#next chapter: to Obi or not to Obi? who knows!

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶What was meant to be a quiet evening of DND gets out of hand before it even begins, and when the guys leave a bottle of whiskey behind, all those passes you and Eddie made at each other grow to a new level.✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, drunken yearning, drunken flirting, dirty jokes, sexual tension, failed phone sex, light angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, 18+ overall for eventual smut

obi-wan voice: this isn't the first kiss chapter you're looking for (it's in the next one)

chapter: 9/20 [wc: 23.8k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 9: Dungeons & Dragons & Unicorns, oh my!

Occupying the narrow space available in Mr. Moore’s cramped office, Carl exchanged a look with Kevin over the edge of his coffee mug as he tipped it back, and coasted the bitter liquid across his tongue, swallowing with trouble. He winced at the potency. Kevin gave him an apologetic grimace.

“You made this too strong,” Carl whispered.

Kevin took a sip as well, and clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth, admonishing his mistake of putting too many grounds in the machine. “She just makes it better.”

David hunched forward in his plush leather chair. Around him, filing cabinets were open, sticky notes reminders hung crooked on the drawers, and his desk was stacked with customer’s invoices.

Three days you’d been gone and the world had devolved into chaos.

“Yeah, gotcha,” David said into the phone crooked between his shoulder and ear, jotting down an unrelated note on the corner of an envelope. “You feel better soon, ya hear?” He threw an excessive eye roll onto the end of his sentence when the voice on the other end kept rattling off. “I told ya to stop worryin’ about it. Now, get some rest. Yeah. Bye.”

He hung up, and addressed his audience waiting on bated breath, “Ed’s callin’ in sick again.”

“Third day in a row,” Carl commented.

Kevin gestured at the state of the office with his mug. “Third day for her too.” David muttered an acknowledgement, missing his Office Administrator who had taken up the responsibility of organizing all the documents into their rightful place.

“Three days, huh? And both with the flu?” Kevin restated in a leading tone.

“Both with the flu,” David confirmed.

“Not suspicious at all,” Carl added.

In unison, the three men put their mugs to their lips, sipped the coffee, winced, and made noises of disgust.

But after all that, Kevin beamed at his friends. “Good for them,” he said. “Ed deserves someone like her.”

In unison, they agreed, and sipped, and made a pact to dump out their mugs in the sink.

————

You arrived to work with an unglamorous wad of tissue balled in your fist, and a raw nose. Lingering sniffles ailed you, as did the body lethargy, but you were no longer contagious. It sucked to exist in this head-cold sphere, but it was nice to leave the house after days spent in-and-out of a Nyquil daze.

And yes, you were eager to see Eddie again, despite the twist of dread in your stomach.

It’d been days since you left his place on a good note, but would the remnants of his tears be this weird unstated suspense in between breaths of conversation? Would there be an underlying presence of you know all the intimate details of my life in the otherwise cheerful morning greeting? Would things go back to normal as if nothing happened?

Regardless, the morning greeting would have to wait. There were a million things to do around the auto shop since you’d been absent; first of which was going into Mr. Moore’s office, and fighting the disarray to find his updated schedule detailing his upcoming meetings, lunches, and days he’d be out of town. You grabbed a marker and went to work on the calendar in the garage, transcribing the schedule for the guys to see so they could stop asking you if Mr. Moore was in his office or not (especially when his door was right there and they could check for themselves).

Crossing out the first week of January, you began to write down one of the meetings when the back door was thrown open, and an ominous death knell tolled in a jangle of chains and heavy boots, making a veritable effort to stomp as loudly as possible on their way to you.

The eagerness disappeared. Only tumultuous dread now.

Your delicate smile was replaced by a canvas of annoyance. “Why are you so loud?” you winced. And winced again when you heard your stuffed-up voice.

You didn’t have to look away from the note you were jotting down to see his impish grin. He practically forced you to see it when he folded his arms, and imposed his shoulder on the wall, making the calendar page slip under your marker in a long red streak.

He ducked his head to catch your eye. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? I’m walking as I always do; not a hop, skip, or bounce extra.” Eddie’s tight lips parted in your periphery, showing a gleam of teeth. Raising his voice a tick, he drove the dread deeper, “My girl isn’t flinching at every sound because she has a headache, right?”

Having no sense of self restraint, nor manners, Eddie invaded more of your personal space. His chest swelled with a held breath while his tongue prepared a taunt and his eyes squinched half-closed. “It couldn’t be because you’re sick, right? Not Miss Queen of the City who’s been coughed on by every germ out there, making her tougher than the common cold, hmm? Couldn’t be because of that?”

Capping the marker, you let your side-eye graduate to a full fledged incredulous stare at his much-too-giddy expression. “It’s allergies,” you said, crumpling the tissue into your pocket.

“Allergies, huh? Which ones?”

“The ones I’m allergic to.”

“Interesting, interesting,” he humored you, “very interesting since, y’know, the most common allergies people have around here are to grass and weed pollen, and those suckers are dead and buried under a layer of snow. Won’t be growing for quite some months, so..”

You glared at his need to follow up that observation with his lips pursed into a mocking kiss of arrogance, provoking you to fold while simultaneously flaunting the sharp cut of his cheekbones.

“Fine,” you admitted in a low tone. “I got sick.” Noting the heavy bags under his red-rimmed eyes, you quirked an eyebrow, and asked, “Have you been working overtime without me?”

He brightened. “Oh, no. Adrie got me sick too. This is my first day back.”

“Have I ever told you how so,” you paused for emphasis, and prodded the pen cap into his sternum, “so very irritating you are?” He cupped his hand over your wrist, and cradled your fist to his chest. Drawing you in, in, in. Cold seeping through your sleeve from his red fingers, never kicking his habit of smoking before coming inside, regardless of the weather. “Just the worst,” you admonished, finding it difficult to resist the magnetism of his laughter quaking under your palm, urging yourself to favor the adorable scrunch above his nose, and guide your thoughts away from his unzipped leather jacket.

But the draw was too strong. You swayed closer until your forearm was pressed to the dragon tattoo hidden beneath his coveralls, and your tennis shoe grazed past the tip of his metal-toed boot

He recalled, “That’s weird. I remember you saying I was your favorite.”

“I said you were my favorite date. As far as people go, you’re in my top three. Robin, Adrie, you,” you listed on the fingers trapped against his inhale.

He lifted his chin, regarding you down the slope of his magnificent nose. “You rank Adrie above me?”

“Well, think about it this way; you rank above all the other people I’ve met. And I’ve met a lot of people, you know.”

“That isn’t instilling a lot of confidence, babe.”

Sweetheart. Babe. My girl. His hand on your hand. His cold fingers cupping your palm, searing you despite their lack of heat; so different from how you came to know them, as hesitant pauses on his tools when you greeted him and he frowned as if to ask why you were speaking to him.

Was this it? Was this the new normal?

You hoped so.

Cheeks warmed by the multitude of pet names, you put an edge of dissatisfaction on your question to cover how his affections affected you, “Is that my job? To make you feel good about yourself?” Hotter, hotter. His intensity was burning you.

You wiggled the marker in your grasp until you could tap it at the second unfastened button on his coveralls. “I think you just keep me around so you have someone to call you handsome.”

“No way,” he said. He tilted his head to the side, resting it on the wall. His tangly mess of hair followed the movement, laying against his throat. “But.. Just for clarification, I am handsome, right?”

“Of course you’re handsome.”

“Aw, you flatter me, gorgeous,” he said in mock bashfulness, turning his face away while you stared at him in utter exasperation. “Love to hear it from my favorite.”

Gorgeous. Love. Favorite.

You didn’t question his favorite what. Person, place, or thing? Who knows. Words escaped you when the honey in his eyes twinkled with something tender, and his dopey smile softened at the edges, and his heart pounded a story against your touch, and his grin faded more, and his lips regained their pretty pink plumpness, and his voice reached deeper–to the place where your hand felt the creation of vibrations–and his tongue put a new spin on a sentiment as old as time.

“I missed you,” he said, features going lax as he dropped the overly flirtatious act. He let go of your fist to reach out and pinch your upper arm without an ounce of strength in his sweet teasing.

It took you an extra beat to withdraw your hand from his person.

You scoffed, “Uh-huh. I can tell by how you’re trying to butter me up, and annoy me to death at the same time.”

“Don’t tell me I’ve become the sunshine in our relationship now,” he snorted. And before he gave your stomach time to flutter at the word choice: relationship, he was stabbing his finger at the rumpled calendar.

He looked where he pointed, and dropped it down another Saturday. “I meant to ask you this before you left the other day, but we’re at a good spot in our DND campaign for a new person to join if you wanted to come. Sessions are a bitch to schedule now that we’re all adults and have lives, jobs, and responsibilities, and whatever, and I haven’t, uh, hosted one at my place in a while” –years– “so it’s kinda an extra special event, and would be cool if you wanted to come by.”

You wrung your mouth at the invitation.

“C’mon, I promise it’ll be fun.”

“I know it’s easy to assume I’m a giant loser like you, but even being a theater kid, I’ve never played DND,” you told him. “I don’t wanna ruin your game, or impose on your friends enjoying their night. Or, like, clash if we don’t get along, or somethin’.”

He cast his gaze wildly around the room. Extra dramatic. “You won’t ruin our game, and my friends will love you–they’re the rest of my band, and some kids who were in my club in high school. You’ll fit right in. And besides.. I want you to meet them.”

Delightful goosebumps tingled at your scalp. Meeting his friends was quite the step in your relationship. And no, mutual friends via Bobbie did not count.

You filled your lungs, and expelled your sigh at the calendar, reading over your penmanship while you thought it over.

“And maybe I didn’t phrase my question correctly. Let me try again.” He cleared his throat. “Will you play DND with us?”

Will you?

A ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question.

“Ah, taking that route,” you said. And just to mess with him, you tapped the marker on the tip of his nose. “Sure–yes–I’ll join you in your roleplaying game, but if they don’t like me, I told you so.”

“Why wouldn’t they like you?”

“I dunno, it took you weeks to speak to me.”

“Yeah, but I’m me.” Eddie shoved himself off the wall and began walking behind you, brushing his hand across your lower back, and bending to your ear to whisper a coy gloat, “And I play hard to get.”

All smiles, smiles, smiles. He took two bouncy steps backwards, opened the glass door in a wide swing and spun on his way inside, whipping his hair in a blur of brunette.

Bewildered by his dorky charm, you watched him through the windows, sighing out the air in your lungs to make room for the blossoming throbs of adoration when he caught his hip on the corner of your desk and tried walking off the pain in case you were watching, only for him to keel over right before he reached the hallway.

You shook your head and resumed where you were in Mr. Moore’s schedule. “You are absolutely not hard to get.”

Looking up, you found the day you were supposed to mark with an important phone meeting, and instead..

January 16th

DND

You drew stars around it, experiencing the childhood rush of endorphins that came from doodling hearts around your crush’s name in your yearbook, and giggling with your friends over it, betting you could get their number so you could call them over the summer, acutely aware none of you would ever dare.

————

Stress squeezed Eddie’s throat. Each cry, each sob, each sniffle set him on edge. His headache pounded, his chest clutched onto the calming breaths he was supposed to prioritize, his heart raced sweat to his skin. Everything was falling apart around him.

“Yeah–Yeah, no, it’s okay. Yeah.” He hung up the phone, chord swaying against the grimy wall, and he pressed his fists above his eyes, turning in a slow circle.

Whistling, screeching, wailing. The boiling kettle on the stovetop pierced the sound of Adrie’s hiccupy bawling. Growing louder, and louder. Rising above the blood pulsing in his ears, the twitch in his strained muscles. The anger under the surface, bubbling. A vice on his chest. Clenching his jaw. Gripping harder. Growing bigger, and bigger, and bigger, his emotions grew bigger until the frustration slipped.

Eddie snapped the stove knob to the off position, and jiggled the broken shitty plastic back on the dial. He moved the kettle to the back burner–sucking his bottom lip in and biting down hard, seeking the relief of pain to keep himself from slamming the kettle into the next dimension. And after swallowing the thickened saliva in his mouth, he walked away from what would’ve been his late, late oatmeal breakfast.

The trailer rattled less and less.

His heavy footsteps exhausted to his socks sliding across the vinyl.

“Adrie,” he begged her name again, and again as he knelt to her chair at the green table. He passed his hand over her hair, petting it away from the sticky streaks of tears on her red cheeks, and he cradled her head to his neck. The flash of anger was gone. It should’ve never seen the light of day, but he was human. He was a single person, and he tamed it the best he could. He was fragile, about to break at the next sob in his ear, but he tried. “Daddy’s gonna fix it, okay? I’ll make it better. I’ll make it better. Let Daddy make it better.”

He was stuck in the loop again. Where everything was so much, and he was so weak. Gathering her as if she were still small and could fit into the crook of his arm. “Let Daddy fix it,” he begged again, rocking her as he did all those years ago; for her, and for him, not having the capacity to do more than cry along with her.

Peeling himself away from her neediness, he worked his hoodie from her fists, and dialed his last resort.

It rang.

And rang.

Hopelessness burdened the expanse of shoulders, dropping them at the fourth trill. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, pick up.” The only thing helping calm him was his hand pressed over his eyes. One less stimulus.

Another ring. He was about to give up when–

“Hello?”

“Hey, man! Uh, uhm, what’re you up to?”

The casualness was lost when Steve’s pause elongated to a nasally noise of understanding when Adrie’s whine cut through the static, and Eddie’s cheek smashed to the receiver as he moved into the hallway, curling his frame to the phone like it were a lifeline.

Steve’s tone feathered to the same one he used five years ago when Eddie called frequently, “Is everything okay over there? Nancy and I were packing up the car to head out of town with the kids, but I have a minute. What’s up?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s okay, uh–hey, you have Robin’s number, right? For her parent’s place?”

His mood lightened, “Yeah, I think Nance does in her pocketbook. Nance!” He called out for her. Then, he spoke into the receiver, as gently as possible, with grace for him to deny if he wanted, “You’re not trying to call Robin, are you?”

“No.. No, I’m not.”

There was a stint of silence where neither of them broke the wordless understanding woven into their connection; phone, chord, wires, friendship.

At last, Nancy’s footsteps came in clicks on their hardwood flooring, and Steve expressed a soft, “I’m happy for you, man.”

Eddie didn’t correct him that it was about his game night. He simply let his friend’s praise fill the void. It’d been a long time since someone was proud of him.

————

The modest house near the empty plot of land was unassuming. Not much money was invested into the foundation, nor the many repairs, but oddly, it was the furniture and fine dinnerware passed through generations that would have anyone second guessing why a home with a cracked window from two summers ago had a china cabinet. And really, any gust during a storm could shatter the glass pane covered by a delicately orange curtain, but it hadn’t happened yet, and therefore, there was no need to fix it.

In the living room, the TV was too loud. In the kitchen, you closed the fridge with your foot and took the tea kettle off the stove, balancing the makings of a sandwich in your arms.

Eddie said to come over half an hour before everyone else so he could help you create your character sheet, and with it being 4PM, you had three hours before you were supposed to head out, and were spending the afternoon with Robin’s parents while she went to Vickie’s before her late night shift.

You placed two slices of bread on a plate when the phone rang.

From the other room, Robin’s dad answered, and his dry vocal chords carried an air of confusion, “Someone’s calling for you!”

“If they’re asking for bail, I’m not here,” you replied in a monotone voice, getting a butter knife out of the drawer.

There was a shuffle as he sat forward in his chair and inquired, wholeheartedly, “Are you asking for bail?” He waited for a reply while you continued to unscrew the cap to the peanut butter. “He says he’s not!”

“Mm.” Unconvinced this wasn’t one of your friends calling from a police station, you finished pouring the two cups of tea you were intending to make, put sugar into one, and carried them into the living room.

“He sounds like a nice young man,” he assured, adjusting the nasal cannulas higher on his upper lip before taking the cup from you.

Narrowing your eyes with wisdom beyond your years, you informed him, “They always do,” and placed the other tea on the end table between the recliner and couch for Robin’s mom to take whenever she wasn’t piecing together the answer for Wheel of Fortune and whispering it into the TV remote clutched to her face.

You took the phone from him and held it to your ear. “Yellow?”

There was a horribly sad sound on the other end.

“Hey! Hi! I, uhm, hey, it’s Eddie, I’m sorry for calling you, if that’s weird, but I’m–I’m going through a lot here”, he ended in a humorless laugh. “I-I-Adrie–So, look–Adrie, it’s okay, I’m fixing it–Adrie was on a playdate, and I don’t know, I think she got into a fight with her friend or something, and broke the toy they were playing with because she didn’t want to share, so she had to come home early, and now she’s upset because the playdate’s over, and the other girl’s toy broke, and–I already said that–but Steve and Nancy are going out of town, and I can’t find a babysitter last minute that will take her to their place, and Wayne’s out playing poker with his friends, and God, I–” He shifted, and you could tell by the fading whimpers that he moved down the hallway, and by the clack on the phone, it was his fingernails dragging along it as he scrubbed his hand over his face, desperate for someone else to come up with a solution. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m asking of you, but there’s going to be a bunch of guys drinking tonight, and I don’t want Adrie to be around that shit–”

“Eddie?” You didn’t mean to cut him off, but his panic was overwhelming you, and it was easier to concentrate on the one idea your brain latched onto without his input.

“..This is my only night I get to hang out with everyone,” he admitted in a whisper so shy you struggled to hear it. “I’m worried about her distracting me.”

You stared at the linen closet in the hallway to Robin’s bedroom. “I’ve got an idea, okay? Just hold on. I’ll be there in thirty.. maybe forty minutes. That okay?”

More movement sounded from the other end. You thought it was him hanging up without saying goodbye, but then you heard the sweetest thing.

“Miss Mouse is coming over,” he reassured Adrie, and the relief in his voice affected you in the worst way. Making you go all mushy when little Adrie’s hiccupy confirmation came from the depths of her face pressed to the base of his neck.

“M—ouse?”

“Mhmm.”

His hum filled your chest. Her noise of appreciation erupted goosebumps along your forearms. You were wanted–requested–and the square beads digging into your wrist had never felt closer to his, across town.

You addressed Eddie, “I’ve got a plan. Okay? I’ll be over soon.”

“Thank you,” he spoke into the receiver as you hung up.

The phone suspended on the hook in a weighty click. It bounced as you let it go, coil slipping from the table and falling to the floor. You asked your audience of two, “Is it okay if I leave early?”

“Of course you can, dear,” Robin’s dad answered, hoarse from the constant flow of oxygen drying out his throat.

“And can I borrow some of Bobbie’s old bedsheets?”

Her mom made a confused face, but agreed, “Whatever you want, sweet bean.”

–And thus, you had the catalyst for the second time you arrived on Edward Munson’s doorstep with your arms loaded with goodies–

He threw open the door with a dozen apologies stacked behind his teeth. “Hey. I’m sorry for calling you like that, she–”

The she in question came barreling out from behind him.

You dropped your knees to accept Adrienne. Discarding your overstuffed tote bag to hug her wholly; taking her into your arms, and consoling her with all the right words you prepared on your way over. “Hey, I heard you were having a rough day,” you said while tucking her into you tight. “You don’t have to be sad anymore. I’m here.”

Her cheeks had long since dried, but the whiny pitch to her voice teetered on the cusp of a sniffly cry Eddie had only eliminated minutes ago, after his speech about sharing. She mumbled against your puffer jacket, “You came to play wi’h me?”

“I sure did. And you know what? I brought you a surprise.” You flicked your gaze to Eddie to gauge his reaction, and your breath hitched at the beauty of his relief. Standing tall in the doorway over you and his daughter, taking a moment of peace with his eyes closed, mouth in a gentle line, and relaxation easing the near-permanent creases between his brows. The pleasure of a small break from parental duties affected him so physically, you could behold him for hours. Or tell him to go have a cigarette.

However, impatient as any four-year-old, Adrie wriggled in your arms for your attention, and asked what you brought.

Opening the tote, you took out patterned bedsheet after bedsheet. Stars, flowers, cowboys–as many as you could fit, and held them up. “Do you know what we’re gonna make with these?”

“A fort?” she asked, hopeful and bouncing with energy.

“A fort!” you repeated. “We’re gonna build a blanket fort! And I brought movies for you to–”

She grabbed the sheets and took off for her bedroom.

“Okie dokie.” You pushed yourself up from the concrete steps, and fanned out the rented VHSes like a deck of cards to show Eddie instead. “Sorry it took me so long, I stopped by Family Video on my way here. Has she seen these?”

He read the white clamshell packaging, and the dimple on his left cheek developed. “She has,” and before you could react, he pressed on with a reassurance, “but don’t underestimate how many times a kid can watch the same movie and never grow bored of it.”

“Good to know!”

Like that; intuitive, second nature; Eddie knew when he gave you news that could be disappointing, he chased it with a thoughtful remark, validating your considerate gesture.

You slipped them back into the bag, and shouldered it. “I was thinking we could move the TV and VCR in her room, and build a fort around it with a pile of blankets on the floor for her to sleep on like she’s camping. Super cozy. Maybe some string lights if you have some from Christmas?”

“That..” The subtle arch in his eyebrows climbed higher as his eyes drifted closed in true appreciation. “That sounds like a perfect plan.” And his face went apologetic again. “And yeah, thank you for coming early. I was trying to send Adrie on a playdate so she’d come home tired and want to sleep while we’re playing, but, yeah, that went to shit, and then I tried calling her usual babysitters, but they couldn’t watch her at their places, and my uncle’s gone until the morning, and Steve and Nancy are–”

Interrupting him, you stepped into the doorway, and he moved to accommodate you. “Next time,” you said, cupping his upper arm, “just call me first.”

You squeezed and trailed your fingers down his sleeve as you let the moment mature in traces of your fingertips brushing over the thick poly-cotton of his sun-bleached black hoodie missing its drawstring. He prized the moment by memorizing the angel the universe blessed him with; and you were rooted by his gaze, driven to wonder about the ardency which he watched the minute press of your lips when you swallowed, and the coincidence of his own lips twitching into a jumpy smile.

“Let me show you Adrie’s room.”

His home was much the same as when you left it. There was a pillow and blanket tossed on the corner of the couch, a Little Mermaid plate and fork dripping in the dish rack, an assortment of clean clothes piled into a laundry basket on top of the washing machine. Though, Adrie’s toys were put away and the bathroom sink was scrubbed clean of children’s bubble gum flavored toothpaste.

Eddie pushed open the door at the end of the hall, and for the first time, with the tail end of daylight piercing the burgundy curtained window, you saw beyond a few feet to the bed.

You wished you could say the precious girl in the middle of the room caught your eye, but realistically, your attention was drawn to the walls. Specifically, the amount of pink and white Barbie advertisements cut from magazines and special edition My Little Pony fold out posters lining every square inch of available space.

But the girly stuff ended at the height of the dresser beside you.

The bedroom was divided in half, horizontally. Above the mirror decorated in stickers and photos tucked into the frame, the ponies and rainbows ended there, obliterated by a sharp line of black. A RATT flag, Corroded Coffin banner, and printed images of paladins fought the encroaching Carebears and sweet things. Every heavy metal poster in existence overlapped the final push to the ceiling. You took it all in with an air of baffled amusement.

You waved a finger at the top half. “She uh.. a big Judas Priest fan?”

Eddie was already cutting his eyes to you with a sly smile, Adam’s apple bouncing with a mute giggle. “This used to be my room.”

“I figured as much.”

Mixed amongst the posters were guitars hung where only he could reach them, and there was an amp shoved beneath a white desk where his daughter was currently setting up her stuffed animals, picking up one to show you, then second guessing and putting it down.

Eddie vied for you before she could. “Wanna see somethin’?” he asked, walking around the queen sized bed to the closet. Accurately, you guessed he was going to show you a clue to his past, and stepped over the dragging corner of the blue and white comforter, shimmying past him to stand next to the small bookshelf, excitedly watching him reach into the dark abyss. From the top shelf he pulled a lump of jean fabric, and unfolded it, handing it to you. “I used to wear this every day in my youth.”

You pinched the article of clothing between the very tips of your fingers, and turned your head to cough. “Jesus, dude. How much did you used to smoke?”

“Way more than I do now,” he laughed.

After some heavy side-eyeing about his habits, you took a closer look at the garment. The blue plaid lined jean jacket had ratty edges everywhere it could have ratty edges; helped by its sleeves being ripped off, of course. A collection of pins and patches mirrored the ones on his (used to be) bedroom walls–before a princess ruled his kingdom, and fought back the dragons.

“You used to wear this everyday?” you voiced aloud, finding the sentimental value in touching something so dear to him, for him to hang onto it for all these years.

“Should I wear it tonight?” Taking it from you, he flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt, and slipped his arms through the vest, turning around to show you the Dio patch on the back, pointing to it with his thumbs.

You golf clapped. “Very cool. Very tough.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie faced you and tidied the stray waves of his hair flowing out from under the hood, raking his fingers through his bangs until they were perfectly messy, and again, it was one of those strange exchanges where your too honest gazes met, and he diverted his humble smile to the floor, shy and bashful, but not in pretend like before.

You were in his home, in his daughter’s bedroom, doing him a favor, which was feeling less and less like a favor, and more like a convenient excuse you both seized as an opportunity to hang out.

“Miss Mouse!” Adrie gunned for your hand, and embarked on her greatest effort to break you away from her father, tugging you towards her collection of plushes you still needed to be introduced to.

You gasped at the honor, and asked, “Do you want to tell me about them while I braid your hair?”

She lit up at the suggestion. Eddie wasn’t the best at weaving plaits, and she wasn’t the most patient, so having an unbiased party step in to determine whether it was a ‘him’ problem or a ‘her’ problem sounded grand.

