Omg Pls Send Help

Omg pls send help

In Windham’s The Rise and Fall of Darth Vader, the first thing Anakin hears on the other side of death is Obi-Wan saying his name:

The fact that the first thing Anakin does is call him “Master” and apologize profusely, and then Obi-Wan offers to teach him one last time,,

#That thing he does with his tongue

red thread

the red thread of fate: two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. this magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break.

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x reader

warnings: heavy sprinkles of angst and fluff, padawan obi AND older obi, TENDERNESS

word count: 4.6k HUH

summary: an accident as padawans leaves obi-wan feeling guilty. he finds you again, just as in love as he was when you were young.

The hilt of a lightsaber poked your side. Accidental ignition would have killed you instantly, but Obi-Wan had a steady hand. His lips pursed in frustration when his friend (was that the word?) wasn’t stirring. The touch was indeed light, but that was merely a testament to the gentle nature of the Padawan.

“Wake up!” His urgent whisper did little for his cause. He mumbled some curses under his breath, kriff something or other, and withdrew the hilt. A new idea occurred to him as he tucked it onto his belt clip with a secure snap.

Obi-Wan leaned close over your bed, dangling the fabric of his cloak over your nose, which scrunched in unconscious response. The brown sleeve then brushed over your cheeks and tickled your senses awake, your eyes yet to register his audacious simper. Obi-Wan watched you twitch and snickered at his own youthful antics.

“Stop that.” You swatted at his hand, receiving a swat back. So far, he was the only one giggling, especially at your poor aim. You could have easily blamed it on the sleepiness which was scarcely wearing off.

“Why?” He continued to amuse himself, blocking your vision with his coffee coloured textiles. You grabbed at them firmly and yanked them, momentarily making him lose his balance. He teetered a second, his clean-shaven face looming over yours, skin looking ever so smooth. Obi-Wan stopped breathing, stealing a glance at your lips before he gathered himself back up to full height. He knew you wouldn’t mention his telling gaze. It’s not the first time you’ve encountered him so near.

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Closer (series) ch.i. the cabin

Duncan Vizla x F!Reader

when a retired assassin unexpectedly finds love in the heart of a cold and unforgiving winter, will he be able to escape the demons that follow him? Is a pleasurable & quiet life possible when you've fallen for the black kaiser?

rating: E (strictly 18-21+ only) | word count: 3.8k series masterlist

content warnings: a polar story, love, angst, emotional hurt comfort, language, canon typical themes & graphic depictions of injuries & violence, brief mentions of smoking & alcohol, mature consensual established relationship, intimacy, adult content ✨

“Don’t fall in love with me.”

"It’s too late for that.”

Subtle drifts alive in a tinted sheen of white, dust upon the forest floor’s deepest shade of green, towering over a peaceful lake frozen in time by the chill of Winter’s breath, where the recent snowfall has just begun taking shape around the modest cabin where so often you call home.

So soon, the light of the fire had welcomed you there inside, crackling soundly against a freshly chopped wood, surrounding you with an unfamiliar kind of warmth that you had only hoped for; a stoic man – the one you call yours, to be seen there, where tired eyes fall heavily within the lowlight of the room.

The fireplace whispers its softness into your ear, a soothing secret you’d like to hold onto perhaps for the better part of later; the air of night, safeguarding hints of blissful memories all the while there, which you so often tend to hide behind.

It’s usually the tv’s static playing in the background when you arrive; a tape or movie left on all night after sleep has suddenly taken over…

But tonight had been different, Duncan was different; sitting calmly nearest to the pane of glass where frost had collected outside the window, sighing with an exasperated exhale of breath, almost annoyed that his phone had disturbed him there.

“The answer is still no.”

With a temperamental vigor, his pocket sized flip phone slams itself shut; the call ending, just as quickly as it had been answered.

You sit down beside him, the palm of your hand resting there on his shoulder, before your cheek has taken up there; watching as he immediately snaps the phone’s sim card in half, before tossing it into the dust ridden ash tray on the table.

