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pseudowho · 2 months ago

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"Oh! Kento-- wait-- please please please--"

Kento turned back on the bustling Tokyo street, the night bullied away by neon signs, light pollution, and the pollution of the wayward drunken laughers. He only came on staff nights out, now, because you'd be there. He peered at you, tie-loose, hair-mussed and bleary, as you knelt in front of a Gacha machine. You rummaged in your purse for a coin.

Kento grunted, smirking, and reached into his clinking pocket, swaying back to you with liquor-rusted words.

"You're drunk. Here--"

"A-ha!" You birthed a 500 yen coin from your purse, triumphant, and Kento felt childishly disappointed that he couldn't pay for your inebriation treat for you. He watched you fumble the coin into the Gacha machine, and turn the wheel, crank, crank, cranking until there sounded a hollow tok, and a skrrr-skrrr-skrrr, tok.

The Gacha pod landed in the dispenser. You gasped, biting your lip in sweet anticipation, and looking up at Kento. He could barely contain himself from his own adoration, wanting nothing more than to reach down and grasp your plush cheeks and press his lips to yours and taste the drink off your tongue and--

"Kiss, Kento."

Kento frog-blinked, wondering if he'd spoken such impurities aloud, and opened his mouth to apologise. But he paused again, leaning down over you, knelt on the pavement, where you held the Gacha pod up to him, and repeated yourself, ditzy-drunk.

"Kiss it, Kento. For luck. For me."

Self-conscious, and grumbling in a way that only deepened your grin, Kento leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss to the Gacha pod as you laughed. He straightened up, looking up and down the street to see if anyone saw, his vision a few seconds slower than his mind, wading through whiskey.

Heat rose up Kento's neck, and he opened his mouth again to suggest something stupid like why don't you come back to mine for another drink and--

"Awww, damn! This one again!" Kento looked down at you, owlish and inquisitive. You held up a little keychain, with a disappointed half-smile on your lips. You grimaced up at him, shrugging.

"That was my last shot I think. This line discontinues next week. Never mind." You tapped the front of the Gacha machine, stroking the green image of the one you were after, wistful.

Kento pulled you to your feet, and you linked your arm through his, swaying down the street together. Kento swallowed hard, wishing you were on his back, but instead blurted out;

"I'm sorry my kiss wasn't lucky enough."

You sighed, pensive, swinging your keychain on one finger.

"I'm sure they're plenty lucky. Just, maybe not for me."

Kento barely registered your words, distracted and glancing back down the street at the flashing Gacha machine, growing ever more distant.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Between lessons a few days later, you crept into your office to dump essays on your desk, and snatch five minutes of peace. Settling your mug down, you saw the glimmer of brightly coloured plastic on the centre of your keyboard.

You blinked, curious, before a smile of realisation broke out across your face. A Gacha pod. You recalled, with your cheeks growing hot, how you had begged Kento for his lucky kiss, and how he hadn't corrected you when you told him that his lucky kisses would only be lucky for another girl. You felt a sting of humiliation...

...but, nobody else could have left this gift. Taking a deep breath, and pressing your lips to the pod (unknowingly stealing a kiss that had already been left there for you), you cracked it open-- and squealed with delight, ecstatic and fizzing with joy, to find your collection completed in the eleventh hour.

Later, at the first ring of the lunchtime bell, you knocked on the door to Kento's office. No answer. You knocked again, and gently opened the door, peering round and calling out.

"Kento...?"

Still, no answer. You crept in, closing the door behind you. His office was empty, his desk sparse and functional as always, not wanting to turn his desk into anything that would suggest he thought of work as home. The cupboard on his desk, was, however, straining at its latch, wonky at the closing seam from something stuffed inside.

Curious once more, you stroked the bursting seam of the cupboard, and undid the latch.

A veritable ball-pit burst forth over the office, with Gacha pods of yellow and red and orange and pink and blue and purple and black and white and--

--and every colour, except for green. Dozens and dozens of Gacha pods...except, for green. That one, you held in your purse. You swallowed hard, blinking back tears, and collected Gacha after Gacha, from beneath cupboards and radiators, rolled to all four corners of Kento's office.

Setting to work, you sat cross-legged on the floor, emptying the pods of their keychains one by one. Thousands and thousands of yen tallied before your eyes, and the plain, unassuming desk behind you said nothing of your coworker's secret obsession. And how he couldn't face you. And how you would never have known.

You sat in silence, with a lap full of empty Gacha pods, and listening to the birds singing songs of summer outside the window. You thought, and thought, and thought. You ripped pages from your notebook, tearing them to shreds, and set to work once more. By the time you were finished, the lunch bell rang again. You crammed the final Gacha back into the cupboard.

You could only wait, and hope.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

The warm summer rain started as evening began to roll in. You looked out of the Bistro window from your table for two, your belly twisted with nerves. Your green prize was clasped in your hand, a lucky charm; one earned with far more luck than a simple kiss could give.

You heard the jangling of a bell behind you. You dared not look up, instead just listening-- slow, familiar footsteps. The rattling clunk of a tote bag being placed before you, filled with Gacha pods. The rustle of a stack of carefully unfolded little notes, all with one word on; 'tomorrow'. 'Café'. 'You'. 'Me'. '8pm.'

"You broke into my cupboard."

You pursed the smile between your lips, your eyes closing with the silken chastisement, made without venom. Kento's cologne washed over you as he sat on the chair opposite, removing his glasses in a way that softened his face completely, looking at his lap with a smile. When he looked up at you, it was with a love so unapologetic that you could have cried.

You felt your nose stinging again, and set your green Gacha prize on the table between the two of you. Sheets of rain washed down the Bistro windows, and you cleared your throat, your voice cracking.

"This is quite the prize."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Kento! I'm home!"

You dumped your shoes and bag at the door, padding into the living room on bare feet. Kento leaned away from the stove, twirling spaghetti, and offering you the smiles he offered nobody else. He anticipated you, as your mouth opened.

"--yes, I went to the Gachapon. They're on the sofa. Pre-kissed."

You gasped in delight, in the same way you had that night, and bounced onto the sofa, two Gacha leaping with you.

