a hole in his heart, a space that Anakin used to occupy.

“I have thought of it every day since,” Anakin says, repeating himself in that way drunkards do when they have forgotten they already started the same sentence a moment before.

“I’m—”

“It has haunted me,” Anakin says. His voice is sharp and angry and Obi-Wan wants to close his eyes and shy away from it. Obi-Wan, who has faced down Separatists and sith lords and blaster fire, wants to turn tail and hide. Retreat. Retreat.

Anakin’s voice turns—darker, wilder. His hand tightens and he tugs, just hard enough that it overbalances Obi-Wan. “I am haunted by the kiss you never should have given me.”

“Had I known you were married, I never would have—”

“You ruined it,” Anakin snaps. “You ruined my marriage!”

“I…” Obi-Wan’s throat clicks, words drying out. “What?”

“We filed for separation months ago,” Anakin says. His eyes are dark; he is holding his arm so tightly that it hurts. “Joint custody of the children, but a formal divorce. Amicable.”

Obi-Wan…Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if he can speak at all.

“It wouldn’t have been amicable if she knew though,” Anakin says. He takes a step forward. Obi-Wan gives ground. He does not know how else to fight Anakin. “If she knew what I thought about when I retreated from her touch. If she knew what—who—drove me from our bed every night to walk through our house like a ghost wandering the halls.”

“If your marriage ended over a kiss I gave you nine years ago, then it is hardly my fault,” Obi-Wan says, putting his hand on Anakin’s chest to keep distance between them. When did they become so close? This is much too close. Obi-Wan can smell Anakin’s soap, his sweat. The alcohol on his breath.

“But it is,” Anakin insists, unable still it seems to take his share of the blame and make his peace with it. “It is, because I spent half my life in love with you, then I finally commit to someone else—allow myself to look and love and appreciate someone else’s beauty—and then you kiss me, as if I have not already sworn loyalty to another! As if I could be yours to kiss! As if I still was!”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, unable to do more. “It was a kiss, Anakin, it was—I assure you, I am not such a good kisser that I can be blamed for your failed marriage when it was nine years ago!”

“Then you do not remember it as well as I do,” Anakin murmurs, and now—now the rage has turned darker, heady. His eyes catch and hold onto Obi-Wan’s lips. His eyes are more black than blue. His face is flushed. He is—so handsome. So beautiful still, after all of these years. “Let me refresh your memory,” he says, and Obi-Wan—

Obi-Wan is weak when it comes to Anakin. He always has been. He is so weak. And he needs—he needs so much. He makes a sound, something embarrassingly small and desperate, and then Anakin is kissing him and it feels like being sliced open and like coming home, all at the same time.

Like how it felt when he returned to the quarters he shared with Qui-Gon after his master had died—a homecoming, but at what cost? A death and a birth, all at the same time. He had lingered in the doorway that first time, unable to push himself across and into quarters that felt both strange and familiar.

It had been Anakin, a small boy still, who had grabbed him by the hand and pulled him inside.

Still now, even all these years later, Obi-Wan closes his eyes and allows himself to follow Anakin’s lead.

#asks #prompt fill #obikin #angstyyyyy #in my mind they kissed nine years ago and anakin left the order like basically the next day #and then they saw each other rouhgly a year later #and it was tense but not like quite so hatefilled #and then anakin finds out obi-wan got a new padawan and that steps on like ten thousand issues #aided by the distance theyre both trying to put between them then #and so anakin falls back on hatred and obi-wan falls back on trying his best to ignore the problem #by ignoring anakin #because after all #anakin left. obi-wan asked him to stay. and anakin made his decision #obi-wan is just respecting it

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my-sentences-prompts · 1 year

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354.

"I love you."

"I know you do, and that's the problem."

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variant-nightwing16 · 4 months

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Stewjoni people are considered highly dangerous, there is a huge reason why not much is known about them, anyone who has ever gotten close never came back.

So Palpatine discovering Obi-Wan is stewjoni? He decides to use this against the Jedi and to further his manipulation over Anakin, not by telling him Obi-Wan hid his biology no.

He tells Anakin of the stewjon and their background, how everyone was afraid of them and still is to this day, how it was strange the Jedi managed to capture Obi-Wan and “made” him the perfect Jedi in their eyes.

Palpatine even mentioned certain appendages Stewjoni people had, like nails being extra long or teeth being a little too sharp to be considered human and how weird it was that Obi-Wan didn’t have them.

“Something must have happened you see….they don’t just disappear in adulthood” Palpatine says with a frown, glancing at the slightly enraged face of the forces child.

He smirks in glee when Anakin abruptly stands and excuses himself, unknowingly signing his own death warrant.

#obi wan kenobi #star wars #anakin skywalker #obikin #writing prompt #darth vader #vaderwan #sheev palpatine #darth sidious

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lilredghost · 4 months

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"i think this is the part where you're supposed to kiss me" for the prompts!

And this wasn't on the list, but if I can be greedy: wrist kiss?

OK I got a bit carried away with the backstory in this one, but basically it's a no-war AU and 600 words of Obi-Wan pining [Kiss prompts]

Obi-Wan’s leg jitters restlessly.

No one can see it, so he allows himself this one indulgence. This one insecurity.

He has been waiting to see Lord Set’en Toa for three days. Officially, atleast.

He’s been waiting to see Anakin for three and a half months.

It’s been a rough adjustment, in the wake of his Padawan’s Knighting.

At twenty-one, they had both known it was coming for years, but knowing had done little to prepare Obi-Wan for the reality of waking up to an empty apartment.

It is quiet now, in his rooms. He only makes one mug of caf in the morning. He only rolls out one meditation mat, only brings home dinner for one.