And as you sank onto the edge of the mattress with her sitting criss-cross between your legs, it was obvious within the first few twists of the French braid sitting flat against her head, and curved perfectly over her ear, that it was most definitely a ‘him’ problem.

Behind you, there was a great sigh at your victory.

Adrie held up a brown teddy with one glass bead eye slightly larger than the other after surgery was performed on him to replace the one he lost, and said, “This is Mr. Bear.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Bear,” you said, using your best Children’s Television Program presenter voice to entertain her. You threw a smile over your shoulder at the silliness, and Eddie was already looking at you, warm brown eyes shining with the same fondness as yours.

“And he’s married to Mrs. Froggy.”

“Wow, a bear and a frog.” You nodded, impressed. “I guess true love knows no bounds.”

Feeling like the third wheel to you and Adrie, Eddie moved into action. “I’m gonna go out to the shed and start bringing in extra chairs, and the Christmas lights you asked for. And, uh, here’s her hair stuff.” He handed you a basket filled to the brim with every style of ponytail holder a drug store could carry. “You two have fun.”

Naturally, as he stepped away to leave, you curled your fingers at him in a childish wave, while Adrie used Mrs. Frog’s hand to do the same, adding on a sing-songy “Bye!” to hers.

And what a delight it was to witness the beginnings of the red flush creeping up his neck as he took a final glance at you both smiling up at him, and he pinched the hood over his mouth to shield his crooked simpering from further inspection.

~~~

The gloaming sky dozed in a blanket of pink and purple clouds knitted together with ribbons of orange.

Eddie leaned in the doorway to the porch, resting his shoulders on the frame as he crossed his ankles. The backs of his hands stung from overwashing them during the dry season, but his palms were soothed by the piping hot bowl he cupped to his chest. His muscles ached from unrest, but he grew warmer with each bite of the cinnamon sugar toast he dipped into the peanut butter oatmeal. Maybe he wouldn’t have taken the time to wipe down the folding chairs from the shed, but when you asked if there were any spiders on them in that timid wobble of yours, he had no other choice. And he’d do it again, even if his body protested the entire ordeal.

Squinting into the beauty of the setting sun, he sighed. Adrienne squealed. You cheered her on.

The pain in his hands subsided, the clawing hunger in his stomach settled, and the soreness in his lower back relented. All his worries fell away when his girl was happy.

For Eddie, standing by as the outsider to the scene of you and his daughter bonding over the neon green bottle of sloshy bubbles, he was aware of the catch in your voice when you asked about the unicorn and learned of his name, Fluff. You released a tender ‘aw’ from the back of your throat, and oh, it fulfilled him in ways he couldn’t possibly articulate. A simple noise, and it felt like a hug from an old friend. A pinky promise. A rare complacency in his life. Ataraxia.

He sensed it more, and more. When you sprinted back and forth on the porch, blowing bubbles for her to pop before they landed on the ground; giggling, laughing. Giggling, laughing. And he was smiling, smiling. It was sweet, so sweet; this new loop he found himself in. Gone was the stress. You took care of it. You heard him say Adrie needed to be tired out before bed time, and here you were, standing at the edge of the creaky floorboards, blowing a slew of bubbles for her to chase in the deadened grass.

She complained, “I can’t–reach!” She jumped, and jumped, but the bubble caught the gust from her fingertips, and continued floating away.

“Use Fluff!”

Elated at the ingenuity, she snatched Fluff from where he posed at your feet, and she launched herself off the deck for the last bubble, popping it with the very tip of his white horn. “Yay!”

“Rad!”

He watched until your forms were bathed in dusky blue, and the cold swallowed your heaving breaths.

Licking clean the last spoonful of his late, late breakfast, he reminded you both, “You girls better get started on this fort before it gets too late. Still gotta set up for the game too.” After whispering a curse under your breath, you ushered Adrie inside, and he asked her, “Can you take this to the sink?” Remarkably, she took his bowl without complaint, but stood stock still until he forced out a pointed, “Thank you,” in a tone implying she should scram.

She snickered at getting a rise out of him, and jogged away.

He reached into his pocket for the object weighing down the front of his hoodie, and produced a tangerine. Juice squished from the top of the fruit where he stabbed his thumb into the rind, and the scent of fresh citrus filled the air. “The chairs are certified spider-free. Got them inspected by a professional and everything.”

Your glare was mellowed by sweetness. “My hero.”

“Daddy.” Adrie was back, and with one simple demand of her hand held out flat, he peeled faster, and dislodged two segments for her. She popped them in her mouth, and ran to her room.

Interesting..

Testing him, you held your hand out flat as well, and with a bored stare, he placed two segments in your palm too.

“Don’t worry, I won’t call you Daddy unless you want me to,” you said, tossing them in the air, and catching them in your mouth. And as the fruit popped between your teeth, and the cold juice gushed like ice over your tongue, your brain caught up to what you just implied, and you froze mid-chew.

Eddie’s expression morphed from slack-jawed surprise, to intrigue, to his lips clamped tight, body shaking with silent laughter. “What?” he squeaked out.

“Uhh–I mean–How about we forget I said that?” you offered, wagging your finger from him to you.

No way.

No way in hell was he about to let you live that one down.

He loved your blunder. Reveled in it, even. It was sweet, sweet revenge. Payback.

Eddie took you off guard by snatching your wrist. He drew you into him as he pushed off the doorframe, bringing you in real close, eliminating the gap between your bodies. His cheeks may have darkened, but it was his greatest pleasure to imbue all his wickedness into repeating the same word you used months ago when he was driving you to Adrie’s school play and he made a similar joke about your bike and riding a man to work.

His nose scrunched with wolfish satisfaction. “Never.”

“Don’t be mean,” you whined. Putting up a weak fight, you attempted to twist your hand from his grasp to–hopefully–bolt away, and bury yourself in a pile of bedsheets for the rest of eternity; just somewhere you could hide, and desperately avoid thinking about the delicious zing traveling to the worst places.

But he wouldn’t let go.

There was clear disdain in the way his posture stiffened the split-second anyone other than his daughter called him Daddy, but you couldn’t deny how good it felt to introduce the context of calling him such a name, whether it would happen when you were under him, gasping it into his mouth; or in different position, with your knees on either side of his narrow hips, bouncing out the syllables..

His breathing deepened. You squirmed.

Caught in each other’s trap. Impossible to look away, the sweltering fantasy sat heavy in your mutual gaze, wide pupils boring into wide pupils. Heartbeats pounding beneath the surface of uncharted waters. An intimacy to his study of your body language, especially when you tilted your head to the side, and the lingering wryness in his eyes turned curious.

Illuminated by the glow of the bathroom light above the medicine cabinet, the face framing layers of Eddie’s haircut brushed his cheeks from beneath the hard shadows of his hood, and the fog from your exhales mixed in the inky darkness.

Alas, the standoff came to an abrupt end when Adrie called your name.

“I should help her with the fort,” you whispered in a release of tension.

One finger at a time, he opened his harmless grip. “I’m gonna bring your bike up here in case the weather turns,” he said, voice the same as always when he had you this near; quiet, tame, cutting in and out in the vowels.

“What a gentleman.”

Definitely a gentleman when he bit into the tangerine as if it were an apple to distract you from his hand tugging down his hoodie to hide the hard outline stretching towards the thigh of his light wash blue jeans.

You sneered at the fleshy strings of fruit pulp gathering over his lower lip. “And by gentleman, I mean utter weirdo.”

~~~

By winter’s solid nightfall, most of the fort had been completed. Eddie visited the room to drop off the TV (after it had been cleaned of staticy dust clinging to the glass), and placed it and the VCR on top of a Coca-Cola crate at the foot-end of the blanket nest you created. At one point he grabbed his acoustic guitar from the wall, and brought more clothes pins.

You pinned the last corner of the sheet canopy above Adrie while she pulled her tea party table inside the fort, and set up her toys in the itty bitty pink chairs. She volunteered to string the twinkly lights herself, giving you an excuse to go to the kitchen where you could make the highest quality finger sandwiches as dinner for her and her cotton-stuffed guests. And by total coincidence, Eddie was beside you, hunched over the counter with a DND book opened to a page of illustrations with a blank character sheet to his right.

“Ham, mayo, cheese, and the thinnest layer of mustard,” he told you.

You organized the ingredients to Adrie’s sandwich and confirmed, “A hint of mustard. Got it.” Taking two slices of sandwich bread, you placed them on her Beauty and the Beat plate, and dipped a butter knife into the mayo jar, slathering a generous amount on one side. One the other, you merely suggested mustard had been in the presence of it with a single swipe.

He angled the book to you. “Which race and class do you want to play as?”

Looking over the pictures, there were more to choose from than you initially assumed, but there was a clear winner towering above the rest. “That one. The big green guy.” Apparently he was called a half-orc, and he was stacked with muscle on top of muscle. “I wanna be huge and brawny like him, crushin’ my enemies with my giant biceps. Like, everyone’s scared of me, but I save kittens on the weekends. Fighter type, or whatever’s the term. Melee? I wanna beat people up with my bare fists.”

Eddie glanced you up and down. “Overcompensating for something?”

Deflating, your puffer jacket swished fabric-on-fabric as you dropped your arms. You pouted, but the tug at his heartstrings went ignored as he rolled a large dice, and picked up the pencil.

So be it. It was your turn to sum him up in one glance. How his shaggy outdated haircut gathered on his shoulders, curtaining his face as he underlined words on the character sheet, not even paying you attention. How his jean vest paraded his music tastes under years of dust and a decade of smoke baked into it; offensive and meant to ward off others, unless they belonged. How he decorated his skin in macabre imagery, and wore his white tennis shoes with just enough dirt to show he didn’t care. How every denim item he owned came with holes. How his keys dangled from a keyring attached to his belt loop, so everyone was forced to listen to him expressing his apathy towards the world with each stomp, and rattle of chains swinging against his leg. How he bent over the counter with his hip cocked out, making his pants crease to his inner thighs, highlighting a particular package beneath a handcuff belt buckle. How he was decked out in his usual skull themed rings. Prickly, jaded, drives too fast, and has never heard of an ‘inside voice’ once he deemed you worthy of his boisterous ramblings. Loud, obnoxious, excessively weird when he was himself around you.

You asked, “Are you overcompensating for something?”

“I don’t need to.”

Cool, smooth, nonchalant.

I don’t need to.

Warmth flooded your abdomen. Heat reached your cheeks. Blood rushed, descended to the place your thighs clenched, where your jean’s stiff metal zipper went tight–and if you stood a certain way–the seam grazed over.

Rolling the dice again, his expression remained impassive as he filled in more blank spots, asking you in a monotone voice, “What’s your orc’s name?”

“Gary,” you answered in a bout of exasperation, annoyed he’s acting like he didn’t just say that.

There was no way you were about to be the one squirming again. After his teasing earlier, he deserved a dose of his own medicine.

Feeling undue bravery, you set the butter knife down, and rested your elbow on the counter, angling your body towards him with your hands linked over your stomach, wearing an adorably smug pinch of confusion between your brows. You were the example of casual when you asked, “Do orcs fight with a dagger? Maybe six and a half.. seven inches in length? Curved to the right? Real girthy handle?”

Eddie’s face lurched into wide-eyed awe at your bombshell of an innuendo. He turned his head slowly, frizzy curls sticking to his just-licked lips, fluttering in front of his gawking smile as he exhaled a stunned huff. His big brown eyes were alert with the thrill of the subject, and he stared, waiting for you to fold. You didn’t blink, acting classes coming in handy as his eyebrows climbed higher and higher, and you remained stoic, free of emotion.

A choked out– “I..” –came from his mouth, but he didn’t finish. He hooked his finger around a lock of hair, and twisted it, yanking more over the lower half of his face as he shrank into the comfort of his hoodie, leaving just his eyes visible.

At last, he answered, voice wavering high and tight, “A little over seven, I think.”

You lifted your chin, and rolled your lips inward, steeling yourself from voicing anything other than an impressed hum.

However..

Having a knack for bad decisions, you drew in a breath to speak–but Adrie came to your rescue before you humiliated yourself by saying something abhorrent like, ‘my, my, that’s quite a size,’ or ‘I heard that orc’s been single a while; what’s his skill level with that weapon?’ or worse, ‘need a second opinion on that length?’

“Are you almost done?”Adrie asked.

She sought the answer by snaking her hands under your jacket and clinging onto the back of your hips, making you jolt at her cold fingers creeping over your skin, and you stumbled after she trusted you to support her weight while she jumped onto her tippy toes.

You lost your balance, and your hero from further harm was Eddie.

Well, less of a hero, and more like he stood with his arms pinned to his sides, and took the brunt of your fall.

He released a painful wheeze from being wedged into the corner where the sharp edges of the countertop dug into his bones.

“Sorry,” you think you whispered, but maybe it never left your lungs.

You watched the subtle tic under his eyes when he said, “S’okay,” and the ‘s’ whistled sharply between his teeth.

It was amazing–incredible–to discover he had freckles sprinkled across the top of his cheekbones, standing out against the telltale shade of embarrassment. You’d never been this close to notice them before; near enough your nose tickled from the end of his hair. Never had the opportunity to catch yourself on his bicep, and feel the extraordinary body heat radiating off him, dialed on high from the last few minutes. And now you had to continue living as if you didn’t know his dick size.

Adrie brought you back to reality. “Can you cut off the top crust? It’s shaped like a butt, and I don’t like it.”

Letting go of Eddie, you reached for her, patting her shoulder for her back up and release you from this awkward prison. “Y-Yeah, of course. No top crust. Got it, little lady.”

She giggled and kept talking as you put an ample gap between you and her dad. Thank God she giggled and kept talking as you and Eddie regained some semblance of composure.

“Can you cut it in long squares?”

“Rectangles,” Eddie corrected gently.

“Reck-tangles,” she pronounced.

“Perfect.” He grabbed his pencil and dice, and picked up where he left off on your character sheet. And you were more than happy to play along, peeling the Kraft Single from its plastic film and placing it on top of two slices of ham before cutting it into long squares.

~~~

With her sandwich made, you and Adrie sat at the tiny pink table under the fort. Your neck ached from the constant hunched position, and your legs were falling asleep, but you’d deal with the pain if it meant having tea with the princess.

She tipped air from an empty tea pot into the tea cups, and Mr. Bear thanked her for his imaginary portion.

Throughout the play-dinner, Eddie was in and out of the room. There were noises from the closet, sounding like he was picking up shoeboxes filled with rattling items. The canopy drooped when he opened the top drawer on the dresser where it was tied. Musical notes from a wind instrument trilled from the living room.

After another bite of her sandwich–Oh, no, Princess Adrienne, I’m much too full, you may have mine–a ne’erdowell crashed your exclusive party.

“Hey, this is pretty,” Eddie said, poking his head inside; his grin lengthening into a frightful shadow from the Christmas lights stuck in his hair. He looked around at the hard work his little girl put into the fort, linking the bedsheets from his old desk, across the back of a chair, and held aloft by the dresser. The TV occupied the space one of his amps used to, and the nest of blankets covered what used to be a network of cords, albums, and magazines. But that was years ago. Now, his gaze settled on the adult woman feigning a long sip on her toddler-sized tea cup, and a hand smashed against his face–

Adrie shoved him out of the fort, and whipped closed the entryway bedsheet. “No boys allowed!”

“But.. I need to borrow Miss Mouse,” he begged in a pitiful quaver.

She cut her eyes to you, and rolled them into the next eternity (a move you’d become an expert in yourself.) You bargained with her in a haughty shrug, and after a moment of consideration, she drew back the curtain. “Fine.”

Making an unglamorous exit by crawling on your hands and knees, you accepted Eddie’s warm palm to help you stand. “What’cha need help with?”

“The folding table is behind the couch, and it’s annoying to pull out by myself with all the mugs in the way,” he explained on his way to the living room. “Oh, can you move that stuff off it? Yeah, just toss it in a corner.”

He used his shin to push the coffee table against the wall while you picked up the pillow and stack of blankets off the corner of the couch. But after collecting them to your chest, and the thinning pillow released a puff of air from its wilted self, you were struck with an array of scents. Hair products, cigarette smoke, vanilla, sour sweat; notes of exhaust, motor oil, and fumes.

It smelled bad in the good way.

The mix stung your nostrils, twinged at your eyes. But it was a comfort you hugged tighter. Familiarity you inhaled deeper. Home in your lungs.

You took his pillow, and Adrie’s kaleidoscope quilt with the tattered facing, and went to place them on the fold-out bed in the corner, assuming it was his; but as you neared, you scrutinized the collection of items on the oak nightstand beside it. A brand of cigarettes he didn’t smoke, a BIC lighter he didn’t use, a comb, and a clunky silver watch. And as you thought about it more, you saw the fold-out bed already had a set of sheets and a pillow balanced on top of it.

“Eddie, where do you sleep?”

There was much care put into your question, but the uneasy way it probed into his private life was evident in his change in demeanor.

He was slow to stand up from adjusting a side table out of the way, never quite unslouching the weight from his shoulders when he pushed his hood back to run a hand over his hair. The cuckoo clock on the wall ticked by as you watched him scratch his fingernails in tight circles on his scalp, roughing up his hair, never quite focusing his gaze on anything.

“Well,” he mumbled, gesturing at the lumpy couch cushions. “Here.”

Despite figuring as much, he never stated it bluntly, and to know another hardship of his reality squeezed your heart with sympathy.

He must’ve read the emotion on your face as pity, because his tone reflected an edge of annoyance; a deep-seated stress sneaking out when he spoke to those who didn’t get it. “Most of my paycheck goes to Adrie’s daycare. That shits expensive, and as much as I don’t want her growing up right in front of me, things will get better when she finally starts real school. I won’t be paying for that anymore, and I can start saving up, and maybe, y’know, start making some changes around here.” He spoke with his hands in a sad sort of shrug, waving at the trailer, though his gaze was cast down, and away from you. “But this is how it is, okay? I can’t do anything to fix it.” There was a haunting sort of pessimism that came from living in poverty. As much as he made statements about changing his life when he had more money, there was still the pile of bills in the kitchen, the numerous things in need of fixing around the house, Wayne’s truck on its last leg, and the fear of a random doctor visit wiping out his bank account. All of that resided in his tone.

You gripped his pillow harder, not sure what to say other than a hushed, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

At that, he shook himself out of ruminating on his situation, and saw you were awkwardly twisting the pillowcase around your fingers, staring at the floor. He realized he messed up.

Every bit of him went soft for you. “Wait, wait, wait,” he soothed, striding three steps to you and cupping his palms around your upper arms. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. Not to you. Not when you’ve been the sweetest–seriously, the sweetest, and most generous person to me and Adrie. It–It, yeah, it hits a sore spot, talking about shit like having to sleep on the couch, but I didn’t mean to speak to you that way.” He finished with a final, sweet, but quick, and enunciated assurance, “I’m sorry.”

Overwhelmed by the whiplash in his change of attitude, followed by his sincere apology, you stammered, “Oh, uh, it’s okay. I understand why you reacted the way you did. It’s cool.”

At an impasse, you looked up at him. He stroked his thumbs over the cool outer layer of your jacket. Swish, swish, swish.

More, deeper. Swish, swish, swish.

You understood.

This was our first fight as whatever-we-are, and I’m showing you I can apologize instead of brushing it off and forgetting about it like I used to.

It was the mildest spat, yet it was a milestone for him.

“Seriously, we’re good,” you said, crushing the pillow to your chest.

Shifting the subject, he lightened the mood. “Also, did I mention how much I appreciate you coming over early, and playing with Adrie? The whole fort thing, going out of your way to get her movies, ‘nd making her run around like a maniac? Genius.”

“Yeah, yeah, put it on that ‘thank you’ tab you owe me,” you teased him, pulling away to set his bedding on top of his uncle’s.

“Soon!” he promised. He tapped at the side of his head. “Got some ideas brewing in here.”

“Not sure if I should be excited, or scared.”

Ah, his two-front-teeth-showing grin. Your favorite.

He laughed, and with your help, the couch was scooted away from the wall enough for the wood laminate fold-out table to be wiggled out from behind it at an angle which avoided knocking the mugs hanging from the shelf above it. You draped a tablecloth over it in a flourish. Eddie pressed the wrinkles out of the grid pattern, and began placing miniature standees from the shoeboxes onto the squares; parts of a village, cobblestone fences, and characters to fill out the town. When he didn’t need you anymore, you went to check on Adrie, and the moment you crawled inside the fort and she showed you the pajamas Eddie picked out for her earlier, there was a series of car honks outside.

Showtime.

“You ready, Miss Adrie?”

“Mhm!”

Tires crunched rocks in the makeshift driveway. Engines died. Noises, greetings, Eddie’s happiness grew louder, and louder. A group sounded off. Several sets of shoes scraped the cement steps, and in the amalgamation of voices was one above the rest, “Hey, looking good, man. Haven’t seen you since you almost killed my elven ranger before Christmas.”

You crawled backwards out of the fort, and caught Adrie’s hand before she ran out of the room.

From the living room, Eddie sucked his teeth, and dismissed his friend. “You had it coming all night with the way you were walking around not checking for traps.”

“It was one time! And besides–” The argument stopped. His blue eyes went wide with shock, outstretched arms drooping as he focused on something behind Eddie. He lowered the two six packs he was carrying. “A girl!”

Being led by an excited almost-five-year-old, you bolted around the kitchen counter, and raised your eyebrows at the blunt acknowledgement of your existence. You looked at Eddie, whose entire being depleted with a sigh.

With his head hung, he swept his arm towards you. “This is my friend from work. She’s playing with us tonight.” And under his breath, he muttered to the young man wearing a ballcap over his springy curls, “Be cool.”

He shoved a six pack at Eddie’s chest, and pursued you with his hand held out. “I’m Dustin! Eddie’s friend from high school, and previous Hellfire member,” he said, displaying a mouthful of adult braces.

“Dustin, it’s nice to meet you!”

Repeating people’s names back to them was a helpful memorization tool, but as your gaze shifted, the nerves of making a good first impression on Eddie’s friends sat heavy in your stomach.

The other guys on the stairs came up behind Dustin. In a rush, you were introducing yourself to the beginnings of a crowd stomping through the living room. Exchanging names and smiles and handshakes, you gripped Adrie’s tiny hand for support and said, “I’m the receptionist at the auto shop, that’s how I know Eddie.”

The one who approached you last–Gareth, drummer for Corroded Coffin–snapped his fingers, and exclaimed, “Oh! You’re the receptionist.”

“Alright, alright,” Eddie interjected, body and voice between you two. “Beer goes in the kitchen, and I’ll order pizza in a minute.”

He passed off the six pack to someone else.

Gareth reached into his leather jacket with a wicked, lopsided grin. “I brought something a little stronger than beer.” Though most of your vision was taken up by the back of Eddie’s shoulder, you caught a flash of amber liquid in a clear bottle, and a black label.

Kneeling beside you, Jeff–guitarist for Corroded Coffin–tilted his head down so Adrie could touch the wooden beads at the end of his short braids, and said to Eddie, “You know, since we’re havin’ it at your place again, why not make it memorable? Or not memorable,” he joked. “Maybe a sip for every roll under 13.”

Eddie gave him the Dad stare. “You’re gonna be shitfaced–Adrie, you didn’t hear that–by the time this is over, and I’m not organizing rides for all of you.”

“I’m driving tonight.” Lloyd–bassist for Corroded Coffin–jangled his car keys.

“And so am I,” a girl’s voice came from beyond the entryway everyone was crowding. “Now can we come inside before we freeze to death, or do you really think you can take on another basilisk without my help?”

A round of laughter gave way to the next group entering.

SWISH, SWISH, SWISH.

The girl at the helm of the windbreaker brigade went to the kitchen to drop off the case of beer straining her arms. (It seemed that was the payment of choice to the host.)

Sensing you were lost to the sea of faces, Eddie laid a comforting hand between your shoulder blades, and drifted it downwards to the small of your back. “That’s Erica, Max, and Lucas,” he told you in your ear.

Max held on tight to Lucas’ arm, taking smaller steps into the mixture of orange and blue-white lamps flooding the room tight with bodies, and shapes she was unfamiliar with.

“Aw, don’t you two look cute,” Gareth goaded them in an overly saccharine way.

Max groaned, “I told him it was lame.”

Whereas she shrank into her black and neon pink jacket, Lucas scoffed, and fueled her disgusted tongue click. “Matching windbreakers should be the least of your worries. You’re playing Dungeons and Dragons. You can’t get any lamer than that.” To finish, he popped the collar of his in a suave swish, and guided her into the kitchen.

She made a gagging sound, and Erica made one too.

————

While waiting for the last guest to arrive, the front door remained open. The glow from inside etched the peeling paint on the stair’s ornate handrail in gold. Warm laughter rolled out like fog into the dry frigid night, where neighbors could hear it. See it. Feel the vibrations of Eddie Munson’s friendship, support, weirdness being celebrated. Witness the joy others could not steal from him. They could observe the vehicles parked out front, listen to the rapture of claps when Adrie performed a song and dance, and taste the bitterness in their mouths when Eddie “The Freak” Munson continuously found his gaze drifting to the girl beside him, who beamed at him openly.

————

Fashionably late, a loud car turned into the trailer park; the obnoxious kind, where the motor rumbled like a death rattle, but in a cool way, because it was made to sound like that on purpose.

Eddie looked over his shoulder, and raised his hand at Mike. “Hey, man,” he whispered, keeping their conversation separate while everyone else was exchanging stories.

“Did you wanna check out the engine?” Mike bounced his eyebrows, swinging the keys to his bright yellow muscle car. “I installed it a few weeks ago.”

It was a tempting offer. He wasn’t opposed to car talk, nor freezing his hands off to fawn over the modifications Mike made to his beloved 1979 Mustang while in the big city for school, and, of course, Eddie was going to give him his usual spiel about working for David when he came back to Hawkins. However, he didn’t want to abandon the newest member to their party.

“In a min,” Eddie said to Mike, motioning with his head to come inside.

Assuming he’d just tossed his girl to the wolves, Eddie zoned into the conversation again, and rubbed his hand along your back. His palm passed over the warm spot on your jacket where he was comforting you before, and he glanced around the circle of his friends–tightly knit, and grinning at you.

He assumed wrong.

You weren’t shy, or intimidated to be the new person in a group of people who’d known each other for decades, failing to be heard over their easy banter and inside jokes. No. They were hanging onto your every word.

The group had gone hushed, captivated by your life. You had a knack for turning the mundane into marvelous enthrallments of relatable spectacular. Every sentence was more entertaining than the last. The punch lines landed, and kept coming. You worked them like a crowd–and when someone else shared a similar anecdote, you were asking questions, getting them to open up, and take the stage. This was you. You were in your element. You didn’t need Eddie.

“Oh! That reminds me of this one lady when I was waitressing in Philly..”

“In New York we had these huge pigeons that would..”

“Back home, there was this place on the corner where..”

Eddie took his hand away. The insulated warmth dissipated from his palm as he let it hang at his side. Your rolodex of stories separated you from him.

“Dude, you wanna talk about bad dates? This one time..”

“And then there was this guy who..”

“–Worst kiss ever.”

Details were spared–maybe because both he and Adrie were there–but the story beats were like stabs to his stomach. Clenched, sinking hot with envy. It wasn’t like him. Not really. He didn’t think so, anyway. But maybe he was wrong.

Jealousy prickled under his skin at every mention of ‘home’ and ‘date.’ He didn’t appreciate the heat to his cheeks, nor the loneliness of his hand reaching out for Adrie, only for her to notice him with a sleepy blink while she clung to your hips, and it was your fingers rubbing her little shoulder.

Of course he knew the subject of your stories, of course he knew you’d been on hundreds of dates, of course he knew you lived a larger life than him, but he’d never had to listen to the yearn in your voice when you spoke about the things you missed. The city, the people, being on stage. Performing, collecting stories, having dinners at sit-down restaurants. These were eccentricities integral to your design, and Eddie Munson had no place among them.

“Hey, Wheeler?” The lump in Eddie’s throat grew. Even Mike was transfixed on listening to you, forgetting about the keys in his hand. Leaning closer, he tapped on his friend’s teal raincoat to get his attention. “Mike? You wanted to show me your–?”

“Right!” Mike whipped his head around, sending his shaggy haircut bouncing in freshly styled waves. “Yeah, so I started with..” he trailed off, walking down the stairs, and out to the yard.

Before Eddie followed, he surveyed the group; Gareth was snickering his way through a story, while the rest of you went nauseous at his description of getting eighteen stitches, and replicating the sound of the needle popping through his skin.

“Babe?” he whispered under the group’s grossed out gasps, speaking the endearment for you only. Taking control, in a way, of his shame by reminding himself he could call you by a sweet nickname, and you’d answer.

You divided your attention, tipping your ear to him, and tearing your gaze from Gareth’s bizarre reenactment of how he fractured his tibia, and settling your eyes on Eddie’s Cupid’s bow when he made a request, “I’m gonna talk shop with Mike. Can you take over here? Get people settled, and Adrie in bed?”

“Of course, handsome.”

For couples, this is where he would duck to give you a kiss on the forehead, or bring you to his side for a hug and be on his way, and perhaps you gleaned those tentative actions when he hesitated on the lean-in, and sat in the subsequent awkwardness of playing it off as a friendly pat on your back when he realized, yeah, he’d never hugged you before.

You diffused the tension by laughing at him. Great.

As he rolled his eyes, you stopped him from leaving, and stepped away from the group.

“Where should we put our jackets?” you asked, pinching the zipper of yours.

Eddie paused in the middle of his gangly stride, and glanced at the two available hooks beside his leather jacket. It hadn’t started snowing or sleeting yet, so everyone’s coats would be dry. “Couch is fine.”

You said, “Cool,” and plunged your hand. In the blink of an eye, you had unzipped your jacket, and thrown your arms back, wiggling it down your shoulders and tugging it off by the cuffs. Underneath your jacket was a tight white tank top and unbuttoned flannel. A nice, fitted, ribbed shirt. Lower cut than anything you had worn at the auto shop, and clinging to your chest as you arched your back and shimmied out of your outer layer.

His gaze stalled.

You didn’t comment on it. He didn’t say anything, either, when his focus snapped to your face, and he read your sly smirk. Adrie, however, grew restless.

“I’m sleepy,” she whined.

“Okay, sweet bean,” you said, besotted by how little her hand was in yours. “C’mon, we can pick out the first movie to play in the fort, too.”

Eddie, thankful to have a distraction, and even more thankful you didn’t call out his obvious ogling, sank to his knees to give his little girl a goodnight hug and kiss. Part of him missed not being able to sit on the couch with her falling asleep on his chest, but the twelve peppered kisses to her cheek would have to suffice. He trusted you to take over the last few steps of Adrie’s night routine without his supervision, and sat back on his calves–after doting over her one last time by straightening out the long sleeves on her pajamas, and twirling the end of her braid around his finger.

“Night,” he kissed against her forehead.

“Night, Daddy,” she kissed back.

Kneeling on the carpet for a moment longer, he ran his tongue along the sharp edge of his teeth at watching you walk away with her. He was hidden amongst the throng of legs, and deep conversation. Invisible for now.

Drop, by drop, his chest filled with tender emotions. A coffee pot of feelings he swore to suppress poured into his heart; brimming the edge, overflowing, bringing heat to those neglected hopes, longings, and desires. Minutes ago you spoke of home, and he was aware he was not owed the promise of you changing the location of home to within biking distance, but he could hope, because every second you spent with him and his daughter was another coin in the wishing well, sploshing the coffee over.

Soon, the overflow would trickle to his lungs. It would fill them up. It would reach his throat. It would coat his tongue, wet his mouth, and before he knew it, those confessions would be spilling into words for you to cup to your mouth and drink until you were as full as he was.

Or, he could suppress them tonight with alcohol. Just enough to dull the urge, but still act as Dungeon Master.

Or, the whiskey could loosen his tongue, and risky sentiments could flood over, one steady drop at a time.

Either way, he was drowning.

