starwarskinkmeme | Star Wars Kink Meme Round #1

Star Wars Kink Meme Round #1

Rules For Everyone:

YKINMKATO (Your kink is not my kink, and that's okay.) No kinkshaming or wank/flames/y'know generally being a dick.
All Star Wars films and related media are welcome. You can go as obscure as you want.
RPF is allowed
~~All comments must be anon.~~ Lbr, if it doesn't bother you guys it doesn't bother me.

Rules For Posting Prompts:

Use the subject for your prompt with the pair, general idea, any kinks, or specific requirements.
You can post as many prompts as you like, as long as the prompts are different. They can be somewhat similar.
You may second a post, but you may not piggyback and request different specifications from the original prompt. However, you may create a similar prompt inspired with your own specifications.
Cross posting prompts is fine by me. If you've posted prompts at tfa-kink, and they've gotten lost in the mix, you can post them here!
You are not allowed to create prompts for the purpose of mocking a previous prompt. I see you. Just don't.

Rules Posting Fills:

Warnings are courteous, but not necessary. Use DW Blocker if there is anything you don't want to see.
Art and other media fills are welcome.
Multiple fills are cool. Therefore, a prompt is considered filled, but still "open."
You may post a link to your tumblr/ao3 account/ or any other website as long as it is accessible.
You may link to a previously written fic in a comment, but it does not count as a fill.
If you could post [FILL] in the subject of your fill, that would be awesome. ~~Sorry I forgot about this.~~

Discussion Post | Ask A Mod | Filled Prompts Master Post | Searchable Prompts @ Pinboard [Updated to page 16]| AO3 Collection

Spin-off Community: StarWarsFruitBowl

Announcement: I have long neglected my modly duties, because I have been both way busier than I thought I would be (the shock of young adulthood amirite?), and y'know just me being a mess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . If anyone is inclined to help me mod, or at least categorize prompts on pinboard, please message swkm-mod @ tumblr. If you don't have a tumblr, still message me but on anon, and we will find another way to communicate.

Also, I have received a request for a prompt freeze. I'm thinking that might be a good idea, but I would like to get your opinion. Let me know what you think here.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Just our favorite Jedi and our favorite clones getting a few moments in the war and Obi-Wan very curious from trying something new. Because nothing would be better than Obi-Wan getting fucked from both ends.

Obi-Wan reflects on the sad fact that all the men in his life seem to think he needs to be taken care of.

Yoda did, Qui-Gon did, Mace does, and Anakin does too, even though it should technically work the other way around.

The sadness lies in the fact that he doesn't need it. Truly.

He is a Jedi Knight, a Master, a General in the Grand Army of the Republic, and he's perfectly capable of both protecting himself and maintaining himself in optimum condition.

Rex laughs in his face before Cody nudges him.

"He's not joking," Cody says, and slides the chipped mug across the table.

Rex stops laughing. "You're serious."

"Of course I'm serious," Obi-Wan protests, "Look, all my limbs attached, fully dressed, fed and watered and of sound mind."

"That's debatable," Rex interjects.

Cody snorts into his own mug.

Obi-Wan eyes them with disfavour. "Let it be noted that I take care of the two of you far more often than the other way around. I can recall many times when one or both of you have turned up here with wounds you haven't even had the courtesy to *clean* never mind dress."

"We heal fast," Cody shrugs, "A few scratches and a bit of blood never hurt anyone."

"I am a Jedi," Obi-Wan says, "Of the three of us, my dear, I heal far better, and the lectures I got over one fracture!"

"Four breaks," Rex protests, "Two in your fingers, two more in your arm. How you stayed upright I don't even know. You were carrying a pack on the same shoulder!"

"I have a high pain threshold," Obi-Wan admits, "It is... a honed skill."

He does not think of the various injuries he has sustained over the years. And he doesn't need to explain really. Cody and Rex have seen his scars, and have seen what he is capable of allowing his body to be put through in the name of saving others.

Rex grunts, "Prefer your pleasure threshold, myself," he says.

And Cody nods emphatic agreement.

Obi-Wan smiles ruefully. "I prefer it too, to tell you the truth," he says.

Which, after one thing leads to another, leads to them both stretching him out on the narrow bunk, arranging all three of their bodies with efficient military precision while he laughs at the two of them, mouth feeling bruised and tender with the way they take turns kissing him while the other manoeuvres him around to their satisfaction.

They don't usually get the chance to get some downtime together so this is delightful.

And then it stops being delightful and starts being seriously pleasurable.

He groans, loud and lurid, as Cody's two fingers begin to stretch him open. The act of penetration has always excited him but this particular part of it never fails to short circuit the last of his rational mind.

It's something about the act of feeling the tight muscle loosen, of feeling his body *open*. And of course they know this.

"Blow him," Rex says, which means something entirely different when they're like this.

In this case, it means that Cody forces him open on three fingers - as wide as he can manage it - before leaning down to blow *right into him*.

Obi-Wan shouts and jerks and Cody does it again, with much the same result, and then Cody looks up to say, "He's noisier than usual. Better find something to do with that mouth of his."

And so they end up lengthways on the bed, Obi-Wan's mouth stretched over Rex's dick while Cody makes sure he's properly wound up. Obi-Wan simply luxuriates in the sensations, and in pleasure.

And when Cody sinks in, all thick hot slick seven inches of him, Obi-Wan eyes go big and unfocused and he's mostly just keening and slurping around Rex's equally respectable length.

And they take such good care of him.

They fuck him from both ends, carefully but thoroughly, and at one point they synchronise each stroke with efficient military precision so that they thrust and withdraw at the same time, just so he can feel the double invasion up his ass and down his throat. Can feel stretched open on both ends before being teased with emptiness before his body swallows them back in like it was made just for their cocks.