As a youngling, he was always with his crechemates. As a Padawan, with his Master. And then, with Anakin.

For the last eleven years, his life has rotated around this boy.

So for the first time, Obi-Wan is learning to be alone.

(He doesn’t like it.)

(He avoids the cafmaker, avoids meditating and eating and living in his quarters. He haunts the refectory, the salles, the gardens, the archives, looking for things that don’t remind him so much of Anakin’s absence.)

(He fails.)

Normally, there would be more of an adjustment period, he knows.

Normally, he would get time to gradually acclimate himself to being without his boy.

Normally, his Padawan wouldn’t be sent on a months-long undercover mission just days after his Knighting.

But Anakin has hardly ever been anything resembling normal.

And when word came in of a missing Lord— one who had risen unexpectedly to succeed the throne— the Council had taken one look at the grainy flimsi photos of the man’s countenance and decided to send Anakin in.

Another Jedi had taken up the hunt for the missing Lord, while Anakin, as the man’s spitting image, had taken his place in an attempt to keep the peace. To buy time, fool the opposition, and, hopefully, smoke out the would-be assassins.

Now that the Lord— the real Set’en Toa— has been found, Obi-Wan has been sent to extract Anakin.

If they’ll ever let Obi-Wan see him.

He breathes, trying not to stew in his impatience for about another twenty minutes before the door opens. Obi-Wan shoots out of his seat, standing up immediately.

The steward eyes him with a bit of suspicion and a great deal of boredom before announcing the arrival of one Lord Set’en Toa, King-imminent.

Obi-Wan doesn't even think about it. He drops to his knees.

Anakin— his Anakin— is standing before him, golden hair falling in waves around his beloved face.

His tall, broad shoulders are lined with fur, a belt cinched to an impossibly tiny waist. A diamond cutout on his chest gives Obi-Wan a tantalizing glimpse of tanned, muscled skin.

His shoes— elegant knee-high boots with bight white designs— tap loudly against the floor as they come to a slow halt in front of him.

One hand enters Obi-Wan’s field of vision in a pointed motion. He takes hold of it, barely holding back a gasp as their bond reconnects.

Because there Anakin is, again. He’d left Obi-Wan’s life a boy and waltzed back into it a beautiful young man.

His former Padawan nudges at his mind, feeling amused and a little exasperated. I think this is the part where you're supposed to kiss me, he laughs.

Obi-Wan feels something turn over in his chest.

Something that has, maybe, been there all along, taking a new shape.

He grips Anakin’s hand with reverence, turning it so he can brush one gentle, understated kiss across the inside of his wrist.

I won’t let you go again, he vows to himself.

#obikin #this possessed me fr #ask game #prompt fills #renlyslittlerose

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spacewombatty · 6 months

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Shower Prompt

Anakin came back late.

It had been a month since his Knighting ceremony, but this was not his first time leading a battalion. He'd been Knighted because it wasn't his first time, but because he was one of the youngest in the order to. Many years before him, and, the war proceeded at planned years after him, the Jedi would be peacekeepers. A Padawan would rise in their ranks thanks to their emotional maturity, connection to the Force, their steady and unyielding compassion in the face of darkness.

During war, the Order needed warriors. If there was something Anakin excelled at, then it was his speed with which he cut down his enemies. The 501st third independent battle hadn't been that.

Anakin came back to the ship with his hair matted to his skull with blood. There was a gash that he'd failed to notice bleeding sluggishly down his cheek, along his neck, to pool and crust at his clavicle. His boots drag against the metal plating of the ship, and as if the staff on board knew what had happened, they didn't say. They parted.

Until today, General Skywalker boasted the fact his numbers hadn't been shaken since he'd taken command. Until today, the 501st were 580 strong.

Today, they'd lost twenty, in one fatal swoop of a Separatist tank bombing ambush. Half of the men who'd been killed were asleep.

The doors of the Jedi's bunk room opened with a hiss, Anakin's shadow darkening the doorway until they close behind him. The Knight paused long enough to make sure the doors were closed, and then kicked his boots off, and flung his saber from his belt in a fit of rage across the room. It stopped in midair--seconds from colliding with the ships metal walls.

And then it lowered, gentle, to rest horizontally on his pillow. "Those are quite expensive to fix, Padawan mine."

"I'm not your Padawan anymore, Obi-Wan," Anakin spoke to the dark. In the dim light from Nithe's largest moon, his former Master reclined easy against the nightstand beside Anakin's cot, his arms crossed. The moon lit up his face, but the Jedi didn't look for long. He didn't think he could stand the pity he'd find there.

If it had been any other person, the Knight might have had the decency to be embarrassed at being caught like this--bloody and angry at the galaxy with all it's inhabitants.

"What do you want?" he asked, tired. "Not today. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to talk battle, or strategies, and I don't want to meditate."

Obi-Wan laughed, and pushed himself up and off of the wall.

"Then I suppose we'll do none of that. I didn't come here to antagonize you, Anakin." He approached, slow and measured, until the Knight could feel the warmth radiating from his body. Obi-Wan had dressed down, clad in night clothes like he'd woken up for this.

"I came to make sure that you were alright, and found you still bloody," the Jedi murmured, tilting his head, guiding Anakin's gaze until their eyes met.

There was a pause, before the Knight sagged against him. It was all the excuse he'd needed.

Obi-Wan undressed him methodically, as methodical as if he were undressing with the intent to bandage. His hands were rough with callouses, and there was a faint scar running along his palm that when the ridge caught Anakin's skin made him shiver. Anakin sat on the bed, let the Jedi shrug him from his robes, hissed when his hands scraped a fresh wound. The older man caught his chin and tilted it to the side, assessing his face. Anakin let himself be guided. Obi-Wan didn't chide him staring.