"Two?" You cried, to his shrug, "I only said one-- you can't keep funding my habit, Kento--"

"I'm sure one would have been fine. But, just in case."

You barely registered Kento stepping over to you in his apron, with two steaming bowls, so focused were you on cracking open your Gacha pods. Taking a deep breath, you undid the wrapper...and cheered, your arms flinging into the air.

"Your kisses really are lucky, Kento, gosh...well, one more, then, I--"

You had cracked open the final Gacha. A ring tumbled into your hand, and your brain short-circuited. You trembled, rolling it around in your palm. The two halves of the pod clattered to the floor, forgotten. Your vision swam, and you sniffled, and looked up.

Kento had dipped onto one knee before you, aproned and still, with two bowls of pasta In his hands. In the crucial moment, he seemed anxious. He cleared his throat, his voice thickening.

"I would...like to fund your habit for the rest of our lives. If you'll have me."

A laugh bubbled through your tears, and you wiped your cheeks, allowing Kento to slide the ring into place on your finger. You held his broad hand in serene silence, time standing still, before you spoke.

"...so this ring is just...just one in the collection, right? Wait-- no, Kento, COME BACK, PLEASE-- I'M JUST FUCKING WITH YOU--"

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seaofsunberries · 1 month ago

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I’VE CAUGHT UP AGAIN BABY!!!!

Okay, I have many, MANY thoughts about the Jedi council but I’ve come to realize that I . . . Do not know much about Star Wars lore and I have zero Jedi Council comprehension and I don’t really want to sound like an idiot, so I’ll just say DAMN they’re not handling anything Goldie or Anakin related well and leave at that. ^^;

On to something I can talk about without seeming completely dumb (hopefully): Goldie. Damn the poor girl cannot get a break, I am so upset for her. She is not in a good place rn and I hope she doesn’t go down the Anakin pathway. I just want her and Rex to be happy. I know you’re probably tired of me saying this, but I really hope Goldie eventually does leave the order and . . . Idk get away from this war and vengeance stuff because she is just so unhealthy and unhappy. She deserves better.

Obi-Wan’s inaction/reaction to the first time Goldie was begging someone to believe/listen to her when she was talking about Yaddle’s death rearing its ugly head now. They were trying to move past it, but some things leave a permanent scar or even a permanent wound that can always be agitated later down the road. Unfortunately, Obi-Wan is seeing that permanent wound.

Please take your time and take care of yourself!!! You come first and the fic comes second. We’re willing to wait for however long you need.

Burnout is no joke. Severe cases can take a full year to recover from — don’t push yourself to that point. Take breaks! Take care of yourself! Stay hydrated!

I’m wishing you the best and hoping for the best holidays for you!! Thank you for writing for us.

Event Horizon

Chapter Twenty: Precipice

Chapter WC: 5,689

Chapter Warnings: This is a rough one, I think we all knew it was going to be rough but just reiterating, Jedi Council fuckery is afoot

A/N: We're back in the building again (emotional). This is where I flag that our girl is perhaps not the most reliable narrator, but damn if she isn't at least a little justified.

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Coruscant, 21 BBY

Anger.

It's all you can feel. It's the only thing that exists, all-consuming and burning hot, a fury that leaves you shaking. The rage is a living thing, a beast clawing at your chest, a monster tearing at your heart, threatening to swallow you whole.

You are standing on a precipice, a thin thread of sanity keeping you tethered to reality.

Your mind is a storm.

They won't listen.

They won't even look at you.

You knew it was a long shot, but still, you'd held out hope. Even now, when you're sitting in the middle of the Council chamber, staring at the faces of the men and women you once considered your family, a small part of you is whispering that it might still work.

It won't.

You can see it in their eyes. They won't even pretend to hear you. They've barely acknowledged the proof. The proof that Obi-Wan delivered personally. The proof that Rex has risked his life and career to find.

They didn't even bat an eye. It was like they'd known it was coming, like they'd been expecting it. Like it meant nothing.

But it's all you have.

Yaddle's lightsaber is clutched firmly in your hand, so tight your knuckles white and the metal bites into the flesh of your palm. Your eyes dart across the room. Each member is staring back at you, their faces blank. You're the only one standing, your legs carrying you restlessly from side to side. You can't sit still. Not with them looking at you like that. Not when they're acting like this.

Obi-Wan is seated a few feet away, his posture stiff, his gaze fixed on a spot somewhere behind your shoulder. He hasn't met your eyes since he'd shown the Council the evidence and taken his seat beside them. It was a choice, and a deliberate one. He'd made his decision. He'd chosen his side.

It shouldn't surprise you.

You'd known it would be bad. You'd expected hostility, and defensiveness, and a general lack of interest. What you hadn't expected was the silence, the looks of pity. The complete and utter disregard for Yaddle's memory.

It's as if they're only waiting for you to finish, waiting for you to walk away and accept the inevitable.

You're not going to.

"How could you?" you whisper. Your voice is hoarse, and raw, and you sound desperate, even to your own ears. "How could you just let her disappear like that? She was a Jedi Master, a member of this Council. After everything she's done, everything she's sacrificed, you're going to let her memory fade away? How can you do that? How can you do that to her?"

No one speaks. No one moves. You're the only one standing. You're the only one who cares.

The tears threaten to spill, and you blink rapidly, trying to keep them at bay. Your heart is pounding, and the air is thick with the Force, a pressure building in the back of your mind. For years, you'd been begging for a chance to make them listen. Now, it's all you can do not to scream.

"It was Dooku," you say, your voice breaking. "Count Dooku. He did this."

Still, no one moves.

You glance at Obi-Wan, and he winces, a grimace flashing across his features. You know he can feel it. The pain. The grief. It's eating away at you, devouring your soul. Your emotions are raw and volatile, and there's a crackling in your chest, a heat building inside you. You're shaking, your fists clenched, and the air around you seems to vibrate. The tight grip on your control is slipping, and a part of you doesn't care. A part of you wants to tear this room apart. To make them feel even a fraction of what you're feeling.