It’s always the same routine – as if he’s entirely used to being called by the same person who seems to demand so much of his time. Yet all he wants is to spend all of it with you, uninterrupted by the drawl of a rented film, an incessant phone call, or the memories that tend to plague him; the sleepless nights, when you aren’t there to comfort him, somehow becoming all at once too much to bear.

"What do they want from you, Duncan?”

“Something I am capable of, but have no interest in doing anymore.”

And somehow, the vagueness of his answers had been enough, at least for now, knowing better than to keep pressing him for things far away from any realm of your understanding.

It’s not like he would let you anyway.

Instead, you ease into a single kiss left behind at his temple; lightened strands of silver hair, tickling at the tip of your nose while his fingertips graze past your cheek as you do.

He picks up a cigarette, one that’s already been lit from some time before; nothing left to the Marlboro nub at its edge, except the last bits of burning ash where he’s placed it between his sharpened lips.

By now, you’ve ended up across the room, waltzing away from him as you eye the way his cheeks hollow out with the slow drag. It takes everything in you not to bite your lip at this, enticing and wrong all at once, but still, you can’t help it; imagining how it is that a man like him could make the simple act of smoking look and feel so desirable, even from so far away.

fuck.

It’s quiet for a while; unable to form words in these passing minutes where all you can do is watch him – no matter how hard you had willed yourself not to.

But it’s the low hum of his voice that soon breaks this wave of silence, saying only but one word in the moment to you.

“Yes?”

Breathless, the pure feeling of it all, suddenly caves in there at your chest, just as soon as you’ve been caught staring, opting for the glass left nearest to his bedside table to occupy your mind instead.

Against your better judgment, you think it’s better off this way; peering up over the chill of its edge, and leaving enough space between you, coating your lips as if giving them something else to do.

It is all in hopes of saving yourself from an impending fall into oblivion; much safer experiencing the Black Kaiser from a distance this way, even though it doesn’t have to be like this at all…

And instinctually, when it comes to your closeness, he too, senses that it shouldn’t be, either.

Then comes more of nothing.

Your thoughts, suddenly going completely wordless.

“Hm.”

His drink’s been sitting there longer than usual while thoughts of his own have been meandering into the intimate space of your fallen in between; seeming to have forgotten about it fast when you had shown up at the door, but by now, you’re the one who’s downed it already…

Gone tenderly in seconds just as soon as you had picked it up, his glacial stare begins to follow your eyes just as selfishly, as the melting ice of it drips from the edge of your lips' glossed over swell.

The satisfying burn of his brand of liquor coats the back of your throat in a pleasurable warmth; licking your lips of all that’s left of the strong scotch flavored honey, before his startling hands have landed heaviest with intent there upon your sides.

They’re exactly where you’ve always wanted them to be, and as if somehow he knows this, he whispers, leaning over the subtle curve of your shoulder…

“Don’t fall in love with me.”

"It’s too late for that.”

The lingering scratch of his dark shadowed stubble catches against your skin then, pebbling it where he’s been marking kisses to your neck in shuddered gasps of breath; living with collapsing into him as if gliding out on air – featherlight and arching, unable to form reasons for why you shouldn't have this.

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“No.”

With his chest soon pressed to your back, you can feel the way his sweater feels plush and taut against his muscle from behind; the weight of invisibly scarred hands, hovering something slow and capable as they’ve been sliding over your middle; a newfound courage, taking over at the insistent rolling of your hips onto him.

Flush and hard, he breathes you in; indulging in the magnolia of your scent, his eyes closed into calming, as the inviting gravel tone of his voice encases you intensely in the room.

“This is no life for you.”

“Convince me then…”

“I can’t."

Melded there together where you lay inside his arms, the thick strain of his cock hits hard against the shape of you where you want him most; a satisfied groan, drawn outwards from his chest where he lifts a practiced hand into cradling you.

It is there that he becomes devoid of self control, taking all of you there with him.

"You cant? Or don't want to?"