They didn't speak, and that was it for Anakin, who's words left his lips in a clumsy tumble. As a kid, he'd envied his Master for his silver tongue. He'd hated his lessons, hated the mockery that came with the struggle, until Obi-Wan gathered Anakin's messy and fumbled words in his palm of his hands. The Jedi completed him in a way that made Anakin realize he hadn't been whole.

"Gently," the man said. The fresher was running, the Knight bare, goosebumps raising on his skin from the chill. "Slow down. For once in your life, Anakin, go slowly."

They lowered him into the bath carefully, the brunette wincing as the heat seared his skin and then made itself at home in his bones. Obi-Wan looked ridiculous and uncomfortable, still clothed and dry, kneeling next to the bath with his sleeves rolled. This was testament to everything in their relationship--Obi-Wan's composure a stark contrast to Anakin's rougher edges. The Knight felt small and pitiful, and the sentiment rose the air on his neck, made him bear his teeth and hiss as the water splash at his skin.

Obi-Wan's palm came down, smoothing over his nape, and Anakin felt his the tension drain from his bones.

"Close your eyes, dear," his voice was steady. The Knight obeyed, eyes slipping closed.

And he didn't deserve this. His eyelids were stained with the images of the lost, the scenarios of what he could've done, what he didn't do, and what he'd failed to do replaying in his mind's eye like a broken record. It was marred, it was ugly, it was entirely preventable--and Anakin let death write their names across the surface of his heart like it could prevent them from being forgotten. One day, he'd hoped, it would be a worthy death to suffocate under their weight. One day, he'd put an end to it all.

If Obi-Wan had noticed--and Anakin's shields were abhorrent--he didn't say anything. The Master's hands slipped through Anakin's curls, nails dragging across his scalp, fingers tugging the mats loose carefully until he could massage the soap into a steady sud. The room heated, the Jedi's movements as methodical as the working of a clock, and all the anger Anakin had stored in his chest throughout the day melted away as easy as the soap in his hair.

Obi-Wan's presence was warm. It was all encompassing. It was the closest thing to home Anakin had left. The Knight let his shields fall until their signatures could touch and meld, his former Master's Force curling around his own like a cat demanding a scratch. It settled against the barrel of Anakin's chest, and he savored the way Obi-Wan always made it so difficult for him to breathe.

The Jedi's hands hadn't stopped moving. A groan slipped from Anakin's mouth, and a flick of water splashed against Obi-Wan's nose when he laughed.

Water spilled over his head--crept through his curls, heat spreading across his scalp. Obi-Wan repeated the motion until he was clean, until the water bled pink with tendrils of blood.

"They missed a spot on your chest," Obi-Wan commented. His fingers moved through Anakin's hair, shamelessly petting, winding a wet curl around his finger until it bounced free. The Jedi turned to look up at him.

Obi-Wan's features were soft, in the yellow light. The curve of his cheek was inviting, the hard edges of General being replaced with the man Anakin called home, and when the light hit his hair right it seemed to turn gold.

"Don't wanna get your clothes wet," The Knight mumbled, eyes wandering. "You might get cold."

"It may be hard to believe, but the cruiser had a functioning washer and heater."

As if that was permission enough, Anakin hooked his fingers in the front of Obi-Wan's clothes, and drug him down far enough to kiss him. He got lost in the feeling of the man's mouth on his, in the way his beard rubbed his scar raw, in favor of cupping the back of Obi-Wan's neck and drinking him in deeper.

They kissed, slow, and easy. The water around him bled, and when his Master finally pulled away breathless, it matched the rosy tint of his lips.

"Anakin."

"Don't," he pleaded. "Please."

Obi-Wan sat, and thought, reaching into the Force and picking through all of the reasons why they shouldn't. There was danger written in the air. They were on the losing end of a war where biases could mean death to an entire galaxy. There was inevitable loss written in the stars that the Knight must learn to cope with--and not all of it would be due to death.

But denying Anakin was never something he cared to be good at. Obi-Wan washed his hand, callouses dragging against his scalp, until his Padawan fell asleep curled into the curve of his hand.

#obikin #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #star wars #writing prompt #star wars prompts #ficlet #anaobi #bath time #the most uncreative title of all time #obikin fic #anakin x obi wan #anakin and obi wan #i dont know how to use tumblr wtf #theyre in love in every universe to some degree and if u dont like that then heres the door

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soldieronbarnes · 1 year

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this but make it vaderwan

#obikin #fic prompt tag #anyone?#hailing #treescape #for her superior vaderwan fics #raised a sith anakin following a VERY confused obi-wan make it happen pls sb

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virahaus · 1 month

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You know,,, a thing that makes obikin so intrinsically interesting for me it's:

Obi-Wan needs to be chosen,

While Anakin needs to choose.

Obi-Wan feeling like he was always the second choice, always like he's a placeholder for someone else, and Anakin feeling like he had no choices of his own since he was a child; "The Chosen One with no choices of his own" to cite a passage in one of the sw books.

I'd even say that Anakin wants to be chosen but needs to choose, while Obi-Wan wants to choose but needs to be chosen.

The fine difference between what they want and what they need, and the real consequences of this subtle difference when their needs aren't met both in their relationship and for the galaxy,,,,, delicious

Anakin being chosen over the years again and again and again by Obi-Wan while never knowing the truth of it; Obi-Wan being incapable of letting him die no matter how the galaxy would have suffered less without Vader; and then the consequences of Obi-Wan choosing to walk away from him on Mustafar and again ten years later... devastating.