You can see Master Yoda watching you out of the corner of your eye, his gaze never wavering. He's the only one who hasn't looked away, and he's not moving, either. He's sitting as still as stone, his hands resting on his knees, his expression placid. If you didn't know better, you'd think he was in a trance.

You can't bring yourself to look directly at him.

"Answer me," you snap, and your head snaps around, glaring at each member of the Council in turn. "How could you do this? How could you ignore this?"

There's a long pause, and Master Yoda finally sighs, his ears drooping.

"Spoken enough, we have," he murmurs. His tone is calm, his voice low, spoken as if he were talking to a child. It's condescending. Patronizing. And it only fuels the anger. "Time it has come, for you to listen."

"Listen to what?" you snarl. "Your lies? Your excuses?"

"Yourself, young one."

The words are spoken softly, but there's a hint of sadness to them, a note of sympathy. It's enough to give you pause, the anger ebbing slightly

"What?" you snap.

"Lost in grief, you are." He closes his eyes, his lips pressing together, a crease appearing on his forehead. "Forgotten the wisdom of Master Yaddle, you have."

"I haven't forgotten anything," you hiss. "She was murdered, and—"

"The Council has decided," Master Windu cuts you off, his eyes flashing. "This matter is settled."

"Settled," you echo. Your mouth twists, and you shake your head, your brows furrowing. "No. No, it's not settled. Not until someone answers for what happened to her. Her murderer is out there, and he's still running free. We can't just sit here and do nothing."

His eyes narrow. "We are not doing nothing."

You stare at him, unable to comprehend what he's saying. You're breathing heavily, your body shaking, and it feels like your heart is going to beat out of your chest. You want to scream. You want to run. You want to throw something, or break something, or hurt something. Anything. Anything is better than this. Better than watching them look at you like this, as if they can't understand why you're upset. As if they can't comprehend why you would be so angry.

As if the fact that a member of their Order was murdered means nothing.

Obi-Wan shifts, his posture tense. His expression is pained, and his hands are clasped in front of him, his gaze fixed on a point behind your shoulder. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, and, for a brief moment, you think about reaching out through your bond. You think about demanding that he help. But, then you remember.

You remember that he chose this. You remember that he is, in fact, a part of this. A part of whatever game they're playing. A part of this lie.

The anger is replaced by hurt, and you're struck by the sudden realization that he's never been on your side. That, when it comes down to it, he's always been with them. Always. No matter how much he says he's your friend, no matter how many times he claims that he's looking out for you, it's not true. Not really. He's one of them, and he's always going to choose them. He's never going to choose you. Not now, not ever.

"Yaddle deserved better," you hiss. "She deserved justice."

"And she will get it," Master Windu says calmly. "In time."

Your eyes flash, and you grit your teeth, biting back the retort. Your fingers tighten around the hilt of her lightsaber, the metal creaking under the pressure. The pain is grounding. It's the only thing keeping you from breaking down, but you know that the moment you release the blade, the anger will take over.

You're not sure what will happen then.

"Time," you spit. "That's your answer? More time? Hasn't ten years been enough?"

"The Council has decided," Master Mundi snaps, his voice hard. "Your outbursts are a waste of time, and a distraction. I suggest you learn to control your emotions before you embarrass yourself any further."

You gape at him, your mouth hanging open, voice dying in your throat. A wave of shame washes over you, and you swallow. A distraction. That's all you are. An annoyance. A burden. Someone who needs to be controlled.

The truth stings, but it's a familiar one. You've been treated as a child, as an outsider, for most of your life. Even now, even after everything you've done, everything you've accomplished, it's still all they see. A lost, helpless, little girl.

You hate it.

"A distraction," you repeat, your voice soft. There's a hollow note to your words, a numbness that's spreading through you, and you can feel your anger dissipating, fading away into a cold, empty nothingness.

Master Mundi's gaze softens, and he lets out a sigh, his hands folding in his lap. "I didn't mean—"

"You're right," you interrupt, your eyes meeting his. You don't need him to explain. You know exactly what he meant. "You're right. This is a waste of time."

You turn and head for the door, walking briskly. You can't stay in here a moment longer. You can't look at them, or listen to them. It's too much. Too much, and not enough, and it's tearing you apart. You have to leave. You have to get out.

"Stop."

The command is firm, and it echoes in the chamber, reverberating through the Force. You stop in your tracks, your eyes closing. It's Master Yoda's voice. You can't disobey it.

"Leave, you will not," he says quietly, and there's a hint of something new in his tone, something warm and gentle and familiar. Something that sounds suspiciously like sorrow. "Your place, this is. Come back. Listen."

"My place," you murmur. The words are bitter, and they taste like ash in your mouth. You can't bring yourself to move. Your mind is screaming, and your body is frozen, your muscles locked in place. And you know that if you turn around, it will be worse.

"Yes," he confirms, his voice still low. "Your place."

You clench your jaw, and you shake your head, unable to speak. You want nothing more than to run, to get as far away from the Council as possible. From the Order. From all of it.

But, he's right. Your place is here. It's all you've ever known. And, the idea of leaving is unthinkable.

Slowly, you turn, your gaze drifting across the chamber, settling on Master Yoda. He's watching you, his expression neutral, but you can see it. The sadness. He looks tired, and old, and weary, his shoulders sagging beneath an invisible weight.

Your heart twists, and you feel a surge of empathy. You've never seen him look like that before. You've never seen him look defeated. It's unsettling, and you have no idea what to make of it.

You swallow, and take a deep breath, steeling yourself.

"Alright," you say, and your voice is calm, even. The opposite of how you feel, and yet, you find that it's not hard. Not as hard as you'd thought. Perhaps because you've spent a lifetime learning how to hide your emotions, to bury them, to bury everything. You've had a lot of practice.

The Council is quiet, and you can feel their eyes on you, but you keep your gaze fixed on Master Yoda. The two of you are locked in a silent battle, neither willing to break contact. Neither willing to admit defeat.

The silence stretches, and you shift your stance, leaning forward, your weight resting on your toes. Your hand tightens around Yaddle's lightsaber, and you take a deep breath, gathering your strength.

