1 - 20 of 163 Works by Samtree
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“I have been in love with you since the first time we met—no, that can’t be right.” Bucky stops himself, letting out a curse.
That’s a total lie. The first time they met, he was brainwashed and hellbent on killing Sam. So was the second, and the third, and the fourth. He absolutely cannot start a love confession this way.
He wraps a hand around Sam’s, careful of the IV drips and the wires. The hospital room is too quiet when he’s not filling it with his voice, only the steady beeping of the machines counting each second of Sam not waking up.
Or,
Bucky has time to rehearse an important speech.
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Anakin’s mechanical hand is still holding the protocol droid’s circuit, but the flesh one is reaching out, palm up in silent invitation.
Obi-Wan frowns, seeing that Anakin is not even lifting his eyes, being engrossed with his repair work, and yet still seeking affection so casually.
By principle, it’s affection Obi-Wan should deny.
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The cat stares at Obi-Wan, blinking slowly with curious eyes.
“Well. Hello, there.”
Obi-Wan greets the creature at his door, staring back. The cat has sleek, black fur all over, except for the white streak on the side of his face. He is much smaller than a Loth-cat, with much shorter fur too. Possibly a less common sub-species of the tooka. He has blue eyes instead of yellow like most black cats, and oh—he’s missing a front leg.
A pang of sympathy swells in Obi-Wan’s chest. The poor thing. Where has he come from? Who is his owner? Did he wander all the way from the lower levels of Coruscant and into the Temple? Did he get injured because he’s a stray?
The cat sits on his tail, looking straight up as Obi-Wan crouches down before him.
“Hello, dear,” he greets the small creature again, this time in a much gentler tone. “Now, how have you wandered to my door?”
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Anakin sinks his knees into rust red dirt of the planet, his flesh hand grabbing a handful of it.
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“You need to sleep.”
Smoke drifts from the soldering iron in Anakin’s mechanical hand when he pauses.
“No, I don’t. It’s fine.” He only meets Obi-Wan’s eyes for a moment, a tight smile at his lips, aiming at reassurance. It would work better if his eyes weren’t red-rimmed with exhaustion. “And I can go much longer without sleep. I’ve done it before.”
“That’s more the reason to not suffer again.” Obi-Wan sighs, knowing he’s properly nagging now. “Anakin…”
“And the nagging is unbecoming, Obi-Wan. You promised you’d stop.”
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“Oh,” Obi-Wan pauses, eyes falling on him with reverence. “Oh, darling. Has anyone ever had you like this?”
There is no use hiding the truth. Anakin’s mind is wide open for Obi-Wan to sense the shame in his inexperience—the reason that he’s so sensitive, so responsive. The hands mapping out his body are the first hands to touch him. He has never had anyone else.
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“I told you, Anakin is missing me.”
“Did he say that?”
“It was implied!” Obi-Wan huffs. “And I have a duty for his mental well-being.”
Quinlan only throws an unimpressed look. “Yes, his.”
Or,
Anakin must be missing him, is what Obi-Wan keeps telling himself as he packs for home.
Series
- Part 3 of the war is over (and we are beginning)
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Obi-Wan Kenobi walks through the front door of the robotics lab of Coruscant University in dark navy overall with reflective stripes, hands gloved, well-combed auburn hair covered in the safety helmet. All standard-issue for members of the city’s firefighters.
“Officer Kenobi.” Anakin nods to him, as properly and politely as he can with his prosthetic arm trapped between the stair rails. It’s an awkward position he has found himself in, having to twist his body to sit on the steps while waiting for his rescuer to arrive. “As you can see, I fell.”
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Obi-Wan peppers kisses all over Anakin’s jaw, breaking up every word. “I wonder how many times you can come, just like this.”
Anakin gasps at the challenge, and his hitched breath turns into a whimper.
“Am I just a game you are playing, master?” he lets out a shuddering laugh, only to be quieted by another kiss.
“No, dear one,” Obi-Wan answers assuredly. “You are a game I’m winning.”
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“Find me, he said. As if it’s that easy!” The Doctor huffs. “Do you know how mathematically impossible it is to find one stupid, self-sacrificing bounty hunter in all of time and space?”
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“Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Anakin feels the razor trail down his pulse point, trimming away the day-old stubble.
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Obi-Wan aches to kiss, to soothe until Anakin can sleep them away, finally finding some rest after the month’s ordeal. But there’s more work to be done—the torturers did not pay much attention to feeding their captive. Anakin’ cheeks have sunken, the nightshirt hanging off his thinned shoulders. The constant lack of food has weakened his stomach to the point that he can barely keep anything down. For fear of throwing up yet another meal, what he needs right now is something simple, comforting, but also provides plenty of nourishment.
So, Obi-Wan is making his special pancakes.
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Obi-Wan still remembers the taste of fear, of holding Anakin’s limp body while his Force goes silent. This dream always feels real.
“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan says, not sure which one of them he is trying to reassure. “We are alright.”
Anakin doesn’t look convinced. “You were screaming in the Force, do you know that?”
Series
- Part 2 of the war is over (and we are beginning)
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Obi-Wan knows he’s fussing, his hands panicking and unsure of what to do. He ends up stroking Anakin’s back as he regains control of his breathing. The respirator beeps again, a warning for hyperventilation.
“I’m really fine,” Anakin insists, the idiot that he is. His voice is raspy and laced with pain.
Obi-Wan has decided that Anakin will be his third favorite Skywalker today.
Series
- Part 1 of the war is over (and we are beginning)
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“Before you go,” Anakin grins, blocking the doorway, all smugness and boyish charm. His durasteel hand rests on top of Artoo. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
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The respirator beeps in warning when Anakin unbuckles it.
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“It’s a wedding ring.”
Anakin turns Obi-Wan’s palm, observing the band intently. His head doesn’t feel like his own, but his memory is still intact. A silver band on the fourth finger, that is Stewjoni tradition to indicate that—"
“You are…married?”
Anakin meant it as an accusation. When did Obi-Wan get married? How? Where? Why does he not know about it? But all that came out of his lips is a sad whisper, voice trembling with hurt.
Or,
Anakin is on painkillers and forgets something very important.
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my lungs still breathe, my mind still fears by Samtree
Fandoms: Star Wars - All Media Types
17 Jan 2024
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“You are nervous.”
Obi-Wan nearly misses the quiet statement, being too deep in thoughts. They are almost melded into one under the covers, legs tangling and breathing in tandem. He lifts his head from Anakin’s shoulder, meeting his eyes.
“Hmm?”
“You are doing it again,” Anakin sighs. He catches Obi-Wan’s hand on his bare chest gently. “You touch my scars when you are nervous.”
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Obi-Wan blinks at where he leans into Anakin’s chest. His back was aching, so Anakin offered to be his pillow.
He’s been trapped under Obi-Wan for six hours.
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“You know.” Anakin looks up from the snow on his lashes, breaths misting in the air. “That one can’t feel the cold.”