Only in the very end when Anakin becomes his own person again, finally he chooses: he saves his son and steps back into the light, ends the terror. After he dies Obi-Wan calls out to him in the Force and that's when Obi-Wan is chosen: when Anakin could have decided to not follow him, to let himself fade, but instead he chooses his Master and follows him home.

It's like poetry, it rhythms.

#anakin skywalker #obikin #obi wan kenobi #star wars #my post #obikin thoughts #darth vader #vaderwan #prompt: obikin #prompts & ideas

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amadwinter · 3 months

Note

"was that okay?" for the kiss prompts 💕

❤ thank you for indulging me! 400 words written after days of writer's block.

from this prompt list

“Was that okay?”

Obi-Wan reeled back, blinking. Was that okay? Like that wasn’t just the best kiss of his life. The only kiss he’d ever had in his life really, but he wasn’t about to say either of those things. No need to inflate Anakin’s ego or create certain misunderstandings.

A touch of praise stood ready at the tip of his tongue—yes, good work, Padawan—but Obi-Wan swallowed it back. Old habits died hard, yet above all, he wanted no reminders that he had once been Anakin’s master, had seen him grow into a capable Jedi knight and a wonderful young man. It was an inescapable, the reality of who they were, no matter how perverse it felt to be treating a kiss like he would have a new saber manoeuvre or a clever strategy for a mission.

But Anakin had never been a hesitant padawan, always looking without leaping. Even now, he only asked after he had already made the first move.

Obi-Wan loved that about him. And it frustrated him to no end.

Too much time had passed in search of a satisfactory answer, and Anakin’s expression grew darker as Obi-Wan failed to respond.

“I’m not sure,” Obi-Wan admitted, carefully noting the disappointment that spread clear across Anakin’s face. That just would not do at all. He gently took his best friend, his former padawan, the most important person in his life— took Anakin’s smooth cheek in hand and cradled it in his palm, stroking his thumb over the downturned lines of his frown like he could wipe it away if he simply tried. And he could. “I think we’ll need to do it a second time to be certain.”

“Really?” Though he tried mightily to hide it, Anakin couldn’t fully contain a gleam of hope shining in his eyes.

“Oh, yes. And a third time as well. A fourth for good measure.” Obi-Wan smiled at him, truthfully and honestly. And Anakin turned his face to smile into Obi-Wan’s hand. Not a kiss, not anything of the sort, but Anakin’s lips brushing against his palm set Obi-Wan’s heart aflutter all the same.

“We could just keep kissing until we lose count.”

“A wonderful proposal,” he murmured as he pressed a delicate kiss to the tip of Anakin’s nose. He was far too close to see a grin, but Anakin’s happiness shone bright in the Force. “I accept.”

#q&a #prompt fill #obikin #my writing #short and sickeningly sweet

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kana7o · 9 months

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family nap time 🤫☺️

#obikin #commission #THIS PROMPT MAKES ME SO SOOFTTTT #I LOVE THEIR LITTLE FAMILYYYYY

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aberrantcreature · 2 months

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Obikin Prompt .8

Notice: slightly crack-y.

Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi embarks on a solo mission where he discovers a Sith Lord. A handsome one, even if his face below the eyes was covered in some garish, Sith-y mask. He has copper hair with a few streaks of gray and complimentary golden eyes, and the poor padawan was smitten.

Knowing he is no match against this far more powerful ‘Darth Vader’ in combat, Obi-Wan comes up with a different plan to defeat this Sith and bring peace to the republic.

By flirting, seducing, and caring his way into Vaders heart.

After all, didn’t all of those popular fantasy holonovels he read rave about the healing, transformative power of love?

Or, Obi-Wan tries to turn a Sith back from the dark side by using every corny, tropey and sappy method in the book of romance.

#obikin #obikin prompt #obikin au #padawan obi wan #padobi #crack fic #writing prompt #crack fic prompt

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tennessoui · 5 days

Note

18) waking up with amnesia au pretty please! I was delighted with how many of the prompts you've already done, it was a really fun bingo!

Best friends sibling = band au

knocking on the wrong door = actually name of the fic

Nanny/single parent au = Nannykin

Etc etc etc!

hello hello this was sent january 10!! hope you still want some waking up with amnesia au! this just demonstrates how long i can hold onto a prompt i have every intention of completing

(from this prompt list) (& this is the waking up with amnesia au prompt fill i did a few years ago when i first reblogged that prompt list!)

(3.5k)

(warnings: angst but not incredibly sad. more like. here there lies some future manipulation/mind fuckery because of angst established in this ficlet but not resolved in this ficlet but would be in the future)

(also warning: vader)

It is somehow both the hardest and easiest part of the day, every time.

It is easy to let his feet turn in the direction they beg to go during all his waking seconds. It is easy to allow them to lead the way. It feels as if a great and crushing weight has been lifted from his shoulders the moment that he sees the pillars standing sentry at the entrance of the Halls of Healing. It is so easy to give into his body’s desire to allow it to find its other half.

It is almost harder to stay away, to pretend to be the respectful and poised Jedi master he masquerades as during those long moments of the day that he is not by Anakin’s side.

But what is infinitely harder than journeying there or keeping his distance is arriving. Is what waits for him within the Halls.

“How is he today?” he asks the moment he sees a healer—it does not matter which one these days. They must all know him by now, know the series of questions he demands answers to.

This time, the man he finds is healer Ramak, at least, one of the primary specialists on Anakin’s case. Rarely can Obi-Wan corner him. Ramak is incredibly busy both within the Temple and outside of it. He has numerous priorities.