"Let's hear it, then," you say. Your voice is firm, and unwavering, and there's a confidence to it that surprises even you. You square your shoulders, and straighten, tilting your chin. "What is it that you need to tell me, Master Yoda?"

The corner of his mouth quirks, and his expression softens, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Good," he says. His ears twitch, and his gaze sweeps over you, assessing, evaluating. He gives a slight nod, seemingly satisfied with what he sees. "Better."

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. For a moment, you're not sure what to say, or if you should say anything. Then, you shake your head, and take a step forward, a scowl spreading across your face.

"Fine," you hiss. "I'll play along. I'm listening. Now, what is it? What is it that's so important? What is it that's been so difficult to tell me? Tell me, so we can get this over with."

You can feel Obi-Wan flinch, and his gaze darts to Master Windu, his expression uncertain.

"There is another matter," Master Windu speaks up. His tone is careful, and measured, his gaze darting to Master Yoda. He clears his throat, and looks back at you. "A personal matter. One that involves you."

A cold sense of dread begins to settle over you. A personal matter. One that involves you. You don't like where this is going. You don't like it at all.

Your mind races, trying to think of what else they could possibly want to talk about. What else could possibly be worth this, worth everything they've put you through.

And then, it hits you.

Your blood turns to ice, and a chill runs down your spine, goosebumps erupting along your arms.

Try as you might to stop it, your head snaps to Obi-Wan, finding his face. You search his expression, your gaze darting over every inch of his features, trying to read his reaction. He's not looking at you. He's staring at Master Windu, his lips pressed together, his hands gripping his robes.

He looks guilty.

Your stomach lurches, and your eyes widen, realization washing over you. You'd hoped. You'd prayed. You'd wished and wished and wished that it wouldn't come to this. That he wouldn't betray you like this. He promised. He promised that he wouldn't interfere with whatever you have with Rex. That he wanted you to be happy. That he would do anything to make sure you were safe.

But, here you are.

The betrayal is enough to bring the anger rushing back, and your hand grips the hilt of Yaddle's lightsaber, your nails digging into the metal. You glare at Obi-Wan, and his eyes flick up, meeting yours. He winces, but he holds your gaze, the sorrow in his eyes almost palpable.

You should have known. Of course he would do this. Of course. It's exactly what you'd expect from him. He's always been like this, always putting duty above all else, always prioritizing the Code, even if it meant hurting you. But, this...this is too far.

Master Windu speaking, saying something, but his voice is a dull buzz in your ears. You can't hear him. Your brain is screaming at you to leave, to run, to get out. Get out before it's too late. Get out while you can. But, your feet are rooted to the floor, and you can't move, can't look away.

Your eyes are locked on Obi-Wan's, and the fury is boiling over, burning hot, scorching.

"—promotion. It's time. You're ready."

The words snap you back to reality, and you blink, tearing your gaze away from Obi-Wan, forcing yourself to focus.

"What?" you ask.

"A promotion," Master Windu repeats.

The words break through the haze, and you frown, your brows furrowing. Your mind is reeling, and you try to make sense of what he's saying, but it's like your brain is short-circuiting, everything going fuzzy. The anger and betrayal is pushed aside for a brief moment as you find yourself staring at him, disbelief replacing the rage.

"What?" you choke out.

"The Council taken your recommendation into consideration, and we've agreed," Master Windu says. His voice is low, his gaze never leaving yours. "A new brigade is needed, and Commander Booker will lead it. You will be his superior officer, and he will report directly to you."

You gape at him, unable to respond. He's serious. He's completely serious.

The words echo in your mind, and you feel yourself go cold, your knees threatening to buckle. You fumble to keep your grip on Yaddle's lightaber, and you can hear your heart pounding in your ears, a rush of blood and static and white noise. It's all you can hear. All you can feel.

"What?" you breathe.

Your gaze darts between the Council members, and each one meets your eyes, their faces solemn. Master Plo's head dips in agreement, and Master Ki-Adi-Mundi is nodding, his expression serious. Even Master Windu is watching you, his jaw set, his hands folded. There's no malice in his eyes. No deception. They're serious.

The Council has decided.

It's too much. It's all too much.

Master Yoda is watching you, his eyes wide, his ears perked. His lips are turned up slightly, a faint smile on his face. He seems pleased with himself, with this turn of events. But, there's something else there, too. Something like regret.

He knows what this means.

"Surprised, are you?" he asks. "Happy, I would expect you to be."

"No," you reply. You shake your head, and take a step back, nearly stumbling. "I'm not happy. This isn't...it's not... This is a mistake."

"This is not a mistake," Master Plo speaks up. "This is well deserved."

"No," you say again, louder this time. Your voice cracks, and your throat is raw, tears pricking at your eyes. "No, it's not. I didn’t—I only meant to recommend Booker. To help him. I didn't mean— I didn't want—"

"You may not have intended to do so, but the decision was made nonetheless," Master Windu counters. He steeples his fingers and leans forward, his dark eyes narrowed. "There is no debate. Your role as General is essential."

"This is ridiculous," you snap. "I'm not—"

"You are," he interrupts. His voice is sharp, and the words cut through the air like a knife. You suck in a breath, and your jaw snaps shut. "You've proven yourself. You're capable, and you're intelligent, and you're more than deserving. You're ready."

Your breath leaves you in a rush, and you stare at him, blinking rapidly, trying to process his words. An entire brigade, a legion of men, all reporting directly to you. The responsibility, the pressure, the expectations. It's a nightmare. And, yet, here it is, standing before you, a reality.

"If it were up to me, this would have happened months ago," he continues. "I have no doubts, none at all, about your ability to command."

"This is insane," you mutter. "Completely insane."

"This is necessary," Master Windu says, his voice firm. "This is not a punishment. This is a reward."

"I don't want a reward," you manage, your voice barely a whisper. "Not like this. I just wanted—"

"You wanted justice," Mace says. He sighs, and he stands, his robes swishing as he walks towards you. He stops a few feet away, and he raises his hands, placing them on your shoulders. "And you will get it. But, not today."

You swallow, and you blink, tears stinging your eyes. The anger is gone, replaced by something else. Something worse. You feel helpless, and alone, and lost. And, above all, terrified.

