Star Wars x Reader Inserts

chances | obi-wan kenobi | 3/3

· a/n: after a sudden hiatus (that I'm so sincerely sorry for) due to family-related chaos, here's the final part! I worked on this every day for nearly three weeks and it still isn't really one of my best, but I'm not doing so great mentally, so I hope you all enjoy it anyway. based on a request by spooky-mel

· summary: after your ill-fated run-in with a hunting party of Tusken Raiders, Obi-Wan Kenobi, your long-time friend and secret love, has found your unconscious body in the Dune Sea.

· warnings: gore, angst, themes of ptsd

· word count: 6.1k

· music: Such Good Luck by The Chamber Orchestra of London

The rapid pulsing of Obi-Wan's heart rushed his footsteps as he padded up the slope to his home. He slumped his shoulder against the door panel, releasing the lock of the sliding door, and angled himself sideways to fit both of your bodies through the doorframe. With steadied strides across the main room and into the smaller corridor to his bedroom, he wasted no time in gathering his wits as he gently laid your limp frame down on the furbished bunk in the wall. He supported your head as he reached for a bolster to replace his hand.

You were still unresponsive no matter how much he had undoubtedly jolted your body in his arms while he had sifted through the desert in haste. He had stumbled over his own feet once, but it had had no effect on your sense of awareness. You were out cold.

As he passed into the rounded storage room of his home, he noticed the stain of your blood mingled with his light tunic. It made his stomach turn. With a clearing of his throat, he dismissed the feeling, gathering his medical supplies.

In the last few weeks, he had been able to barter for a generous portion of necessities from the markets in Anchorhead, from fresh produce – ranging from tenderized bantha meat to vibrant pika fruit – to an extensive gathering of essentials needed to sustain a home, a portion of which were medical provisions. Accumulated with his newly acquired supplies was also what remained from the medkit he had kept from his own ship – the one he had traded in for an unsuspecting landspeeder. 

 He knew he had enough resources to sterilize and seal many of your wounds; the trick was doing it efficiently. The bruising and swelling that had already begun to show would have to heal in their own time with the help of natural ointments he had traded for in the markets.

With his arms full of canisters, hypos, gauze, and other possible remedies, he rejoined your side and let the supplies clatter onto the workbench. Dust plumed from the impact beneath them – an unpleasant side effect of living on a desert planet. He shucked his robe from his shoulders and let the fabric fall in a heap by his bed. With a quick spray of sterilizing foam over his hands, Obi-Wan began peeling away the tattered remains of your robes.

He grimaced as the frayed green cloth, moistened with your blood, produced some stubbornness in detaching itself from your broken skin. The sound of the moisture separating from the cloth sounded somewhat akin to the sound of the parchment wrapping being undone from the raw meat he would purchase in bulk from town. The residue of the crimson stain on your bare skin was a mix of dry and fresh, making the mess of skin and blood that much harder to tell apart.

When what couldn't be salvaged of your robes had been piled onto the dirt floor, dampened with blackened gore, Obi-Wan turned to face your bare skin. He had managed to work his way around your under tunic, leaving your chest covered. Only slashed portions of your trousers had been ruined since most of the injuries had been inflicted on your torso, which meant he had only had to tear some of the fabric there to expose the wounds for treatment. He did his best to preserve your modesty in your unconsciousness, but little could be done in a situation this severe.