Chapter Text
He was trapped.
There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, he had nothing to protect himself from the Empire. From Vader. He had only been on Daiyu for a day or so, currently hopeless in finding Leia (“I was somebody’s daughter once, too” came to his mind, unbidden) and Vader was already looking for him. He’d thought, somewhat foolishly, that perhaps it would be only the Inquisitor he would have to worry about– but no, of course not, of course Vader himself would come to this planet, would come to find him.
Where you find Kenobi, you will always find Skywalker not far behind.
He felt out of his mind, slowly becoming more and more panicked with every squadron of stormtroopers he dodged. Vader was on the planet, now, Obi-Wan could feel him. Could feel his choking, dark Force presence, and it made him consistently forget how to breathe. It felt like he could see Anakin standing in every alley, glowering from behind every foggy corner, he felt like a rat trapped in a maze. Like a prey animal, eyes rolling and whites showing, heart pounding so hard it might just stop. He was losing himself in this panic, but he couldn’t claw himself out of it; he dared not reach out to the Force for help, not when it was so thick with simmering hate, not when it would shine his location to Vader like a beacon. He was well and truly helpless, it felt.
Perhaps that is what he could blame for his inability to stop what happened next.
One moment, he was slinking through the streets of Daiyu, desperately looking for his next place to hide, and the next there were strong hands grabbing his arms and dragging him into an alleyway, leaving him too shocked to scream. He wouldn’t get another chance.
“You sure look stressed,” his assailant hissed, quickly injecting his neck with some sort of drug. A fast acting drug– the world around Obi-Wan immediately began to spin, his jaw (and, truly, his whole body) going slack. The only thing that held him up were the hands, and then the wall of the alley. He was pressed cruelly into the unforgiving brick, wrenching out a groan of pain. He could feel his skin scraping and his jaw aching, but it felt far away, somehow. Like a dream. Or a nightmare. The being wasted no time in making it clear what they wanted; Obi-Wan’s pants were being torn off before he even fully registered he was no longer being held in a vice grip. He wanted to struggle, wanted to scream, but he found that he couldn’t; it was like his mind had been filled with a fuzzy pink mist, something that kept him high and floating. He had no control of his body, barely even any control of his brain, as he felt fingers prodding against his asshole. His breath hitched, his eyes rolled wildly, and he desperately fought to thrash and kick and do something to drive the being away. All he did was succeed in making the being whistle quietly and move their fingers… Lower.
No. No, no, no, no no no–!
“That’s quite a pretty pussy you got there,” they growled, immediately refocusing on Obi-Wan’s proper hole. They rubbed two fingers against it harshly, chuckling as Obi-Wan gasped and once again attempted to get away, only making his shoulders hitch for his effort. “Oh, and you’re wet, too… Maybe I didn’t even need to drug you.” They laughed this time, showing no hesitation before shoving the two fingers inside. Obi-Wan gave a weak scream, though showed no other resistance; he couldn’t. The drug made his limbs feel like jelly, made it hard to produce anything other than blind panic in his brain, made escape impossible. He felt tears begin to slide down his cheeks, though he was too weak to sob. The being didn’t spend much time with their fingers, evidently feeling Obi-Wan had got enough preparation (as if he could ever be prepared for this ) before pulling their hard cock out of their pants and shoving it in as replacement.
It hurt. Oh Gods, it hurt so much, Obi-Wan felt like he was being ripped open, torn in half from his hole, his hole that had never been entered before by his own fingers, never mind a thick cock, pounding into him relentlessly. He would be screaming if his throat and lungs had any strength to do so. The mist in his brain was still making him feel floaty, but the pain was just as intense, sharp and driving. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like if he hadn’t been drugged. Perhaps he should be thankful to his assailant, then– no, what was he thinking? There was nothing to be thankful for, here.