"Not today, not tomorrow," you mumble. You shrug his hands off, stepping back, turning away from him. "Nothing ever—"

Obi-Wan stands abruptly, and the sound of his chair scraping against the floor cuts off the end of your sentence. He turns, his gaze landing on you, his eyes flashing. You can feel his anger through the bond, and it only fuels your own, a renewed surge of rage coursing through your veins.

"Enough," he hisses. His hands are clenched at his sides, and he stalks toward you, stopping just short of touching you. "We've heard enough."

His voice is cold, final. He's not asking, he's not giving you a choice. He's telling you to stop. To back off.

Your eyes narrow, and you glare at him, your chin jutting out. You're clutching it so tightly that the metal bites into your palm, and for a split second, you think about using it. The thought is extinguished a moment later, but not without consequence. You know he felt it. You know that he sensed it. He can't miss it. Not after all this time. Not with him.

"Enough, we have," Master Yoda murmurs. "Settled, this matter is."

"Yaddle's death is tragic, and her loss was a blow to us all. But, her legacy will live on. Her memory will guide us," Master Windu continues, his tone even. "The war will not last forever. We must focus on the future. And, the future lies with the Jedi. We'll discuss the details of your assignment later. For now, you're dismissed."

Obi-Wan's hand encloses around your arm, and he tugs, pulling you towards the exit. You stumble after him, struggling to keep up, still reeling from what's happening.

He's muttering something under his breath, his voice harsh and low. You catch the words 'ridiculous' and 'obstinate' and 'misunderstanding.' The two of you cross the room in a blur, and then the doors are opening, and the light from the corridor washes over you. It's blinding, and you shield your eyes, blinking rapidly.

Obi-Wan doesn't let go. His hand remains on your arm, and his fingers dig into your flesh, the pressure almost painful. He pulls you along, his strides long and purposeful. Your mind is racing, the events replaying over and over, the conversation playing on a loop. You're barely aware of where he's taking you. You're just moving.

The sound of the door opening pulls you out of your daze, and you realize he's taken you to his rooms. He releases you and steps back, the door sliding shut behind him. You spin around, glaring at him, ready to unleash a barrage of questions.

He's already speaking, his voice clipped.

"That could have gone better," he says. His arms fold across his chest, and he leans against his desk, his gaze never wavering from yours. "It could have gone much better."

You gape at him, momentarily speechless. Your jaw works, and you sputter, trying to find the words, to formulate a response.

"You—I can't—" You pause, trying to collect yourself. "You're lecturing me? You're actually lecturing me? After everything that's happened?"

"You need to learn when to give up," Obi-Wan shoots back. He runs a hand over his beard, a frown pulling at his lips. "You've accomplished nothing. Absolutely nothing. If anything, you've made it worse."

"You said you'd help me," you accuse. Your eyes narrow, and your fingers flex around Yaddle's lightsaber, digging into the hilt. "You said you would. You promised."

"I tried," he counters. He pushes off his desk, walking towards you, his shoulders tense. "I did. I did everything I could, but you—you weren't listening. You never listen. And you're going to get yourself killed."

"That's not your call," you snap. "That's not your decision to make."

"It's not mine," he agrees. He stops in front of you, his eyes blazing. "But, I won't let you jeopardize this, not anymore. The war is too important, and it needs your full attention. You can't afford distractions."

"My full attention," you echo. Your jaw drops, and you scoff, shaking your head. "Are you serious? You're not—you're not my keeper. You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do."

"No," Obi-Wan concedes. "But, I can tell you when you're making a mistake. And this, this is a mistake. You're letting your emotions cloud your judgment, and you're not thinking clearly. Again. This isn't just about Yaddle. It's more than that."

"More," you repeat. Your hands ball into fists, and your nails bite into your palms, drawing blood. The anger is boiling over, threatening to spill over. "You have no idea—"

"It's not just her," he says. His gaze bores into yours, and his eyes flash, a hint of fear in them. "It's him. He's clouding your judgment, and it's putting everything, and everyone, at risk. Including him. Including yourself."

"So you did do it," you whisper. Your eyes burn, and your throat closes, a lump forming. "You told them."

"What?" He frowns, and his brows knit together. He's genuinely confused, and it only infuriates you more. "Told them what?"

"About Rex," you snap. "About the two of us."

"What?" he repeats. Obi-Wan blinks, and he stares at you, his expression incredulous, before he lets out a bark of laughter. It's a short, sharp sound, and it's not a happy one. "That's what you think? You actually think I did that? After everything I said?"

"Yes!"

"Oh, my dear, you've really lost it," he mutters. He rubs his temples, and shakes his head, a weary sigh escaping his lips. "No, I didn't tell them. No, I wouldn't. Not now, not ever."

"You didn't—" Your lips part, and you gape at him, stunned. You'd been so sure. So certain. And now, you're not sure of anything. "How do I know? How can I trust you?"

"I haven't done a single thing to lose your trust," Obi-Wan says. His tone is sharp, and his jaw is set, his face hard. "Everything I've done has been for your sake. To protect you. To help you. All of it. And, this is how you repay me? With distrust and suspicion? I thought we were past this."

"We were," you say. You can feel the tears forming, and you blink, trying to hold them back. "We were. I didn't mean—I didn't think—"

"Exactly," Obi-Wan finishes. He runs a hand over his hair, and his eyes dart to the ceiling, his frustration evident. "You didn't think. Not once. Not until it was too late."

"That's not fair," you mutter.

"Life isn't fair," he shoots back. He glares at you, and his eyes are narrowed, his brows drawn. "I know you're angry, but this isn't going to help. It's not going to change anything. And, if you think that I would do this to you, to us, you don't know me at all."

"Maybe I don't," you snap. Your chin juts out, and your hands ball into fists, and you glare back, holding his gaze. "Maybe we don't know each other. Not anymore."

The words are meant to hurt, and they do. He winces, and his expression falters, a flicker of pain crossing his features. But, a moment later, his mask slips back into place, and he's staring at you, his eyes flashing.

"That's a cheap shot," he says, his tone flat.