Obi-Wan really only has one priority. Often this puts them at odds.

“Ah,” Ramak says, adjusting his robes. “Master Kenobi, hello.”

“Yes, hello,” Obi-Wan says. And then, “How is he today?” In case Ramak has missed his question.

“He is much the same, Master Kenobi,” Ramak replies. “As he was yesterday.”

Obi-Wan swallows. The words get stuck in his throat for a moment and he has to force them up past his teeth. “What does…what has he remembered?”

Healer Ramak’s face slides from reluctantly indulgent to pitying. It would grate against Obi-Wan’s rather impressive sense of pride if he did not already know exactly how pitiful he is.

“Memories are not stored within the mind chronologically, Master Kenobi,” Ramak says carefully. Obi-Wan has heard this before. Obi-Wan could recite this speech.

Obi-Wan listens to it silently anyway. Perhaps this time, Ramak will find the correct combination of words to explain his loss to him in terms he can understand. “Uncovering them again is not simply a matter of starting from the beginning of his life and moving forwards. We cannot simply recover and present him with all of his memories from age nine, from age thirteen, to now.”

Obi-Wan can feel a muscle tick in his jaw and he crosses his arms. Another healer crosses behind him, jostles him in their hurry to get to another patient. Differing priorities.

But Obi-Wan only has one.

“It is like…” Ramak trails off, thinking. “Picture the rain. What do you think of?” It is much too transparent, what Obi-Wan thinks of when he thinks of the rain. He thinks of Anakin as a youngling. The ashes of Qui-Gon’s body had not fully cooled before the skies of Naboo had broken open in a torrential downpour, and the boy, padawan braid that was both his and Obi-Wan’s newly weighing on his shoulder, had escaped from the palace in Theed, ran outside with arms raised up in wonder.

“When you think of rain, you do not recall your memories chronologically,” Ramak says kindly, as if he understands where Obi-Wan’s mind has gone. “That is to say, you do not immediately think of the first time you experienced it. Our minds store memories based on their significance to us, the meanings they hold for us, which makes mind-healing to this degree incredibly difficult. Not to mention, not only was Knight Skywalker stripped of his memories, tortured, and indoctrinated, he was held for several months. Long enough for new neural pathways to form, new connotations and memories to take the place of the ones he lost.”

“Master, please,” Obi-Wan says. When he holds up his hand to forestall the other man’s words, it is shaking slightly. “Please just tell me.”

Will he recognize me?

Will he hate me?

Will another day go by where he does not know me?

“He has a long way to go yet,” Ramak says finally, lifting his hand to stroke over his beard. “His time as Vader left scars—”

“His time captured,” Obi-Wan interrupts. “He was a hostage.” Ramak looks at him. Anakin, kidnapped by the sith, without his memories, trained to be deadly and taught to Fall, was more than a hostage. They both know that. Everyone in the galaxy knows the dangers that Darth Vader represented to the Republic.

Very few know that Darth Vader was Anakin Skywalker. It had been a terrible surprise. It had been the sweetest sort of relief too, to find him at all.

“Yes,” Ramak finally allows. “His time as a hostage left innumerable scars, Obi-Wan. Even after he regains all his memories, he will have a long journey ahead of him.”

“How is he?” Obi-Wan repeats, even though it is rather rude to cut the healer off. “How is he today?”

Ramak hesitates for a moment and then another, and his Force signature tenses as if at war with itself. “He requested to see you,” he finally says. “We’re not sure that’s a good idea.”

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. The Jedi saved Anakin Skywalker from the Sith five weeks ago, and though Obi-Wan has spent each of those days trekking from his quarters to the Halls of Healing and back, accousting various healers and Council members alike, desperate for any information they can give him…he has not yet been able to sit beside Anakin. He has not been allowed to talk with him at all.

It is for the best. That is what he’s been told and that is what he must believe. It is for the best. Anakin does not remember him. He remembers the word master—he does not remember that he used to say the same word with respect. With affection. He does not remember Obi-Wan at all.

He remembers his master, Sidious. He remembers his master on Tatooine. He does not—Obi-Wan doesn’t understand why he cannot remember him.

Anakin has never once asked to see him.

“I want to see him,” Obi-Wan says immediately, turning towards the wing where they are keeping Anakin.

“Master Kenobi, it is not a good idea,” Ramak says, but it does not matter what they think is a good idea. It is what Anakin wants and it has been so long since Obi-Wan has been something Anakin wants.

Something of what he’s feeling must flash across his face, because the healer sighs and rubs at his forehead as if he finds the whole ordeal incredibly trying.

“I will not hurt him,” Obi-Wan says quickly, and Ramak shakes his head, dropping his arms to his sides.

“That is not the concern, Master,” he replies, but his shoulders have slumped. His forehead is wrinkled, but his Force signature has relaxed. He has given in. Obi-Wan has won. “I—”

But Obi-Wan has won. And so he has already stepped away, intent now on seeing his padawan. He leaves the healer behind where he stands, pushing through the doors of the wing and finally—finally to Anakin’s room.

He’d been so volatile at first, when he was still Vader. The Jedi rescuing him probably felt more like being captured. Without his memories of the Order, of the Temple, of Obi-Wan, he’d Fallen so quickly as far as anyone knows. Sidious had taken him and twisted him and when he was found again, he’d fully believed in the Sith doctrine. He’d killed two Jedi before he was subdued.

So when he’d been brought into the Temple, into the Halls of Healing, they’d outfitted him with Force suppression cuffs. Given him his own room in order to protect the other patients.

Obi-Wan knows he still wears the Force bracelets and collar, but there’s knowing and then there’s seeing.