Something hurried and swift happens when he doesn't care to indulge you any further; legs wrapping themselves around him tightly then, all because you don't seem to either. A sudden push enlivened by the slotting of your lips and hands, bringing you into him nearer, where so soon you’ve ended up roughly on top of his table.

And he grins; a softened word escaping around the languid circle of his tongue, and your muffled gasps of breath, trying his absolute best to convince you of it.

“Apologies.”

A rich white shirt is all that’s left upon him now; his belt undone, and his pants falling haphazardly around his knees. It’s unlike him not to have considered the time, but he’ll get there eventually; discarding the rest of his clothes in their swift abandon, only after yours have met with his sweater now lying on the floor…

You help him the rest of the way, when your affection begins to find its overwhelming ease into such a perfect rhythm; the warmth of your bare skin bleeding into his chest where he now falls into you so indelicately.

The slow drag of his thrusts drag into you something smooth, and deep, a heated coming together that so often you both find yourselves lost inside. It happens when he firmly cups the underside of your breast with the palm of his hand, paying careful attention to their aroused peaks; tweaking them between his fingertips, before grasping impatiently at your thighs.

His need to feel you overshadows anything that’s ever haunted him there before; leaning down to envelop you in a kiss so fervently – the softened whine he’s just stolen from you there, only further igniting the flame inside his chest.

And as if blinded by the way your lips fall open in their silent reach for air, his leg lifts heavily upon the wooden surface of the table; greedily fucking into you harder at this new angle, where knives, and scattered pens, wildly clang against one another.

Your heady moans fill the clouded confines of his headspace, chasing after his concentrated charge with pleading eyes that only want him to unravel sooner.

But as much as you love him this way – so heated and entangled, the courageous roll of your hips wills him into moving just the slightest bit slower; his loving touch, giving you all you need in those moments where your desperate sighs have called for it.

“Please…”

And when you’ve come apart at the tail end circle of your tongue, he allows your faithful hands to take over for him at the hem of his shirt; gasping for cool fits of air in between, before lifting the material up and over his head.

In your eyes, you favor him just the way he is, chest hairs curling with soft greys amidst all that is still dark; the patient drag of your hands against them, always leaving him feeling incomplete when they are gone.

And so he stills you there, just for a second to relish in the way you feel at the covering of your palms, as if sensing trouble should your hands and his ever divide; a heartfelt intensity, that breathes new life at the very seam of your fingertips as they further intertwine.

“Stay with me, darling.”

Duncan’s well meaning thoughts begin to tire themselves out into flashes; blurs of wandering and distant visions of his past, somehow forcing mistruths into being there inside his mind.

He tries to convince himself in dreams of all the reasons why he should not love you; always settling on the risk being far greater than any chance of truly allowing himself to…

Yet, still, he folds into you anyway, lost to all his senses, and unable to let your gentle touch slip away; even now when you’ve breathlessly shifted beneath him.

"You’re shivering...”

Pressing soft kisses to your wrist, the once stoic exterior begins to fall away, where glistening strands of hair brush just above the warm hazel of his eyes.

With his brow knitted together – latched on, and distracted, they almost appear an affectionate shade of gold in the dimly tinted light, and despite how startling they might seem to everyone else, even so, you can not get enough of them.

“Here.”

Soon he’s cradling the back of your neck, tenderly lifting you from where he had just been commanding over you earlier. Caged in, vulnerable and bare, he embraces your fitting body into the strength of his arms, carrying you towards the comfort of his bed where soon he’ll pay careful attention to loving you elsewhere.

“Duncan… wait, it’s…”

“Shh, I’m not going anywhere.”

…

Stepping out of the rest of his clothes, his belt crashes with a sudden thud to the floor; heavy steps answering the sound over to where he now patiently lays you down, dipping all his weight there with the bed.

He seems to tower over you there, always handsome and somehow less intimidating in the dim firelight. But, little do you know, the reason why he softens just as easily, is because of the overwhelming effect that you have on him, no matter how hard he tries to push it all away.

Slowly he moves, cock hard and coated in the slick of your arousal, hitting just below the tuft of hair trailing down his middle, softened and uncharacteristically beautiful.