"Yeah," you agree, and you shrug, your eyes burning. "It is."

The silence stretches between you, and you can feel his gaze on you, intense and searching. He's looking for something, and, after a moment, his expression softens, his mouth twisting.

"Is that really what you think?" he asks. His voice is quiet, almost a whisper. "That I don't care about you?"

You suck in a breath, and you turn away from him, your eyes falling closed.

"I don't know what to think anymore," you admit. You press your lips together, and swallow, trying to push down the emotion threatening to overflow. "You just stood there and let them do this to me. You didn't say a word. You didn't stop them."

"I tried," he protests. He takes a step toward you, his hands rising, as if to reach for you, before falling back to his sides. "What was I supposed to say? What was I supposed to do? I tried."

"Not hard enough," you hiss.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I am. I'm sorry. But, this is what needs to happen."

"You could have fought harder," you say. Yaddle's lightsaber is a weight in your hand, a physical reminder of what you've lost. Your fingers tighten around it, and your vision blurs, hot tears pricking at your eyes. "You could have done something. I thought...I thought..."

"You thought what?" Obi-Wan asks, his voice soft. "That I would go up against the entire Council? For you? What good would it have done? It wouldn't have changed anything."

"It would have mattered," you mutter. You scrub at your face, wiping away the tears, refusing to look at him. Though the anger is still burning, the pain is seeping through, and the words are tumbling out of you before you can stop them. "It would have made a difference. It would have meant something."

"It would have meant nothing," he counters. His hand closes around your wrist, and he gently pulls it away from your face, forcing you to look at him. "I'm sorry, but I can't do that. I won't. This is what's best, and, eventually, you'll see that. When this is all over, and we're on the other side of the war, everything will be different. Better."

"No," you whisper. "It won't."

Your shoulders slump, and the anger drains out of you, leaving you feeling hollow. You look down, unable to meet his eyes. You can't even bring yourself to care. Not anymore. The fight has gone out of you.

All the energy, all the fire, all the passion, is gone. It's like a switch has been flipped, the fury replaced by an overwhelming sense of exhaustion.

You can't do this anymore.

Obi-Wan lets out a shaky breath, and his hand drops, his fingers curling into his palm.

"This is too much," you mumble. You shake your head, and you run a hand over your hair, pulling at it. Your eyes sting, and your throat feels raw, a lump forming. "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep fighting for nothing."

"I understand," he says. He sounds tired. "You've been through a lot. We all have. It's not going to be easy, but we have to keep going. We have to keep fighting."

"Stop." The word is a whisper, a breath, and you shake your head, your gaze lifting, finding his. "Just. Stop, Obi-Wan. I can't hear it right now."

His eyes widen, and his lips part, surprise flickering across his features. He hadn't expected that. He hadn't expected any of this.

"Please," he breathes, his voice low. "Let me help."

"There's nothing to help," you say, the words catching in your throat. They're the truth, the bitter reality you've been ignoring for too long. "I'm tired, Obi-Wan. I'm exhausted. And I don't...I can't..."

"It's going to be okay," he says softly.

"No, it's not," you say. You lift your head, the tears drying on your cheeks, the hurt etched into your face. "It's not okay. Nothing's okay. Yaddle's dead. The Council doesn't care. Nothing's changed. And this war...I thought...I thought that if I came here, if I brought the evidence, that they'd finally listen. That they'd finally see what I've been trying to tell them."

"I know," he murmurs.

"But they didn't," you choke out. The tears start again, and your chin quivers, and it's all you can do not to break down. "They didn't. They won't. And I...I just can't...I can't keep doing this. I can't."

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan says, his eyes searching your face. He takes a step forward, and his hands cup your cheeks, his thumb brushing over your skin. He's gentle, and warm, and his touch is soothing. But, it's not enough. Not now. Not after everything.

"I can't do this anymore," you repeat. You reach up and grasp his hands, prying them away from your face, holding them in front of you. You can't look at him, your eyes fixed on the tremor in his fingers, on the way his hands shake.

"I know," he repeats.

"No, I don't think you do," you say.

You let go of him, and the air rushes out of you, the tension draining from your body. You're empty. You're nothing. It's a familiar feeling, one you've felt before. One you've tried so hard to escape. But, here it is, back again. Taunting you. It's enough to make you want the anger back. The anger is better. It's easier.

Obi-Wan is watching you, his expression uncertain, his hands clasped in front of him. You can feel his anxiety through the bond, the fear, the worry.

"I have to go," you say.

You turn and head for the door, not looking back. There's nothing else to say.

"Wait," he calls out. He follows, his footsteps echoing in the room. "Just wait a minute. Please. Let's talk about this."

"What's there to talk about?" you ask. The door opens, and you step into the corridor, the bright lights washing over you. You can hear him behind you, and you can feel his panic, his desperation, but you don't stop.

"Where are you going?" he asks. His hand wraps around your wrist, and he tugs, his grip tight. "I said wait. Just a moment."

"Let go," you snap. You yank your arm out of his grasp, whirling to face him. He's standing in front of you, his brows drawn, his expression grim. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "I need some space. Please. Just. Give me some time. I need to clear my head."

"Let me help," Obi-Wan insists. His jaw is set, his gaze hard, but his voice is pleading, a hint of fear in his tone. You can't deny it might be warranted. He knows how you get. "You don't have to do this alone."

"You should have helped when it mattered," you say, your voice a hoarse whisper. "When I needed you. When it counted. But, you didn't. So, now, I'm asking you. Please. Just. Give me some time."

Obi-Wan inhales sharply, and the sound is like a knife to the heart. He's hurt. You can feel it. But, the guilt is overpowered by the pain, and you can't bring yourself to care. You're hurting, too. You're so tired of fighting. So tired of trying to fix something that can't be fixed. You can't keep going like this.

You don't know what else to do.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

"Yeah," you breathe. "Me too."