He clenches throat and ass, and Cody is the one who breaks first. Who grunts and starts fucking him in earnest, inadvertently shoving him back and forth on Rex, who simply grins and leans back, watching Obi-Wan drool and try to brace himself.

Mostly Obi-Wan doesn't succeed.

Mostly Obi-Wan doesn't *want* to succeed.

And so when Cody is getting close, he knows the exact angle to get their Jedi lover keening like a banshee, knows how to grab his hips and jerk him up into each thrust.

And Rex says, "Come on, sweetheart, we want you to cum too."

Which is roughly the time that Obi-Wan - who doesn't really need the permission so much as the reminder - takes a hand away from supporting his own weight to pull frantically at his own erection.

And that's okay. Because Rex and Cody have him. One holds his hips up, the other keeps his head steady, and he's so full, opened so wide and feeling so much and the sounds the two clones make, he thinks, as they use him for their pleasure, is enough to be illegal.

But it isn't, thankfully, and he is allowed this, even if he cannot marry or raise a family. Even if he has to send both of these two men into five battles before first meal, knowing one or both might die on *his* orders...

He clenches down tight and sucks hard, pulling them in as close as he can manage and Rex *growls* like some kind of wild beast and Cody's sperm is already spurting hot into him as he feels Rex's grip tighten.

He squeezes down on his own erection and whimpers and Rex shoves once, twice, deep enough for him to feel it, and then he has to swallow.

He can't get it all in and they don't expect him to. Cody licks away what he can't swallow, and Rex suckles him gently through the aftershocks before he bats him away, over-sensitive and edging into overwhelmed.

"Enough," he pants, "enough."

"Never enough," Rex vows and kisses the taste of his own semen into his mouth, "Not with you. Fucking look at you."

Cody kisses up his right arm and Obi-Wan can't tell which way up he is anyway. He's lost all sense of direction in his own damn quarters; that's how thoroughly they've broken him down.

And together, they curl up around him and start the slow, sweet process of putting him back together.

Re: FILL: Obi-Wan/Cody/Rex, spitroasting

(Anonymous) - 2017-03-22 15:07 (UTC) - Expand

Qui-Gon keeps telling him to mind his thoughts, and Obi-Wan tries but when he's asleep, it's a bit hit and miss. Especially with some of the more... *vivid* dreams.

Bonus: Qui-Gon's totally into it.

Double bonus: Obi-Wan has quite the imagination and Qui-Gon's taking notes.

Triple bonus plus my heart: Implied or actual or offer of acting it out in reality.

In the Jedi Apprentice novels, Obi-Wan emerges from the mind wipe scare on Phindar with his memory intact... as far as he remembers!

Qui-Gon now has to deal with a thirteen year old bondmate who doesn't remember their bond.

The rebels are just trying to do a covert mission when it all goes wrong and hey have to escape on a vessel which just so happens to contain agent Kallus, who they find out just so happens to be Thrawn's fiancé arriving in the hanger for their coming union.

I started laughing as soon as I read this. So seconded! :)

Rex is the Rebel contact, Obi-Wan is the one running a safe house and they have only three days and no idea if they will see each other again so they spend those three days the best they can: in bed.

YESSSSS!

When Tahl dies, Obi-Wan finds out that his master dedicated his life to her. By which he realises that Qui-Gon was ready to abandon him yet again, after everything they've been through and everything that Obi-Wan has done to be the perfect Padawan.

In his shock and guilt and anger, he Falls.

But this is Obi-Wan, so he doesn't just lash out. Sure, he blames the Jedi Order and his Master for all the pain in his life, and he wants to bring them down, but he's seen Xanatos operate. He realises that he needs to strategise if he wants to destroy them on his own. Especially since he doesn't know that the Sith have already returned under Darth Plageuis and Darth Sidious.

Cue Obi-Wan learning basic Sith teachings from the Archives, and manipulating events while continuing to be the perfect Padawan. When Qui-Gon finds the Chosen One, Obi-Wan realises that Qui-Gon has to die.

Something about the princess falling head-over-heels for the tall, beautiful, and mysterious secret agent Togrutan...pretty please?!

A+ prompt, anon!

The old hermit living on Tatooine near Luke ? Is actually Ben Kenobi and not Obi-Wan.

While Ben is protecting Luke on Tatooine at Obi-Wan's request, the real Obi-Wan Kenobi is travelling the galaxy and fighting against the Empire on his own ...

After the destruction of the Death Star, Luke is sent on a mission to find and retrieve Obi-Wan Kenobi by the Alliance, guided by Ben's ghost

Pretty cool prompt !

I don't even know how it would work but would love to see Padme secretly aiding the Rebels while raising her daughter. As for why she keeps Leia and gives Luke to Obi-Wan to hide? Simple - Luke's midichlorian count is much higher than Leia's and she knows the Chancellor has a strange habit of underestimating the strength of women.

Bonus - Vaderkin doesn't acknowledge Padme or the daughter he thinks is Obi-Wan's. Padme does nothing more to correct his misunderstanding, hoping to keep him as far away from Leia as possible.

Bonus Bonus - That whole 'I am your father' business comes with a side order of 'Luke, I'm your mother and I'm telling you to go to Dagobah!'

Darth Vader decides that telling Luke that Kenobi killed his father would be much more effective in making him join the Dark Side than telling him that Vader is his father (and after all from a certain point of view Anakin did die on Mustafar).

Your choice if it works or not ...

Obi-wan is a total bottom. He just loves to be filled and well fucked. Anakin is happy to provide it.
You can explore whatever you want: fisting, really big sex toys, force fucking... I just want Obi-wan with something really big up his ass and begging for more while anakin is too happy (and maybe a little impressed?) about it.