~~~

Diving into the true purpose of the evening, the party split between the kitchen and the table in the living room. Jeff went out to Lloyd’s truck, and brought in a long black case. Snapping the latches open, he took out an electric keyboard, and began setting it up in his lap while Gareth rapped his drumsticks on his thighs in a slow rhythm. In the bedroom, you fluffed up the blankets for Adrie to lay on, tucked the comforter to her chin, and brushed her bangs off her forehead while the blue flash of the Disney castle logo played across her heavy eyelids. Idling around the variety of beers on the kitchen counter, Max gripped one of the silver and red cans, and spun it around its plastic ring holder, straining to discern the label.

You came up behind her to let her know, “That one’s Bud Light.”

“Ew,” she frowned, “who would bring that?” She opted for the can of Pabst instead.

“Some people have no tastes.”

On cue, Dustin wove his way through Lucas’ and Erica’s argument over which Mortal Kombat character was the best, adding a quick, “Liu Kang, obviously,” and snapped a silver can from the ring pack. He looked from you to Max. “What?”

Shifting from the secret giggles rising in your chests, she shrugged. “Nothing!”

He squinted at her, not buying it. Cracking the tab, he took a sip, and then you became the subject of interest. “So,” he started, “how long have you and Eddie been friends?”

Perplexion drew Max’s eyebrows together.

Aware of where this was going, you got your own beer, and carried an airy, casual tone while popping the cap, “Oh, just a few months, since I moved here with my roommate–Robin, if you know her.” His expression answered for you, arching in an ‘ah!’ of understanding.

Max, though, was stuck on another detail. “Wait, you and Eddie aren’t dating? I thought–I figured since he’s never invited anyone here before, and his daughter was, like, holding onto you?”

“Yeah, Adrie’s pretty fond of me, I think,” you answered, hiding your own secret behind the glass bottle to your lips. “And Eddie’s cool, too, I guess.”

“Well, I don’t know about him being cool, per se–” she was cut off.

Blurs of black and teal tumbled in rivers of frosted breath, and clattering teeth. Mike shivered life into his limbs on his way to the sink to run his hands under hot water. Eddie’s cheeks and nose were tinted frosty red as he wiped the dirt from his numb fingers onto his hoodie, and pulled his wallet from the junk drawer to check it for cash.

His brown eyes zeroed on you first, Dustin’s wiry mug second, and Max’s tilted lips third.

As he picked up the phone to dial for pizza delivery with his grease-scraped knuckle, he warned in a playful inflection, “You better not be telling her embarrassing stories about me.”

“Oh, no!” Max promised him. “I didn’t even tell her about how I used to live across from you, and caught you–on numerous occasions–sweeping the porch while blasting ABBA, and screaming the lyrics at the top of your lungs. While drunk.” She didn’t need to see him from across the kitchen to feel the heat of his glare, and duel it with another cool shrug, defeating him with ease when the pizza place picked up, and he had to stumble over his order.

Once the hurdle of dinner was out of the way, the drinks of choice sweated under the cozy temperature of ten bodies packed like sardines at the table, and with Eddie at the helm of it all, the game commenced.

He set forth a toast. Affection swelled in his even gaze sweeping over his friends who had come to join him in his home, acknowledging the growth behind his ordinary request. He couldn’t speak it without a nervous tremble, no, but they understood. They understood. With pride, his eyelashes twinkled at the outer corners where mirth gathered, and his broad grin creased a slew of Crow’s feet into cascading to his smile lines with his dimple nestled between them. His silent gratitude thanked the room, and when he reached Jeff at his right hand side, Eddie flicked his eyes to the opposite end of the table, and brought the whiskey to his lips.

The room refracted beautifully in the carved edges of the smokey gray tumbler. It was silly, almost, how the squat glass vanished behind his large palm and thick fingers. Sillier, even, when you noticed these things and your heart pumped a little faster.

Sat at the far end across from him, you raised your beer, and sipped.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages,” he spoke in increasing speed and passion, descending into a lower octave as he stood and loomed over his dividers of books, binders, and folders acting as a shield to his Dungeon Master antics, “I present to you, the port town of Irrilis!”

He bowed, and swept his arms over the miniature display.

Sitting back, he guided everyone into the scene. Between describing the smell of the briny sea, the itch of stale sweat mixed with dried blood on their bodies, and the creak of wooden planks under their feet, he expertly wove lore into details of the town, comparing the afternoon sun on the backs of their necks to the stares they were getting. The townsfolk were not expecting newcomers this evening, apparently; and to finish the introduction, he cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed the caw of seagulls perched atop a gnarled bulletin board. When it became clear the fishermen were not interested in speaking to Lloyd’s tiefling, he asked if there was a guard nearby instead. Instantly, Eddie became one. He donned a constant salute, and rigid posture with a nasty curl on his lip, speaking in stunted sentences with a broadened chest.

Watching him perform was mesmerizing.

Your vision narrowed as if you were going lightheaded, highlighting Eddie at the center with sharpened colors. His broad movements coaxed you in, his ability to switch both his pitch and accent raced in your ears, his creature cadence hummed nostalgia along the back of your mind like an old memory of observing another actor on stage mastering their craft. Time forgot to start. He stole a glance in your direction and you were washed in humility. He was gauging your reaction to his geekiness, and whatever he saw, whatever was written in your expression, rewarded his vulnerability. Confidence set his face aglow; power in the way he beheld you. And you praised him by sitting forward, affixing him with all your adoration, considering yourself fortunate to be in his presence.

After all, you’d been enchanted by Eddie Munson since the first day he stomped past your desk with a fierce scowl aimed at the ground, and now? Now he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you.

~~~

As with most DND adventures, the fun began at a tavern.

The group had spent too much time with Eddie as their DM, they knew the bulletin board was a red herring, so they explored the city until they found the seediest bar tucked into the end of an alleyway.

You were reading over the details Eddie wrote for you on your character sheet when you were snatched to the present by an array of sounds.

Eddie strummed down on his acoustic guitar, and silenced the vibration with his palm. He then plucked a slow, seeking, progression, circling back until Jeff harmonized on his keyboard, and they nodded their heads in sync while Gareth found the tavern’s beat with the ends of his drumsticks on the edge of the table. Lloyd angled his chair to put his guitar in his lap, and chased the melody quietly under Eddie’s, at a slower tempo.

To be captivated by someone, wholly immersed in their quirks and nature, is to cherish them, and as you played audience to your friend’s natural charisma and ability to impress you in new ways after months of knowing him, your chest panged with the ache to cherish him completely.

You were one beer deep on an empty stomach, and you were already intoxicated by him.

Their song continued as he laid out the exposition of the tavern, and as a party, everyone sat at the bar, or snuck around invisible to glean information. And that’s where you came in–

Jeff changed his tune to have a mysterious dissonance.

Erica’s rogue sidled in beside you at a table, and smoothly asked you a variety of questions: how long you’d been in town, if you knew of the disappearances, or had any encounters with the rumor of the undead lurking outside the kingdom.

You… You looked at your orc’s low intelligence on the paper, and seeing as how you were an improv artist, you roleplayed.

Inhaling a mighty breath, you filled out your not-so-intimidating frame with imaginary muscle, and shot out your hand. “I’m Gary!” you exclaimed, rough and tough.

The guitars stopped on a screech.

Pause.

Eddie covered his mouth. His eyebrows peaked sentimentally. And once his shoulders shook, and his snort squeaked out like a dying sprinkler, everyone laughed. In your periphery, they each reacted differently–all having their unique outbursts at your blunt introduction. Erica, too, giggled as she shook your hand. They were laughing with you. Definitely with you when Jeff chose a sillier ditty to play, and the guys matched him, upbeat and excited for you to wholeheartedly participate in their game.

Soon, your orc joined their party, and a series of clues earned from armwrestling other bar patrons led you down several paths to take, and after finding a lost tome near an underground jail cell (thanks to Dustin’s constant perception checks), your group was led outside, past Irrilis’ stone walls, and to their dying crops.

Mike scooped a collection of dice into his hand after, somehow, engaging in combat with a scarecrow, and began shaking them.

There was a bang at the door.

Mike jumped, uncupping his palms mid-shake, and the dice went flying. He caught three–snatched them right out of the air–and before they ricocheted off his fingers to add to the clatter on the table, he began to juggle them. One, two, three, four perfect rotations, and he set them down.

Eddie hadn’t yet stood up from his chair when his gaze wandered to yours, and he cut you a cheeky, significant grin. You shot him an exaggerated sneer in return. Stupid juggling.

He managed to not trip over the scattered mix of boots and tennis shoes mingling around the entrance, and balanced the exchange of cash for a stack of white cardboard boxes his eyes and handsome nose peeked over on his way to sliding them onto the kitchen counter.

“Orders up, boys.”

As grease soaked into paper plates, and another round of drinks were poured by Gareth’s heavy hand, you were all ushered into the next leg of the game.

Jeff played low notes as background mood music for your party when you came upon your next encounter: ghouls. They were low level, easy to defeat even if there were many, but it was an opportunity for Erica to teach you the different dice. Max leaned over, and helped you keep track of your abilities, and if you could execute them from where you stood on the grid.

When it was Max’s turn to roll for attack and damage in the rotation, she did so in a shallow wooden tray between her and Lucas. The dice tumbled around, pinged the sides, and came to a stop where Lucas could read the numbers, and do the math.

Least to say, she decimated her target.

Erica’s rogue on the other hand rolled a number Eddie was ambivalent towards.

“Convince me you can sneak up on him,” he proposed, squinting over his steepled fingers, and leaning back in his chair. They seemed to butt heads a lot, if her eye roll was anything to go off of.

She stood up from the table, and snapped her fingers at Mike to act as her overly large zombie. “C’mon.”

He groaned, “Not again,” but did as he was told, standing not unlike a limp noodle with a flat stare into the distance as she listed off her character’s skills for Eddie, and hooked her arm around Mike’s throat, bending him backwards over her pencil (pretend knife) to his back. She even shuffled him to where Eddie could acknowledge the poison on the tip of her blade would enter his kidney. He argued the undead did not have functioning kidneys, but conceded her efforts.

It was your turn next, but as you were mulling over the ghouls on the grid in front of your figurine, the rest of the table went silent.

The bedroom door creaked open, and soft footsteps padded out onto the kitchen vinyl. Eddie jerked his head up from behind the dividers. Gareth scooted his chair in, assuming Adrie was going to squeeze by on her way to her dad, but there was no need..

She wedged herself between you and Max, and splayed her arms across your lap. With her cheek to your thigh, she sighed, pitifully, “The movie stopped, and my head hurts.”

“Oh, no,” you consoled her in your silly Children’s Television Program presenter voice. “Is it the braids? They can be so un-com-for-table to sleep in.” Perhaps you instilled too much confidence in the pizza to soak up the alcohol, because you were now two beers and a few sips of whiskey deep into the ‘overly affectionate’ stage of your tipsiness. You collected the sleepy girl to your lap, and enveloped her in a bone crushing hug, rocking yourselves back and forth, fawning each other in a happy hum, unaware of the bewildered stares boring into you as you pressed a kiss above her ear.

The men around the table exchanged confused looks with each other, then threw suspicious glances at Eddie, who appeared struck by Cupid. The girls, much more intuitive and observant, smiled at the sweet scene.

She sat sideways across your legs, and kept a hand crooked into your flannel’s collar while you slipped the yellow bauble ponytail from one of her braids, and loosened the plaits. “Do you wanna roll for me?” you asked her, working through the tangles.

Thrilled to participate in her dad’s game, she woke up just enough to say, “Yeah!”

Max felt for your dice, and handed her the largest.

Instead of Adrie letting go of you to cup her hands around it and shake, she pelted it at the table, and after narrowly missing the LEGO skeleton standees, it came to a stop.

“Eight,” Lloyd said with a hint of regret.

You asked Eddie, “Is that enough to hit?”

“It, uh–” The table’s full attention turned towards the Dungeon Master. He dropped his gaze to his notebook, and traced his finger over the dog-eared page. The pressure of their anticipation manifested in his bouncing knee, masking the tremble that would be present in his words regardless when he answered, “Y-Yeah, yeah. That, uh, that hits.”

The party squirmed with awareness; pressed lips ready to burst.

Oblivious, you put the smaller dice in Adrie’s hand, and added up the numbers when she tossed them. “Eleven!” With your turn done, you unraveled the rest of her other braid, and combed your fingers through her hair, circling them on her scalp to give her some relief. Speaking to her, you said, “Wanna count to eleven while we pick another movie?” She started counting automatically.

There was another whisper in her ear, and she hopped off your lap with her arms raised. You cooed a small, “Thought so,” and picked her up, settling her on your hip. Knowing it was Jeff’s turn, and you wouldn’t be needed for a while, you pushed the bedroom door open with your foot, and closed it behind you the same way.

And the very second it clicked shut, the table erupted.

“Jesus, dude, you’re gonna impregnate your coworker if you keep staring at her like that.”

“Ew,” and “Gross,” came from Max and Erica respectively.

Eddie jolted from his trance, mentally erasing the sway of your ass from his mind. His cheeks seared vicious red at Gareth’s comment.

With more tact, Dustin lilted, “So, just a friend from work, huh?” His blue eyes sparkles with mischief, matching the upturn at the corner of his lips, foretelling no good from this interaction, either.

“A friend,” Jeff added, “that he has the biggest crush on.”

Gareth rolled his bottom lip inward, and cocked his head. “More like she’s his babysitter with benefits.”

Loathing the obvious sheen of sweat rushing to his face, Eddie warned him with a pointed finger. “Don’t call her that.” He swung to Dustin next. “And she is my friend, and my coworker,” he stated evenly, putting emphasis on the last word.

Being the voice of reason in these situations, but not entirely on his side, Lloyd told the younger members, “Around the time they started working together, he started coming to band practice not entirely in a bad mood. A few weeks ago, he was even smiling. Apparently they had this little Christmas party, and there was mistletoe–”

“Shut it!”

“You kissed her?” Lucas gasped.

Gareth was the one to knock the gossipy housewife wind from his sails. “No,” he scoffed with a laugh. “He was too much of a pussy.”

Several of the guys snickered, and one said, “So no benefits, then.”

Reining in his volume, Eddie warned them again in a low tone, “I’m well within my right to not want to make things weird between us if it doesn’t work out. I have to see her every day, regardless.” It was one of his oldest excuses in the book, and to be honest with himself, he dismissed it a long time ago. He no longer feared making things awkward, or tampering with your friendship.. but he wasn’t about to explain his real insecurities to so many people at once.

No one needed to know the true reason behind why he hadn’t asked you out yet.

No one had to know why he walked away when you spoke of ‘dating’ and ‘home.’

It was to protect himself, so no one had to look at him with pity when he explained he wasn’t a good enough reason for you to stay in Hawkins past the end of summer. Instead, he defaulted, “We’re just friends.”

Erica was gentle in her approach. “If we’re all just friends here, then why don’t we get matching bracelets made by your daughter?” On instinct, he tugged his sleeve over his wrist to conceal D-A-D-D-Y. “I saw hers when she was messing with Adrienne’s hair.” She saw M-O-U-S-E. “And if you’re just friends, why doesn’t Adrie ever want to be held by us? Or hugged by us? I honestly thought she didn’t like to be coddled by anyone besides you, but then that just happened..”

The questions sank in Eddie’s stomach. It cooled the frustration from his furrowed brow, and eased the tension from around his eyes. He didn’t have a satisfactory answer for the group, but he could share something close enough to the truth, it might better help them understand his hang ups. But first, he downed the rest of his double on the rocks.

Wincing after his swallow, he set down the glass, and ran the heel of palm along the edge of the table. “I’m taking things slow,” he said, “and you all know why. Okay?” Shrugging a bit, he lifted his eyebrows and spoke again to his binders, focusing on his campaign notes rather than his friends. “I only told her everything, y’know, about what happened to me a few weeks ago, so I’m still giving it some time. And, obviously, yeah it’s a big deal having a kid, and her getting attached to someone else.”

“Aw, he’s in love,” someone said.

Exuding patience by closing his eyes, he continued, “Right, so, if you wanna tell her some less embarrassing stories about me, maybe even make me look good in front of her.. I’d really appreciate it.” He ended with a beckoning clap, as if he were striking a deal with the blisters in his life.

“Or,” Mike asserted, “I can roll to hit this ghoul, and if it succeeds, you have to ask her out tonight.” Before Eddie could respond, Mike puffed a lucky breath into his cupped hands, and bounced the dice across the grid. “Thirteen!”

“Aw, sorry, man. Doesn’t hit.”

Vitriol bit into his snark, “Oh, really? Thirteen doesn’t hit, but eight does? Give me a break.” The more his face pinched into a sour expression at Eddie’s stubborn favoritism, the more wickedness laced itself in the Dungeon Master’s smug grin.

Gareth was contributing another goading remark about breaking strict rules if they benefited Eddie’s chances for getting good pussy, but the squeal of the door knob turning interrupted him.

It was noticeably quieter when you sat down at the table, beaming at the mixed signals of people avoiding your gaze, and meeting it with the type of excessive smile you gave a stranger after you were just talking about them behind their back. “So, whose turn is it?” Jeff raised his hand sheepishly. “Oh, you guys didn’t have to wait for–for me!” You hardly got through the sentence before you were giggling into your drink.

Fear not, Gareth broke the underlying tension. “Hey, did Eddie ever tell you he used to walk out on stage with a rose in his mouth, until” –he motioned at the corner of his lips with a grimace– “he cut himself on the thorns one too many times. Ow!”

Gareth clutched at his foot, and the men shot off rapid fire communication through sharp hand gestures, and widened eyes.

Jeff played the Jaws theme.

“Is that true?” you whispered to Lucas.

Lloyd shouted, “Can we get back to the game?”

Still red in the face, Eddie turned to him with his arms extended graciously. “Yes! Thank you! Let’s get back to the game.”

Adjusting his chair under himself, Eddie the Dungeon Master sat with the distinct grace of someone who went unopposed. Wispy curls of his hair caught the wind, drifting in frazzled layers wherever they pleased. The buttons and pins on his jean vest glittered, and tinked together. His lungs expanded with a long, held breath, stretching the black hoodie over his chest. When no one challenged his unceasing eye contact, he continued, “The ghouls were nigh..”

————

The night matured.

Dustin and Lloyd championed your party to an underground cave where the source of the undead were conjured. Eddie heralded your arrival by opening the box beneath his chair, screwing together something behind his barrier of DND lore, and bringing it to his mouth.

You shouldn’t be surprised by him, yet again, but the fact he played flute was just as adorable as his playful grin straining his plush lips to the metal, and his round doe-eyes flitting to yours, and away.

The notes he played grew increasingly haunting, turning intense during the battle with the necromancer who started this all. Then, as the foe turned to dust, Eddie trilled higher, and higher notes. Sillier, and sillier as Dustin looted the robes he left behind.

Everything about Eddie’s expression was impish when the group asked if the scroll found in the pocket was written in common tongue.

“Why, as a matter of fact it is,” he said, much too cheerful, and trilled an incensing measure.

He was being a menace, and the group began to sag with dread.

Dustin’s words were laced with suspicion and regret. “What does it say?”

“Let’s see! It says..” Eddie held up a prop coil of tea-stained parchment, and cleared his throat to don a brittle old man's voice, “I was a lonely necromancer who missed my wife, children, friends, and family. I was merely resurrecting them to have companionship, and you attacked me for nought. I hope you are happy with yourselves, and can sleep at night.” He abandoned the paper to incite violence in his quick succession of notes on the flute. “The dying crops are not my fault. The soil simply has too many minerals from the estuary near Irrilis, and the quarry to the north.” Peering at the blank sheet fallen to his notebook, he faked confusion, “And it says down here, in teeny-tiny writing, ‘You should have checked the bulletin board.’”

Dustin dropped his head into his hands. “You son of a bitch.”

The rest of the quests went smoother, you supposed. After returning to Irrilis and checking the bulletin board, the party’s findings led to the library, which led to a murder, which led to a mystery, which led to finding an object which had the group gasping in surprise. Apparently, the Crimson Order’s emblem on the second dead person’s body, and bite marks on the neck had a long history within the group. The next big campaign was vampire related. You celebrated along with them, cheersing the end of your whiskey, and chasing it with some much needed water.