Without another word, you turn and walk away.

taglist: @baddest-batchers @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @aynavaano @floofyroro

@ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon

@heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bimboshaggy @bunny7567

@lostqueenofegypt @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay

@callsign-denmark @julli-bee @moonychicky @captn-trex @feral-ferrule

@webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @cw80831 @chaicilatte @somewhere-on-kamino

@silly-starfish @veralii @chubbyhedgehog @lordofthenerds97 @meshlajetii

@heaven1207 @808tsuika @aanncummings @lugiastark @maniacalbooper

@sensitive-shark @kashasenpai @kkdrawsdecently @isaidonyourknees @awkwardwookie

@sugarrush-blush @lunaastars

#I’m wishing Roy the best #please take care of yourself!!#the clone wars #captain rex #clone captain rex #event horizon #also you know what I’ll be stupid in the tags #the Jedi Council is SLACKING holy hell #Goldie is literally holding a bright neon sign scream “LOOK SUSPICIOUS SHIT HERE”#and the council is like #“Nah it’s all good here #We don't talk about Yaddle no no no. We don’t talk about Yaddle!”#Yoda when he discovers Yaddle was murdered and Goldie was literally giving them the answer to several of their problems during the war:#that might just be me being dumb #again #correct me if i’m wrong tho roy lol

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bi-writes · 4 months ago

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idk just thinking about seeing your lieutenant for the first time, this big giant dog of a man, and thinking to yourself, "hmmm yeah, i'm gonna make that thing mine." (18+)

like. i'm thinking about seeing him walk into the room for the first time. fresh off an op, still in all his gear. he's angry cause he's been awake off and on for 40 hours at this point, and he sinks down into a chair in the mess hall, and your eyes bug cause the chair fucking bends with his weight.

and you're just like "omg omg omg holy shit" cause this fucking brute is just huge and beefy, and you had no idea this was your type until you watched his hand curl around a cup and make it look miniature. and you're wondering like "fuck i bet those holsters are custom made" cause you don't think you've ever seen them stretch that far around someone's thigh.

ughghghghgh, and he's dumb as shit, too, or maybe he's just fucking blind. you give him every hint in the book, every indication of how you feel other than pasting a giant neon sign on your forehead that says "fuck me."

you wear the tightest cargo pants you can get. you let the buttons on your shirts go low whenever he's near. you make excuses to see him late, delivering him paperwork in the middle of the night, meeting him out for a smoke (and he's never seen you smoke anything), shuffling your way in front of him in line so you can bump into him and graze your ass against his front. he even catches you this way--even curls his hand around your waist and steadies you before letting you go impatiently.

fuck, bending over in front of him, the obnoxious giggling, the excuses to dangle your tits in his face. you want this man underneath you, on top of you, tangled around you and suffocating you with those enormous arms, and he barely side-glances at you whenever you're in his vicinity, and it's infuriating.

what do you have to do to reel this thing in? how many bones do you have to give him?

how many times do i have to flash my bra at you for you to fuck me over your desk?!

you can't eat another cherry in front of him. you can't drop more sauce onto your cleavage. you cannot come out of the showers in just a towel in front of him anymore because you're going to lose your fucking mind--

you even made out with his beloved little sergeant, his favorite little know-it-all that can't stop blowing shit up. that blue-eyed, insufferable, yapper of a scot that kisses all wet, with teeth, who pants like a puppy when he asks if he can 'ave a taste of y'r bonnie cunt, please, please, please--

and you say yes, because maybe he'll finally fucking shut up if you drown him between your thighs and never let him come up for air.

face down, ass up, cargos around your ankles, hips pushing past against that puppy's stubble as he devours you on his knees. his big hands spread your ass for him, and his thumbs flick over your folds as he opens you up, a cackle leaving him before he opens his mouth wide and kisses your pussy all sloppy and uncoordinated.

when the door swings open and hits the wall with a bang, the puppy tries to leave. he tries to move, but you reach back and grip his mohawk, scowling as you shove his face back where it belongs as your lieutenant stands at the door and heaves with anger.

"uh uh," you snap, and your sergeant on his knees whines, his blue eyes a little foggy and wet as he blinks up at you. but he complies, his tongue slurping, and you flutter your lashes at your lieutenant as you keep johnny muzzled in your cunt. "sorry, lieutenant. is this your office? must've read the sign wrong."

you reel from the contact. a big hand grips you by the hair, slamming you down against his desk, and you choke as you try and gasp for air. like a good boy, johnny settles where he is, shoving his tongue down your hole and moaning low when he realizes you're dripping down his chin now that his lieutenant has you.

"y'think this is funny, eh?" ghost mutters in your ear. "y'think i don't know wot y'r doin'? think i 'aven't caught on, think i 'aven't noticed wot a fuckin' insatiable bloody pain in my arse you've been ever since y'got 'ere?!"

you whimper, relaxing against the desk, and ghost tugs at your hair again, shaking his head.

"oi! y'don't get to be stupid just because y'r gettin' y'r cunny played with," ghost snaps. "y'r a right headache."

you laugh, getting up to your elbows, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as ghost scruffs johnny by the base of his mohawk and cups your pussy with one big hand. you gasp, leaning your head back, because finally, yes, it's all i want, please, please, please--

"'f you wanted to be my pet so bad," ghost murmurs, fitting himself behind you, leaning over your shoulder as he spits into your ear, "all ya had to do was fuckin' ask, swee'eart."

when your eyes open, ghost hums, clicking his tongue under the mask.

"use y'r words," he growls. "be a good girl, and say wot it is y'want."

"want you," you whine, and he sighs deeply, closing his eyes, and you drown out the sounds of johnny sputtering at your feet as ghost bends you at the hip a little more, arching your back.

"mmm...tha'sit. was tha' so hard?"

#idk what this is #but i saw a pic of ghost and i had to be gross about him for a couple hundred words sorry #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon thoughts #ghoap x reader

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suguann · 7 months ago

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✎. he tells you they’re the problem and leaves it at that before sliding a plate of eggs and toast in front of you.

tags. fem!reader, mild dubcon, possessive and obsessive behavior, but he's also kinda sweet?? [18+ only]

You like your new roommate.

Simon’s surprisingly better to have around than the last person who lived with you—a girl you knew from college who had an affinity for stealing your clothes and conveniently never had money for rent. He’s the type to make you soup when you’re sick, acknowledge you if you’re in the same room, water your flowers while he rolls his cigarettes on the fire escape, and carry your groceries up the four flights of stairs to your floor.