- No mentions of Padmé, please
- I see this set somewhere near the beginning of ROTS

+1,000,000!

FILL: Anakin/Obi-wan - Obi-wan loves to have things up his ass

(Anonymous) - 2017-04-20 02:07 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL: Anakin/Obi-wan - Obi-wan loves to have things up his ass

(Anonymous) - 2017-04-21 12:38 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL: Anakin/Obi-wan - Obi-wan loves to have things up his ass

(Anonymous) - 2017-04-23 18:20 (UTC) - Expand

After killing Obi Wan in Mustafar, Anakin takes Padme (who's still unconscious) to Tatooine where he sells her off to Jaba the Hut. Immediately, Padme is forced to bacome a dancing girl/courtesan after waking up.

+2000 points- Padme has to serve Jabba and his ilk for her keep.
+3000 points-Luke and Leia will be raised by Jabba's cronies half of the time

A/N: Sorry, OP, but I couldn't kill Obi-Wan off and this turned into a rescue fic rather than the angst and smut fest I had originally started to write. I will attempt it again later.

-----------

It takes him nine years, and the time has changed them so much yet.

And yet it brings them full circle.

Padme is still small and delicate, still beautiful, and as Jabba's favourite slave-girl, she isn't allowed to starve or thirst. She isn't sent to work in the unforgiving suns or beaten to within an inch of her life.

This is not a blessing.

She sleeps in the ominous shelter of Jabba's bulk, with a heavy iron collar locked around her throat.

She moves when Jabba orders, dances when Jabba orders, and this is what Anakin has done - sold a woman like Padme Amidala into slavery. Sold *his wife* into slavery.

Obi-Wan does not come to Tatooine to free slaves. The bounty hunter he is tracking has ties to the Clone Army - he refuses to think of Cody and Kix - but like his Master before him, he knows with every fibre of his being that what he finds here has more worth than a single person, or a single planet, or a single system.

Padme is more important than the whole galaxy.

If only because of the two small bodies who run to her when they are allowed. They hide behind their powerless mother as Jabba laughs down at them.

His fingers itch towards his lightsaber and for a moment he is once again a boy on a ship to Bandomeer, wondering if it wouldn't be easier to just kill those who intimidate and hurt, who perpetrate evil in their greed for power.

But then he looks at Padme, who dances for Jabba as more sympathetic members of his court hustle her children away while their Great Lord is distracted.

Somewhere in her movements he sees the echoes of an old folk dance from Naboo. Last seen in the dark days after the liberation of her planet, while he mourned the death of his Master and tried not to feel resentful of the small, lost child who was needy and unaware, unschooled and loud and had no apparent value for the quiet Obi-Wan had desperately craved to deal with his unsettled emotions.

He wonders if the damage started then, in the distance Anakin sensed in him and misunderstood.

Palpatine had been on Tatooine then.

But so had Padme.

This woman who was once a Queen now dances for a petty criminal. When Jabba grows bored, she presses herself against his slimy bulk and bows to his whims.

His eyes narrow when the bounty hunter he has come here to capture for the Resistance bows before Jabba. And his lips tighten as he listens to Jabba's guttural filth.

Padme, whose only crime was that she loved Anakin Skywalker, hesitates but she does as ordered- she drops to her knees and her pretty hands reach for the bounty hunter's trousers.

Obi-Wan watches because Jedi never turn away from evil. And he is the only Jedi left.

Besides, the Order turned their faces away from enough evil in their blindness and complacency, and this is the result.

He watches while the court laughs, while Jabba teases at the chain that restrains a former Senator like a domesticated pet, and he watches while Padme’s head moves rhythmically, no doubt enacting yet another desecration of something that had once been an expression of joy and love.

Later, he finds the children in the nearby town of Mos Eisley, and it is almost too easy to befriend them.

Luke is like his father - loud and unaware and needy. Leia is more circumspect. In some ways he thinks she has the greater aptitude. But he is not surprised that their midichlorian counts advise him otherwise.

Nothing about Anakin Skywalker has ever been as expected.

But, he thinks, it may be time to turn the tide.

The bounty hunter is easy to subdue, his uniform fits well enough, and Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi invades Jabba's Palace and contrives to snatch Jabba's favourite dancing girl as she sways close to where he sits.

Padme Amidala tumbles into his lap in an undignified heap, wearing tawdry scraps of cloth that leave little to the imagination, but she hits out with the fierce independence that he remembers and her fist connects solidly with his jaw.

"And I thought you'd be happy to see me," he says.

Her eyes widen, and then narrow.

"I thought you were dead," she says, "Anakin told me..."

He removes his mask and watches her eyes search the ravages of his face - the scarred, burned wreckage that Anakin left so callously alive on Mustafar.

Always so arrogant, his former Padawan. His friend-brother-son.

His failure.

"I hope you have a plan," she says.

He smiles, and though he has seen how grotesque it now looks in the mirror, Padme smiles back before she kisses him for show, and then whirls away to follow the tug on her collar.

Her hope fuels a fire in her movements that makes her seem like the young Queen she once was. And Obi-Wan remembers the girl of 13, who retook her own palace at the heart of the last free contingent of her guards, armed with nothing but a blaster and her own wits.

Like his master before him, he sees through the humble appearance of this small, delicate, gently bred woman to the steel in her nature.

She will not be caged much longer.

Re: Slave Padme-Dancing for Jabba

(Anonymous) - 2017-04-21 12:00 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Slave Padme-Dancing for Jabba

(Anonymous) - 2017-04-23 22:32 (UTC) - Expand

Re: Slave Padme-Dancing for Jabba

(Anonymous) - 2017-04-23 22:58 (UTC) - Expand

When Padme starts lactating, Anakin discovers that he seriously enjoys suckling on her nipples and drinking the milk like a child.