The being didn’t last long, and though he had just chastised himself, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but be grateful for that. His face twisted into a weak grimace as he felt the hot spend spill into him, warm and thick deep inside, a sensation entirely unfamiliar and… perhaps in another life, pleasant. He wouldn’t allow himself to associate this experience with gratitude and pleasure, even if his hindbrain seemed determined to do so. The being gave a few more harsh, shallow thrusts as they spilled their seed into him, but pulled out soon after that. Obi-Wan’s face heated up as he felt the thick, sticky cum ooze from his hole and slide down his thighs. He was beyond humiliated, beyond defiled. He had no idea how this could get much worse.
“Y’know, you’re quite good… I think I have just the place for you,” the being mused, their voice gravelly and deep. It made Obi-Wan shiver weakly, before he realised what they actually said. The being laughed at him again, laughed at his inevitably useless round of weak twitching attempts at thrashing against the sudden grip on the back of his neck. “You like the sound of that, pretty thing? A whole place where you get to be used just how a whore like you should be. C’mon, up we go,” and then he was being manhandled over the being’s shoulder like a sack of tubers, carried down more and more alleyways with his entire lower half exposed, cum drying on his thighs. The further they went, the more confused Obi-Wan got, the weaker he felt– the drug’s mist just kept getting more and more cloying and thick with every second he didn’t have the pain to distract himself. It was getting harder and harder to think, to feel like he was connected to his body, to feel… much of anything. When they finally arrived at… wherever they were, the lights were so loud and the voices sounded so fuzzy, so far away, like people were speaking on the shore and he was at the bottom of the ocean.
“Found ‘im wandering around, heard he wasn’t a local… Don’t think anyone’s lookin’ for him…”
“...see you’ve already had a go, eh…”
He felt, vaguely, himself being put on display. “Well, look for yourself, I couldn’t pass that up…”
“...holy shit! Go put him away, I’ll get people moving right now…”
He was slipping further, further, and further still, ebbing and flowing as the drug coursed through his veins. Even his panic had faded to a dull roar in the background of his mind, screaming through a thick wall of foggy glass. His body only theoretically felt the rough ache from being thrown onto a threadbare mattress on the floor, and the rest of his clothes being torn away. Then he was left alone to float in his mind, leaking and in pain.
And then the people started coming, and though Obi-Wan may as well have been a million miles away, he quickly learned where he was, and why he had been brought here: this was a rather popular brothel for the planet Daiyu, and he had been recruited as their newest commodity.
The Force howled, black lashing winds that felt like they were cutting his skin, fuelling his rage— but when Vader entered, his blood that had just been boiling turned to ice. There was Obi-Wan, on the floor of the brothel, curled in on himself— clothes shredded, shivering, cum dried to the curve of his ass (spanked raw and red) and down his thighs (littered with bruises, and a bite so deep it had obviously bled). He was obviously heavily drugged; Vader could hear it in his shaky breath, could feel it in his sluggish Force signature.
He startled as Obi-Wan suddenly jerked, head turning over his shoulder to reveal his blitzed out expression, eyes dead and wet and face covered with tears. The ice in Vader's blood cracked. Obi-Wan sloppily rolled over, revealing more bite marks along his chest, reaching towards Vader. His hand was trembling, fingers tinged slightly blue with cold and indeed tacky with half-dried cum.
He had been freshly used.
“…A-Anakin..?” Obi-Wan’s voice was hoarse, throaty. Barely more than a strained, painful whisper. Vader didn’t have to imagine much as to why he sounded like that— and it didn’t have much to do with dehydration. “Anakin, is that really you?” His mind was clearly broken, staring at Vader and calling him by that name. but instead of bone deep horrible fury towards his old master, as Vader expected would come, there was… something else.
As he stood there, brows furrowing while Obi-Wan made pathetic attempts to crawl towards what his drug-addled mind believed to be salvation, Vader realised something: he had been right all along.