~~~

Raw twilight bloomed behind heavy set clouds pulling flutters of white against the black.

The night winded down with more fetch quests sending the party deeper into the woods, and to the edge of the mountains. It would take several more sessions to cover the terrain beyond, or something like that. Something, something tales of a labyrinth or some sort before the vampire castle. Your memory was a little fuzzy. Going with the flow of music, whether it was the mellow strums of Lloyd’s guitar, the muffled notes of Jeff’s keyboard, Gareth’s battle march, or the dark piece Eddie played when he introduced an object of interest; your focus muddled with the jokes, the lore, the alcohol. The whiskey burned less, and the oaky honey thrived. You surrendered to the passage of time–interrupted, briefly, when the man sat opposite you answered every one of the boy’s questions with a riddle, and his rascally cackle at their irritation stole another piece of your heart. Falling deeper, and deeper. And deeper for him.

~~~

The early witching hours feasted on the weary adults who were no longer able to pull all-nighters. The game was over for now, and the group packed their things away.

Max asked you, “Did you have fun?”

“Yes!” you blurted. “I didn’t really know what I was getting into, but the atmosphere was so cool. Eddie really knows how to put on a show, huh? And hey, finding fragments of a dragon’s egg shell in a game called Dungeons and Dragons was pretty neat.”

Her laugh brought music to her affirmation, “Yeah, he’s a pretty good DM, and we’ve been hunting the dragons for two years now. Do you think you’ll play with us next month?”

“Totally!”

“Nice.”

Lucas dragged his hand down her arm, and placed the black and neon pink windbreaker in her awaiting palm. She zipped it over her cozy college sweatshirt. They were at the back of the congestion, shuffling around the living room, straying behind the chaos of stumbling adults doubling over to laugh at their clumsiness and inability to find their shoe’s match.

While waiting, you watched several of the guys clasp Eddie’s shoulder as they passed, and placed money in his hand. Oh. Shit. Your gaze snapped to the scattered stack of pizza boxes in the kitchen, and shame licked your cheeks. It never occurred to you to pay for your share.

Quickly, you found your puffer jacket under Mike’s raincoat, and wrangled some cash from the pockets. Your stride went wobbly between the table, chairs, couch, shoes, and bumbling grownups in the cramped trailer, but you squeezed your way to him. He was beginning his goodbyes smushed against the breakfast bar, not quite able to reach the front door just yet.

“Here,” you said, shoving a crumpled $20 at his arm.

Pausing his conversation with Jeff, he twisted to see you over the curve of his shoulder, and absorbed your apologetic face before noticing the money. His lips ticced at the corners. His nostrils flared with a soft snort. Amusement crinkled at the corner of his eyes. “Not from you,” he said. “Why don’t you go check on Adrie for me?”

“Oh.” A confused, maybe disappointed ‘oh.’ “If you’re sure.”

Fighting an internal battle, you stuffed the $20 in your jeans, and held true to your frown. You were about to argue, but your brain registered what he’d asked you to do. “Adrie!” you whispered excitedly, and made finger guns towards the bedroom.

You scurried (yes, scurried) off, and left Eddie to fend for himself.

Jeff was twisting his hand around his chin in mock rumination. “She doesn’t have to pay, hmm?”

“Not my place to comment,” Gareth said, about to make a comment, “but maybe you should think about cashing in those benefits.” He paused, drunkenness slowing him into a contemplative stare. “Or at least fu–”

“Anyway!” Erica saved the situation by pushing past all of them to wrench the door open. “Well.. that sucks.”

Icy flakes floated in pendulum swings to the ground, where they stuck.

Eddie stood on his tip-toes to study the severeness over his friend’s heads. The weather appeared to be in its mild beginnings, not yet falling in a considerable sheet from the sky, but still, he was a dad, and he was prone to worrying. The party hardly finished lacing up their shoes, and he was making them promise they’d call him as soon as they got home. They’d barely walked down the steps, and he was there at the bottom, holding his arm out. “Seriously, call me as soon as you get home,” he warned each household.

And it was only once the last car’s tail lights trailed red streaks over the main road, he went inside.

The trailer wept with emptiness. Remnants of being fulfilled remained–the trash, the lingering body heat, and stuffy air–but it sighed with loneliness. The trailer was pent up. In need of decompressing after the hours of putting on a show, and in a constant state of overthinking, entertaining his friends while fighting the itch deep in his chest that said ‘I wish none of these people were here except for you.’

The trailer longed for you, searching the couch, the card table, the kitchen where the bottle of whiskey was left behind. The trailer sought you in the corners of its belly, its lungs, its head, leaving the heart for last.

Eddie pushed open the bedroom door, and you were not in his daughter's bed. He lurched further into the room. Needy for the heart. And he found it. He found his home..

A pair of adult legs stuck out from the entrance to the blanket fort.

Judging by the angle of your feet and your knee tucked into the other, you were laying on your side. The powder pink bedsheet gathered in folds around your lower thighs. Strings of Christmas lights pressed against the shelter, and the TV flicked bright colors as it played a movie on a low volume.

Daring, his fingertips encountered the coarse weave of your jeans on his way to lift the bedsheet keeping your sleeping form separated from his greedy gaze. Stealing moments where he could be learning your face, placed a precious snore away from his daughter’s, sharing the pillow with her curls and unicorn hugged to her chin. Inhaling silently, and exhaling in a quick breath, not yet catching the sound in your throat akin to a mumbly whine at the dream playing under your twitching eyelids.

The sheet draped the back of his neck.

Risking, he traced the rugged outer seam of your jeans. Starting at your printed socks, and traveling up your calf, over the rigid mountain peaks of stiff fabric creased around your knee, and discovering the squish of your leg under his prodding. His eyes were trained on your face. He slipped his palm over your upper thigh. A gentle warmth of his presence. Next, he cupped the curve of your knee, fitting it into his hand, and he continued his stroke downwards, tightening his fingers to your shin, and stopping to squeeze your ankle. You didn’t stir.

He shifted closer, widening his stand and ducking under the canopy to reach your face.

Leaning over you, he anchored his balance to your hip, relaxing his hold on the arch of bone shaped like a strung bow, and dragged his other knuckles along your cheek. Three fingers worth. Three opportunities for him to press his skin to your hairline, and brush them along the flat plane before the adorable round apples he knew to be relaxed under the surface while you dozed.

You were soft. So unexpectedly soft.

Courageous, smooth peach fuzz welcomed a fourth knuckle. A simple sweep of the back of his hand to your face. Feeling you. All of you. Insatiable.

His breathing grew heavier at the hunger.

Stomach clenching from the craving of more.

Heart, starved.

It was animalistic, but you weren’t afraid. No, you weren’t afraid when you twitched and slapped at your cheek, expecting a fly to be tickling you in your sleep, but as you awoke, you prodded at the confusing obstruction, and glided your fingers along the underside of his. Plump ridges punctuated by hard calluses with scratchy outlines. You recognized them by touch alone, and fought through the pain of your bloodshot eyes to peer up at the man looming above you, and yawned.

“No boys allowed,” you whispered through the groggy haze.

Oh, he nearly let his tipsy tongue admit too much to your dopey grin.

Eddie could tell he was smiling hard enough his vision suffered from his encroaching cheeks. His eyes were inundated by his happiness, nearly closed to slits from how hard he beamed when he slid from gaze from you, to his daughter who enacted the ‘No Boys’ rule, and to you again. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he said, withdrawing.

He helped you stand. With difficulty. The whiskey hurled you into a premature REM cycle, and without consideration, he roused you from its depths. In your drowsy state, you clung to him for stability, depending on his chest to support you. Not that he was complaining. He was reliable, compensating for your swaying by grasping your upper arms, and teasing you with a, “Whoa there, silly.”

Stood outside the closed bedroom, there was not a chance for gaps to stop your lower inhibitions. Alone, you were together. In the same hallway where there was a thrifted painting of a lake scene hung beside the bathroom, a shelf with a set of wooden ducks amongst the ceramic knick knacks, a doorway where he ate his oatmeal while watching you and Adrie play. Those points of interest were all there; you were familiar with them, even if you struggled to open your eyes.

You fawned over him, snickering at nothing until your features tensed into confusion, not understanding the bits of ice clinging to the fibers of his hoodie, scraping at them with your fingernail. You collapsed into him more, leaning your forearms on his steady frame, rising and falling, accepting the lullaby of his pleased hum. The very outline of your torso discovered his, giving him a taste of your warmth; comforting you both with the actuality of such a thing. You skimmed your fingers up to his hair, picking at the sloshy liquid burdening the ends of his curls. “Why’re you wet?” you mumbled.

“It’s snowing,” he repeated from earlier, when the rush of standing whooshed in your ears, rendering him an otherworldly voice from beyond. “It’s not bad, but like hell I’m about to let you bike home in it. If you wanna give me some time to eat and have a cup of coffee, I can sober up and drive you, sweet girl,” he finished like hot honey.

You circled your palms over his pecs with the lack of awareness a blissfully buzzed person would for the lone reason of wanting to experience the texture of his hoodie burn your skin from the friction. “But wouldn’t you have to wake Adrie up to bring her with us?”

“I would, but she’ll be fine. She’ll probably fall asleep in the car.”

“No, no, no,” you shushed him, losing your merry smile for the first time in hours. “Robin’s working very, very, very late tonight. She’ll probably be off her shift soon. She can pick me up. And my bike can fit in her trunk, unlike your tiny car.” Many of your words mushed together from your drowsy, drowsy, drowsy imploring.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah! I’ll call her, and hey, we can clean up while she’s on her way.” When his expression was less than enthused at the suggestion, you waggled your eyebrows, and bit your bottom lip, enticing him. “We can make it fun,” you tried. “You know, we’ll play music, drink some more, eat whatever pizza’s left.” You walked your fingers up his shoulders, and he smoothed his hands around your wrists, flattening your palms to his clavicle.

Eddie lowered his head until he managed to peer at you through his lashes, asking a condescending, but lighthearted question, “That’s what you wanna do? Help me clean?”

You reaffirmed, “It’ll be fun.”

“Fine by me, sweetheart. Go call Buckley.”

The plans were put on pause while you called the back office of the grocery store, but after a short conversation, and many twirls of the cord around your finger, your voice lightened with relief, “Thank you so, so much. I love you.”

You hung up, and spun around to tell Eddie the fabulous news.

The two glass tumblers on the kitchen counter were assuming. Filled with ice cubes from the blue plastic tray in the sink, and situated in front of the opened whiskey. There was a decent amount left–a fourth of the entire bottle, probably–and he didn’t need to hear you repeat Robin’s message about her getting off work soon to unscrew the cap and begin pouring.

No distinct emotion crossed his face when divided an even shot into each of the smokey gray glasses, and paused the bottle above yours to ask, “So, what kind of drunk are you?”

The ice cracked and popped as it melted.

“Giggly, touchy,” you supposed.

He tipped the bottle and added another healthy shot to yours. You raised your eyebrows at his boldness, and scoffed out the same question, “What kind of drunk are you?”

“Hm.” He propped his hand on the counter, and cocked his hip out, staring out into the living room. You studied his side profile from where you stayed by the telephone, most notably how his light wash jeans gathered around the bulk of his zipper again; hoodie tucked behind the handcuff belt buckle. The weathered silver metal glinted an edge of orange from the lamp beside the microwave, shifting as he rocked his weight to his other foot. “Stupid, I think,” he said finally. “I make stupid decisions, ‘nd shit.”

“Are you trying to make stupid decisions tonight?”

His features kicked up, and instead of giving you a verbal answer, he brought the bottle up and dropped his head back.

“Eddie!” you gawked.

Your mouth hung open in awe, stunned into silently watching the bubbles race to the top of the amber liquid chugging ever closer to the neck of the bottle being strangled in his white-knuckled grip. His eyes were screwed shut, body tensed and struggling to finish it off, lips pursed in a kiss around the opening. Each gulp sent his Adam’s apple jumping.

He threw his head forward. The bottle slammed on the counter, final sips of liquid sloshing in waves along the bottom. He caught the dribble falling from his chin with his sleeve, and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. All of him shuddered. Teeth bared as he grimaced through the burn, eyebrows furrowed in mild regret.

After the last jerk of shoulders battling the aftershocks of disgust, you mimicked his parental exasperation, “What in the world are you doing?”

Making a stupid decision.

A tight line of water flooded his eyes. He ran his fingers over his shy smile, turning to look at you with a particular brand of sheepishness usually reserved for teenagers who were trying to impress their friends. “I only had two drinks the entire night. I’m just catching up to you.”

“You’re an idiot.”

He agreed.

“Bobbie’s still gonna be a while,” you said on your way to grabbing your drink, now wondering if you were going to be the more sober one in half an hour. “Shall we get to cleaning?”

He lifted his tumbler by picking it up by the rim and clinked it to yours, but refrained from taking a sip when you did. Thankfully. “Wayne’s got some jazz records in the crate next to the record player, where the TV is.. Well, where the TV was. On that cabinet beside his bed.. If you’d just.. Look over there.. Okay, why are you staring at me?”

Memorizing the freckle of the side of his nose to your heart’s content, you shrugged. “You blush a lot.”

“Do not,” he denied in a mutter. He felt his cheek, poking and prodding and smashing at the skin being tugged down by his pouty frown. “It’s just the alcohol.”

“Ah.”

You sipped, swallowed, and snickered on your way to the record player cabinet, weaving through the staggered chairs untucked from the table. You laughed again. Just the alcohol, he said. Yet, he’d been flushed red all night. Or, at least, since he bragged about his seven inches.

~~~

The soundtrack for cleaning was a 25th Anniversary edition of a label’s best live performances over the years.

Various artists scored the yucky business of folding and stacking the chairs against a spare wall, trying not to envision a spider popping out at any moment from where it may be laying in wait under the seats. A fun upbeat tambourine number played when Eddie knocked over Wayne’s beard trimmer in the bathroom. Wondrous vocals warbled against your game of wadding up the used napkins and tossing them at the trashcan, while Eddie flung the paper plates like frisbees until both of you tired, and threw them away as normal. Brass horns vibrated under your hands and knees as you crawled around on the floor, finding all the crushed beer cans. Lazy drum beats coaxed both of your languid movements into the sort of drunken erraticism that came from being buzzed, gesturing without much consideration for sharp corners, or breakable things. He packed away his miniatures while you wiped down the counters, and he washed the dishes while you attempted to sweep up crumbs from the grid table cloth and fold it into a neat-ish square.

The record stopped.

A break ensued. You drank the rest of your whiskey, and Eddie searched every pizza box, divvying out the last slices for you to share over wordless respite, heads drooping, chewing slowly.

After washing the greasy cornmeal from his hands, and wiping the flour from around his mouth, he suggested, “Why don’t you put on the yellow record? Third from the end, on the left.”

You found the one he spoke of–golden yellow–and put the needle to it.

Together, you hauled out the dense vintage couch the few inches it required; done in dozens of centimeters, yanking on the ugly upholstery until your fingernails ached, and arms gave up. Eddie was rushing you, annoyingly so. Hurrying on in anguish, the table was flipped on its side, and its legs folded in. It was stuffed against the wall after some difficulty (the mugs remained intact), and after shoving the hulking piece of furniture to close the gap, you fell to the lumpy cushions with an exhausted groan.

You went boneless. Arms and legs landing wherever. Head lulling to the side. Eyes closed. Relaxed. Drifting off to the place where you were in the blanket fort at an alarming rate..

The song switched.

“May I have this dance?”

You opened your eyes.

Eddie’s hand came into focus. He was bent at the waist, extending an invitation. Reciprocating. Making true on his promise for the dance he owed you. It seemed so long ago; back when you knew him as a single dad who was private about his personal life. Now you knew. You knew his home, his past, his trauma, his notebook, his friends, his band, his daughter’s favorite stuffed toy named Fluff. You knew his pizza order (cheese with black olives), his favorite color (deep, sultry red), his laundry detergent (Cheer Free for extra sensitive skin). You knew his body temperature ran like a furnace, you knew the knot of pink scar tissue on the meat of his thumb, you knew the shimmery flecks of butterscotch in his eyes when he went teary. In the span of a few days, you knew him better than you did weeks ago, before Christmas.

You took his hand. He helped you stand, and in a brave exhale, he held you in timeless elegance.

It wasn’t like the dance before, where you minded the respectable distance two coworkers should. No. He still clasped your right hand in his left, sure, but from there the similarities to waltzing in the garage differed. Reservation did not stop at the top of his neck, or his bicep–you switched your friendly clasp from those safe areas, to introducing your torsos, and pinning his arm under yours in effort to reach the middle of his back. He enveloped your waist, coaxing your hips together with woozy enthusiasm. Close, close, close. Handcuff belt buckle catching on your jean’s zipper at each pass until you began to sway in aching unison to Frank Sinatra’s Somethin’ Stupid.

You empathized with the heady flush pinkening the bulbous tip of his nose, and gazed into his eyes. Or tried. His eyelids fell in sluggish blinks, and his envious lashes refused to part. The sway was a shuffle. Your head was swimming. Failing to focus on one particular thing before your vision went cross, and the room spun, despite standing almost still.

It didn’t take long for either of you to surrender.

Rocking side to side–no turning, no pivoting–you accepted the innate desire to rest your head on his chest, and even from a distance, his pulse beat against your ear. Hard pumps of lifeblood under your cheek laid flat on the faded black hoodie. If you looked the other way, you’d see the jean vest reeking of cigarette smoke thrown on the couch where he discarded it before asking you to dance, but you chose to admire your joined hands. Preferring to learn the dry skin where a scrape was healing on his thumb knuckle–how small your thumb was in comparison to the single stretch of bone until the next joint, and his blunt nail. Maybe he was admiring such a thing too, because he stretched his fingers and curled them snugger to yours, and he set his chin atop your head, learning another new intimacy.

You melted under the burden of his weight.

He exposed the issue of your hair catching on the stubble of his five o’clock shadow.

You craned your head against the grain, and he nuzzled his chin harder.

Two people discovering their deprived yearns.

The sweetness of being crooked into the hollow of his body. The possession of snagging a full grip of his hoodie between your fingers, and becoming the reason he filled his lungs. Existing around him. And he existed in you, in all the unexplored corners, and you dusted the cobwebs from his. Fulfilling the dark places. Giving them light, and acceptance. Sharing the slice of night before it turned day. Swaying, rocking, swimming together in an inebriated dance under a tin roof, under the sprinkling snow, under the opaque clouds, under the crescent moon, under the twinkling stars. Under the universes, and hypothetical alternate dimensions and timelines, and as attractive as they seemed, you wouldn’t choose a different one. This is the one. This is the exact dimension, the exact timeline you wanted.

No longer wishing to lead, Eddie closed your fingers into a soft fist, and placed your hand over his heart, cupping his palm over it and stressing the thousands of unspoken words in his squeeze.

Basking in the minutes stretching to hours, the music looped into a perfect eternity.

It was getting late, almost time to leave, you guessed.

You withdrew your head. Eddie lifted his. The spot his chin once resided on your scalp ran abnormally cold from the loss, and there must’ve been an imprint of wrinkled fabric on your cheek, because that’s where his eyes landed first on their journey to meet your resilient gaze.

The beginnings of his lopsided grin emerged.

He spoke, and it was a single word. “Yeah.”

You didn’t know why he said it, or what he meant, but in this moment, in his arms, with your hand nestled between his and his heart, you agreed, “Yeah.” This was special. Whatever this was, this was special.

A huff of laughter broke through your smile, and his. Giggly silliness.

You were embraced from the top of your thighs, through to the slight proposal of your hips, and ending at the acute strength of your arms pressing each other closer.

Eddie raised your hand from his heart to his face. His thumb ensured your fingers stayed curled in, barring you from investing in a full, unadulterated touch. Wisps of his hair traced your skin. His exhale snaked down your flannel sleeve. Your inner wrist stopped at the slick junction of his lips, where he had swiped his tongue over out of nervous habit.

Oddly, he tapped your hand a few times to his cheek.

It made you curious. You copied him, bringing his hand to your face. Hooked your thumb under his sleeve to expose his wrist, and tapped it to your cheek. Ah, you understood.

Such delicate, unscarred skin brushed against the ridges of your lips, each tap like a kiss along the edge of your lovesick simper. Closer to a kiss than anything you’d experienced with him before. Still so tender, and so pure.

“Yeah?” A raw tremble was present in your question; gone shy from the profoundness of the single word, and fearing you were attributing the wrong meaning behind something so little, yet so large in your relationship.

But he saw the doubt, and he reassured you, “Yeah.” By the wetness glossing over his eyes, he reassured you your assumptions weren’t wrong. He whispered it again, softer, to where the one syllable croaked out, “Yeah.”

This was special.

The alcohol sat like candor on your tongue. “Wanna know a secret?” you teased as you let go of his wrist, and guided your hands up to his nape, linking your fingers over the bulky hood prohibiting you from playing with the sensitive hairs on the back of his neck. He slung his arm around your waist, over top of the other, encompassing you in a true hug.

He squinted at you. “How drunk are you? Don’t go tellin’ me somethin’ you’ll regret in the morning.”

“It’s nothing like that, I swear.” There was a flirty whine to your pitch, and even flirtier breathiness to your voice. Encouraging him to maintain the sway, leading him side to side, foot to foot, taking advantage of flow to put an arch in your back, and rise onto the balls of your feet, undetected. Your heart skipped at the proximity. “You know how I said my top three favorite people were Robin, Adrie, and then you?” you reminded him. “That’s actually backwards.. I said it backwards. It’s actually you, Adrie, and then Robin. But don’t tell her that.”

His mouth hung open to respond, but his gaze was off, discerning something behind you in the distance. When he centered on you again, there was a new kindness to the wrinkles framing his handsome face. “Are you okay with sharing my number one spot?”

“I would be honored.”

“Good,” he emphasized, “I’d be heartbroken if you didn’t want to be my favorite.”

“I always want to be your favorite,” you preened.

The innocence slipped from his expression. He’d never heard you sound quite so needy, or eager to be something of his, and the effects were sudden and poorly timed.

Outside, rocks skidded on the cracked pavement. A car turning in from the main road sunk into a pothole, and bounced out. The music spinning on the record player crescendoed. The fluorescent bulbs in the lamps hummed with electricity. Scents of acidic tomato sauce and oregano were inescapable. Tiny pellets of hail pinged on the tin roof. You both looked up, listening to it pass after a drifty-cloud moment.

Eddie concentrated on keeping your chests together. His forearms dug into your waist as he found the best way to lock his grip. He dipped his head lower when you had no choice but to lean up, and into him. “If I give you my number, will you call me when you get home, so I know you made it safe?”

Every consonant and vowel vibrated in your skull, thrumming velvety richness through the daze.

“I already have your number,” you said amongst the warmth building, and building behind your rib cage.

He faltered, confused. “You have my number?”

“Mhm, an even bigger birdie told me.”

Both bewildered by the callback, and having a tendency to fall head over heels for anything and everything you did, regardless if it was an unsatisfying answer or not, Eddie snorted, and scrunched his face, observing you with all the judgment you earned. “That’s either really creepy, or really endearing.”

You dropped your gaze to his crooked smile, and the car approaching the blue and white trailer faded away.

His lips were gorgeous. Overly full, and a wonderful shade of fleshy red with a tint of pink. They were bitten. Chewed on when his nerves got the best of him. Behind them, the edges of his teeth showed. Above them, you put your energy into obsessing over his overly large nose, as you had in many instances, but never at this distance, able to see every pore, every freckle, every splotch, and realizing this could become a normal occurrence, being this close.

His eyes were overly large as well, and they followed each micro-tic of yours.

“Good thing you find me endearing, then,” you provoked.

He loved that response.

“I do,” he chased. “I do,” he gave in. The willpower to resist his urges crumbled at the admission. He pressed his forehead to yours, and conceded until his mouth ached with happiness, “I find you so endearing.”

The alcohol dulled the intimate gesture. The top layers of your skin were numb. You had to work harder to feed the starvation; grinding your forehead against his, digging deeper to feel the itch of his bangs stuck to the glisten of boozy sweat. Sliding your nose alongside his, smashing the tips to each other’s cheeks. Sharing the same breaths, panting feathery sighs into each other’s mouths. Then, another carnal bump of noses, clumsy and misaligned, and a hard rut bone on bone until your bodies tingled with satisfaction. Satiated. Full.

Eddie turned his groan into a ragged, “I fucking adore you.”

“I adore you, too,” you promised, on the verge of crying and not knowing why.

He pulled away, dragging the tip of his nose up the side of yours, and tracing it down, allowing them to stay connected for a moment longer. A cooldown while your stomach flipped, and your pulse raced. I adore you.

The whole thing was strange to do with your coworker, especially with your hands remaining latched where they were, and there was no grinding elsewhere; it was just sheer lust for touch. Mutual, too.

His overly large pupils bored into yours. Neither of you had appropriate commentary on what transpired, probably for the better.

A car engine rumbled outside.

“Yeah, I’m pretty toasted, I think,” you said.

He pinched his eyebrows in, and pursed his lips. “Think I am, too.”