The seeing part takes his breath away. It looks so wrong, Anakin, his Anakin, wearing the cuffs and the collar.

Anakin, his Anakin, with yellow eyes watching him intently from the moment he enters the room.

“Anakin,” he murmurs, a reflex. The sounds are punched out of him.

He is thinner. His hair is greasy. There are dark shadows under his eyes. The skin around the collar is red, rubbed raw. He looks a thousand times older. Guant and hollowed out as if the captivity and the Darkness has leached away all of his youthful energy.

“Master,” Anakin says reproachfully. And it sounds—it sounds so much like him, like Obi-Wan’s Anakin, that he has the rather ridiculous urge to cry. Master, master.

“How are you feeling?” Obi-Wan asks, though it is a useless sort of question. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands. What to do with his tongue. He suddenly cannot remember the last time he asked Anakin how he was feeling. It was never a phrase that was part of their lexicon—for so many years, they shared a training bond. Obi-Wan was able to ascertain his padawan’s emotions with a gentle Force touch across the planes of his mind. More often than not, he was telling Anakin to search his own feelings. He was not asking him to interpret them for Obi-Wan’s sake.

Now though, their bond is severed and Anakin does not recognize him as anything more than another Jedi, another man who he once called master, and Obi-Wan stands across the room from him and does not recognize him either, save for all the ways that he does.

“Surely they have been giving you updates,” Anakin murmurs. “I know you have visited every day.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says because he will not lie to Anakin. He doesn’t think he remembers how. It has been—so long. Since he has last seen him. It is all he can do to stay standing now. To keep a respectable distance between them. To not fall to his knees. To not stumble forward and take Anakin’s hand in his own.

“What have they told you?” Anakin asks, and he tilts his head slightly. His golden eyes are as disconcerting as they are beautiful. They’re his. They’re his eyes, set in his face, and Obi-Wan has missed that face for so long. For months. He’d thought he’d never see it again, and he is just now realizing that he has no defenses left against Anakin. None at all. The boy could ask him for anything and he would fight to the death to give it to him.

The Force is in flux in the air around them, bucking up, riled, in a way Obi-Wan usually interprets as danger. But the Force could be screaming a death knell and Obi-Wan, in this moment, would only be able to hear a sweet cry of wild joy.

Anakin, this is Anakin. This is his Anakin and he is here. Back—partially. Back, incompletely. But back. Obi-Wan…he’d stopped hoping he’d ever get him back.

Instead of answering his question, he presses the backs of his fingers against his mouth to try and stop their shaking. Every day he has walked here, accosted the healers, demanded to know the latest. And he has never once realized how incredibly difficult it would be to lay eyes on Anakin. How incredibly difficult it would be to maintain his composure, to hold himself in.

Anakin’s eyes glow gold, but Obi-Wan’s eyes are that of a starving man. All he can see is honey.

“Come here, master,” Anakin says, reproachful. “Did you not miss me?”

The words move him forward where his own feet could not. “Of course I did, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers. Hoarse, too hoarse. Too trembling and old, but it has been so many months. He had thought him lost forever. Dead and gone and one with the Force, and for the first time in his life, that had given him no comfort.

Anakin holds out his mechno hand, palm up, fingers slightly crooked. He’d built them that way on purpose, Obi-Wan remembers. At fourteen, he’d broken his index and middle finger in a duel, bones shattering under the blow of another padawan’s sabor. A lucky hit, an unlucky outcome. Though they’d healed near perfect due to bacta, they’d always remained slightly bent out of place. When he lost his arm to Dooku five years later, he’d fiddled with the replacement until the mech digits tilted the same familiar direction.

Obi-Wan stares at them, caught up in the tide of the memory.

Had Vader ever looked down at his mechno hand and wondered about the imperfection? Had he thought to fix it once he had the time? Had he spared a thought for the black spots in his memory, the cavernous gaps in his past?

His fingers fall to rest against the sensors of the mech tips. They’re sensitive enough that he can see Anakin shiver at the touch.

“Did you not miss me, master?” Anakin asks again, and his hand closes around Obi-Wan’s tightly, pulling him forward another few steps.

Obi-Wan nods, then shakes his head. Yes, he missed him. No, missing—missing is not a vast enough word.

“You asked for me,” he hears himself say. “Do you—what do you….”

Do you remember me?

You must. You call me master. And you want me close.

But they pulled the memories of the word master from your mind days ago, and you hated me then. You did not want me near you. What has changed? What have you remembered?

“I wonder if they would treat any patient like this,” Anakin says. He uses his hold on Obi-Wan to pull him even closer, til his thighs brush the edge of the bed. “If it is the war that makes me special, if it’s my own power. Or if it’s you.”

Obi-Wan tenses. Him? He doesn’t—

“They’ve tried everything they can think of to trigger my memories of you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin says. When Obi-Wan tries to move back, take a step away, find the air in the room to breathe, Anakin tightens his hold and pulls him forward until the only option is to either topple over onto his padawan’s chest or sit on the bed at his hip.

He sits.

“They debated for many days, you know,” Anakin says. His mech thumb begins to sweep over the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist. “If they should trigger the connections my mind has made to the word master. It’s a weighted word for Anakin Skywalker. Surely you know that.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan says carefully. When he tries to breathe, he can only do so shallowly as if his entire chest has shrunk to half its capacity.

“He was enslaved before he was a padawan,” Anakin explains as though Obi-Wan has not spoken at all. Maybe he hasn’t. For the past several months he has not been able to speak to Anakin aloud, could only talk with him in his mind—could never hear a reply. Perhaps he has forgotten how. “They were worried that after ten years studying under you, after two years fighting side by side with you, my strongest connotations to the word master would still be to slavery.”

