#very lazily colored but my mental health says no whenever I want to actually draw so y'know.

[highsviolets]

steady

pairing: obi-wan x jedi!reader. set during TCW.

summary: you’re sick. he’s war-weary. mutual support ensues. shameless fluff. 

word count: 2k+ 

rating: G

A/N: this is my first time publishing fic! also my first time writing obi-wan lol but the muses (aka, tumblr + watching tcw + i’ve gone to the doctor too many damn times in the past month) insisted so I had to obey. all comments + criticism + reblogs are welcome; the ask box is always open for a chat! Enjoy, my darlings xx. 

STEADY, a fic by corellians-only 

The standard issue grey wool was coarse under your skin, but its raspy texture was lost on you as you gripped the blanket even harder, clutching it to your chest.

Tears slid down your face and joined into the fabric balled in your hands. Your body mimicked the position of your blanket, curled into a ball as the stubborn pain in your knees twinged every so often, heckling you with reminders of your insolent body.

You took a deep breath and attempted to focus your eyes, peering out the small transparisteel window. Few Jedi were granted such luxuries, but you had been granted such an apartment by the Council on account of your health. The increased exposure to light was supposed to be good for you, the doctors had argued, providing reams of medical evidence linking light exposure to increased rates of recovery.

Usually, watching the lanes of speeder traffic was soothing. It centered you, gave you an outlet for your excess mental energy. Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, your closest friend, would often join you for afternoon tea and he would listen, bemused, as you composed stories about the speeders glimmering in the light of Coruscant’s setting sun.

How you have energy for anything else is beyond me, Obi-Wan would always say, chuckling and shaking his head in fond exasperation The way you carry on, I’m amazed you even sleep.

You always insisted that yes, I do too sleep and would claim to bar him from any more stories until he apologized. He, of course, would oblige gracefully, and would return the next day, week, month — whenever he wasn’t marshaling clone armies in the Outer Rim — always with a new box of tea to share and a few stories of his own.

Now, though, the window seemed to mock you, representing the farce that was your supposed recovery. Your traitorous knee shot through with pain again and you groaned aloud, stifling the noise with the blanket and began crying in earnest.

Force, but none of it made sense. Just a week ago you had been cleared to re-enter active duty, been fitted for new armor, assigned your own command, and now you were sidelined until further notice.

Evidence of substantial musculoskeletal deformities. Possible complications with other bodily systems. Maybe even the brain. Further testing needed. Impossible to return to active duty at this time.

The Two-Onebee’s dispassionate diagnosis repeated on a loop in your head, and it seemed that the more you tried to quash it down, the more insistent his voice became.

You tried turning away from the window, to find a new distraction, but the effort was too much.

Kriff, you swore, before catching hold of your rising anger and releasing it into the Force. You repeated the Jedi Code, first in your head, then aloud, in a feeble attempt to steady yourself.

“A Jedi knows not pain.” The voice was smooth and steady — like silk, you thought randomly, the errant thought galloping through your head, if it had the strength of velvet.

“Well maybe you don’t, Master Kenobi, but this Jedi certainly does.”

The acerbic retort left your mouth before you even registered the thought. You sighed, a sound that amplified your bitterness and regret. You hadn’t even realized he had entered your quarters.

“I’m sorry, Obi,” you apologized, lowering your eyes to stare at the now-wet blanket in your hands. “I didn’t mean it.”

Obi-Wan began to cross the room with long strides. “Yes, you did,” he corrected softly, speaking as he walked. “You do feel pain.”

He had reached your bed and stared down at your prone form. Maker, he was tall.

For once, you allowed yourself to appreciate his body— tall, broad shouldered, with a narrow waist that suggested he could easily best any being in hand-to-hand combat. His strawberry blonde hair had been cut recently, reduced from shoulder length to the style he had sported shortly after becoming a Master and taking on Anakin as his unruly apprentice. His neatly trimmed beard, though, made him look every bit the distinguished Master Jedi.

Your eyes dragged over him lazily before meeting his. Their cerulean orbs usually emanated serenity, like a calm day on the ocean world of Mon Calamari. But you saw only riptides of pain — and was that fear?

“I just saw the medical report,” he said steadily, holding your gaze. “I’m so very sorry.”