It doesn't worry her that Anakin stares as she feeds their children.

Anakin stares at a lot of things.

Her husband - and she still feels a deep wash of relief at the word - is still learning what the Galaxy looks like through the eyes of a free man.

The term is apt: even as a Jedi he was never free. Always caught in the web of someone else's schemes and expectations, someone else's wants. But now the world is changing. The tide has turned.

Anakin Skywalker may be the Chosen One but he has Chosen to be her husband, to be a father to their children. He has Chosen to walk away from War just as she has chosen to walk away from politics.

Let the Galaxy learn to fight its own battles. Let it learn to guard its own future.

They have more important commitments.

She likes to watch the twins when they are safe and fed and sleeping, the way their tiny fingers curl and their chubby legs crook. The way their tiny mouths purse, as though even in their sleep, they still suckle determinedly at their mother's breasts.

She worries sometimes that she loves her family too much. That she will forget the outside world even exists, so happy is she in this small apartment on Naboo, with Anakin watching her watch their children.

She is almost startled as his arms loop around her waist, his mouth warm against ear.

He whispers endearments and promises of protection and, truly, she stops listening because the words aren't important. The sound of his voice is.

Like their babies, she thinks muzzily, who fuss and whimper in their infancy but say so much with their hands and wriggly bodies and cries in the night.

Perhaps it is lack of sleep that leads them to this point. Perhaps it is the reality that no matter how tightly she draws the curtains - no matter how far she takes him from the Temple on Coruscant - Anakin's connection to the Force still haunts him. Still follows him. Across the Galaxy, into this apartment, and into his dreams.

On bad nights he wakes in a sweat, schooled so harshly that he cannot even find comfort in a scream of fear. Schooled to face the demons because someone with more steel in their heart than kindness thought his need for comfort was worthless against the pipe dream of peace.

But she understands now what that someone failed to realise - that peace is nothing. There will never be peace. And certainly not until every being is allowed the dignity of fear, of vulnerability. A man who is allowed no peace for himself can't give it to anyone else.

So she gives Anakin what peace she can.

She comforts him in the night, like she does for their children.

She hushes his stifled, stunted attempts to communicate and listens to his voice, ignores his words. She takes him in her arms and rocks him.

Lays his head against the soft pillow of her breasts so he can hear her heartbeat, feel her warmth, and it is natural, then, for his hand to loosen the tie that holds her night robe closed. He exposes her breast, and when his soft mouth closes over her nipple, she is the one who sighs in relief.

Arches just slightly and then settles his weight in her arms as she leans back.

He drinks from her in earnest, and she feeds him without hesitation.

Like everything else, her body adapts to his, and whatever he needs, she is determined to provide.

When he is done, she wipes her breasts and his mouth, and rocks him back to sleep with his head on her shoulder, secure in her embrace.

Re: FILL: Anakin/Padme - Suckling Fetish

(Anonymous) - 2017-04-24 00:43 (UTC) - Expand

Anything with Omega!Qui-Gon and Alpha!Obi-Wan. Whether it's platonic, romantic or absolute smutfest.

I don't think I've ever seen a fic like this, so.
Very much seconded.

Re: Qui-Gon/ Obi-Wan - omega!Qui-Gon and alpha!Obi-Wan

(Anonymous) - 2017-12-27 19:13 (UTC) - Expand

Literally, anything. I've been sailing this damn rowboat of a ship alone for years and I just really want something. Phantom Menace timeline, Qui-Gon lives AU, any AU. Just ... just anything :P

A/N: I was halfway through a fill more in keeping with a happier, smuttier feel when I realised that the fact that Padme is technically 13 (!!) in TPM has potential for some seriously screwed up dark fic. This is sadly not as effective as I would like but will hopefully be a stop-gap until someone does this justice. 😊

--------------------------------------------------

He is not her first, nor will he be her last.

This mission is vital to the safety of her people, to the safety of her *world*, and therefore it is imperative that they succeed.

She is only thirteen years old but she has been elected for a reason. She has been elected because she will do what she must.

What the Man before her could not do, because he was clumsy and transparent and weak.

Men are often weak.

She considers what she has to work with – her handmaidens who will keep her secrets, her loyal Captain of the Guard, a handful of untested pilots, and two Jedi.

They are not exactly an army.

And the men, as always, look to each other while they bow and scrape to the Girl-Queen of Naboo.

Concealed in her anonymity, in her ironic freedom from the trappings of State Ritual, she watches as Panaka whispers to Master Jinn and his apprentice. Watches as they come to some decision between the three of them. Watches as Jinn takes easy assumption of command, the dip of his chin sending his Padawan scurrying to do his bidding while Panaka bows in acquiescence.

Between one breath and the next she dismisses her Captain.

Panaka will be no use to her here. He is a soldier, not an adventurer, and not a man of wit. His loyalty will see him live and die for his Queen but that will hardly get her off this cursed desert and into the Senate.

The two Jedi are key. That much is clear. And of the two, she considers the younger one would be easy to break.

She watches him and he is young and handsome. Laughter comes easily to his eyes, a smile to his mouth. He will not need more than answering humour, a little attention and a touch of charm.

And it won’t be a hardship, she thinks to herself. It might even be pleasant. She imagines them tumbling in a bunk, his body young and strong and learning for the first time what sensual pleasure can be.

Yet something in him is… lacking.

He is too diffident, still growing into his power and his certainty.

He is still too young, she realises, and her regard for him dies a practical death as she turns her eyes to his Master.

Qui-Gon Jinn is…

She is not used to being intimidated. And to a large extent she isn’t. He may be a Jedi Master but he is only a Man. And Men, in her experience, have always been arrogant and self-centred, blind to how vulnerable they truly are.