Either way, it was a good excuse for you almost moaning his name, and him choosing to hinge his phrase on adore, as if the endearment couldn’t be swapped out, and suddenly, the entire sentiment would have changed. It would be a confession.

There was a knock on the door, and Robin’s voice came muffled, but the urgency of being stuck out in the cold was conveyed.

Both of you hastened separating yourselves, and fumbled around each other.

Always, Eddie was a gentleman and helped you put on your jacket after you argued he was way more plastered than you were, despite you being the one doubled over with your hands on your knees, wobbling, disoriented after reaching down for it. He made sure you were dressed before going outside. Zipped you all the way to your chin, even when you complained it looked dorky. He lined your shoes up for you, and waited for you with his eyes closed, drifting off to a dream while standing up.

He handed you off to Robin, and loaded her trunk with your bike. For whatever reason, you didn’t climb inside the car yet. You waited in the snow for him. Collecting glittery flakes on your eyelashes, inhaling the fresh, crisp air. Probably quelling the nausea, same as he was, taking gulps of oxygen while he blinked, and blinked, searching the swirling images for something his brain could comprehend to get it to stop.

You waited for him, never saying anything. In heavy steps, he came to you, and wedged his fingers under the door handle, popping open the latch with an expression of wryness, as if you expected him to open every door for you.

Which, he would, for the record.

Stopping you before you sat, he grabbed at your jacket and bent himself to you, no longer afraid to press the cold tip of his nose to the shell of your ear, and drag his lips over the peach fuzz as he spoke directly to you. “Call me,” he stressed against your shiver.

“I will.”

At that, he shut your door and Robin began backing out of his driveway, stunting his wave goodbye from the headlights blinding him. He moved to the stairs, then to the top of the landing to watch the car drive around the soft bend around the trailers, and out onto the highway, leaving him behind.

He entered the trailer, and it was full.

It felt full, anyway. In his stomach, his chest, behind his eyelids, in the dusty corners, in the mortal hollows, manifesting a tightness in his throat, and a contradictory heaviness to his weightlessness, floating on clouds after spending an entire day with his crush and ending it with I adore you.

Eddie brushed his hair back, neatening the tangles wetted by ice. He combed his bangs off his forehead, and drove his fingers against his scalp, leaving his hands on top of his head, stripping himself of the extra stimulation to hone in on the persistent throb between his brows where you staked your claim.

You had made your home there, and he couldn’t wait for your return.

“Jesus Christ.”

With his woolgathering out of the way, he went to where Adrie was half-asleep in the doorway to her bedroom, and he crouched onto his knees. “Were you watching us dance?”

Wrapped in a blanket and sitting slumped over, she nodded against the wood frame, and sucked in the drool threatening to spill over her bottom lip. Only having the energy to open her eyes a smidge, she still found it within herself to have gripes with him. “You didn’t let me say bye.”

“I’m sorry,” he pouted in a silly deep voice.

Stooping further, he worked his arm under her legs, and collected the sleepy bundle that was his daughter to his chest. He shuffled along on his knees over to the fort, and man, did he understand why you fell asleep so easily in the blanket nest. Just the accidental touches when he set Adrie down called to him, as did the bleating sheep hopping over fences in his head. It was enticing.. but the phone was ringing, and the first check in of the night as calling.

He knew it wasn’t you, but his heart leapt all the same.

“Sorry the phone might ring a lot,” he said. “Do you want another movie on? I’ll put another move on so it doesn’t wake you, okay?”

She scrunched her nose in a bad way, not like he did when he was laughing. Probably from the alcohol on his breath, and his waning coherency.

He stowed away his kisses for now. “Sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye, but I promise you, I promise you, okay? Miss Mouse will be back soon.” That was the heaviness in his chest. The decision. “I’ll invite her over, and we can all play together, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy,” she mumbled, loosening her grasp on his hair.

She was out, and he paced the kitchen while he chatted to stay awake.

————

Eddie sat at the small green table with his head resting back against the peeling wallpaper. A single light above the wrap-around counter skimmed the belly of the trailer. It traced the bubbles slipping down the bottle in front of him, and glanced the top of his pillow on the couch, submitting to the darkness past his plaid blanket waiting for him. The phone cord draped over his shoulder, down to his chest. The last call was half an hour ago. Maybe? He knew his last swig of whiskey was seconds ago. Everyone had checked in, and his ability to show an ounce of self-control was forfeited to the sheep. In his final blink, his body went lax, and he passed out.

Though, he could always count on the clangy ring to cut through their bleats.

Jolting awake, he searched above him for the phone, knocking it off the hook before it disturbed Adrie.

He was disoriented.

“Hello?”

Quiet as a mouse, a voice came, “Hey.”

He sat up. Alertness spread through him in waves, rippling from the decision sitting hot on his tongue, and stirring deeper, lower. Your greeting was filtered by the tiny microphone caged in yellowed plastic, but the dozy, sweltering rasp was there. “Hey, sweetheart,” he answered in kind, and inhaled deeply before the blood loss in his brain rendered him lightheaded.

One word in and he was wiping his palm on his jeans, and keeping it there, on his thigh.

“Sorry it took me so long,” you apologized in a whisper. “I wanted to wait until everyone went to sleep. I’m in the living room. In the dark.” You giggled as if it were a joke he should be in on.

He peeked behind him to make sure the bedroom door was shut, and wrenched the phone against his lips to stifle his own laughter. “Yeah? I’m sitting in the dark, too.”

You hummed.

He didn’t know if you were making a pass at him by mentioning you were alone as he was, so he chose something innocuous to comment on, bouncing the ball in your court. “You sound tired, baby. You should go to bed.”

“But my bed’s cold,” you whined.

Bingo.

Risks were worth taking as long as you participated.

In a matter of quick exchanges, he had his palm between his thighs, running his fingernails down the coarse fabric of his jeans and cupping the heft. “My bed’s cold too,” he matched your pitch, exploring his thumb upwards.

“If you were here, mine wouldn’t have to be..”

“But you live in someone else’s parent’s attic,” he teased.

“And your bed’s a couch,” you shot back.

He checked the closed door behind him one more time, and yielded, “You’re right.” You liked being right. He liked it when you were right. Your grin tinted all your pretty words when you were right. Well, they would, if you were speaking. “Babe?”

“Sorry, that was quick,” you said, struggling through a yawn after nodding off. “I’m laying on the recliner, and it’s really comfy.”

“Then go to sleep,” he implored in a chastising snicker.

You grunted.

Except, it didn’t sound like the other grunts and groans he’d heard you make over the months. This one was sweeter, higher, similar to the airy catch in your throat when your bottom lip dragged on his stubble. A moan of his name, he hoped. He twitched against the warmth of his palm. Growing rapidly under the first strokes of his thumb encouraging his descent, half-hard just at the thought.

How much whiskey he had was of no concern when it came to you. Clearly.

He couldn’t stop his appetite from lowering his voice, “Whatcha doin’, sweet girl?”

You turned it back on him, “What are you doing?” And when he was busy rearranging how he sat to give his jeans some slack to wrap his thick fingers around himself, you mused with an evident smirk, “Touching your orc dagger?”

Goddamnit. “If you ever bring that up again, I swear..”

“You must be, with how you’re avoiding the question.” You muffled your giggle–probably with your shirt collar, if he had to guess. Teasing him more, you slurred, “S’okay. I saw how hard you were staring at my shirt earlier. Just thought you’d like to know I’m not wearing it anymore. Not wearing a bra either.”

You’re right. He did like knowing that. So much, in fact, he smoothed his fingers in a long tug along his length, stroking twice over the sensitive head, and repeating.

“Not wearing anything?” he asked, sounding a bit more husky than he intended.

“Just the flannel. Gotta be a little dressed.. in case someone comes in.” You shifted in the middle of your sentence, and at first Eddie pictured you turning onto your back. Imagining your tits shifting against the flannel, and their subtle bounce as you got comfortable. How hard your nipples pressed to the fabric, and what they must feel like being licked and sucked into his mouth, and all the beautiful noises you’d make for him. Unfortunately..

“Touchin’ yourself for me, sweetheart?” Nothing.. “Sweetheart?” Oh.. “You fall asleep again?”

An actual grunt, maybe a hiccup, or a snore created static on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry,” you sincerely apologized.

Poor sweet thing. “Tell you what,” he reasoned. “Why don’t you go to bed, and think about how nice it’d be for me to be there with you; how warm I am. And I’ll take a shower, and do the same.”

You asked, “You mean you’re gonna think about me while in the shower?”

He squeezed himself. “Yes,” he answered truthfully. There was no fucking way either of you’d remember this by Monday morning. It was kinda thrilling; obeying the allure, and teasing each other without consequence.

“Nice.”

“Mhmm.”

Eddie closed his eyes in the following silence. The fantasy drifted to something tender. Sharing a bed. Waking up next to you. The alcohol made it difficult to remember why you called, and fathom why he was holding a conversation. His own hand went slack around the part his heart pumped blood to. The urge passed. The desire to brush his teeth replaced the lust. He was drunk, and he was losing the battle to remain conscious.

His body slouched ever forward.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“I can’t stay awake.”

“Neither can I..” Not that it mattered, but before the conversation ended and he summoned the strength to collapse on the couch instead of the green table for the sole reason of never wanting his daughter to discover him passed out in the kitchen from drinking too much, he heeded the heaviness in his chest. The decision. And he told you, “By the way, I thought of what to do for that ‘thank you’ I owe you. It’s time I pay you back for everything you’ve done for me.”

Processing his words at a slower rate, a few moments ticked by before the intrigue ate at you. “And what’s that, handsome?”

He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”

You snorted. “It’ll be a surprise if either of us remember anything after I failed nine rolls in a row, and you chugged.. Fuck, however much whiskey you’ve had. I don’t even wanna know.”

In a night of stupid decisions, he committed to one more; the joke was too good to not tumble past his loose lips, “Not enough to stop my orc dagger from growing seven inches.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, that was awful. I’m never calling you again. Goodbye.”

The speed at which you hung up sent him doubled over, clutching his aching stomach. He tried to keep quiet, really. He held onto his dignity just long enough to take three attempts to hang up the phone, and then it hit him with reckless abandon. He slapped his hand over his gaping mouth, and shook until the breathless gasps came out in squeaks, ugly laughing at his own stupid joke. He rocked back and forth, almost hitting his forehead on the table, and only caught his breath when tears brimmed his lashes, and he remembered his forehead was sacred, and he should stop. If he hit it, it’d be like an earthquake to your home. Except, that imagery also made him giggle, and he was at it again. Biting his tongue to subdue his outbursts while he stretched out on the couch cushions which rubbed his skin raw everytime he changed position. Finally, he was at peace. He tried to forget about the impending hangover he was going to have to explain to Wayne, and instead, he thought about you, and let his daydream take him to a fantasy where he could wake up next to you. And if he went through with his decision, maybe it could become a reality.

No. Not if. He would. He would go through with it. Probably. If you asked about it, he would, definitely. If you didn’t, he’d.. he’d still do it. He couldn’t keep living like this.

However, for both your sakes, he hoped neither of you remembered this night come Monday morning.

[uyuartik]

bad idea, right? (obi wan kenobi x f!reader)

tags: slightly sith coded obi wan, no use of y/n, my unhinged take on regency era, (blaming bridgerton and pride and prejudice), probably historical inaccuracies, SMUT, mentions of oral sex (fem and male receiving), mentions of fingering, piv sex, dom!obi?, i really don't know what to write here it is just filth and it is gonna get filthier

a/n: HII! so i became haunted by historical!obi au's and spent six months writing a short series... this is the first chapter out of three, so i hope you stay tuned for the upcoming one (it is FILTHIER than this and about 19k words)

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated, and i can't wait to hear your opinions! i am also crossposting on ao3, feel free to interact there as well.

enjoy!!!

part one | part two | part three | ao3

word count: 5.4K

chapter one: see you tonight?

“…Fuck, just like that-“

That voice. Yes, that’s how you ended up here, you think, as you roll your hips, feeling the exquisite contours of Obi Wan’s cock stretching your walls and pulling pleasure out of every cell in your body, and possibly from your soul too.

Ehem. Lord Kenobi.

And truth be told, that’s not exactly how things led here. Of course, his rich voice and the manner in which he used it were notable factors. The way he camouflaged his remarks under sweet quips never failed to make you giggle into the next day, and regardless of the topic (ashamedly, it was mostly about the other people in the room, and their rather obscene behaviors), the comments he made always reflected the intelligence behind it. He played the serious bit perfectly too, even though his reverent sentences carried some poetry, never pompous, yet deep enough to convey its origin and the realness of his sincerity… That’s why you started spending hours with him at balls in the first place. Ten minutes alone with him, undoing all the prejudice you had against the man. All the rumors about him were proven wrong, or at least, half true. And you liked that remaining part of the truth.

Only after that, came the subject of his charms. Not quite surprising, considering that there was no lack of handsome faces around, but a lack of brains in them. Or a true heart. You hated the hypocrisy of it all, and it was a blessing to find someone who shared that sentiment. Not to mention the benefit of him deflecting any unwanted company.

Likewise, he must've thought the same about you, thus your current position. It was obvious that both of you two had similar standards, even in these lewd matters. People didn’t call him a heartbreaker because he pursued a lot of women, but when he did and it came to an inevitable end, they were the shell of whom they used to be, like a person could be mummified by the absence of the joy he charmed people with it. And you, you weren’t the type to have somebody just because you could. No, you looked for a special connection, a click, and when you got lucky and found one among the countless candidates, you treasured it. Now, even the word click sounded wanting, there were sparks present between the two of you, a considerable, good dynamic you two had built, and that made everything just better.

You were almost sad thinking this was a one-time event, already knowing this is a moment you'll remember your entire life. (You weren't gonna push your luck on getting caught.) If there were such deals, two of you keeping it to each other forever in this aspect of life, you’d have signed that contract in a blink.

“Thought you said you were tired.” He breathes out, clearly an effort, yet the smug grin on his face leaves no room for doubt or pity.

“I’ve been sitting all day.” That’s how travel works in carriages, after all. “I think stretching my legs, is what I need.” You emphasize by raising yourself higher and slowly sink back down a few times, a motion that pulls moans from both of your mouths.

Travel. It took you half a day to reach your aunt’s estate, and you were fairly certain you wouldn’t attend the ball that is currently taking place. Then, you realized there was no way your gracious hostesses would see you tonight, you were forced to enter the saloon. It would be a quick in and out, maybe greeting a few more people, no dance, with the very valid excuse of I’ve been on the road all day and I am quite exhausted ready on your lips at any interaction. This was why you didn’t even bother to put much effort into your looks, opting for a change of dress, and nothing more. No jewelry, no retouches to your hair. After all, it would just add to your part if you seemed slightly off.

Somehow, it turned out to be a regrettable decision, when numerous eyes turned to you as you took a step into the room, and even longer after that. Maybe not every head turned or the music came to an abrupt stop, the sprouting silence broken by collective whispers, but it happened, subtle yet enough to make itself known. You were given the same treatment for years at this point, but there was no getting used to it. Color that had been settling in your cheeks seemed to be permanent, at least for the night, not leaving your side as you took your place among your relatives. The expensive fan you were gifted by- God knows who, you were in no mood to remember it now, did nothing to relieve your suffering. 

And, countless other greetings don't help either. You fastened the movement of your hand, curling your lips into a forced smile. You could truly get tired from all these repeated words and gestures.

"I'm afraid I forgot to bring my dance card." You said again, to the third man who came with the same offer, Duke Caldo, all true except the part "forgot". You left it, willingly, just in front of your vanity mirror. The mirror which you desperately wanted to see yourself in right now, away from the ball. 

"A great pity." The exclamation didn't come from him, though. 

Your fan dropped from your hand and closed itself when it hit your wrist, dangling from the loop around your forearm as you heard that voice, no introduction ever needed. Perhaps, not even his voice was required, for there was always that unexplainable change in the quality of air in the rooms he occupied, like he was casting a spell on those around him, trickling magic dust with every step, a rare perfume. You wouldn’t use such metaphors if it wasn’t for the simple fact that your body always figured out his presence before your mind, catching a sense of that hypnotic essence. You often realized all the hairs on your arm standing up, or a tingling sensation in the back of your neck, breathing getting a bit harder, only to quickly locate him in your eyesight. 

"Lord Kenobi." It is said in a contemptful respect, a greeting and a goodbye. “Goodnight, my Lady.”

You didn’t even bother to mutter a proper response, and frankly, the Duke didn’t wait for one either. So, all your focus can be reserved on the man in front of you. 

You raised your arm as if intending to extend it so he could complete his small tradition of placing a kiss on the back of your hand, like he has done every time your paths crossed, even multiple times a day (that’s exactly how you noticed it was more than a simple salutation), (honestly, you liked it, his daring movement revealing a lot about his nature), only to flick it to reopen your fan. The gentlest gust of it licking your skin was more than enough now, making it all too pleasing to watch him save himself with a deep bow of his head, the annoyance quickly turning into a satisfied grin, like he didn’t expect anything less from you. 

“That looks even more beautiful in your hand.” He pointed at it, but his eyes wandered all over your body. You did the same, though there was little notice, his usual beige suit far too familiar. Your focus was always on the fact that he looked so good in it, taking in the broadness of his shoulders, or his defined arms exquisitely pronounced over the fabric.

Right. So it was his gift. Why did you ever entertain other possibilities?

You weren’t going to disappoint him by mentioning it is only here because your panicked maid accidentally packed the first item she saw, for you never took anonymous gifts. You didn’t need the attention they brought.

"And I couldn't thank you enough for it. I can practically name it my savior tonight." You answered, making a show of lavishing yourself in the stream it creates.

"My only source of pride is the fact that it perfectly blends with the rest of your attire. Now, I can proudly say I know your taste."

Classic Obi Wan. Even his compliments, far from usual, borderline scandalous. He's been peppering you with them ever since the start of your friendship and you were never immune to them. You outright enjoyed them. Especially now, they didn’t help the simmering tingles forming at the depths of your belly, amplified by weeks of solitude. “Only a part of it I’m afraid, but you’ll learn the rest in no time, don’t worry.”

“Can’t wait.” He grinned and scanned the room for prying eyes. Finding none, he made himself more comfortable by your side, hoping to spend the rest of his night with you. 

“I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” You admitted, somehow managing not to sound like you’re overly joyous of that not happening.

“I could say the same about you.” Was that excitement, or disappointment in his voice? Was he planning of politely ravishing other women, when you were not present to entertain him? Something told you those were not among his intentions, the smile on his face too honest, his twinkling gaze focused solely on you. 

You tilted your head and curled your lips. Touché. “It is nice to attend the ball your acquaintances are throwing, even if you arrive late. But for you, sir, I'm afraid people will actually think you're looking for a wife."

He rolled his eyes. There was a hint of offense in them just at the mentioning of the subject, but the playful type, not the exasperated type he uses for others. 

"Curious. The diamond of the season is also here. Isn't it strange that she still hasn't found someone, it's nearly the end of the season?" You inhaled sharply, dramatizing further. "Do you have something to do with it, Lord Kenobi?"

He scoffed, the impossibility of it reflected in his voice. "The diamond of the season?-"

"I thought you deserve nothing less." You explained, but he interjected.

"I'm only interested in one diamond." He said, initiating intense eye contact.

It was your turn to scoff, and run away from his gaze. "I was never the diamond."

"Only because you saw how better you were than the rest, and fled just before the start of the season." His eyebrows were raised, begging for a denial.

"I had planned that trip months ago." You simply stated. "And I came back halfway through summer, didn't I?"

"Just like now."

"Do I need to remind you who you have been spending time with since June?" 

"And where were you coming from tonight, ending your visit of- how long was it?"

"I am fond of traveling. Balls and banquets can entertain someone so far. " You shrugged, "Lord Kenobi, are you trying to say that you missed me?" 

"I could never claim otherwise." 

That was true from your perspective as well. All these years of constant traveling, and this year was the first time you missed what you left behind at home, even during the buzzing, pretense-filled months. None of it seemed that intolerable, and somewhat fun, if you dare to admit. You knew this impression was his doing, and now after your while spent apart, the feeling came back tenfold, almost making you squirm over such loose confessions.

That was it. That was the turning point of the night.

“Truth be told, the night is going much better than I dreamed of, and I almost regret forgetting my dance card.” You raised your chin, and sent him a look. “Would you be so kind to help me find it?” 

You could basically see the gears turning, a fire behind his eyes, fueling the desire growing in the depths of your belly. His gaze was piercing, even after he’d long decided, the truth known to both of you. Your heartbeats must’ve been visible, you imagined, and felt it skip a beat as he licked his lip. “Lead the way.”

Now that’s, how you ended up here.

However, as you look down at his face, the story gets blurry, perhaps outright loses its importance, abandoning your mind. His hair is tousled, a rebel strand in front of his eyes, and moves with every bounce. Your hands are too busy to hold onto his sweaty chest, slightly tugging on the auburn fuzz. You wanted to do that ever since he took his shirt off.

(Then again, you’re not sorry for the amount of time you couldn’t, drowning in him. The moment you felt his expert lips on yours, all your will to protest anything had died. Later, as his fingers joined the show, you quickly realized you were fine with what he gave, but he, ever the gentleman, let you prevail.)

It is a sight. And the moans that fall from his lips surpass the delicate melody the musicians are playing downstairs in every way, which can still faintly be heard. (You never thought an orchestra would accompany you during this, but here you were. It is a detail you’ll remember with a smile while looking back at it, but now, you couldn’t care any less.)

“You’re taking me so well.”  He starts to thrust his hips up slightly, meeting your rhythm, but never overtaking it.

“I know.” You giggle, but the reaction he’s taken notice of is your fingertips digging in further, and your walls fluttering around his cock.

When you start to falter a bit, perhaps due to the fatigue settling on your muscles embarrassingly not long after his words, or his mere presence clouding your brain, his fingers that have been resting on your thighs slowly ascend to your hips. The fingers drenched in your juices, another element that has the coil in your belly tighter. The next few strokes, with his guiding hand, touch something deep inside you, and your jaw hangs open.

“Fuck…” is the only word you can mutter, and he chuckles at it.

“Is that so?” He mocks, but brushes your loose ringlets with a single hand, and caresses your nipple on its way down. The latter shows his true disposition, and that drives you to be more vocal, if you weren’t already.

“You feel… so… good.” You can hardly say, as your puffy clit drag against his skin all so deliciously like this.

He twitches inside you at the compliment, and you throw your head back with a whine. Despite the fact that he would kill to see your face, he doesn’t push, enjoying the state he’s putting you in with his voice. Every praise that falls from his lips earns him a melodic moan, along with the feeling of you tensing and relaxing, always responding to his call in one way or another.

You’re one step away from being a doll at his bend, though you couldn’t care any less, not when you are this close.

He likes it, very very much. Yet, not enough to silence his wishes of how to ruin you, in the best way.

In a blink, you find yourself on your back, and him on top of you. That’s not the first thing you see, though. It is his hand, lifted from wherever it fell, catching your chin to turn your head to him. Sounds of panting are all there is, no movement, no words, not even your rapid heartbeats drumming in your ears seconds ago as if the world stopped for a second.  

His thumb caresses your lower lip, and you let it slip in. God, you can still taste yourself. The revelation has your objections at the change dead, your face twisting, yet he tsks thrice, capturing your attention.

“Let me see those eyes.” Obi Wan commands, and you have no choice but to oblige. “You look so good beneath me.” 

Somehow, his words have you flushing and squirming as if that was the most inappropriate thing happening in this room. Funny, how he breaks your will, and you let it. Against all the talk of your friendship, until an hour ago, you’d have lashed out at an equivalent demeanor, even said in affectionate terms. (Any other way is simply impossible, anyway.)  But, that hour proved itself to be much precious, and now with that glossy gaze, snatched right from the brink of climax, you focus on the doting aspect, how he cannot get enough of the image of you.

You start to writhe, the new emptiness inside you unbearable. “Touch me, Obi Wan…”

He's not proud of the way your begging has his cock leaking, though that hardly stops him. He lives for mutual pleasure, even just yours at the moment, yet you look so pretty like this, grasping the sheets. 

"Like this?" He slides his thumb further into your mouth, relishing the feeling of your tongue swirling around it immediately. Or course he wasn't expecting you to suck him off if you didn't want to, nor would he ever ask for it, he can't help but imagine the feeling, his hips rolling in seek of stimulation.

You shake your head, and his finger is freed with a pop. You frown as the sole contact you have with him is lost. It is a warning sign for him, the fragility of your dream-like state, a reminder of how he has to do better, if he wants to take control. As a gentleman, he wanted to give you everything you desired, but since it was your first time together, a terra incognita, he had to be sure of your limits, so he followed your wishes gladly. The wishes which were masterfully balanced versions of both of your needs. The same problem troubled you too of course, but you were a quick learner, a connoisseur of his taste in no time. The fact that it was very similar to yours was an exciting discovery, certainly a pleasant one, and was a great help, so great that it almost felt like cheating. While he took no issue with your tricks; the urge to take you on his terms, the compulsion to show you how he wants to cherish you couldn’t be suppressed any longer. He had to let you know.