Sidious had always wanted to push the idea of Obi-Wan being a traitor— to the Republic, to Vader himself. And though it hadn’t been particularly hard to believe, there had always been a part of Vader that… doubted. A part that wondered: what if Obi-Wan had just been confused? What if the Council had manipulated him, controlled him just as they tried to control Vader, only Obi-Wan didn’t have anyone to show him how wrong they had all been? And suddenly it all made sense. He had been right all along: Obi-Wan simply didn’t know any better. Obi-Wan was just as helpless as he had been, once. And now as his former master clung to his boot, desperate for any form of comfort, sobbing and desecrated, a more familiar feeling began to set in.
Rage.
Not towards his poor Obi-Wan, of course. It all made sense now, why Obi-Wan would do what he did… how he could end up here, like this. He simply didn’t know any better. He simply couldn’t be trusted to take care of himself, obviously. No, Vader’s soul-crushing fury was instead focused on all the people who dared defile Obi-Wan this way, take advantage of him when he so obviously didn’t know any better. It was vile. It was unforgivable, and they would all burn for it. He would personally ensure it.
With a rage-filled roar, Vader abruptly turned away from Obi-Wan to stalk through the halls of the brothel, lightsaber lit and blazing. The red of his blade, thirsty for blood, shone in the dim hallways of this… wretched establishment. It would burn. They would all burn. It didn’t take long for people to start flooding out of rooms, some armed and some not, but it made little difference. They were here. They were implicit. They had all allowed this to happen, and if Vader couldn’t eviscerate those who had dared do this to Obi-Wan personally, all those who hadn’t stopped them would have to be good enough. It felt good to cut all these people down, thinking of Obi-Wan in the room where Vader had left him, crying and mewling and helpless. Every scream of terror or pain only fueled his need to kill, his need to ensure they suffered for what they had done.
Obi-Wan was Vader’s. He always had been. It was up to no one else in this galaxy what happened to him, how he was treated or used. Whether he was alive or dead. No one had any authority on that over Vader. And these– peons would be punished for their insolence, whether or not they knew what they were doing. It didn’t matter. To Vader, if they had wanted to live and continue running their shitshow, they shouldn’t have deemed themselves worthy of what was rightfully Vader’s. It was unforgivable, and they would not live to make another mistake like it.
With that done, there was nothing keeping him from his prize. He stepped over the corpses dismissively, uncaring now that they couldn’t scream for him. His rage had cooled a little, and it was once again easy to find which room Obi-Wan had been kept in. He was feeling almost pleased, knowing that he could finally bring Obi-Wan to where he belonged– with Vader, and never away from him ever again.
His mood dropped once he entered the room, and found a man standing there with a blaster in his hand. It was likely the owner of the brothel, armed with only his blaster and foolish bravery. He stood between Vader and Obi-Wan, his blaster raised. His arm was shaking.
He knew he was about to die.
Here he was, the man who made this possible– ultimately, the reason Obi-Wan had been ruined. The one who sanctioned it all, who motivated whoever decided they had any control over Lord Vader's property. The rage that filled him reared up, boiled over, and Vader didn’t bother speaking before jutting an arm out to grab the man’s throat with the Force, and squeeze. The blaster fell to the ground, useless, clattering against the floor, as the man began fighting for his life. Futile. Vader stalked closer, fist squeezing tighter and tighter, veins popping on the man’s face. “So you are the one who decided to take what was mine.”
It was obvious he had no idea what Vader was talking about, panicked and confused and desperate. Vader had to scoff. He gestured to the man on the floor, shivering and weak. “Obi-Wan Kenobi. Former Jedi. Mine. ” His eyes widened minutely, in all-too-late recognition of what he’d done. And with a snap of his wrist, the man was dead, blood oozing from his mouth and ears. He let his body drop, and he watched the light leave his eyes. It felt good.
“Finally,” Vader crooned, stepping over the man’s corpse to kneel by Obi-Wan. His eyes didn’t light up in any sort of recognition, he was much too far gone for that, but he did reach for Vader again, trembling and needy for any sort of comfort.