“You have a gift for exploiting a man’s weakness, my child,” Palpatine told her, even as his soft politician’s hand stroked reverently over the skin of her bare shoulder.

Had dropped to briefly, sweetly, circle her navel.

Her Senator was a revelation, an education.

“We are never more ourselves than when we are here,” he said, “Rutting like animals in heat.”

And his fingers burrowed into the very core of her, coaxing and teasing until the odd heat in her began to congeal into an ache, and the ache turned into a pressure, and even as she whimpered, he kissed her forcefully and showed her how that pressure could explode into pure bliss.

It took many lessons, however.

She is hazy on how many days he spent bedding her in the nights and teasing her with sly touches in the day.

She has taken his lessons to heart.

And they have proved useful.

It is simple enough to accompany the Jedi on his quest to the space port.
He sighs like a put-upon parent dealing with a fractious child, and to some extent, she supposes he is.

But he also tells her to stay close to him, and she chooses to take him at his word.

She walks close, hips subtly rolling in the loose, voluminous skirts of her dress, and when she feels his gaze on her, she lifts a hand to slowly, carefully tuck the weight of her dark hair behind her ear, lifting her chin to show him the pale column of her slender neck and how her curls tumble down her back.

His gaze slides off her as though she is another sand dune.

Anakin, on the other hand, asks her if she is an angel, and she doesn’t even try for him.

Granted, he is only nine, and as a slave his views of the world are no doubt limited, but he is kind and sweet, and for the first time in a long time she feels a touch of her innocence recaptured as he shows her his protocol droid.

She relaxes for one brief moment into the stillness of being asked for nothing but her attention.

No need to be intelligent, no need to be wise, no need to be strong or sensual or hard-souled.

But there is no time on this mission for such moments, and when she returns, she finds Qui-Gon’s eyes are soft as they rest on Shmi’s face, the corners of his mouth turned up in the hint of a smile.

Jealousy hits her like a fist and she feels the colour rise in her cheeks.

She is ashamed of herself, of her lack of focus and apparent lack of allure. Ashamed that her tricks and beauty have netted her nothing but a nine year old’s admiration and a wasted day while a slave has succeeded where she has failed. And how? By simply being a mother. By being soft and vulnerable.

By having years that Padme does not have.

She imagines herself older and more worn, pregnant and tired, as her noblewomen always seemed to be when they were with child.

Her mouth twists as she wonders if men find that attractive. If it is the fecundity of womanhood that can attract a Jedi no longer in the first flush of his own youth.

She swallows back her anger, however, and sits down at the table that Shmi sets with such hospitality. And she realises that perhaps there is more to the situation than simple physicality.

Shmi Skywalker is a slave but she holds herself with quiet dignity. She is fiercely protective of her son but does not stifle him.

Padme absorbs this new lesson like a sponge. Like every other lesson in her young life.

And she dwells on it as she lies in the bed they give her, contemplating her next move.

In the end, she acts sooner than she expects to, because when she rises from sleeplessness in search of a glass of water, she finds Qui-Gon Jinn still awake in the darkness, his figure and form unmistakable as he kneels on the coarse kitchen floor.
He is meditating.

She stumbles over her apology for disturbing him, caught off guard by his presence, but he simply brushes it aside and rises to his feet.

He moves like a man half his age, with none of the creaking and cracking of bones that she has learned to ignore from the men in her Council.
And in the dark, he towers over her.

She remembers all too vividly walking in the desert beside him, her head barely to his chest, the smell of heat and sweat.

Humans, she is well aware, are nothing more than animals. They eat and live and die like animals. They rut like animals.

And she wonders if this man, who can catch a gungan’s flicked tongue on reflex, will break his formidable self-control to indulge his animal nature. Those fingers, that could so cruelly tug at Jar Jar’s tongue in stark warning – how would they touch her?

She imagines them on her nipples, on her clitoris, and she feels her knees go weak. Feels a soft whisper of desire between her legs.

In the dark, all she can see is the breadth of his shoulders and the tapered lines to his hips, the pale cream of his tunic a lightness in the shadow.

“My lady?” he asks.

And his voice is a soft burr, consonants and vowels swallowed in the rumble of concern.

“I’m fine,” she says, “I’m fine.”

And she passes him to reach the jar where Shmi stores her drinking water.

But she brushes against him – the barest sweep of her skirt against his thigh – and she knows if she were in the palace, she would smell of flowers and sweetness. Of youth. She would smell of coolness and fresh water, and her skin would glow with health and luxury.

Men have set their teeth against her skin, so consumed with the lust she has encouraged in them that they ached to mark it, mark her.

Is that what Qui-Gon Jinn will do, she wonders. Will he try to mark her?

She can feel the dampness begin between her legs.

And she knows with a rush that it must be this night. It must be here, in the darkness, in Shmi Skywalker’s home.

She sips the brackish, lukewarm water and bites her lips to swell them.

“You should sleep,” he murmurs, and gives her the opening she is looking for.

She turns to find him where she has left him, so close and yet much too far. A whole arm’s length away when lesser men have followed her across a room. Across courtyards and palaces and meadows.

She is thirteen years old but she knows how this works.

She has been well trained.

“You made me believe you knew what you wanted,” Palpatine has told her, “You seemed so much older than your age.”

“Master Jedi,” she asks softly, “Is it true?”

He does not answer.

“Are Jedi forbidden from desire?”

She knows he will be on alert now.

“Are you so cold?” she whispers, “So lacking?”

“We all choose our paths,” he says neutrally, “Good night, my lady.”

“You should embrace the dark,” she says.

And sees him stop cold to turn sharply back towards her.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

She goes to him, and does not touch him though she stands before him, head barely at his chest. “It is dark,” she points out, “And the dark is made for what you cannot do in the light.”

“If you cannot do it in the light, it may be a sign you should not do it at all.”