Anakin ducks his head slightly, tilts it to the side to give Obi-Wan a small, private grin, as if the healers’ concerns are so unfounded that they are amusing. As if the concept that something could outweigh Obi-Wan’s importance to Anakin is so foreign and preposterous that it’s funny.

His smile knocks into Obi-Wan’s chest like a punch to the solar plexus.

“But they decided to risk it,” Anakin says. His voice is light as a feather. Airy and unconcerned. “Perhaps they should have started with smaller things. A light saber. A braid. A pear. A planet. But they wanted to re-establish my firmest conneciton to the Light as quickly as possible. And they thought that was you.”

Obi-Wan holds his breath, eyes leaping from their connected hands to the yellow of Anakin’s eyes. He has still fallen. He has not been healed. He is still—he is still—

“So they gave me back my masters,” Anakin pitches his voice low. “All of them, though I suppose I remember Sidious well enough. But they gave me back the Toydarian. And they gave me you.”

“They said you did not want to see me,” Obi-Wan whispers. “Why, Anakin, if you remember, why would you—”

“Because I hate you,” his padawan says as if it’s the easiest thing in the galaxy. “Because they could give me back Master Kenobi, but wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, it was not in your title. He hated your title.”

Obi-Wan flinches back so violently that his forearm slips from Anakin’s grasp. Before he can move from the bed completely though, his padawan’s hand lashes out and curls around the fabric of his tunics.

“No,” Obi-Wan says because he must deny this—he cannot stand to hear it and not deny it. No, Anakin—there was love there, in the way he pronounced the word master. The way he looked at Obi-Wan: admiration shining in his eyes when he was younger, cooling off over the years into acceptance and affection. They had their arguments. They had their—misunderstandings, but Anakin did not resent him for his role in his life as his old teacher. His master. “You’re wrong.”

“He hated it more than he hated his actual slave master,” Anakin murmurs. Lightly, airily. As if his words are not landing devastating blows on all of Obi-Wan’s softest spots. “Do you know why?” “I don’t believe you,” Obi-Wan whispers because he doesn’t because he can’t. Because he’d have known. Because this is Anakin, this is his Anakin, but there are still cavernous dark spots and gaps in his mind. This is not entirely his Anakin. He is still missing things. Thousands upon thousands of memories and moments and learned contexts and—

“I think you know why,” Anakin says as if he has not spoken. Funny, as Obi-Wan had thought he was screaming.

“I assure you I do not,” he snaps, spitting the words out as quickly as he can so that his voice cannot break between the syllables.

“Because Anakin Skywalker believed til the day he died that if you had not been his master, you would have allowed him to kiss you. To take you. To be taken by you. Don’t you remember, Master Kenobi?” Obi-Wan tears himself away from the bed, from the boy in it. Just a boy. Not a man. Not when he was seventeen and drunk for the first time, slinging his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and pressing his face into his chest, whining and begging and pleading—and not when he was eighteen either, bold and staring at Obi-Wan's lips, not when he was nineteen, on the verge of his Knighting ceremony and demanding to be given into.

Just a boy, just his boy. But never—never anything else.

“Like I said,” Anakin but not Anakin murmurs. Anakin, but Vader too. “Wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, they have not yet been able to find it in my mind. I can only assume he loved you at all.”

Obi-Wan flicks his eyes over the familiar face, the beloved face. The stranger’s face. If it were anyone else sitting before him, he’d have a retort already on his tongue. He’d have raised his shields, gone on the offensive. There are few people left in the galaxy that can land a blow on him, and many have tried.

But this is not anyone. This is Anakin. This is his Anakin and this is something for which he has no defenses prepared.

“How ashamed did you make him feel for loving you, master?” Vader asks, tilting his head in cruel curiosity. “That he compressed all of it into something so small that a whole Temple of healers have been unable to find it?”

“Don’t call me that,” Obi-Wan snaps and this time he does not get the words off his tongue quick enough. His voice breaks in the middle of the demand, ribs cracking and parting to reveal the heart of him. “Not if—” not if you do not know what it means for him. For me. For us.

“Why not?” Vader says, and he raises his flesh hand to tuck a piece of greasy hair behind his head before allowing his fingers to fall to rest against his collarbone, ghosting against the Force suppression collar around his neck as if it’s a diamond encrusted necklace. “After all, am I not wearing your chains, master?”

#asks #prompt fill #obikin #vaderwan #so you know vader's number one priority is going to be to manipulate obi-wan into freeing him #because he can probably remember a little bit of anakin's love for obi-wan #it's not as gone as he says #but he also probably remembers the obsession with his master first #and that's tinted even darker by being a sith now #so within the next few weeks his priorities shift from torturing obi-wan for sport #to wanting him to free him so that he can kidnap him and keep him #and get away from the temple and all the memories the jedi are trying to give back to him #he doesn't want those #he wants obi-wan kenobi #hate and love and all

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magnusbae · 4 days

Note

"Quit struggling, you will only make it worse."

Obikin, pretty please /ᐠ - ⩊ -マ Ⳋ

Thank you 🥰 Now imagine if Anakin fell a few years earlier than in canon, still has his limbs and pretty hair, and is currently serving Darth Sidious while fighting on the Separatist side. Something like that 😊 1,137w - vaderwan

▾▾▾

“Quit struggling, you will only make it worse.”

Vader bares his teeth and snarls. He snarls like an animal, like he’s a Tusken Raider and it’s the only way he knows how to communicate in. The thought fills him with an even deeper rage, makes his stomach turn in fury and sickness. He is better than that, he is better than them. He is Lord Vader, not some animal to growl and bark— he does not give a kark.