“Anakin,” he croaked. Vader allowed that– he had no idea where he was, and he was sure he hardly knew who he was. He would learn in time.
“I’m here, Master. I’m saving you.” He gave him a smile, and quickly bundled him up in the bloody cloak of the man he had just killed to preserve his modesty. Vader didn’t care much for whether or not Obi-Wan would want to be seen in the nude, but he couldn’t stand the idea of someone else seeing him in such a state. No, this was reserved for Vader and Vader alone, this delectable intimacy, the reason Obi-Wan would be brought from this hellhole alive. He relished in how dependent his former master was at this moment, how fragile he felt as he shivered in his arms, how he flinched from the light and into Vader’s chest once he stepped out onto the street. Yes, this was how it was meant to be, Vader carrying Obi-Wan bridal style through the streets, keeping him safe. Finally, just as he had always wanted, finally coveting him, whether he liked it or not.
No one dared speak a word as Vader re-boarded the ship. They could see, clear as day, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi pressed in his arms, barely kept from being in the nude, littered with wounds and stains of an undeniably sexual nature. The tension was thick as the shuttle took off to rejoin the main cruiser, Vader putting off the same energy he did whenever he was liable to snap someone’s neck for simply staring too long. None of these people were worthy to look upon Obi-Wan, especially not in a state such as this. Perhaps one day Obi-Wan could… No , Vader thought to himself, giving his head a shake. It would be better to keep Obi-Wan away from all others, for his safety, for Vader’s own peace of mind. The idea of anyone seeing Obi-Wan, being around him when he might be vulnerable… He had to forcibly relax his body when Obi-Wan gave a pained whimper from being squeezed so hard. He had fallen to unconsciousness not long after Vader picked him up, and though it was more likely that his body simply couldn’t keep him conscious anymore, Vader liked to think it was because Obi-Wan knew he was safe in Vader’s arms. Knew that he didn’t need to worry anymore, because Vader would take care of everything.
It was equally as silent after they docked back on The Executor. Where his officers would usually salute and brief him on anything that had happened in his absence, his aura made it clear that he was not in the mood for such pleasantries. He instead began marching directly to his personal chambers, barking out an order for a medical droid to be sent to his rooms straight away. Once he had settled Obi-Wan on his bed, beautiful and broken, he allowed the medical droid to begin its work. He certainly would heal faster if Vader put him in a bacta tank, but that would require Obi-Wan to be somewhere other than his own room, and that was unacceptable. Besides…
Vader settled on a chair by the bed, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, reaching out into the Force. His former master’s shields were tattered and flimsy, no doubt a symptom of how thoroughly his mind had been broken before Vader found him, and it was easy to worm his way inside. Truly he hoped Obi-Wan would have been grateful and receptive to his care immediately, but he was not foolish enough to assume that a lifetime of indoctrination could be undone in a single encounter. No, the coming weeks where Obi-Wan would be laying helpless in his bed as he healed would be a fabulous opportunity to do some… reworking. He had no interest in an Obi-Wan who was truly brainless and pliant (though the thought did set something off, deep in his belly), or else he would simply throw him in the bacta tank and break his mind once he’d finished healing; no, this required a more delicate touch. The opening of a window rather than the smashing of a door. The first step, of course, was firmly re-establishing their bond– something so strong and true could never be truly destroyed, but the distance (both physical and emotional) coupled with how severely Obi-Wan had cut himself off from the Force meant it had decayed, brittle and fragile from disuse. No matter, it was easy enough to fix; for someone like Vader, to someone who was as helpless as Obi-Wan currently was, a simple thought was all it took for their bond to once again flourish, as if it had never deteriorated at all. Vader smiled with sick pleasure at the feeling of having Obi-Wan so close to him again, both physically and in the Force.
And he began his work.