You nodded absently, distracted. Something was wrong here.

And that’s when it hit you.Two things were missing, actually.

Your eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You’re wearing your armor, Obi-Wan,” you stated slowly. “You don’t usually wear it when you’re in the Temple. And,” you added accusingly, “you’re shielding your Force aura from me!”

Obi-Wan took a step back, obviously surprised at the turn in the conversation. Without preamble, he joined you on the mattress rather unceremoniously. He sighed.

“I’ve just been remanded new orders. I’m to deploy almost immediately.” His voice was hard and brittle, a far cry from its usual dulcet tones.

“Oh,” was all you could manage. “Grevious again?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. A lock of hair drifted onto his forehead, forming an arching shadow on his smooth skin.

“No, some trigger-happy Separatist general thought they could institute a few system wide blockades and get away with it.”

“Which system?”

The General’s laugh was like molasses that hadn’t been extracted in time — deep and smooth, but weary and bitter. “No place you’ve heard of, I can assure you of that.”

Sensing an opportunity to draw him out of his reverie, you pouted playfully, sticking out your lower lip and widening your eyes. You reach out to tug at the trailing sleeve of your robe but there’s nothing there but the cold greaves of his armor. Your hand meets his instead, trailing the outside of his palm in a delicate touch that nevertheless caught his attention.

Obi-Wan looked down at your touching hands, then turned his gaze on yours. The heat in your cheeks onset rapidly, but you ignored the discomfort — A Jedi knows not pain — and pursued your mission.

“Try me,” you said as impishly as you could manage when it felt like you were being x-rayed by his eyes. “I was given the Academic Award of our Padawan class, after all. Master Koon said I had makings of a real archivist.”

That made Obi-Wan laugh, a soft sound that echoed in the sparse chambers. “What you leave out, dear one, is that he finished his sentence with the words if you didn’t have such a mouth on you.”

A wry smile settled on your lips. “Hm, that is true,” you conceded. You tried to pull yourself up again to face him properly, but faltered, crashing back down onto the mattress with a soft swish of sheets.

Immediately his brow furrowed in concern. “Here, permit me,” he instructed in a low voice, and fierfek if that commanding tone didn’t make your cheeks drift into an even brighter shade of red.

Obi-Wan clasped your hand firmly and used his weight to counterbalance your own, placing his other hand in the small of your back to guide your ascent.

You gave him watery smile as you settled down beside him. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” he responded mildly, still holding onto your hand.

“So,” you said, “uh, a blockade? Will you be bringing Jedi Skywalker?”

“I don’t want to talk about that,” Obi-Wan announced suddenly.

“Oh?” you questioned, tilting your head in confusion. Obi-Wan was silent for a long moment.

Trust your feelings, your Master had always instructed you as an apprentice. You think too much.

You reached out in the Force, extending your senses. Your aura brushed up against Obi-Wan’s, which, you realized, was startlingly similar to your own just minutes earlier. Surface skimming revealed that he was tense, resigned, confused, but with a lingering respect to his duty and something else, just below the surface, that you couldn’t quite place.

Amplifying your presence, you sent him waves of calm and reassurance, urging him to let you in.

“You know you can talk to me, Obi.”

He nodded, the wayward locks of hair bobbing with his movement. “I know, Y/N. It’s just —“ he paused, searching for the right word — “so bloody complicated.”

“Isn’t everything, these days?” you whispered back.

The silence dragged on. You withdrew your presence and occupied yourself by going through a mental checklist of what hurt and what didn’t. Judging by the color of the sky, the Two-Onebee would be arriving shortly to deliver your evening medicine and file another medical report.

Finally, he spoke, the words coming haltingly. “I’m not afraid of death, Y/N.” Obi-Wan looked down at your intertwined hands as though they possessed the secrets of the galaxy — or at the very least, the magic bullet that would end the Clone Wars.

“What I’m afraid of,” he finally continued, “is what I will miss out on if I die.”

Well, then. “What to say to a disillusioned General” wasn’t a course that you ever saw offered at the Temple, but he was your oldest friend, and you had to try.