She frowns. He sounds prosaic and stuffy, lecturing her like one of her Council members.

And perhaps, she muses, it is not wise to bandy words with a Jedi. With a man who makes his living twisting words, parsing them and splitting them and manipulating them to suit his own ends.

So she reaches out and boldly places her hand on his groin. Cups him full between the legs and follows her hand with her body pressed against his solid bulk.

His response is expected – he steps back and pushes her away.

“Be careful,” she whispers, “You’ll wake the others.”

And she uses his hold on her arms to kiss his wrist, deft tongue slipping out to lave at the hollow at the base of his palm.

He hisses and she calculates that he will let go of her. He will step back further, cornering himself between her approach and the sleepers in the next room, and she will play on his fears of discovery, his confusion, until eventually she expects he will find it easier to give her what she wants.

But she does not calculate that he will spin her around and push her towards the door.

“Out,” he says, and his voice is now sharp as a knife. Even quiet as it is, it cuts through the dark like a precision weapon.

He takes her from the kitchen, from the house, to the small porch shared in the slaves’ quarters, and before she can turn to press herself to him, to make the most of the cramped space and the starry sky, he picks her up bodily and leaps off the parapet.

Her heart soars and her stomach flutters at the burst of adrenaline.

But there is more light here in the open, and when he puts her down in a private space she notices that she has also miscalculated his emotional reaction.

He is not confused; he is furious.

This is better than she has ever expected.

He has brought them here, where they cannot be disturbed, and where he can see the charms she offers him. And he is already shaken. She has already won. Because now she knows his serenity is only a mask.

And anger is only a step away from passion.

She begins to disrobe with a soft laugh, mocking and challenging in equal parts, her eyes bright with her own victory.

Men are no more themselves than when they are here, caught on the precipice of their own urges.

And he is no more than a man.

He is attempting to save her from herself without once realising that she is not the one who needs to be saved. She is lost, and broken, and she revels in it because it gives her more power than she ever had in her innocence.

He, on the other hand, is in danger.

And she shows him how deadly she can be when she pulls his hand to her mouth, suckling his fingertip for only a moment before he pulls it away. And then she reaches for his other hand, and then for his hair, and then to caress his mouth.

And he evades her with a grace and dexterity truly surprising in someone of his bulk, but he doesn’t leave. And she knows that as long as she stays, he will not leave.

Because she is young and beautiful and so delicate, so much in need of his protection.

She whispers endearments and encouragement to him, and follows him step for step, chipping doggedly away and goading his anger. Instigating it.

Until he grabs her by the shoulders and shakes.

And then she moans, high and obscene and lets her knees grow weak.

“Touch me,” is the last barb she throws.

He breaks spectacularly.

But not as she wants.

“That I’ll never do,” he retorts.

And something in the disgust on his face turns her victory to ashes.

She feels the blood drain from her face.

He must see it too, because he lets her go and folds his arms, hard and implacable, immovable in the darkness.

“Who has brought you to this?” he asks fiercely.

And she can only stare wordlessly up at him, her eyes huge as his rejection riddles like acid through her.

“Child,” he says, “You knew this was wrong. You know this.”

The sand sticks to her cooling, sweat-damp skin.

He sighs, once again like a put-upon parent, but this time she flinches.

“Dress,” he says curtly, “And we will say no more about it.”

As they trudge back to the slaves’ quarters she thinks numbly that he has indeed revealed himself. And he has proved only that he cannot be trusted.

Because he cannot be controlled. He cannot make himself human, or ordinary, and will not give or take.

And Men like that, she thinks, cannot be relied upon.

Re: FILL: Qui-Gon/Padme - Anything (Trigger Warning: Underage Sex Referenced/ Past Sexual Abuse)

(Anonymous) - 2017-04-21 11:59 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL: Qui-Gon/Padme - Anything (Trigger Warning: Underage Sex Referenced/ Past Sexual Abuse)

(Anonymous) - 2017-04-23 23:03 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL: Qui-Gon/Padme - Anything (Trigger Warning: Underage Sex Referenced/ Past Sexual Abuse)

(Anonymous) - 2017-04-24 12:43 (UTC) - Expand

Re: FILL: Qui-Gon/Padme - Anything (Trigger Warning: Underage Sex Referenced/ Past Sexual Abuse)

(Anonymous) - 2017-05-04 00:43 (UTC) - Expand

Taking Dogma under his command is the only way for Obi-Wan to save him from the consequences of killing Krell. But the poor clone now fears the Jedi and the Negotiatior tries his best to give him the maximum of power.
At first, it's not sexual, then it shifts, until they understand how it helps them; Dogma against his fears, Obi-Wan against his burden, and the Jedi spent all the time they have together, Obi-Wan sitting on the floor, leaning against his lover when they are working, or on his knees, on his back...

Plo Koon is in love with Wolffe, and Wolffe is in love with Plo Koon, but they can't go to bed together, that would kill Wolffe because most secretions of Kel Dor are toxic for human.
But that's ok, because Obi-Wan is not interested in a relationship, but ready to have sex: Plo Koon watch them, giving Obi-Wan's orders, and his Jedi friend obeys them, touch Wolffe like Plo would do, and let him feel it in the Force.
And Wolffe? Well, he can't have the thing he really wants, but it's almost good enough.

Jedi are supposed to control their urges but Anakin sometimes needs a little extra help. So Obi-Wan locks him in chastity before he lets him head off with Padme.

Why am I laughing so hard. Nice prompt, anon!

... and is wracked with guilt and anger because he wants to participate. Very, very badly.