He spits at Kenobi’s feet and glares up with as much hatred as his eyes would permit without burning white blind from it.

“Kriff yourself.” Vader grits out when all he receives for his efforts is an infuriatingly smug smirk. (it’s sad, it’s sad, it’s sad)(he ignores it).

“I think I shall pass.” Kenobi says in that sarcastic manner of his that he reserves for Darksiders only. It should not sting Vader as it does, to be spoken to as if he was one of many.

He should be more than that, he is more than that. He’d make him, he’d—

“Please do stop thinking so loudly, you are ruining an otherwise lovely force weather.” Kenobi cuts this line of thought with some sort of Bantha Poodoo that wouldn’t make sense even on the best of days, least of all when he is busy tying Vader up like he was a Life Day’s gift.

“Force Weather? Have you lost it entirely old m— argh-” Vader sucks in a breath when he feels the durasteel wire cut deep within his skin, so tight he can feel the instant numbing, indicating that the blood had effectively stopped flowing into that limb.

Concern spikes within Vader, he already has one prosthetic, and he is not very fond of the idea of more, Obi-Wan wouldn’t…. Would he….?

There is a moment in which he thinks that he would. Thinks that Kenobi had lost any sentiment toward his old apprentice, even the guilt that had kept him from killing him in all the previous times he had managed to get the upper hand. (Through luck)(It’s luck, nothing else.)

Losing a limb due to Kenobi’s poor tying techniques would not be technically Kenobi deciding on killing him but— “Ngh.” He hisses out, teeth scraping together as Kenobi lessens the punishing grip of the wire.

Relief flood Vader, scorching in its intensity.

“A little too tight there.” Obi-Wan chirps, all amusement and good nature. (He sounds old.)(He sounds broken.) “Apologies, Sweet.” he says with his characteristic charm, his typical ease. (He sounds as if he’d like to retch.)(he sounds sick.)

Vader hates it. Hates. Hates. Hates. He wants the anger, the hurt, the words of disappointment and fury and passion. (Love, love, of love.) He wants Kenobi to be honest, to be direct, to be him. The him that only he knows, that only he saw. He wants Kenobi to, (his chest fills and hurts, his lungs collapse with an inhale he doesn’t manage to keep, his eyes close and he cannot, he cannot lie—) care. Care, he wants him to karkin care. Even a little, even sometimes. Care enough to hurt, care enough to scream, care enough to hurt him.

“Up and about now.” Obi-Wan says and hauls Vader to his feet. Even in this Kenobi is careful to not hurt him unnecessarily. Do not hurt prisoners, a Jedi would say. The Codes. It’s all he sees in him. The Codes he must follow in order to fulfill his duties. No, no. No, no and no. Anakin— Vader is more, he is more, he was, he is more.

Twisting about to face Kenobi without being stopped is hard enough, his balance off with the way his arms are bound painfully behind his back. He manages it. He’s quick enough, skilled enough— determined enough.

Without a single thought, without a moment of consideration, Vader’s eyes lock onto his target. The neck.

It’s exposed just enough, with the layers of robes covering the curve of it an the beard reaching just the top of it, there’s just enough space.

Vader strikes as he always does, without warning, without hesitation. One moment he is standing there, wide eyes alight with orange-yellow, the next his lips are closing around soft flesh, teeth sinking.

It’s all over in but moments, and yet the way Obi-Wan groans, the way his throat tenses and he swallows, the way he shudders when he pushes Vader off hard enough to make him stumble and fall back onto the ground— the way there’s blood on that neck, on Vader’s tongue— it’s all worth it.

Vader will do it again, no matter the consequences, no matter how it might look to someone who didn’t understand.

He will make absolute sure that Kenobi never forgets, never.

Vader makes a point of licking at his lips as he smirks at Kenobi, tilting his head from side to side in a way he saw his Master do while in a good mood and flirting. On him it looks mocking and he knows it.

He takes pleasure in Kenobi having no smart retort to it, no easygoing banter to masquerade with. Vader got him, he had won.

He is almost angry when the sound of engines breaks through, hundreds of them, all belonging to Sidious. Or the Separatists, as the Republic still foolishly believes. He will never know what words had died on Kenobi’s tongue as he looked up and then down at Vader, calculating his chances of outrunning a fleet of battle ships while carrying an unwilling Sith on his back.

“Not in your favor, huh?” Vader asks, laughing, not even bothering to get up, instead he just flops to lie on his back. It pains his arms terribly, but he does not care. He looks at the sky as if it was a starry sky you’d gaze upon, wish upon.

“Run now, Kenobi. You’re so good at it, after all.” He does not look at him, does not want to see that back turned on him. (Again. Again. Again that.)

The silence from Kenobi’s side is a heavy one, a painful one. Then he forces out amusedly (Chokes on it.) “We’ll have to rain check our little date, my Dear.” (He does actually choke on it.) (Vader hears, he always does.)

“So long.” The man who raised him cheers, all good spirits and not a care in the world. Then there’s the sound of Obi-Wan’s light feet as he force-runs towards his own ship. Leaves him.

Anakin closes his eyes and all the world falls down.

There’s only the sound of shooting and the flavor of Obi-Wan’s life on his tongue. For now, it’ll do. For now, it’s enough. (It is not.)(It never is.)

#obikin #vaderwan #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #star wars #obikin fic #vaderwan fic #prompts #prompt filled #I enjoyed writing this quite a lot‚ thank you 🥰#Anakin #Obi wan #buns.w #buns.all #Anonymous #msg #Darth Vader

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