He’s attractive, too, in the not-so-conventional sense, but in a disarming way, all small smiles and knowing looks and soft hair you know he doesn’t put much effort into—that sometimes curls around his ears when he lets it get too long—yet it still manages to look better than yours on the best days.

He never tells you what he does for work, and you’re too polite to ask. But you have a feeling he makes enough to afford a place on the less crime-infested side of town—somewhere nicer than your cramped apartment with its outdated appliances, leaky faucets, and the bright neon sign atop the building across the street that shines through your windows all times of the day—but he says he’s not ready to live alone.

Something tells you there’s more to it than him being a lonely bachelor, but again, you don’t pry.

“Does this place have wi-fi?” is all he’d said the first time you meet, in a voice so smooth and only slightly broken up by his accent, clad in a shirt that looked two sizes too small around his arms and clutching a duffle bag in one big hand.

Your brain was this shaken-up box of words and syllables that when you answered him, it came out in a nervous stutter. “Y-yeah, I’ll, er…I’ll give it to you—the password, I mean—once you've moved in. If that’s okay.”

He’d dropped his duffle bag in front of the room that would be his. “Consider me moved in.”

The smile he gave you, crinkling eyes and chuckling lightly, only made the stutter worse.

You let his charm roll off you; you always figured it came naturally to him, a characteristic that comes with being attractive and good.

A handful of months later—of finding a routine around each other and lazy smiles in the morning—something changes the night you go out with a guy Mary from work eagerly sets you up with.

His name’s Robb, he’s a doctor, and you both love cats; he has a house in Spain. Did I mention he's my cousin?

(A dull no way concealed behind your teeth.

If you hadn’t said yes, you feared your entire lunch break would consist of her waxing poetic over a man you're unsure about meeting.)

For a flicker of a moment, there’s an unreadable expression on Simon’s face as he watches you touch up your makeup in the hallway mirror and slip your hand into the crook of your date’s elbow at the door. There’s a slight glint of something uncharacteristically cold behind the mask of indifference before a small smile replaces it.

“Have a nice night,” you throw over your shoulder, except you don’t notice that he never says it back.

You mope around the apartment when Robb—who surprisingly exceeded your expectations of mediocre dates, not that you ever plan on admitting that to Mary—doesn’t reach out to you for three days. Then a week. You’re at that age to understand when people get busy, and a nice night doesn’t always mean it’s mutually reciprocated. But you liked him, and it felt promising after he’d kissed you goodnight against your front door.

It had to have been the kiss that turned him off. Maybe he realized it was too much too soon.

When Simon finds you curled up in a ball under your comforter, one thumb gently wiping away your tears, he doesn’t even bring up your date. Instead, he orders your favorite take-out and puts on a sitcom you’d mentioned to him once—somewhat surprised that he remembers—the dreamy doctor who’d ghosted you blissfully forgotten with greasy food and a warm, comforting chest to rest your head on.

Simon’s there again—sweets in hand and a soft voice to soothe you—when another date (Rin from finance on your floor) a month later is a no-show, and a few weeks after that when Rin tells you without context that he can’t see you anymore.

The third time of let downs feels worse. It’s worse because maybe there’s something wrong with you, and when you ask Simon, he’s too nice to rub salt in your wounds. He tells you they’re the problem and leaves it at that before sliding a plate of eggs and toast in front of you.

You've been Simon's roommate for a year, and he doesn't take it well when you tell him you're looking for a new place.

It’s after he comes home from a three-month work trip. The shadow that crosses over his face should’ve been your first hint that something is wrong.

Had you noticed the signs sooner, you wonder if you’d be less like prey caught by the softness of your underbelly, kept in place by the scruff, and sharp teeth at your neck.

"Beg me. Beg me not to cum in you."

"S-Simon," you whimper wetly, "don't cum in—ah—me."

His fingers hold your chin with an unyielding grip, ensuring your gaze doesn’t stray from his in the cracked mirror. You’re embarrassed by what you see, how spread open you are to his dark, inkwell eyes hungrily watching as you twitch when his other hand slides between your thighs.

"Don’t stop begging, love,” he growls, squeezing you tighter, “or I might forget."

There’s that dark look again, the one that sends a shivery feeling up your spine, possessive almost with how he traces every inch of you as if burning the image of you into his memory, the softness washed away by something more sinister.

A little voice in the back of your head tells you to flee, but another knows he'd find joy in catching you.

No one would ever think your sweet, attractive roommate would be the same man staring at you now—everything you thought you knew about him stripped away to reveal a new canvas, bare for splashes of paint to fill in the cracks—teeth marks imprinted along the curve of your jaw, on the inside of your thighs.

He hides it well. His humble personality doing the trick of being the impenetrable mask for what he’s concealing underneath: a raw obsession, an addict finally getting his hands on his favorite drug, someone who can’t recognize defeat and knows how to take.

“What do they have that I don’t? Hm? Must be a desperate little thing. My pretty slut,” Simon’s voice rumbles low against your ear, shy of unhinged. “They won’t treat you as good as I do. Don’t I treat you good?”

You whimper when his grip grows tighter, but he doesn’t seem to notice—like he’s not fully here with you. No trace of the soft, gentle man who keeps the freezer full of your favorite ice cream, who runs to the store when you run out of tampons and comes back with chocolate and a new pair of fuzzy socks. A few words have turned him into someone you don’t know. Perhaps you never did.

“Answer me.”

An indiscernible squeak is the only sound you make.

He chuckles darkly, his head dipping down to rest his lips against the fluttering pulse in your neck, a finger slipping through the alarming amount of wetness between your thighs where his cock rends you down the middle, and begins rubbing firm, tight circles over your clit, pulling a moan from your throat.

“It’s okay, love,” he mumbles, words barely audible above your heartbeat swimming in your ears. “I’ll be everything for you. Everything you need. I’ll show you why I’m better.”

#ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley imagine #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost smut #ghost imagine #cod smut #cod x reader #cod imagine #mw2 x reader #mw2 smut #.things i write

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