He palms himself once over, eyes trained on the way you’ve become so entranced by him; grasping hard around himself, before grazing the swollen tip deliberately over the sensitive peak of your aching clit.

At this you almost whimper, biting down hard on your lip and forcing the sinful cry welling there to recoil. It isn’t until you’ve arched your head back into the patterned blue covers that he now steadies himself upon them; strong hands finding an insistent embrace beneath your thighs, so eager just to have his mouth on you again.

His silence is an ambient virtue, for a man of very few words, but still you’ve come to know in time what he’s always thinking; always one step ahead of him, in tune to the rough gravel at the pit of his throat, until the part happens when he’s surprising you all over again.

an urgent knead to your flesh,

a course scratch of hair along your skin,

the flat of his tongue on your…

oh.

“Let me take care of you.”

The simple words, string themselves together in gentle, staggered breaths, hovering closely over the plush skin of your inner thighs; grazing a dark silver kiss there, as his eyes soothe themselves into closing.

He takes his time in all the ways he chooses to love you; a heated tension wrapping around you tightly each time, where his tongue circles almost cruelly around your dripping sensitive bud.

He flicks you there relentlessly now, stilling your pretty movements with the splay of his weathered palm against your waist, only to have you fall apart in the safety of his hands where you can’t help but moan; the delicious suck of your clit between his lips, sweet, and incredibly warm.

Breathless, you feel as though you had been taken of every ounce of air; the delicate veil of fog clouding your mind, settling only after he’s laying by your side there. Eyes so lost to a tranquil well of meaning held inside yours against the shadows, as if in search of the very secrets he intuitively knows, and already has the answers to.

I love her.

I will not rob her of this.

I need her.

More than ever.

And as if reading his mind of all conflicting thoughts, the kind caress of your hand is all it takes to keep him there; slotted limbs wrapping further there around him, all in hopes of something so much better.

Shifting beside him, the flow of your silhouettes embrace one another in your wordless shades of back and forth; a kiss, soon to have been deeply felt, when your lips collide by slanting over, leaving nothing behind to everything really you want.

Enveloping his bottom lip in yours, the dark pleasurable scratch of his mustache catches onto the plush feel of you at the top, breathing air for each other as if one of you had truly forgotten how.

And where you both have now reluctantly pulled apart, hovering and wandering around for the slightest bit feeling of more, you’ve already comforted him to lay down upon his pillows; straddling him where his hands now slide in tender passes firmly upwards and down along your back.

The heat of your skin, once pebbled before by the outdoor chill, lost to the frost covered glass forming waves of smog upon your window.

“Duncan…”

“I’ve got you."

You say his name as if to be sure that he had truly been there – and he is, always, waiting for you, no matter what may become of his life in these very moments.

For right here, right now, it’s just you and him; alone, and sated, where nothing else matters.

I love him.

And if this

is all we have,

Then,

I hope he knows.

With the flat of your palms steadied against the broad planes of his chest, he looks to you with such adoration in his eyes; tilting his chin with a stretch to meet you before falling back onto his sheets defeated with an exhale of breath. Your capable charge over him now, awakening him to the inviting patterns made by the softened tracing of your fingertips.

Slowly they meander along the taut strain of muscle, feeling hints of himself begin to tighten ahead of a mounting anticipation. Your careful hands, reaching for him as he lays heavy there from behind, gesturing with the salacious roll of your hips against his hard cock; the swollen tip, slick with his own essence, brushing deliberately against your clit with each forthcoming slide.

With his eyes winding shut to what’s being felt breathtakingly lower, you begin to slowly sink yourself down upon him, relieved when the large expanse of his hands have tensed upon the rippling of your covers; even more so when they’ve grown all the more impatient, relishing in taking over with a grip there at your sides.

It only takes a moment then for you to fully adjust, clenching tightly there around the delicious stretch of his cock before you are able to really move; writhing against the hardened feel of his hips, enjoying all the ways he’s been raking over your form, falling high above him there.