There is definitely a fill for this on AO3. I ran across it the other day and it fits exactly. Check the tags

I always hated Obi Wan, Yoda and Bail for kidnapping Luke and Leia and refused to have them raised together, so I want a torture fic where Vader finds out that his children are alive and hidden with the Lars and Organas and he tortures them all for information and has his stormtroopers rape the. The more gruesome the torture is, the better.

How Vader finds out, it will depend on the writer.

Instead of just slaughtering the Jedi and Younglings, what if Anakin and the clones played with their food before eating them ala, Bellatrix Lestrange?

Harem pants, make up, vajazzle, penazzle, tattoos, piercings - anything and everything. As sexy and fun as you like.

I regret that I don't know how to write, that's a prompt that calls for it

Long days on Tatooine waiting for Qui-Gon and Padme...Obi-Wan wouldn't touch Sabé, he still thinks it's the Queen, but Qui-Gon had been gone for fifty minutes when his Padawan let the other women push him into a bunk and he almost doesn't leave said bunk for days.

I just want Anakin happily playing with anal beads+Obi-wan's ass.
Any context, any variation of the sex toy... just give me Obi-wan with his ass up in the air, whining beautifully while Anaking put bead after bead inside him

Obi-Wan has to go undercover in a school while on a mission and is required to wear a school uniform. Qui-Gon finds himself unable to look at Obi-Wan in that uniform without getting hard!

(I would prefer they not have an established relationship, but I'm really not fussy :D)

Jedi are trained to guard their thoughts but it is a lesson every knight - and Initiate and Padawan and even the occasional Councilmember - learns, that it is always a work in progress.

Emotions stem from thoughts and associations, thoughts and associations stem from prior experiences and learned context, and none of that helps him when it comes to his very own personal catalyst for trouble.

Qui-Gon pointedly does not look at Obi-Wan.

It's getting to the stage where his reactions are embarrassing to other people, not just himself.

He's reasonably sure that the Minister delivering the farewell address to them was well aware of his highly inappropriate reaction.

So, so highly inappropriate.

On so many levels.

He has taken to listing them like a mesitation chant, hoping pathetically to find some peace in the words.

One, Obi-Wan is his apprentrice. He has a duty of care to the boy and that includes protecting him from the hurts that he hasn't yet learned to protect himself from. Including his lecherous old Master.

Two, Qui-Gon *is* old. This might be a relative term when the Grand Master of the Order is a handful of decades short of 900, but he is almost 50, and that is a terrible age for a pairing with a 19 year old boy.

Three, Obi-Wan *is* only 19, and looks younger. He is barely old enough to shave. He still happily eats two desserts at the Temple when he thinks no one is watching. Legally, he's barely old enough to be a consenting adult on most worlds in the Galaxy. He's decidedly underage for some *human* worlds.

Four, and this is where Qui-Gon usually finds his libido falling limp, he has trained Obi-Wan from the age of thirteen to trust him, to obey him, to follow his every command. As a child learning his own mind, Obi-Wan has been influenced by Qui-Gon on everything from his sense of humour to how he chooses to spend his leisure time. Obi-Wan's whole world has been built around his Master and there is no guarantee that any affection Obi-Wan reciprocates will not be tainted. Trained into him.

Five, and by this point Qui-Gon is usually ready to sink into melancholy, he does *want* Obi-Wan’s affection. This isn't just about desire.

Though, he reflects, desire is the more... pressing concern, at times.

He does not look at where Obi-Wan is seated across from him on a passenger ship, uniform showing off the lines of his body, already broad from years of field wxperience and intense training.

He patently does not notice how the curve of Obi-Wan’s cheek is still slightly rounded, or how his long lashes sweep dark against his pale skin. He does not notice the childish way Obi-Wan fidgets in his seat, or the fine, downy hairs on his cheeks and upper lip that are barely noticeable until the catch the light at just the right angle to glint gold.

He most certainly of all does not notice how Obi-Wan ends up more odten than not with his legs strangely sprawled so that the rather fight of his trousers pulls just that little bit too tight in the...

Qui-Gon gets up serenely and goes for a walk.

When he has repeated his five mantras to himself, cooled his brow against the metal wall, and composed himself, he goes back to his seat.

"Are you alright, Master?" Obi-Wan asks in concern.

"Why are you still wearing that school uniform?" Qui-Gon asks instead. He sounds more jusgemental than he means to.

Obi-Wan looks abashed. "I haven't had time to change and..." he fidgets.

"Yes?" Qui-Gon prompts. Thoigh, to his relief, he now sounds merely curious rather than frustrated.

Which he is. Very, very frustrated.

The blue-grey is a particularly fetching colour on his Padawan, and it doesn't help that the seats are some sort of deep crimson that clashes horribly with the boy's hair while still bringing out the unusual shade of his eyes...

"I'm sorry?" Qui-Gon interrupts.

Obi-Wan grins. "No, really! I had to use something to make up the length of the rope ladder so I had to sacrifice my tunics. And then I didn't think you'd want to take a half-naked Padawan back to the Temple."

Qui-Gon supposes that he says aomething suitably sarcastic because Obi-Wan laughs, blue-green-grey eyes alight with humour and the hint of curve in his cheeks accentuated by his wide, easy smile. But for the life of him, he has no idea what he says.

Then Obi-Wan carelessly drops a hand down to rest loose and lax in his lap, legs still akimbo and so artlessly, openly on display!

Qui-Gon takes another walk. And this time he finds a refresher. And he patently does not masturbate.

Though he is so hard it hurts and he thinks wildly that he will have to take this before the Council. He will have to ask for Obi-Wan to be reassigned. Because not only is he failing miserably to guard his thoughts but he is on the point of embarrassing everyone around him with the true extent of his depravity.