He leans in closer, his arms bend as yours find his shoulders like a habit, “Like this?” He murmurs, right before brushing his lips against yours, effectively swallowing your whine. Though it was a sound of protest, all complementary sentiments die when he nips at your lower lip, and you open your mouth, lost in the sensation of his tongue licking yours, and his sweet essence. In contrast to his other needs taken good care of, he hadn’t taken enough of the feeling of our mouths joining. God, he spent hours imagining your mouth, curling into every shape as smart words spilled from it, enhancing his fascination with you. It fires the flames of haze further, even if he’s not actually properly touching you. Your hand roams his neck, then etches itself into his silky hair. You’ve done that a few times now (and found his response most addicting), but it is hardly satisfactory compared to the amounts you dreamed of doing during these last couple of months. You saw him prim and proper mostly, not a strand out of place, making you marvel at its excellence, and the itch to mess it up growing stronger each instance, a stark contrast to your surroundings. Also, there were times the infamous piece fell in front of his eyes, and sometimes even more disheveled than that, riding a horse, enjoying sports with his friends, and once after a bath, when your family visit started a little earlier than planned. You were always admiring the way it reflected light, creating almost a halo around his head, especially in sunlight. It is the first thing your eye is drawn to whenever you’re in the same place, a beacon of sorts. You never thought you’d be this amazed by hair, yet the moans he produces when you tug on it, add to your astonishment, and you’re not sure if you can look at it again, without being reminded of this moment.

He breaks the kiss as for you to catch your breath, for he has long kept you away from it. Still, he continues to pepper you with tons of them, scattered all across your jaw and neck, in search of that sweet spot that has you cursing. It is not a serious journey, in fact, he does more than press his lips against your skin properly, tease you with his open mouth, drag his tongue along the taut muscle, nip and outright bite, once.

“No marks-“ You protest. Futile. You should’ve warned before he started to nibble, way before he sank his teeth, but it has happened after all, and you can already feel blood settling on the sites of his attack. “What I am going to tell my maid now?”

“The truth.” He retorts. “Of how you led Lord Kenobi into our bed, and did dirty, unspeakable things with him.”

That earns him a harsh pull at his scalp, and a pat on his shoulder. He meets with your glaring gaze, and cheeks redder than a minute ago. So, he’s still on your good side. Barely.

“Apologies, my dear.” He takes the hand that smacked him, and places a peck onto your palm before placing it back. You can’t break the eye contact as he does so, something about his appearance, perhaps his position, or the charming contours of his face, or the way he deals with your anger keeps you from kicking him out. Caressing your open legs, he massages them ‘til they relax afresh, squeezing at the soft flesh. You hiss when his movement nears your inner thighs, thanks to his beard, and the climax it brought you. The gesture hints, still, there’s the matter of fire burning in your belly. “Couldn’t resist, you know me. Let me make it up to you.”

He wastes one more second to carve this image inside his head, then fulfills his promise. He likes the way you tremble while you wait, a whimper leaving your mouth at him taking his cock into his hand and stroking it a few times. God, how you wish that was your hand. Damn your stubbornness, and demand for compensation. You put extreme effort into staying still, releasing a shaky breath when he places the tip at your entrance.

Remember when he said “ruin”?

He doesn’t push it in, instead letting it slide up your slick folds, and tap against your clit. You nearly jolt at the touch, yet again tasting bliss, even if it is in mere drops. He repeats the action, and you sob, digging your nails into his shoulders. Maybe you’re the one leaving marks now, but you don’t care. Eye for an eye you can say, in retrospect.

“You’re so wet.” He can’t stop looking into your glistening core. He also can hear it, the squelching sounds echoing at his every movement. He knows you can too, that it calms your nerves, though they act up for different reasons. “All this for me?”

Unfortunately, you are late to realize he doesn’t take your moans for an answer. You can’t help it, you are unable to form words. Even if you gather the strength, they die out at your throat, especially under his piercing look. Fuck, he loves how cockdumb you’ve become for him.

He takes pity on you then, dropping his cock to briefly rest on your opening, and forces his fat tip in.

Your back arches, a throaty sound filling the room. He shushes right next to your ear, in an effort to calm you down as he slips the rest in. It is as if you’re taking him the first time, like you weren’t riding him moments ago.

“Fuck-“ That’s the only reaction, the only answer he needs. You fall back into the sheets, the first time he rolls his hips, and sets a new rhythm, a slow one to kindle the flame once more. Your hair probably getting tangled from the way it’s rubbing against the sheets, and your legs are split wide open. You feel every vein and ridge moving against your walls, the slight resistance disappearing in no time. His chest brushes against yours, and combined with the warmth of his breath, so close to yours, it’s easy to let go of your worries.

This is why you ended up here.

“Faster!” While he already feels great, it’s not the exact pattern to provide that sweet release, not in the timeframe you hoped.

“I want this to last, dear.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your head. A part of it due to irritation. Being subjected to that response before, he snickers to see you’re still you, even when you’re literally fucked out of your mind. As he does so, his lips skim yours. You take it, greedily, one hand first on his neck to ensure he stays, then to his unruly tress, aspiring to compel him into the middle ground. That earns you a few groans, yes, but his will doesn’t seem to falter even a little bit.

Perseverance, is a mutual quality, as you already know.

You slowly release the grip you have on his head, emphasis on slowly. It goes unnoticed, thanks to your timely bite, the same assault he once carried out. You don’t waste the access to his tongue, sucking on it. You’re not sure if his moans are increased in number, or if it feels more because you swallow every single one of them, but the fact that his beard starts to prick your cheeks harder gives you an idea.

Your free hand falls into sheets and slithers across the length of your body. Just a little more- you’re almost about to touch your –

His fingers wrap around your wrist instantly, dragging it up, a little further away from your face. You twist your neck, a wail coming out as you reject his kiss.

Only to be met by the sight of that said fingers running up your palm, and interlock themselves among yours.

Your breath hitches, for reasons unknown to you.

“Ah- ah -ah.” He tuts, though there’s not a hint of disappointment in his voice. “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I let you do all the work?”

You can’t believe one physical contact, and his words, are enough to carry you to that previous peak. Your pussy contracts around him, beyond your control, an indication of your closeness, nothing compared to before.

“Ngh- that’s it.” He encourages, “Just relax and take it.” That’s more sincerity than you’ve ever heard from him.

It goes on and on for a while, him doing exactly what he promised to do, and fulfilling his wishes in the process. He already knows this could go on ‘til morning, and he still wouldn’t be completely satisfied, longing for your presence the second he leaves the bed. Still, he continues, pushing himself to his limit, and that’s getting quite harder when you clamp on him that hard. He feels his cock leaking, begging for that sweet end.

When his arm that’s not supporting his weight travels down, caressing your hip before pressing his thumb to your clit, finally, you reward it with a whisper of his name, a sound he won’t dare to forget. Your back arches impossibly higher, and he has to lean back, abandoning his other hold.

Your limb stays in the spot he left it.

He curses at the realization, perhaps its effect mirroring yours when he first initiated the contact. Fuck, how are you so perfect? He snaps his hips harder, and circles his thumb, feeling it throb.

“Obi Wan-I’m c-“

He loves how your words are cut with the need to scream that you gulp down, only resigned to breathing as your face contorts with pleasure. “Cum for me, love.”

Your moans blend into each other, as he cannot stay still at the feeling of your walls squeezing him so tight. He holds your trembling thigh, fondling the soft flesh, adoring the way it spills from his grip. He doesn’t stop ‘til they settle again once more, and even a little longer than that, pulling out in the last minute to cover your belly with his spend. 

That act keeps you from turning to your side, and feeds the desire to hug the sheets, a soft but firm ground for your senses to return. You're not complainant of it anyways, you have a far better view in front of you, defined muscles undulating with each heavy breath, glistening due to the light coat of sweat covering them, lips puffy and slightly flushed with blood, as well as his cheeks. You always thought he was devilishly handsome, but this, this is something else. The world should consider itself lucky, or it would bend to his will just from his looks. Or unlucky, for the honor is bestowed upon a handful of people. 

He believes he's blessed with the sight upon him, too. Still holding onto your thigh, he delights in spontaneous tremors that possess it. If he looks closely, he's sure he can see the faint mark he left. Your hair is sprawled around, much in contrast to the delicate up-dos you and every noblewoman fashioned, its most natural form, and the intimacy of it definitely causes a small breakdown. You belong in a painting, depicting goddesses and nymphs, a grace outside the limits of time and culture. Your droopy lids and tired pull at the corners of your mouth fill his chest with pride and more adoration, like after his every successful attempt to elicit a reaction from you. It happens often, thanks to the understanding that grows between the two of you, but every example is still treasured in in his mind.

“Well, I don’t know any better way to spend the night.”

You giggle. “I agree.”

“We should’ve done this before.”

Your lifted brows are the perfect answer. Like it’s that easy.

But he has a point, too.

In the comfortable silence, he gets up from bed, a sigh at the roar coming from downstairs, drowning the music. That’s still going, huh? You watch as he wets the nearest towel, and returns, cleaning the mess with unexpected gentleness that it almost tickles. There’s no aim to steal one more touch at his movements, no personal gain except an easy conscience, and even that is a stretch because it’s most natural to him, his understanding of tenderness.

“Well, thank you, sir.” You sit up, with a yawn, and scooch backward to your pillows as he retreats to give himself the same treatment. “And my nightgown, please.” You point to it, and amusingly follow his subtle headshake, and efforts to hand it over. He hesitates for a second at the last minute, considering rebellion, a last joke. You see it, and snatch the fabric from his grip before he can tighten it. He can feel it sliding over his skin, the light material flying. You slip it on, aware of his voyeur. with a victorious smile cut too short as exhaustion creeps into your bones. You’re no different, in any case, settling into the fluffy pillows, curiously examining each piece of clothing he puts on from afar, the unwritten rule of his habits, his hidden glances at your mirror in a feeble pursuit to tame his messy hair. You’re willing to be charged guilty for that.

He stalls, though, you can feel it after a while, around the time sleep clouds your vision. How could anyone blame him for not wanting to leave, carve your picture to his mind, and calm his yet again straining cock at it?

“You should be going. Servants are going to be wandering these corridors for orders, soon.” Your heart winces at the warning, because he's not the type to need it, or disregard you to put you at any risk. But your cognation runs thin, and he needs to know the dangers he might face. 

"True. Right. You're correct." Is that a stutter? "Good night, my lady."

"Good night, Lord Kenobi.

"Glad to be of help in stretching your legs." 

The cushion falls short to exactly hit him, but the sentiment is clear. 

In the morning, you uncover the reasons behind his diversion. 

Bastard signed every slot in your dance card.

[cookybananas]

Do I Know You? Darth Vader/Anakin Skywalker x Reader {Part. II}

author's note: here is part two aka the final chapter to my alternate universe/timeline!au fic. I wasn't expecting to release this chapter so late, but here it is!

summary: Where Darth Vader is sent on a mission and finds himself traveling through another timeline and meets another version of you were you aren't dead. part I: Do I Know You? I

Obi-Wan took his saber off his belt and held it firmly in his grasp now. "Let's try this one more time. You will leave at once and return to where you once came." Obi-Wan stated.

Vader's demeanor shifted. The dark side influencing him to become more angry by the moment. He grew impatient at this, other Obi-Wan, standing in his way between his wife once again. With a hiss of his helmet, Vader's helmet was back on his head again. His vision now giving him the advantage to see in the dark penthouse.

"You will not take her away from me, again." Darth Vader's mechanical voice boomed as he lit his red lightsaber. "You will surrender her over to me alas."

"Oh I don't think so." Obi-Wan lit up his blue lightsaber as he got into his fighting position.

-

I stirred around in my bed. Something felt off, I could feel it in my stomach. My eyes shot opened at the faint sound of what sounded like lightsaber clashing.

Artoo had awaken from his rest state and beeped quietly at me, telling me that there was something or someone was here.

I stuck my hand under my pillow to pull out my handy blaster. I haven't needed to use it yet, but it was a precaution in situations like this. I got out the bed and cracked the door open ajar.

"Someone's here Artoo." I whispered to him, to which he quietly beeped in response.

I opened the door wider, only to see Obi-Wan's blue lightsaber clashing with a red lightsaber.

"There is no need to resist me." A deep, mechanical voice spoke. "Search your feelings Obi-Wan, only then you will know that I was once your appreintience, Anakin Skywalker."

I raise up my blaster, trying to find the person Obi-Wan was fighting, but it didn't help that it was dark and I couldn't tell who was who and what I would be aiming at specifically.

After moments of locking on the person Obi-Wan was fighting, I took a shot at what looked like his torso. A booming mechanical cry was heard, but that wasn't enough to take him down. In fact, it made him angrier. He used the force and threw Obi-Wan across the room and into the wall.

"Don't move! I'll shoot you again." I spoke up, my breath shaking. My other hand searching to find the light switch on the wall next to me. I turned on the lights only to be met face to face with the tall masked figure that was couple of feet from me. I pointed the blaster at his head, my hands shaking.

His breathing was mechanical. He sounded like a droid, but seemed human at the same time.

"Angel..." The tall figure said. My eyes widen, my blood ran cold as I froze in place. A nickname I haven't been called over year, a name I haven't been called since...Since Anakin's death. I gripped my blaster tighter, only for him to use the force and pull it out of my grasp and fling it across the room. I looked over to where Obi-Wan was on the ground unconscious.

-

Artoo rolled into the living space with a scream, attacking Vader's leg, only for him to be forced kicked across the room by Vader. This gave you time to run over to your blaster where Vader had flung it, but you couldn't move. That bastard was holding you in place with the force.

"Do not be afraid. I will not harm you." Vader spoke up, pulling you closer to him with the force. You were trying to wiggle out of his grasp, but it was no use.

"You will not harm me? Then release me this instant!" You exclaimed, still wiggling around the air, as he pulled you closer to him. You felt your feet touch the ground as he released his grasp from you. You were now standing face to face with Vader. "What is it that you want from me?" You brush out your silk nightgown as he stared at you in awe. You were slowly becoming uncomfortable under his gaze, but you wouldn't let yourself fold.

"Hello? Did you not hear me?" You asked again as you crossed your arms, your patience growing thinner.

"Apologies...I just." Vader mustered out, unable to find the words.

"You just what?"

You couldn't tell, but Vader was panicking under his suit. He didn't think this through, or what he would say to you if he faced you. You were very much alive, at least since the last time he saw you. Your e/c gleamed under the living room lights. Your locks of h/c hair were longer now, cascading down to your hips. Your lips were plump and rosy, just taunting Vader to smash his lips against yours.

Without thinking, Vader's hands had found his way up helmet once again. Hoping that this time you would give him a chance, unlike Obi-Wan who was a bit apprehensive and combative toward him. You watched in bewilderment as the person who was after you revealed himself as a humanoid man? But your shock didn't end there. Your eyes scanned all over Vader's face, analyzing it. You didn't know what to expect what this man would look like, but you weren't expecting him to look like this.

Vader's eyes were no longer yellow, but were his original cerulean colored eyes. You took a step closer to him as you cupped his face, your eyes meeting his. You couldn't believe it, you didn't want to believe it. His eyes were just like Anakin's, if not the exact same. Though Vader was now hairless and heavily scarred, he still resembled Anakin. In fact, there were still remnants of Anakin within Vader that he believed he had rid of years ago.

"I-it can't be..." You whispered out. It had been over a year since Anakin's death. There have been many nights where you dreamed of the life that both you and Anakin could have had after the war. How you would have left your position as senator, Anakin leaving the Jedi, just so you both could have a family somewhere in the star system. But every morning as you woke, it was a constant reminder that it was only a dream, and that every waking hour you were awake, it was a nightmare for you.

"Angel.." Anakin said softly, cupping your cheek. Your eyes were glossy now, tears slowly forming in the corner of your eyes.

You had dreams and hopes, hopes that one day both you and Anakin would find each other again. You couldn't care if Anakin had been reincarnated into a Wookie or some hideous creature, but as long as there were remnants of Anakin, you would be happy and content. Perhaps it had been the lament you had over the loss of Anakin or the loneliness you've endured the past year, you did everything and anything in your power to be with him once again.

Now, here he was, standing in front of you. Though he didn't look like the same Anakin you once knew and loved, but you had gut feeling that he was like Anakin at least.

"Ani...Is it really you?" You were desperate, desperately hoping that this was the Maker giving you another chance to have your happy ending with Anakin.

Anakin nodded in response as you wiped away a tear that fell from his eyes. You let out a sob has you threw yourself into his strong arms, to which he engulfed your small frame. He held onto you tightly, afraid that you would slip away from him.

You pulled away from Anakin, your eyes meeting his once again. Smiling up at him, you stood on your tippy toes, inching closer to his face as you closed the gap between yourselves. Your lips were soft against Anakin's slightly chapped lips. The kiss soon turned passionate as Anakin's pressed you harder against him, his hands roaming up and down your body, desperate to touch every single inch of you.

You let out a small moan, however your passionate session came to an end when you heard someone clearing their throat. Both you and Anakin pulled away, turning your heads at Obi-Wan who shifted uncomfortably in his spot, clutching his elbow that had been injured.

"How long was I out for?" Obi-Wan spoke up, trying to shift the awkward mood between the three of you.

"A good 15 minutes I'd say?" You responded, your cheeks now tinted pink as you looked up at Anakin, before looking back at Obi-Wan.

"Well, I'm gonna go get some rest. If you need me, I will be in my chambers." With that, Obi-Wan swiftly made his way out of the living area and into his room. You couldn't help but giggle, as Anakin let out a chuckle. Obi-Wan definitely had been watching the both of you make out for a good minute or so before intervening.

Anakin let out a hiss, forgetting the fact that you had shot him earlier with your blaster. You looked at him with concern.

"Oh darling... Let's get you patched up." You tell Anakin, your hand gently brushing against the wound. To which Anakin sucked in a breath.

"Could you patch me up in your bedroom love?" Anakin spoke up. You rolled your eyes at his comment, before hooking your arm around his and leading him to your quarters.

thank you for reading!!! <3

-

tags: @mistress-amidala

[it-happened-one-fic]

10 Seconds - Floyd

Author Notes: I'm not gonna lie, I had a lot of fun writing this. This fic was pretty much entirely inspired by a scene in chapter 111 in Akagami no Shirayukihime (Snow White with The Red Hair). After I found out that Floyd and Obi had the same voice actor, the temptation was to great for me to resist. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Fluff/ flirtation/ romance/ kind of spoofy/ Reader does have a pushy admirer so be warned on that note

Word Count: 1890

There was something about persistent wanna-be lovers that made one nervous enough to look to even the most shady sources of help. Including Octaveinelle.

“So this young man has been bothering you for…?” Jade trailed off as he looked up from the glass he was currently polishing to where I sat, right in front of him, at the bar.

“A little over a month now, I think.” I frowned as I recounted the numerous times the Pomefiore junior in question had just ‘happened’ to be right where I would inevitably run into him.

 I would be trapped there, having to interact with him and dodging his advances until I was saved by some passerby or thought up a reasonable excuse to leave.

I could’ve gone to Vil for help, considering it was one of his dorm members. But I also didn’t entirely want to put my annoyingly persistent and considerably pushy admirer through quite that much sorrow.

I did, however, want this handled, and me turning him down numerous times as politely as possible simply wasn’t cutting it. Which was why I went to Octavinelle to seek the advice of the infamous tweels. After all, they handled a lot of Azul's issues. Surely they would have advice for handling one persistent admirer.

Floyd let out a low whistle from behind me, causing me to twist slightly to glance at the young man who ought to be sweeping but was now just propped up on the broom’s handle as he shook his head, “Stubborn guy.”

His eyes found mine as a grin crossed his face, and I realized very quickly that I didn’t want to know exactly what Floyd was thinking. That wasn’t really one of his nice grins….

“Come now, Floyd. We can’t exactly blame the poor fool for being quite so smitten with our darling little Prefect, can we?” I almost grimaced at Jade’s teasing tone as I turned in time to catch his mocking, sharp-toothed smile.

“Guys,” I didn’t even bother fighting the whine that slipped into my tone. “I just want some advice. I can’t get him to go away, and I’ve already tried being blunt.”

Jade smiled in an indulgent manner down at me before a frown crossed his face, “I suppose it is rather problematic and concerning if he’s been at it this long.”

He sat the glass down with a tiny clink on the bar as he continued to ponder my plight, “You said he’s a Pomefiore student?”

I nodded, wondering exactly what Jade was thinking as Floyd slipped up next to me, propping himself on the bar, “Should I just scare him off? That’d probably do it.” 

Floyd sounded perfectly willing to do just that as he looked at me with that sharp-toothed grin of his before looking towards his brother. 

But he was soon frowning in confusion as Jade started to shake his head with a slight frown, “No, if he’s as determined as I fear, then I doubt that would solve the problem for little more than three days.”

That mocking smile appeared on Jade’s face again, even though he wasn’t actually looking at either me or his brother, as he continued, “Besides. Those Pomefiore boys are the schooling sort. Always flitting about in a group. If we tried aggression, he’d just come back with his friends, and that would make things more difficult for you, wouldn’t it, Prefect?”

He looked towards me as he finished, and I nodded glumly, “A squad probably would make it tougher.”

Especially since Pomefiore squads were known to be aggressive. Turning him down in front of his posse could be risky at best.

A chuckle slipped from the vice-housewarden’s lips as he smiled at me, “Now, now. There’s no need to make such a face. The solution is really quite simple, isn’t it?”

I perked up at his words, looking at him hopefully before I frowned once I noticed his grin, “What’s it gonna cost?”

The twins laughed together, their voices joining in a strange harmony that made me tense ever-so-slightly. 

“Oh, it’ll be on the house this time. After all, this will be most amusing for both of us.” Jade’s words seemed to surprise Floyd as much as they did me.

Unperturbed by our obvious confusion, Jade leaned forward with an undoubtedly conspiratorial grin. Propping himself on his elbows as he gestured both of us closer with a single flick of his long fingers, “Listen closely…..”

And that was what had brought me to this moment, as I let out a quiet exhale before rounding the corner.

I didn’t even have to worry about setting the guy up. I knew exactly where he’d be.

Propped up on the wall in that careful pose he was always in when he was waiting for me to come and just ‘happen’ to bump into him.

And sure enough, there he was. Leaning against the wall with one arm raised so that he had me slightly caged in from the very second I rounded the corner.

“Prefect! What a surprise,” His perfectly white teeth flashed almost blindingly, and I fought not to gag at the raw amount of perfume he was wearing. 

It was a good thing he hadn’t brought his posse; I probably would’ve passed out from the raw amount of perfume that would’ve been in the air.

But I smiled. Pretending to be surprised and not at all frustrated by his persistent, unwanted affections as I carefully went back through the plan that Jade had laid out in my head.

Interact with him like everything was normal while waiting until reinforcements came, and then follow those very simple directions that Jade had given.

So I waited. Awkwardly exchanging pleasantries and smiling up at the young man who now leaned increasingly closer despite how much I would like him to say far away. He was no doubt about to drop some sort of new line that was intended to sweep me off my feet but would be far more likely to make me grimace.

And right as he opened his mouth with a grin that spoke of some very misplaced confidence, I heard the exact thing I’d been waiting for.

“Shrimpy~” Floyd’s sing-song call came from behind me, and I turned so fast that I almost missed the deep frown that appeared at impressive speeds on my admirer’s face.

“Floyd!” I didn’t have to fake my joy at seeing him, though I couldn’t say the same for him considering that Floyd himself looked entirely bored as he looked towards the Pomefiore junior that now stood stiffly silent. Already frustrated by the mere presence of Floyd.

For a brief moment, I was honestly worried about how well Jade’s scheme was going to go over until Floyd’s gaze shifted and his eyes met mine. Because then there was an entire change to his person.

His gaze softened ever so slightly, and his lips twitched up in an absentminded smile as he walked over, all but cooing at me affectionately, “There you are.”

He didn’t stop until he was right next to me, looking down at me, and then I knew the moment of truth was upon us.

I could hear Jade’s amused voice in my head as I braced myself, swallowing as I recalled his words: “Ten seconds. You will need to stare into each other’s eyes for ten seconds. But that’s all it will take.”

Floyd was far calmer than I was as he slipped off his blazer and draped it over my shoulders, blocking the cool breeze that came through the open window.

 His voice was quieter than usual, though still playful as he spoke, “There you go; can’t have you getting cold.” And that was my cue that we were beginning.

One.

My hand reached up to tug his oversized jacket a little closer around my body, and my hand brushed lightly against his fingers that lingered at my shoulders.

Two. Three. Four.

I twisted just a little bit more so that I could look at him better as his hand slid down my arm so that his arm was wrapped around my shoulders.

Five. 

It was already getting sort of awkward to keep staring for this long into Floyd’s mismatched eyes for this long. But now I was beginning to think more about the color of his irises than the actual situation we were in.

Six. Seven.

One was a yellow color. Not a sickly yellow, but rather it was a warmer color that made me feel oddly safe considering the young man I was looking up at. The other eye was a surprisingly gentle olive that was also welcomingly familiar and spoke of how, in certain moments, Floyd himself could actually be quite gentle.

Eight. Nine.

I could feel numerous people staring at us, and I was fairly certain that one of them was definitely Jade. He was probably utterly delighted by how uniquely embarrassing this really was. Because even though I’d been prepared to feel a little self-conscious, I hadn’t been expecting to be this flustered. Especially since it was just Floyd….

Ten.

Floyd’s smile grew by just a fraction, and then he blinked, “I reckon I’ll see you later. I know you can’t miss your class. Good little student that you are~” He let go of my arm with an affectionate squeeze as he continued to look down at me. But this time with amusement in his gaze and a teasing lilt to his voice.

I swallowed down my overwhelming shyness as I looked away, blinking as I attempted to force my recovery by focusing on his teasing. 

But even then, my voice wobbled as I quipped back, not quite able to look back up at him, ���Unlike you, I actually have to study to keep my grades up.”

Out of my peripheral vision, I could tell he was fully grinning now, “Aww, if you ever need help, you can just ask. If you're nervous about Azul, I can help you out.”

He leaned down and into my line of sight so that he could wink at me, and I let out an exhale. Reminding myself that this was Floyd I was dealing with. Not some incredibly romantic male lead who was here to sweep me off my feet and actually be successful.

Which brought me back to my admirer, who was still standing there, staring in open-mouthed shock. 