And so you press, knowing he’ll be watching; circling the budding pearl of your clit in tandem with his practiced thrusts, eyeing him with a shattered moan as your neck lends it’s pleasurable arch back into the air.

It isn’t until a sudden exchange is being made between souls that just can’t seem to get enough of one another; Duncan, collapsing into the tension of your winding rage of dominance, with the alluring grit of his teeth, and the near shift of his back now laying itself all the more strengthened.

Lost in the night, a mess is soon being made against his pillows, fed up with them entirely now as all else threatens useless. Your figure, and his, caught tangled between soft, barely used sheets, and the rough pads of his fingertips, tracing lower where yours had previously been before.

The quick roll of your hips has you falling, bereft of all thought when he’s leaning up and forward to embrace you there; flexing his arms where his hands now grab hold of the covers beneath you, and his mouth, hovering over your breasts where his tongue chases after the rush of enveloping them there.

Grazing lightly over their stiffened peaks, a clash of teeth and hands motion against the glistening sheen of your skin; so heated by the mere sensation of his touch alone, that soon he’s pulling away, searching your beautifully tired eyes for confirmation that you haven’t yet slipped away from him.

“Tell me what you need.”

Sinking down onto him over and over in a perfectly unsteady rhythm, your sudden need for release becomes all the more great, with Duncan allowing time to stop just for you to let everything go; to take what you want from him as the warmth of him marks echo incoherencies along your chest there as you do.

“Just you. Only you.”

He’s reaching and pulling you down with him, muffling a deep hum of a groan with an open mouthed kiss, slipping past your lips’s parted open bloom of a divide.

Out of breath and absolutely incapable of catching it, you’ve found a momentary shade of comfort the only way you know how; caressing the sharpened part of his high, and chiseled cheek, all while whispering some sort of forbidden keepsake in his ear.

"I love you, it’s too late.”

And he hums all too deeply – satisfied and pleasant; whispering his own affectionate confession over your mouth’s pretty corners.

“It’s not…”

His eyes are serious and true, lacking hesitation when he gifts you with such unexpected, meaningful words; making damn sure that this last embrace will never cease or part, that you’ll never have to say goodbye to each other as long as he had been there to prove himself.

“...I know it now, I can not hide from you. I don't want to.”

Your dampened skin is soon to lead him on a path toward home, kissing you once tenderly upon your forehead; holding you to him there, relieved and resting, and satisfied with never having to let you go.

…

You’ve found your way toward the peaceful tides of slumber after he’s situated you both more comfortably beneath a soft patterned quilt, hoping just to drift with you there, pressed, and curled up into his side.

But instead, there is a maddening sound of an incessant ringing coming from his phone there in the background, echoing impossible calls, and threatening any chance of a restful sleep to be had in the sweetened confines of his cabin’s wholehearted desolation.

It was a problem then, that he knew needed to be rectified right now…

More than ever.

“It’s alright, Duncan, let it ring.”

“I can’t.”

Leaning over towards the nightstand, he angrily opens its drawer, pulling out a striking handgun laden there in black, before taking perfect aim, and pulling the trigger across the room.

“Oh! What are you…?!”

Jumping at the startling sound of a single shot being made, you can only hide your face deeply into the prominent curve of his side.

It’s sudden and surprising; not exactly something you imagined happening where he’s now cradled the back of your head with his palm – as if to say it’s safe now, there’s no reason to be frightened of me, even though right then it feels as if maybe you are; an outdated phone, scattered there in pieces, and all that remains of it, found within a cloud of dust trapped across the floor.

“Forgive me, I…”

All is completely still, then, where uncertain looks encase one another in those inconceivable moments, remembering words left both unspoken and not, in waves of purely being from before.

I love you,

it’s too late,

this is no life for you …

oh how swiftly you had fallen.

And where your head now attempts to rest itself solely with affection there upon his chest, the sound of his wistful breathing, only brings you in that much closer.

… ❤️

a/n – thanks so much for reading ! 💫

this series was originally written & posted between 2020 - present, so I am looking to repost an updated version of the story back onto tumblr & ao3, & finally complete the ending after a very long hiatus.