“You’ve lived a brave life, Obi-Wan. You’ve stayed true to the Code and conducted yourself with honor.” You squeezed his hand. “I have no doubt that if you fall in these wars, it will be in the pursuit of peace and justice, and that you will be welcomed into the Force.”

Obi-Wan shook his head again, and you sensed a spike of anxiety in his Force aura. “No, it’s not that. I’m not afraid of dying,” he repeated. “I’m afraid of leaving behind a life I could have lived. I’m afraid of —“ he took a deep breath and met your eyes. “I’m afraid of not coming home to you.”

Your jaw dropped of its own accord, but he kept speaking. “I’m —“ he stumbled over the words — “I’m afraid of never seeing you again. I’m afraid that I’ll come home, for good, and you won’t be here anymore. And I’m afraid of my fear. Fear is the path to the dark side. We are supposed to be above attachment, I know, but I can’t just very well ignore the fact that I love you.”

“Perfect love casts out fear.” The words came to your mind unbidden, like the lyrics of a childhood lullaby. “You said it yourself, Obi-Wan. Love is not attachment. Love does not cause fear.”

This time, he was the one who squeezed your hand, eyes searching yours wildly, daring to hope. “Is it —? Are you —?”

You reached up and cupped a hand to his face, running your thumb over his cheek soothingly. “What’s this?” you teased lightly. “The Negotiator with nothing to say?”

“Honest to entropy, sweetling, I —“

You cut him off with a kiss, chastely pressing your lips to his. Come here, your Force aura beckoned to his, come see how much I love you.

He readily agreed in body and spirit, drawing him near to you even as his presence merged with yours. You sighed into him, bringing one hand to curl into his hair as the other disentangled from his fingers and the other slid around his neck

Obi-Wan gave as good as he got. Your earlier hurt at his shielded Force presence dissipated as he opened himself and permitted his aura mingled with yours, the combined strength of both your presences almost overwhelming in a chorus of home safe here always yours. He, too, lifted on hand to settle in your hair, running his fingers through your tresses as he mouth gingerly explored yours. His palm settled on your waist, and you could feel its heat through your thin robes.

A few moments later the two of you separated, both a little dumbfounded at what had just transpired.

“Was that okay?” he murmured.

“Always the gentleman,” you jibed, but without any true heat. You settled your head on his shoulder and let him sense your peace and contentment in the Force. He was strong and steady beneath you, just as he always had been, you thought.

Obi-Wan smiled and dropped a kiss to your hair. “I need to make my way to the hangar,” he said, regret tinging his voice. “I can’t keep Anakin waiting.”

“We can’t have that; Jedi Skywalker may take matters into his own hands,” you joked. “Remember when we were on Nar Shaddaa?”

He laughed again, and warmth suffused into your chest. “I like to forget about Nar Shaddaa. Unless you’re referring to when you thought that Captain Rex was one the enemy commandos and almost launched a grenade at him before I stopped you?” Obi-Wan retorted, arching an eyebrow.

“Well, in that case, I like to forget about Nar Shadda too.” You laughed as he stood up slowly, taking care to not exacerbate your aches and pains.

You looked up at him from the edge of the bed, smiling fondly. “Don’t get killed out there, Kenobi.”

“Don’t let the medics boss you around. I don’t like the look of that Two-OneBee. Maybe it’s Separatist infiltration droid.”

You rolled your eyes. “I think you’re spending too much time with Jedi Skywalker and his Padawan. You’ve become so dramatic, Obi.”

Obi-Wan gently took your face in his hands. “My dear, where do think they learned it?”

“Maybe you should teach me all you know,” you said breathlessly.

“Maybe I should,” he responded evenly, but his eyes darkened to indigo and you knew he had caught your meaning.

“Is that a promise?”

Obi-Wan bent down and kissed your lips one last time. “Ask when I get home,” he ordered against your mouth.

He straightened and began making his way to the door. “Obi-Wan! Wait!” you cried.

Obi-Wan turned. “Yes?”

“I love you.”

He grinned, and his hair glinted in the last vestiges of sun reflecting off of the Coruscanti skyscrapers.

“I know, dear one. I love you too.”

Fin.

#obi-wan fic #obi-wan x reader #cg's og's #cristina writes #sw fic #obi wan fic #obi wan x reader #tcw fic #obi-wan x you #obi wan x you