And that's the only word he can call it when he sees fantasies cycle behind his tightly closed eyelids of his innocent Padawam in a school uniform, attentive and serious and utterly unknowing of what the fit of the short tunic does to the lines of his shoulders. The belt to his lean, narrow waist. The fitted trousers to his ass and his strong, swordsman's thighs. Thighs that can be spread to expose all those secret places that only lovers know.

Which is forbidden because they are Jedi and Jedi must not love, must not lust. May not feel lips curve into a wide, easy grin and want to kiss them. May not see the fragile sweep of a stray eyelash on the curve of a cheek and want to gently, delicately brush it off.

In so many waya, on so many levels - this is wrong!

He slams his fist against the refeesher panel and is startled when it rattles.

It takes him a bit of time to find the hidden mechanism but the panel slides back to expose a cubby hole, filled with test tubes full of fluid.

It inevitably degenerates into a pitched battle on the passenger liner, after he and Obi-Wan have spent the better half of the trip trying to figure out exactly what is being smuggled and who the smugglers are.

And it turns out that nothing is being smuggled, but something is being stored - the bodily fluids of a particularly rare breed of creature protrcted on its own world because it was exported all over the Galaxy by the Zyggerians who hunted it for sport, before promptly collapsing under the weight of their own slave empire to leave the creatures to destroy countless natural habitats that had no predators until these were introduced.

He fights side by side with Obi-Wan, and if he spares a glance to admire the flex of Obi-Wan’s glutes every now and again, well, at least he hasn't yet fallen so far that he has endangered either of them with his inapproproate desire.

Obi-Wan fights and strategises and moves with the same easy, lithe grace he uses in front of everyone.

And, Qui-Gon allows himself to think, he does not move as a child. He moves with the maturity of someone whose mind and body are a forged whole, who has grown into himself with confidence.

"Your uniform is torn," Qui-Gon observes.

Obi-Wan looks at the ripped sleeve and ugly burn from a blaster shot grazing the skin.

"To tell you the truth, Master," Obi-Wan says, "I'll be glad when I can get out of these clothes. They're much too tight. No wonder half thr hoys in the school were at each other."

Qui-Gon’s thoughts come to a screeching halt.

Obi-Wan doesn't seem to notice. "They reminded me of Bruck Chun, in a way," he says quietly.

And Qui-Gon’s mind supplies the more practical context that Obi-Wan, in his innocence, has not thought to provide. Images of boys tumbling in bushes turns to a far grimmer realisation of the fights and petty snubs that frustrated, uncomfortable, unfocused boys can use to vent their anger.

He relaxes.

And then softens.

His Padawan has never quite forgotten the horror of Bruck Chun's death, the violent hatred he faced and then the Senate hearing. So much fear for a child to endure, even one as foolishly courageous and optimistic as his Padawan.

But Qui-Gon says and does nothing in response, because the childhood trauma is now an adult's misery, and Obi-Wan must learn to find his peace with it.

Obi-Wan must learn to guard his thoughts. As Qui-Gon is still learning to guard his own.

And at least Qui-Gon has this - that he will not personally let himself become another regret in Obi-Wan’s life.

No matter how fetching that uniform looks.

He makes a mental note to burn the Sith-damned thing the minute Obi-Wan takes it off.

And he doesn't think at all through the rest of the journey of how Obi-Wan might look as he accomplishes that.

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Page 61 of 68

Obi-Wan/Cody/Rex, spitroasting

FILL: Obi-Wan/Cody/Rex, spitroasting

Obi-Wan/ Qui-Gon - accidental sex dream projection

Qui-Gon/ Obi-Wan - the mindwipe takes the memory of their soulbond

Kallus/Thrawn accidentally kidnapped the admiral's fiancé

Re: Kallus/Thrawn accidentally kidnapped the admiral's fiancé

Obi-Wan/Rex,Mos espa

Re: Obi-Wan/Rex,Mos espa

Dark!Obi-Wan - The Third Sith (long prompt is long)

Leia/Ahsoka, femslash

Re: Leia/Ahsoka, femslash

Who is Old Ben and where is Obi-Wan Kenobi ?

Re: Who is Old Ben and where is Obi-Wan Kenobi ?

Padme lives, and doesn't go into hiding - secret agent! Padme

"No Luke, Obi-Wan killed your father"

Anakin/Obi-wan - Obi-wan loves to have things up his ass

Re: Anakin/Obi-wan - Obi-wan loves to have things up his ass

Slave Padme-Dancing for Jabba

Re: Slave Padme-Dancing for Jabba

Anakin/Padme - Suckling Fetish

FILL: Anakin/Padme - Suckling Fetish

Qui-Gon/ Obi-Wan - omega!Qui-Gon and alpha!Obi-Wan

Re: Qui-Gon/ Obi-Wan - omega!Qui-Gon and alpha!Obi-Wan

Qui-Gon/Padme - Anything

FILL: Qui-Gon/Padme - Anything (Trigger Warning: Underage Sex Referenced/ Past Sexual Abuse)

Dogma/Obi-Wan, after Umbara, sub!Obi-Wan

Wolffe/Plo Koon, Wolffe/Obi-Wan, Kel Dor sweat and semen are toxi for human

Anakin/ Obi-Wan - chastity device in AotC

Re: Anakin/ Obi-Wan - chastity device in AotC

Luke/ Leia/ Han - teen!Ben watches

Re: Luke/ Leia/ Han - teen!Ben watches

Darth Vader, Stormtroopers/Yoda, Stormtroopers/Bail/Breha/Owen/Beru-Interrogation, torture & gang ra

Anakin-Operation Knightfall, Torture AU

Anyone - body decorating - jewellery, paint, lingerie, anything

Re: Anyone - body decorating - jewellery, paint, lingerie, anything

Obi-Wan/handmaiden

Anakin/Obi-wan - Anal Beads

QuiObi - School Uniform

Re: FILL : QuiObi - School Uniform