“Ex- Excuse me, I lost track of time with Floyd and really do need to get to class now,” I  was still flustered enough that I stammered slightly before I flashed him an apologetic grin before I trotted off. 

As I fled the scene, I passed a chuckling Jade and mouthed a quick, ‘Thank you,’ before hurrying on. Attempting to outrun the oddly shy sensation I now felt at the thought of being near Floyd and entirely missing what happened behind me as I fled the scene.

“You haven’t gotten anywhere in a month, and it only took me ten seconds.” So saying, Floyd glanced down at the Pomefiore student, who almost immediately puffed up with indignance that quickly deflated as Floyd grinned in a way that perfectly displayed his too-sharp teeth.

“You might as well just try somewhere else, ‘cause you aren’t going to be stealing Shrimpy away from me anytime soon.”

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Twenty-Two: Threshold

Chapter WC: 12,753

Chapter Warnings: drama lite, alcohol use

A/N: Posting this chapter early before I disappear for a bit! Next chapter will probably be out after Christmas. Sorry in advance for the ending 🙈

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Coruscant, 21 BBY

"Hey! You're alive!" Ahsoka says as she rushes towards you. 

You barely step out of your room before she tackles you, the force of her embrace knocking the wind out of you. You stumble backwards and hit the wall, the breath leaving your lungs in a rush as her arms wrap around your neck. You gasp for air and try to shove her away, but her grip is firm, and you're forced to wait until she decides to release you.

"Missed you, too," you manage to choke out.

She laughs and pulls away, her hands landing on your shoulders, her face inches from yours. Her eyes scan you, taking in every inch, every detail.

"Why didn't you comm? I thought something happened to you," she scolds, and she finally releases you, her arms falling to her sides. "Master Kenobi said you were fine, but he wouldn't tell me anything. Said it wasn't his place. So, what's going on?"

"Um," you start. You aren't sure how much Anakin's told her, or Obi-Wan, if they've told her anything at all, and you hesitate, unsure of how much to share. You don't want her to know the extent of your...difficulties. It's better that she doesn't. Besides, you're not really sure what to say.

"Are you okay?" she presses, her voice filled with concern. "What happened?"

"I'm fine. Really," you assure her, and her eyes narrow, clearly unconvinced. You sigh and shake your head. "Obi-Wan and I had a...fight. About me receiving my own command. He was worried about me, and it didn't go well. That's all."

"Why would he be worried about that?" Ahsoka asks, her tone curious. "Everyone knows you're a great fighter. The Council wouldn't have given you a brigade if they didn't think you could handle it."

"Yeah, well, Obi-Wan's a worrier," you say, and your stomach churns. It's not entirely a lie, but it's not completely true, either. "You know how he is."

"That's true," she admits. "He does like to fret. Especially about you."

"Yeah," you mutter, and a pang of guilt shoots through your chest. You shove it down, forcing yourself to move past it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Or him. I was just...upset. I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay. We all get upset sometimes," she says, her voice softening. She smiles and shakes her head, her hands reaching out, grasping yours. "Glad you're back, though. I've missed having someone around here who doesn't talk in riddles all day."

"Thanks," you mutter, and you manage a weak smile. Ahsoka's eyes narrow, and her fingers squeeze yours, her grip tightening.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you say quickly. "I'm just tired. I didn't sleep very well last night."

"You seem...different. Than when you left." She glances away, and her voice drops. "Something happened, didn't it?"

"A lot of things happened," you say dryly.

"Something big," Ahsoka presses. She looks back, her eyes meeting yours. "What is it?"

"Nothing," you say, but you know she won't believe it. You clear your throat and take a deep breath, straightening yourself. "We should talk about it. Later. Just...not right now. Okay?"

"Okay," she agrees reluctantly. Her eyes linger on you for a moment, and she squeezes your hand once more before releasing you. "Fine."

"Where's Anakin? I thought he was going to be here," you ask in a blatant attempt to change the subject. It works, and her expression lightens, her posture relaxing.

"He is. He's just late, as usual," she says, rolling her eyes. "He sent me to bring you to the hangar. And to make sure you don’t run away again. He's worried about you."

"Right," you sigh. You glance back into your room, checking to make sure you haven't forgotten anything, and you shut off the lights. Your room is in a better state this morning, but you’re still careful to block the doorway from Ashoka’s view. The last thing you need is her finding out about your mess. "Is Rex here, too?"

"Yeah," she replies. "He's waiting with Anakin. He seemed anxious, more than usual."

"I'll bet," you mutter, your hands flexing and unflexing at your sides. You've spent most of last night worrying about your meeting, wondering what it will be like, and you can feel a flutter in your chest, a knot forming in your stomach. You try to push back against it, but it doesn't go away.

"Come on," Ahsoka says. She reaches out and grabs your arm, tugging you towards the hallway. "We're gonna be late. If we're lucky, we might even beat Anakin."

"Let's hope," you chuckle.

Ahsoka laughs, and she turns, pulling you along. The two of you hurry through the temple, weaving through the corridors, passing the other Jedi as they go about their business. They ignore you, lost in their own thoughts, and you can't help but wonder how many of them have heard. How many of them know. If any of them do, they don't say anything. For once in your life, you’re grateful for their silence.

The further you walk, the greater your anxiety grows. The halls become emptier, more barren, and you can feel the tension building, your shoulders tensing. You're almost there. Almost to the hangar. Almost to Rex.

The last time you saw him, you had hugged him goodbye and promised you would update him on the Council meeting. He had given you a small smile and wished you luck, and then, he was gone. You haven't spoken since. You've spent a week apart, and in that time, everything has changed. Everything.

A part of you wants to turn back. To go home and crawl into bed and pretend like nothing happened. Pretend like this never happened. Pretend like you don't care. Pretend like you haven't been thinking about him, wondering what he's doing, how he's feeling. Pretend like you haven't been obsessing over every touch, replaying every word, every smile, over and over and over.

You can't do that.

"You alright?" Ahsoka asks. Her eyes meet yours, and her brows raise. "You look like you're going to throw up."

“Did he say anything?” you ask, and her head tilts to one side, her mouth scrunching.

"Anakin? About what?"

"No," you say, shaking your head. "Rex. Did he...say anything about me?"

"Not really," she says slowly. She's watching you, her expression thoughtful. "He asked where you were. Wanted to know if I'd heard from you. When I told him you were out of contact, he said, 'Oh,' and that was it. Why?"

"I...I don't know. Just, making sure," you mumble, and you can feel her eyes on you, burning holes in the side of your head. You keep moving, focusing on the path ahead, trying not to think about it. "I was just wondering."

"What's going on?" she presses. She comes to a sudden stop, forcing you to do the same as her hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist. "Wait. You're nervous."

"No, I'm not," you say quickly, and her eyebrows rise, a look of disbelief flashing across her face.

"Yes, you are," she argues. She tugs on your wrist, turning you towards her. She studies you, her gaze moving across your face, her mouth turning down. "I don't think I've ever seen you this nervous. Is there something I should know?"

"I'm not nervous," you protest. You try to free your arm from her grip, but her hold tightens, her fingers digging into your skin.

"Yes, you are," she presses. She leans in, her eyes narrowing.

"I'm not,” you snap.

"You are," she insists. "I can see it."

"Well, you're seeing things."

"Uh-huh," she says, her voice doubtful. Her mouth twists, and her fingers tighten around your wrist. "He’s been acting strange, too, you know. Ever since we got back. He kept checking his datapad, waiting for a message. Any time I ask, he says he's fine, and he shoves it back into his pocket. But, I've seen him staring at it."

Your mouth closes, and you bite your lip, unable to form a reply. Your stomach twists, and the fluttering sensation increases, spreading outward, until your whole body feels like it's vibrating. It would be easier to deny it, to play it off as nothing, but you can't find the words, and the silence that follows is deafening, a heavy weight falling over the both of you.

The two of you stand there, frozen in place, neither of you saying a word. After a moment, Ahsoka's grip loosens, and her fingers drop, her hands falling to her sides.

"Are you two—" she starts, but you cut her off, speaking over her.

"We should go. Anakin's waiting."

You pull away and move around her, continuing down the hall.

Ahsoka lets out a frustrated huff and runs after you, catching up within seconds. You're grateful for her shorter stride, and you can't help but speed up, hoping to outpace her. It's a futile effort, and she easily matches your pace, her feet matching yours step for step.

"So, there is something going on," she says. Her tone is accusatory, and her head whips towards you, her eyes widening. "There is! I knew it!"

"No, there's not," you argue. You pick up your pace, but she's faster, and she manages to stay right next to you. "There's nothing. Nothing. Okay?"

"You're lying," she accuses, and her lips twist, her head shaking. "I can't believe you. What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you repeat.

"Really?" she scoffs, and her voice is filled with skepticism. "Because, from where I'm standing, it looks a lot like something. It looks a lot like—"

"Like what?" you challenge, and you finally come to a stop, your gaze landing on her. You can feel your face flushing, and your jaw clenches, your mouth tightening. "Say it. Tell me. What is it?"

Ahsoka's mouth opens, and her lips move, trying to form a response. You watch her gaze flick around the empty hall, checking to see if anyone is around, before finally landing back on you. Her voice is lowered, her tone serious. "Are you two together? Is that what this is?"

"No," you reply, and you immediately wince. It comes out too fast, too quick, and you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to relax. You have to calm down. To control yourself. Otherwise, you're going to make things worse. Much, much worse. "No, we're not. We're not together. It's not like that."

"What is it like, then?" she asks.

"We're friends," you answer, and her eyebrow raises, a hint of amusement crossing her face. You glare at her, your voice rising. "We are. Really. That's all. There's nothing going on."

"Okay," she says, holding up her hands. "I believe you. I just...don't understand. He's acting really weird. And, so are you."

"I'm not acting weird," you protest. "I'm just nervous. About meeting my men."

"Okay," she says, her mouth turning down, a crease forming on her forehead. "Fine. If you say so."

You stare at her, taking in her skeptical expression, and you let out a sigh, shaking your head. "Listen. You know me. Do you honestly think I would be involved with him? With anyone? In a million years?"

Ahsoka thinks about it for a moment, and then shrugs, her expression shifting. "No. I guess not.”

“And Rex would never risk his position. Not like that. Not for anyone," you continue, and her lips purse, her eyes darting away. "He's not that kind of man."

"Right," she mutters.

"Right," you agree. You take a deep breath and exhale slowly, trying to release some of your tension. But your words don't help. If anything, they make things worse. The pit in your stomach deepens, and a wave of guilt washes over you. 

Because that's not entirely true. Rex is that kind of man. A good man. He would risk everything for someone he loved. For someone he cared about. And a part of you knows, without uncertainty or question, that he cares about you. He cares about you more than you care about yourself. More than he should. Much more than he should.

Rex has risked everything for you. More than once. He's risked his career, his reputation, his life. All for you. And he's done it without hesitation, without asking for anything in return. He's done it because he believes in you. Because he cares about you. He's put his trust in you, and he's supported you, and he's been by your side, every step of the way. Even when you didn't deserve it. Even when you weren't worthy of it.

And you shut him out. You pushed him away.

You've been so worried about what would happen, what everyone would say, what everyone would think, that you didn't stop to consider his feelings. Or yours.

You haven't stopped to consider what you want. Not really. What you want from him, from yourself, from this. Not once.

A sudden realization hits you.

This isn't fair. Not to either of you. You need to talk to him.

"Come on," Ahsoka says, her hand reaching out and grabbing yours. "Anakin's going to be furious if we're late."

You nod, and she pulls you forward, continuing down the hall. The two of you walk in silence, and the anxiety fades, replaced by a sense of determination. Your mind races, turning over every possible scenario, and you run through a list of ways to begin a conversation, discarding each one as soon as you think of it. By the time you reach the hangar, you've settled on the most basic approach, and you're mentally preparing yourself for whatever might happen next.

As soon as your eyes land on Rex, though, all thoughts disappear.

His back is to you, and he's standing with Anakin, talking about something, their voices low. They're facing one of the gunships getting ready to take off, and Anakin is gesturing, his arm waving back and forth, his expression animated. It's obvious that he's telling a story, and Rex is listening, his attention focused entirely on Anakin's face, nodding along to whatever it is that he's saying.

The sight sends a pang of longing through your chest, and you pause, staring at the back of his head, watching the muscles of his neck flex and tense. The urge to run to him, wrap your arms around him, and bury your face in his neck is overwhelming, and your hands twitch at your sides, resisting the temptation.

It's been less than a week since you last saw him, but it feels like so much longer. Like an eternity.

And he's right there.

Anakin’s gaze shifts over Rex’s shoulder, and his eyes lock onto yours, a smirk forming on his lips. He turns to Rex and claps his arm as he leans in, his words too soft to hear. Rex suddenly tenses and snaps his head up, turning toward the door, his gaze searching the room until his eyes land on you.

Your stomach flips and a lump forms in your throat, and all of your carefully rehearsed speeches disappear, forgotten, lost to the ether. For a moment, neither of you move. Neither of you say anything. The two of you stare at each other, drinking in every detail, taking in every nuance. You can feel his relief as much as you can see it in the set of his shoulders and the curve of his mouth and the warmth in his eyes.

After what feels like an eternity, a small smile forms on his face, and Rex dips his head slightly in acknowledgement. "General."

"Captain," you respond automatically. The words are awkward and stiff. Formal. Too formal. You grimace and clear your throat before correcting yourself. "Rex."

"You're back," he says.

"I am," you nod. You take a few steps towards him, and the two of you continue staring at each other, the tension between the two of you increasing with each passing second. An awkward silence descends over the group as Rex continues to look at you with an intense gaze, and you shift your weight, the silence becoming almost unbearable until Anakin lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh.

"Well, this is fun," he says dryly as he looks between you. "Anyone else want to say something? Ahsoka?"

"Nope," she says, shaking her head. "I'm good."

“Great. Then, we can go," he announces, and he steps around Rex, heading towards one of the gunships. “Come on, Goldie. It's time to meet your men."

"You heard him. Let's go," Ahsoka says, nudging your arm.

"Right," you mutter, and you follow after her, your steps slow and measured. You glance over at Rex as he falls into step beside you. He's silent, his mouth turned down, and he keeps his eyes forward, his gaze straight ahead.

You want to speak. To tell him that you're sorry. To tell him that you missed him. To tell him how much you've thought about him. But, you can't. Not here. Not with Ahsoka and Anakin. So, you remain silent, your throat closing, a tightness forming in your chest.

It's going to be a long day.

The four of you climb aboard, and Anakin settles into his seat, leaning back, his feet propped up. Ahsoka plops down next to him, pulling out her datapad and tapping away. You take a seat across from them, and Rex sits down beside you, his thigh brushing against yours. You suck in a sharp breath at the contact, and your heart leaps, a tingle running down your spine.

Rex glances at you, his eyes locking onto yours, and a wave of emotions hit you. Concern. Relief. Confusion. Frustration.

He's upset with you. He has every right to be.

But, he doesn't move away. He doesn't pull back.

His body remains still, pressed against yours, his thigh rubbing against your own.

And, even though it's wrong, and you shouldn't, even though Anakin and Ahsoka are sitting right there, even though everyone is watching, you lean into him slightly, savoring his touch.

He sighs, and his hand brushes your knee as he adjusts his position. It’s a brief touch, enough to be considered accidental, and he quickly pulls his hand away, placing it on his lap. His thumb rubs circles on his palm, and his fingers flex, stretching, and then relaxing, again and again.

You try to keep your attention on Anakin, listening as he continues his story. But it's impossible. Your eyes keep drifting to Rex, taking in every detail, every movement. Every twitch. Every shift.

After a few minutes, his hand drops to his side, landing on his leg. He stretches his arm out, and his fingers brush your hand, his knuckles grazing your skin.

You look at him out of the corner of your eye. He's still looking forward, his face expressionless.

Without thinking, your hand reaches out and closes around his. You give it a quick squeeze, and then, before he can react, you pull away.

You wait for a response. A signal. A sign. Something. Anything. But nothing comes.

The ride is short. Too short. Before you're ready, the ship is descending, the engine powering down as the landing gear touches down. The doors open, and Anakin and Ahsoka rush out, both eager to escape the tense atmosphere of the gunship.

Rex stands at the same time as you, but he waits until you're in front of him before moving towards the door. His hand lands on your lower back, guiding you, and a thrill shoots through your body, sending goosebumps up your spine. The unexpected touch nearly forces you to stumble when you step out of the ship, your boot hitting a raised portion of the gangway. You catch yourself, and Rex grabs your elbow, steadying you, his hand lingering for a moment before releasing you.

"You okay?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah," you mutter, and your eyes dart around, taking in the hangar. "I'm fine. Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he murmurs, his tone flat. You glance at him, and his jaw is clenched, his mouth drawn into a thin line.

He's upset.

You can feel the tension between the two of you, and you can't tell if he's mad, or frustrated, or hurt, or what.

All you know is that it's your fault.

Rex moves forward, and you fall into step beside him, walking in silence. The air is cool and crisp, and it smells faintly of fuel, a pungent, acidic smell that hangs in the recycled air. The hangar is busy, full of clones rushing about, performing maintenance and loading supplies. There are gunships, shuttles, and dozens of fighter ships parked in neat rows, all waiting to be used. It's a sight you're still not used to, and the thought of soon having not just one, but three such ships at your disposal as soon as you reach Kamino is almost overwhelming.

Anakin leads the way, his long strides quickly bringing him to the end of the hangar, and Ahsoka is close behind, her head turning this way and that, taking in the activity. You follow, and Rex walks beside you, keeping his distance, his hands folded behind his back. The four of you wind through the hangar, weaving between groups of clones, all of them wearing their distinctive blue and white armor. A few nod or wave as the group passes by, their helmets tucked under their arms, but most ignore the Jedi and carry on with their work, focused on their tasks.

Once you're through the hangar doors and inside the main corridor, the crowds thin, and Rex slows, his hand reaching out to grasp your elbow. Anakin looks over his shoulder and nods, and he and Ahsoka keep moving, leaving the two of you alone in the empty hall.

You come to a stop and turn to face him, and his fingers slide down before falling away.

"General," Rex starts, his voice formal and stiff. His shoulders are squared, and his arms are locked at his sides. "It's good to see you again, sir. If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your quarters."

Your brow furrows in confusion, but you try not to let it show. It's not your first time on the ship, far from it, and the walk to the quarters is one you've taken many times before. Still, you follow after him, matching his pace, keeping a small distance between the two of you.

As you walk, you steal small glances at him, taking in the way his hand is twitching, the way his fingers are drumming against his leg. You can tell he wants to say something as much as you do, and you try to think of a way to start the conversation, to break the ice, but nothing comes to mind, and the two of you remain quiet until Rex lets out a small sigh and clasps his hands behind his back.

"So," he says finally, his voice low. "I heard about your promotion. Congratulations."

You grimace and duck your head. "Thanks. It...wasn't what I expected."

"It rarely is," he agrees. He pauses and turns his head, meeting your gaze. His expression softens, his brow furrowing, and his tone turns gentle. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," you answer. You bite the inside of your cheek and look away, breaking eye contact. "It's fine."

"No," he says firmly. His voice is filled with frustration, and his hand shoots out, grabbing yours and squeezing tightly, pulling you to a stop. "I'm not asking about the damn promotion. I'm asking how you are."

Your heart skips, and you can't help but stare, caught off guard by his sudden change in demeanor. You open your mouth, about to reply, when a group of clones passes by, their footsteps echoing off the metal floors. Rex lets go of your hand and steps back, returning their salutes with a nod, and you do the same, your mind racing, your body frozen in place.

When the last clone passes, his hand moves to the small of your back, pressing against it as he guides you forward. His touch is firm, but gentle, and he keeps his pace slow, letting you set the speed, matching his steps to yours.

"You should've commed," he murmurs.

"I know," you mumble. Your throat is tight, and you swallow, forcing yourself to continue. "I'm sorry. I should have. I know."

"What happened?" he asks, barely audible. His eyes scan the empty hall, making sure no one is around. When he's satisfied, he continues. "I was worried about you."

"You don't have to worry," you insist.

"Yeah," he scoffs. "That's not going to happen. No matter how much you want it to."

"Rex," you protest, and your stomach twists, a pang of guilt shooting through your chest. "You don't...you shouldn't...I mean, it's not..." You trail off, unable to find the right words, and your hands move to your belt, fiddling with the hilt of your lightsaber.

"Not what?" he presses. "It's not my business? Not my problem?"

"No. Yes," you mutter. You shake your head and take a deep breath, gathering yourself. "I don't know."

He watches you, his eyes scanning your face, taking in every detail. He sighs and shakes his head, his hand dropping away to activate the panel outside the lift. The doors open with a hiss and he waits, motioning for you to enter first.

You hesitate, and his hand reaches out, brushing against your hip, urging you forward. You step inside, and he follows, the door sliding shut behind him. His thumb presses the button for your floor, and the elevator begins to rise, the cables whirring softly.

"I know I don't have to," he says finally, his voice low and rough. He looks away, staring at the wall. "I know that. I don't care."

"You should," you argue weakly. "You should care."

"Well, I don't," Rex counters. His head turns, and his eyes lock onto yours, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You should know that by now."

"Yeah, I guess I should." 

You hold his gaze for a moment before looking away, unable to handle the intensity of his stare. Your hand returns to your belt, fidgeting with the hilt of your lightsaber, and a heavy silence falls over the lift, the only sound coming from the machinery as the elevator continues its slow ascent.

"I...I'm sorry," you say finally. "For worrying you. For making you worry."

"It's okay," he replies softly.

"It's not," you counter. Your hands clench into fists at your sides and your gaze moves to the floor. "It's not. You're...you're important. You didn't deserve that. Any of it. I should've called. I should've checked in. I should've—"

"Hey," he interrupts, and his hand lands on your arm, his fingers gripping your bicep, pulling you toward him. "It's okay."

You turn toward him, and his hands slide to your shoulders, holding you firmly, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles through the thick material of your tunic. Rex's head dips down to meet your gaze, and his eyes move across your face, searching.

"It's okay," Rex repeats softly. His eyes flick down and then up again, and a small smile tugs at his lips, his fingers squeezing gently. "I'm glad you're back."

You nod and force a small smile, and he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you in a warm embrace. You hesitate and then return the gesture, burying your face in his neck, breathing him in, the familiar scent filling your lungs, calming you. His hand moves up and down your back, rubbing it soothingly, and his cheek rests against the side of your head, his lips brushing against your hair.

"I missed you," you whisper, the words barely audible. It's the first time you've said them aloud, the first time you've allowed yourself to admit them, even to yourself, and you cling to him, savoring the warmth of his body, the comfort of his touch.

His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, his breath tickling your ear. "Me too."

Your heart leaps, and you pull away, looking up at him, taking in the softness of his expression, the tenderness in his eyes. A lump forms in your throat, a sudden sense of vulnerability washing over you.

"Rex," you start, and the rest of your words die on your tongue. You swallow, trying to speak, but nothing comes out, and your mouth snaps shut.

The elevator door slides open, and the moment is gone. Rex jerks away and takes a quick step back, putting distance between the two of you, and you take a steadying breath, willing yourself to calm down. The hallway is empty, but there's no telling who might be lurking around the corner, and you can't risk anyone seeing the two of you like this.

Rex steps out into the hall and looks back, checking to make sure you're following. You nod, and he moves ahead, leading the way, his hands once again clasped behind his back.

"I have your new quarters set up," he says as you fall into step beside him. "General Skywalker and Commander Tano will be down the hall, but you'll have some privacy. I thought you would appreciate that."

"Yeah," you mumble. "Thank you."

"They're not as nice as the ones you had before," he continues. His tone is flat, and he keeps his gaze fixed forward, not once glancing at you. "But, they're functional."

"I'm sure they're perfect," you assure him.

"Right," he nods. "Anyway, there's a briefing packet in your quarters. It has everything you'll need to know about your new command. I know it's a lot, but I'll be here to answer any questions you have."

"Very thoughtful of you," you say, a small smile playing on your lips. "I didn't think you could get any more organized."

He snorts and gives you a sideways glance. "Well, someone around here has to be."

You laugh, and the tension eases, the two of you slipping back into the familiar rhythm of banter and teasing, the same way you've done countless times before. You can't help but notice that there's an underlying sense of something more beneath the surface, an intimacy that's not quite the same as it was before. But it's subtle enough to be easily disregarded, and the two of you make small talk, discussing the ship, the crew, the new assignments, the upcoming battle on Bothawui. It's a pleasant distraction from the stress of your current situation, and by the time the two of you reach your rooms, you're almost relaxed. Almost.

Rex opens the door, and you step inside, taking in the space. It's a simple room, furnished with a bed, a small table and chair, and a built-in closet. It's not as large as your last room, but the large window that spans the wall more than makes up for any perceived lack of space. It's a stunning view, and you walk toward it, peering out at the stars and ships that fill the vastness of space above Coruscant.

"What do you think?" Rex asks from behind you. His voice is hesitant, and you can feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting.

"It's beautiful, Rex."

"Good," he says, relief evident in his tone. "I'm glad."

"You know me so well," you joke, and he laughs, a low rumble that sends a shiver through you. You turn and smile at him over your shoulder, and he smiles back, his expression softening.

"I try," he chuckles. His smile fades, and his gaze moves around the space, his posture stiffening. "There's, uh, also some paperwork for you. On the desk."

"Right," you mutter, and you move to cross the room towards the desk. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," he says quietly.

You've only taken a step before you still, your eyes falling on a bottle of wine sitting next to a stack of datapads, and your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. The bottle is tall and slender, the glass a deep green, and a card is placed neatly in front of it, your name written across the front in a familiar scrawl.

"Rex," you start slowly, a note of amusement in your tone. "Why is there wine on my table?"

"Ah," he mumbles, and he rubs the back of his neck, his shoulders hunching. "I...may have had something to do with that."