If you are reading this again, or even for the very first time, thank you so much 🙏✨ & as always, I would love to know what you think of it ! xo A

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Tatooine Nights

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Rating: 18+ Warnings: pregnant reader, fluff, Smut - unprotected sex, nipple play, mentions of body hair, creampie, breeding kink, light pregnancy kink Word Count: 3k

Summary: Requested Fic, Anon asked:  I was wondering if you’d do a smutty Obi Wan x Pregnant Reader. Where Obi Wan and Reader both have a breeding kink and Obi Wan gets turned on just knowing he successfully bred the reader and loves seeing her belly all swollen. And one night it’s their anniversary and he wants to show her just how sexy he finds her and how much he loves her!

Masterlist  –  Tags:  @fishswimbetterunderwater​ @a-dorin​ @blxwjobsforclones​ @lynnie51​ @katrynec​ @mistermiraclee​ @theelvenvalkyrie​

The suns were starting set over Tatooine and the smell of your terrine filled the air while you diligently cleaned up the hut in preparation for Obi-Wan to come home. It had been hot that day, the heat leaking into the hut and causing several hot flashes throughout the day leaving you to shed as many clothes as possible. However, now that the temperature was rapidly falling you found that the robe you had been wearing was not sufficing. As you cleaned you picked up one of Obi’s spare tunics that he had left laying on the bed the two of you shared and tugged it on. The familiar fabric settled over you and you delighted in the way that it still smelled of him. A soft smile covered your mouth as you noticed the way the tunic settled over the small bump that was just beginning to form and you ran a fond hand over your belly. Sighing softly you couldn’t believe how happy you had become since settling into your life with Obi-Wan Kenobi. It was over two years since you had first met the self proclaimed hermit and snuck your way into his heart and it was a year ago to the day when your affection for him spilled over into a passionate confession that had led you to where you were today, in pure bliss.

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Collision

A/N: Sooooo a month ago, I would NOT have predicted I would be writing the most involved smut I’ve ever written about Obi-Wan Kenobi, despite the many wips I have demanding attention, but alas, here we are. I’d like to thank @beskars​ for rolling past my dash and whipping me out of any control or prior plans I have with their amazing fics that inspired me. This one is especially inspired by this blurb by @beskars​ which just absolutely rocked my shit. (Seriously, though, go read everything they write, they’re so talented)

Also, I’m so nervous, as I avoid writing Star Wars for a Reason, alright? But here we go regardless!

Also, if this gif belongs to you, please tell me so I can give you credit. The source wasn’t trackable from where I found this. 

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Force sensitive! reader (no Y/N)

Edit as of 03-2021:

Also, reader is described as having hair long enough to pull in this. It’s not something I write anymore since I know now this isn’t inclusive.

While it has been edited, I want to apologize. The earlier version of this story mentioned the reader blushing, and someone unduly patient and kind explained how this was not inclusive. My deepest apologies for that. I still have much to learn and welcome people dropping in to let me know if there’s a way I need to be doing better.

Warnings:  SMUT!!! Trust kink, Hair pulling, Oversensitivity kink, Hand kink, Voice kink (if that’s a thing? I know it is in the Obi-Wan fandom, at least), soft dom! Obi-Wan, Too many feelings for porn anywayyyyy

Without anything else: 

His Force signature is completely unlike any other you’d encountered. Sure, each was unique, but there was something about the unshakable, blooming light that surrounded his very being. It was singular. Inimitable. 

Which made these moments all the more difficult. As if your fingers being too small and smooth couldn’t make you feel his absence enough, the lack of his energy filling every corner of the room left a deafening emptiness. 

So all you had was the memory of moments between the both of you. You let the thoughts take you, concentrating, trying to make it as real and present as possible as it plays out on the backs of your closed eyelids. 

You’re not sure when your pleasure became so completely reliant on a single person, but here you are, chasing an orgasm that promised to be disatisfying from a simple omittance. You chase it all the same.

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