You turn to face him, and his face is red, his eyes darting everywhere but at you. A laugh bubbles up, and you cover your mouth, trying to hold it back, but a small giggle escapes, and Rex's face falls, a crease forming on his forehead.

"What's so funny?" he asks.

"You," you snort.

"Me?" he replies, his tone incredulous. He shakes his head, his lips pursing, and he lets out a long-suffering sigh. "I knew this was a bad idea. I should've—"

"No," you cut him off. Your hand reaches out and grabs his arm, pulling him toward you, and you smile at him, a warm feeling filling your chest. "I'm not laughing at you. I promise. It's just...so sweet. No one's ever given me anything like that before."

"Really?" he says skeptically. "I can't believe that."

"Well, it's true," you assure him, and he relaxes, his features softening. You let go of his arm and glance at the wine, a wave of fondness washing over you. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he murmurs. He shifts awkwardly and clears his throat. "I was worried it would be too much. But I figured you'd need it. To celebrate."

"Or to drown my sorrows," you counter dryly, and Rex scoffs and shakes his head.

"Maybe both," he says, his tone playful.

"Definitely both," you reply, and he grins, his head ducking, a soft laugh escaping his lips.

The two of you stand in comfortable silence, and your eyes meet his, a warm tingle running through your body at the intensity of his gaze. Rex swallows and clears his throat, his hand reaching up to adjust the collar of his shirt.

"I should, uh, leave. Let you get settled," he says. His eyes move to the door, and his head turns slightly, his shoulders stiffening. "If you need anything, just comm me. I'll see you at the briefing later."

"Of course," you nod, and he steps back, heading for the door. When he reaches it, he pauses, glancing over his shoulder at you. You can see the conflict in his eyes. You know what he's feeling, and it's the same thing you're feeling. It's a question. And it's one you're not sure how to answer.

"Rex."

His brow furrows, his head turning to face you. You take a deep breath, summoning your courage, and speak before you can second-guess yourself. 

“You’re not going to make me drink alone, are you?”

His eyes widen in surprise, and he blinks once, twice, before breaking out into a small smile, a light chuckle leaving his lips.

"No, sir. I wouldn't dream of it," he says, the teasing lilt in his tone bringing a smile to your face. "I'll uh, come by after the briefing. We can...talk. If that's okay."

"Yeah," you breathe. "That's okay."

Rex nods and gives you a quick grin before disappearing out the door. As soon as he's gone, your smile disappears, and your shoulders slump, the weight of your responsibilities hitting you all at once. It's been a long week. One of the worst weeks of your life, and you're exhausted, your mind racing, your emotions stretched thin. But the thought of spending more time with Rex is a welcome distraction, and it helps take the edge off, giving you something to look forward to.

You walk over to the desk and pick up the card, studying the handwriting on the front. It's a simple message, written in bold, blocky letters, but the sight of his handwriting brings a smile to your face, and you open the card, reading the brief message inside.

Congratulations. You deserve this.

Yours,

Rex

The words make your heart flutter, and a wave of affection washes over you, making you feel light-headed and giddy. You've never seen him write, never known he could, and the thought of him sitting down, taking the time to put these words down on flimsi, fills you with an overwhelming sense of tenderness.

It's not the first time he's made you feel this way, but it's the first time he's done it knowingly, and the realization sends a rush of heat through your body, a tingling sensation running through you, making your heart race and your palms sweat. It's a feeling you've felt before, a feeling you've tried to ignore, and you've always pushed it down, buried it, pretended like it didn't exist.

But, it does. And now, the thought of him coming back later, the thought of being alone with him, fills you with an excitement and anticipation you haven't felt in a long time.

You want to be with him. You've wanted to be with him for months. And if you're honest with yourself, a part of you has always known it would come to this. The two of you have been growing closer for months, spending more and more time together, and it's gotten to the point where it's difficult to imagine your life without him in it. You've found yourself thinking about him constantly, wondering what he's doing, worrying about him, and every time he walks into a room, your stomach flutters, and your heart pounds, and a surge of affection rushes through you, making you dizzy and breathless and stupid, and—

“Force,” you mutter. You drop the card on the desk and place a hand on your forehead, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. This isn't the time for this. You're supposed to be figuring out how to run an entire fleet of starships and troops and a thousand other things that require your full attention. This isn't the time to get lost in fantasies or wishful thinking.

But, even as you think it, a part of you doesn't care. 

You’ve already proven yourself a failure when it comes to focusing on the important things. Why stop now?

With a frustrated sigh, you drop your pack on the bed and open it, taking out the clothes you’d hastily packed the day before. Everything is wrinkled, and a few pieces are torn, a reminder of how stressed you'd been. You can't help but roll your eyes and mutter a string of curses under your breath. You've spent an entire week on edge, and the last thing you need is to start your journey off with a reminder of how truly unstable you are.

With a shake of your head, you quickly fold the items and place them in the empty drawers, smoothing out the wrinkles and straightening the edges. It doesn't take long, and you're done within minutes, the only item left is Yaddle’s lightsaber.

Your fingers run over the cool metal, the engraved symbols rough beneath your skin. You lift it, holding it up to the light, studying the intricate designs. It's a beautiful piece, and a sense of calm settles over you, a faint buzzing sensation traveling up your arms and spreading throughout your body.

For the first time since the meeting with the Council, you can finally breathe.

It's not the end of the world.

You have a plan. And even though it's a bit crazy, even though it's more than a bit complicated, and even though there are a thousand ways for everything to go wrong, it's a start. A solid beginning.

And that's enough.

You turn and place the lightsaber on the desk, next to the wine bottle, and a small smile crosses your face. The sight of them together is strange, but comforting, and you can't help but laugh. Rex has a habit of bringing out the unexpected in you, and the fact that he's managed to do it even in your darkest moments is something you'll never stop being grateful for.

"Oh," you mutter.

That's a dangerous thought.

With a deep sigh, you check your appearance in the mirror and head to the briefing, doing your best not to think about what might happen later.

Later turns out to be after dinner.

The meeting is long and exhausting, and by the time the briefing ends, you're ready for a shower and a bed. But, Anakin and Ahsoka are still going over the battle plans, and there's no way you're going to interrupt them. So, you take a seat beside Rex, listening, adding a comment here and there, until finally, the meeting ends and everyone disperses, heading off to get some rest.

Rex stands and stretches, and the two of you make small talk, exchanging pleasantries and discussing the upcoming mission. But when the room is empty, and the two of you are alone, he glances at you and tilts his head toward the door, his eyebrow raising in a silent question. You nod, and he leads the way, guiding you back to your quarters, the two of you walking in silence.

The ship is quiet and dimly lit, the lights in the hallways turned down for the night cycle. It reminds you of the last time the two of you walked the Resolute’s halls toward your quarters. Much has changed since he escorted you back from the medbay that night, but the small glances and subtle touches are still the same, and the familiarity makes you smile, a warm feeling spreading through your chest.

When the two of you arrive at your room, Rex stops and waits for you to enter first. You press the keypad and step inside, and he follows, the door sliding shut behind him. Once the door closes, he takes a deep breath and rubs his face, and the exhaustion hits you at the same time, a heavy weariness settling in your bones. The stress and strain of the past few days has caught up with both of you, and the two of you look at each other, both letting out a tired laugh.

"Long day," he says with a rueful smile.

"Very long," you agree.

You move to the closet and hang up your outer robe, and Rex stands still in the center of the room. His posture is stiff, and you can tell he's nervous, his thoughts racing, his fingers drumming against his knee.

He's not the only one.

“I’m going to go change into something more comfortable," you tell him as you slip off your boots and toss them in the closet. "Why don't you open the wine?"

"Uh, sure," he mutters, and he clears his throat, nodding to himself. "Yeah, I can do that."

"I'll be right back," you say, and you disappear into the small refresher, closing the door behind you.

You lean against the sink and stare at yourself in the mirror, taking in your messy hair, the bags under your eyes, the way your face is drawn and pale. You're a mess. No wonder he's acting so skittish. He's probably terrified of what you'll do next. Or say.

With a deep sigh, you splash water on your face and change, the sound of a cork being removed reaching your ears. By the time you've changed and stepped back out, Rex has opened the bottle, leaving it on the desk. He's standing at the window, watching the blue-white streaks of hyperspace passing by the ship, his back to you.

You walk over and stop next to him, glancing at his face, taking in the sharp angles and strong lines, the stubble along his jaw, the crease between his brows, the slight downward turn of his mouth. His expression is a mix of concentration and uncertainty, and you can tell he's deep in thought, trying to find the right words.

"Hey," you murmur, and he starts slightly. His gaze moves to yours and his expression softens, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Hey," he says softly. His gaze moves down and then up, his eyes lingering on your face before they flick back to the stars. "Nice view."

"Yeah," you agree. "It is."

"How are you doing?" he asks. His voice is low and hesitant, and his brow furrows, his lips pursed. "I mean...you know."

"I'm fine," you reply automatically.

"Don't lie," he says, his tone gentle, but firm.

"What am I supposed to say?" you mutter. Your hands move to your belt, fiddling with the buckle. "That I'm pissed? That I'm disappointed? That I'm embarrassed? Because I am."

"I get that," he says, and he turns, leaning his hip against the window, his head turning to face you. His shoulders are hunched, and his arms are crossed, and he's looking at you intently, his eyes scanning your face. "Do you want to tell me what happened? With the Council?"

"Not really," you admit. "It was stupid. I was stupid. I said some things. Made some assumptions. It's done."

"Assumptions?" he repeats.

"Nothing important," you say dismissively. The bottle of wine sitting open on your desk suddenly seems much more appealing than before, and you move toward it, searching for the right words to explain what happened.

"It was..." You trail off, trying to think of the best way to describe it, and then give up, shaking your head. "A disaster."

"A disaster?" he repeats, a note of concern in his tone. He turns fully to face you, his eyes searching your face, his lips pursed. "What did they do?"

"Nothing," you mutter.  Your hand reaches out and grips the edge of the desk, steadying yourself. "They didn't do anything. It was like all the evidence we gathered didn't even matter, and I was just wasting their time."

"They didn't listen to you," he says slowly. It's a statement, not a question, and his face is grim, his expression tense. "About Dooku."

"No, they didn't," you agree. You open your desk drawer in search of two cups and take out the ones inside. They're simple, metal mugs, but they'll work well enough for the wine. You'd drink it straight from the bottle if you could, but the thought of Rex watching you do that makes you cringe. “And I didn’t react well."

Rex's eyebrows shoot up, and he watches you, his head tilting to one side. "How badly?"

You don’t respond, your eyes focused on filling the cups with wine. You can feel his gaze burning into the back of your head, and a flush rises to your cheeks, shame and guilt and frustration swirling inside you. You set the bottle down and grab the glasses, moving toward the window, trying to avoid the question.

"How badly?" he repeats, his voice rising slightly, his tone demanding.

"Not well," you admit. "I got a little angry."

"A little?" he snorts.

"Okay, maybe more than a little," you mutter, and a small laugh leaves his lips. You turn to look at him and roll your eyes. "It's not funny."

"Sorry," he chuckles. He steps toward you and takes one of the cups. His thumb rubs over the top of the glass, and his eyebrows raise in amusement. "You have a temper. That's not exactly news to me."

"I do not," you protest, and his eyebrows rise higher, his head shaking in disbelief. "I don't!"

"Sure," he smirks.

"I don't," you insist, and he laughs again. You glare at him and let out a huff. "Fine, I do, but not...not like this."

"So, what did you do?" he asks, his expression softening, his tone becoming more serious.

"I yelled," you admit, and a grimace twists your face. "I, uh, yelled at them quite a bit, actually. Obi-Wan had to drag me out of there."

Rex's jaw drops open slightly, his eyes widening, and you look away. A hot flush of shame creeps over you at the memory of it and everything that followed. Of how quickly you lost control of yourself. Of the fear and panic and desperation that had driven you to such an extreme reaction. Of the way they looked at you afterward.

"Wow," Rex mutters.

"Yeah," you agree.

"That's..." He trails off and takes a deep breath. He turns his head toward the window and stares out into space, his hand gripping his cup tightly. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," you murmur. You swallow hard, and the room falls silent, the only sound coming from the hum of the ship's engines. "I've been an ass lately."

"Don't say that," he argues.

"It's true," you shrug. "I've been an ass to everyone. Even you. And you didn't deserve that."

"I wasn't upset," he says quietly. His hand reaches out and covers yours, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go, and the familiar touch sends a shiver up your spine. "I just didn't know what to do. Or how to help."

"There wasn't anything you could've done," you tell him. Your hands grip the cup tightly, your knuckles turning white. "I was...I'm a mess. I am a mess."

"You're not a mess," he argues. He lets out a frustrated sigh and turns to face you, his eyes locking onto yours, his expression earnest. "You're stressed. And worried. And overwhelmed. And it's understandable. Anyone would be."

"Maybe," you concede.

"I'm sorry about Yaddle," he says after a moment. "That must've been tough."

"Yeah," you say slowly. Your voice is thick, and a lump forms in your throat, a wave of grief washing over you. You try to ignore it, pushing it down, focusing on the conversation, but the tears come anyway, stinging the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision. You wipe them away with the back of your hand and force a weak smile. "Thanks."

"Of course," he says softly.

"She would've liked you," you tell him. The tears continue to fall, and you swipe at them, sniffling loudly, and his hand rests on your shoulder, squeezing it gently. You glance at him and manage a shaky smile. "She would’ve liked you a lot."

"I hope so," he murmurs. His fingers trail down your arm and then drop away, and he clears his throat, taking a step back. He holds up his cup and lifts his eyebrow. "Should we drink to her?"

"Absolutely," you chuckle.

"To Master Yaddle," he says solemnly.

"To Master Yaddle," you repeat.

The two of you clink your glasses together and drink deeply. It’s…well, it’s not the best wine you've ever had, but it's not bad, and the warmth spreads through your body, easing the tension in your muscles and dulling the ache in your bones. You watch as Rex makes a valiant effort to hide his distaste, but the sour look on his face is enough to bring a laugh to your lips. 

"It's, uh, not bad,” he mutters.

"Liar," you snort. You take another sip of your own and feel your nose wrinkle, the bitter taste coating your tongue. "Force, that's awful."

"Yeah," he nods, and his face twists into a grimace, a shiver running through him. "Sorry. I shouldn’t have made assumptions.”

"No, it's okay," you assure him. "I appreciate the effort. Really."

"I'll remember to buy some real alcohol next time," he says, and his smile widens, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He takes another sip and shudders, a groan escaping his lips. "Ugh, no. That's terrible. Why would anyone drink this?"

"Because it's cheap and effective," you tell him. Your own face screws up as the harsh flavor hits your tongue, and you take a large gulp, doing your best to hide your discomfort. "Keep drinking. It'll get better."

"It'll get worse," he corrects. His expression is skeptical as he peers at the wine, eyeing the dark liquid. "Did I buy you...poison?"

"No," you reply with a laugh. "But it'll certainly feel like it in the morning."

"Wonderful," he drawls, and you can't help but grin, his dry sarcasm sending a rush of affection through you. He looks over at your sofa and sighs. "I'm going to need to sit down for this."

"Same," you agree, and you move to settle on the couch in front of the window, grabbing the bottle as you go. Rex follows and sits next to you, leaving a few inches of space between the two of you. A safe amount of distance. Just enough to remind you both where the line is. That you're not supposed to cross it. Not even now.

"So," Rex starts. He takes another sip and his face pinches. "How did things end with the Council? Did you...did you get any answers?"

"No," you admit, taking a sip of your own and fighting back a shudder. "They just kept telling me to calm down."

"And then what happened?"

You give him a wry smile and drain your cup, setting it on the table next to the sofa before leaning back, letting the alcohol hit you fully. It’s been a while since you drank, and you can already feel the effects, a light buzzing in your head, the tension in your body fading away. "Then I fought with Obi-Wan and locked myself in my room for a week. But other than that, things went great."

"You fought with Kenobi" he says slowly. His eyes widen, and his head turns, his mouth hanging open slightly. "Why would you do that?"

"Because he was being a dick," you reply sharply. The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, and Rex stares at you, his brow furrowing, his lips pressing together into a thin line. You sigh and shake your head. "Sorry. It's just...during the meeting, he didn’t stand up for me. And he was acting like he knew what was best for me."

"And did he?"

"No," you mutter, and Rex raises an eyebrow, his eyes fixed on your face. "Well, maybe. I don't know. It was hard, experiencing that again. I think we tried to pretend that nothing had changed, but things did. Things are different. I'm different."

"Yeah," Rex says quietly. He sets his cup on the table and leans back, his gaze fixed on the stars outside the window. "I know what you mean."

You study his face, taking in the lines and angles, the creases in his forehead, the faint shadows beneath his eyes. He looks tired. He looks worn. And you know it's not just from today. It's everything that's happened since the start of the war. It's every battle he's fought. Every sacrifice he's made. It's been a long year. For all of you. But for him especially.

"How are you?" you ask. The question seems ridiculous when asked aloud. Of course he's not okay. None of you are. But you have to ask. You have to know. "Really."

"I'm fine," he says.

"Really?"

"No," he sighs. His shoulders slump, and his eyes close. He tilts his head back and lets out a ragged breath. "No, not really."

"I didn't think so," you murmur, and a grimace twists his face, his brow furrowing deeply, a deep sigh leaving his lips. His hand reaches up, rubbing his face, and he shakes his head, his eyes opening, staring straight ahead, unseeing, his thoughts miles away, somewhere far beyond the view of the stars that surround you.

"It's been a long year," he mutters, and you nod, unable to find the right words. "A very long year."

"Yeah," you murmur in agreement.

The silence falls between the two of you once more, the tension returning as the reality of the situation sets in. This isn't a happy reunion between friends, or a fun night out with co-workers. This is a soldier and a Jedi, two people who have known each other for months, have been fighting side by side for almost a year, and have shared more than either of them could have imagined.

This is something else.

"It'll be okay," you finally say. You’re not sure if you believe it, and you’re not one for empty reassurances, but it seems like the thing to say, and Rex looks at you, the corners of his mouth turning up in a weak smile.

"Yeah," Rex nods. "I know. We'll figure it out."

"We will," you say confidently. You reach out and cover his hand with yours. Your fingers trace the outline of his knuckles underneath his glove, and you squeeze his hand. "We always do."

"I wish things were different," he mutters. His voice is rough, his tone heavy, and your chest aches, the weight of his words hitting you. He swallows and turns his hand, his palm pressing against yours. His thumb runs over your knuckles, and he sighs, his fingers squeezing yours gently. "I wish a lot of things were different."

"Me too," you whisper, and his hand moves away, slipping out from under yours. 

Your palm feels cold without his touch, and you resist the urge to reach out, to take his hand in yours again, and pull it back to where it belongs. Where you want it to be. But you don't. Instead, you reach for the wine, pouring yourself another glass, doing your best to ignore the hollow feeling in your stomach. 

"I can't believe you gave me wine," you tease, and he snorts, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Me either," he admits. He shakes his head, his gaze returning to yours. "But I figured you'd need it."

"How are you so nice?" 

You don't mean to say it aloud, but the words slip out, and you flush, embarrassed by your question. Rex laughs and gives you a small shrug, his lips curving up into a sheepish smile.

"I'm not," he chuckles. His head tilts to the side and he studies you, his expression thoughtful. "It's  easy to be nice when it's you."

"That's..." you trail off, not quite sure how to respond.

"It's the truth," he says simply.

"Right," you nod. You take a deep breath and turn your gaze to the stars, the familiar sight of hyperspace giving you a sense of comfort, of safety. “Well, I’m lucky to have you then."

"Yeah," he murmurs, and when you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, his eyes sparkling, and a small laugh escapes his lips. "You are."

You let out a huff and elbow him in the ribs, and he laughs louder, his hands shooting up, holding them in front of his chest defensively.

“I can’t believe you. I’m trying to be nice!” you say indignantly.

"Nice," Rex scoffs. He rolls his eyes and drains his glass, his shoulders shaking with mirth, and the sight makes you smile, a warm, tingling sensation rushing through you. “Since when are you nice?"

"Always," you say with a dramatic huff. You stick your nose in the air and take a sip of your wine, glaring at him over the top of your cup.

"Not always," he snickers. "Remember the first time we met?"

“Not this again,” you groan, and his grin widens, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. You can't help but roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Fine. Yes. I wasn't nice."

"That’s an understatement," he laughs. He shakes his head and pours another glass of wine, filling it to the brim, his head turning to look at you. "I thought you were going to stab me."

"I still might," you retort dryly. Rex snorts and lifts the cup to his lips, drinking deeply. You watch as his throat bobs, a flush rising to his cheeks. When he lowers his cup, his expression is somber, his smile fading, and he clears his throat, shifting slightly on the sofa.

“You were the first Jedi I’d ever met," he says quietly. His fingers run over the rim of his cup, his gaze focused on the liquid inside, his brow furrowed. "The first human outside of the trainers I’d ever met, actually. And you were...not what I expected."

"Oh?" you prompt. You can't help but wonder what he's thinking. What he's feeling. The two of you have grown close, have become good friends, but there's a part of him that's always been guarded, a part of him that's kept hidden, and it's those parts of him that interest you the most.

"You were so..." Rex trails off, his eyes flicking to yours. He takes a deep breath and holds your gaze. "Stubborn. And angry. You were furious. At everyone and everything."

"I was," you admit.

"I didn't know what to make of you," he says slowly. He shifts closer, his body angling towards yours. "You were so different from what I was expecting. I was told about the Jedi. About how wise and kind and serene they were. And then I met you."

"And?"

"And I thought you were crazy," he replies.

You let out a small laugh and take another drink. You'd had your own opinions about him when the two of you first met, and while his assessment of your personality isn't wrong, it's not entirely accurate either. You were scared and confused, and you took it out on him. It wasn't fair. To either of you. But you've learned a lot since then. About the war. About yourself. About him.

"Maybe I am," you say lightly. Rex chuckles and shakes his head.

"You're not crazy," he corrects. "You're...passionate."

"Is that a nice way of saying stubborn?" you tease. Rex smiles and lifts his shoulder in a half shrug. "You were just as bad."

"Yeah," he nods.

"You were rude," you say pointedly. "And sarcastic. And infuriating."

"Sorry," he mutters.

"I liked it," you add, and he looks at you in surprise, his eyebrows raising. You smirk and tilt your head to the side. "You didn’t take any of my shit, and you were funny. I liked that."

"Really?"

"Yes," you insist. You take another sip and try to keep your tone even, to hide the excitement and nervousness bubbling up inside you. "I still do."

"I'm glad," he says quietly. There's an undercurrent of something else in his tone. Something deeper and darker and more complicated than anything the two of you have talked about. His eyes move to the wine and then back to you, a hint of regret flickering across his features. "I wasn't trying to insult you. I was just...I wasn't prepared."

"For me?"

"For you," he confirms. He drains his glass and sets it on the table next to the sofa. His hand falls to his lap, and he stares down at it, his fingers tapping restlessly against his leg. "I'd never met anyone like you before."

"What does that mean?" you ask. He glances at you, his eyes narrowing, and a hint of a smile crosses his face.

"You were..." He trails off, and his expression turns thoughtful, his eyes drifting away from yours, his gaze fixed on some distant memory. "You were fearless. You didn't care what anyone thought. You were strong and determined and fierce. And I..."

He breaks off and shakes his head. A small chuckle leaves his lips, and his eyes meet yours, the intensity in them making you shiver.

“I was in awe of you,” he says softly. “I thought you were the most incredible person I'd ever seen. And yeah, I thought you were a little scary, but...in a good way."

"Scary?" you repeat, a note of disbelief in your voice, and Rex laughs, his head ducking down, his eyes crinkling. There’s a flush creeping up his neck and he looks up at you, his smile growing wider.

"Terrifying," he says with a laugh. "But not in a bad way."

You snort. "I'm glad.”

"I'm not scared of you anymore," he tells you. His tone is serious, and the humor fades, his expression becoming solemn. "But I am...I'm in awe of you. Still."

"I..." you trail off. His words send a rush of heat through your body, a warm feeling spreading through your veins, and you find yourself staring at him, unable to speak, unable to think. The only thing you seem capable of doing is looking at him and hoping that he understands the things you can't say. Because he has to understand. He has to feel the same way. Doesn't he?

"It's true," he says, his voice low and quiet. "I don't know if I ever told you, but...you saved my life that day. On Geonosis. And...I think I knew then that I would follow you anywhere."

"You didn't have much choice," you point out, and he shakes his head, a small sigh escaping his lips.

"That's not true," he murmurs. "There were plenty of choices. There were a million choices I could've made that day. And none of them involved following you. But I did. Because I wanted to."

His words catch you off guard, and you sit still, staring at him, taking in the sincerity in his voice, the earnestness of his expression, the conviction in his eyes. It's the most honest he's been with you, and you don't know what to say. What to do. How to react.

"Rex," you breathe. You shake your head and force a smile, doing your best to push aside the emotions churning within you. "You're drunk."

“My metabolism is too fast to be drunk on this swill," he snorts, shaking his head. "But even if I was, that doesn't mean it isn't true. I followed you because I wanted to. Because I knew you were someone worth following."

"Even when I'm angry and impulsive and reckless?" you ask wryly. Rex smiles and nods.

"Especially when you're those things," he says, his voice soft and gentle. “You wouldn’t be you otherwise."

You open your mouth to reply and close it, the words sticking in your throat. You turn and stare at him, searching his face, trying to find the right thing to say, the right way to respond, but there's nothing. No words. No clever remarks. No snappy comebacks. Just the overwhelming desire to be close to him.

When you speak again, your voice is shaky, the words barely above a whisper.

"You're too good for me," you say, your eyes dropping to your cup, the wine swirling within it, the deep red liquid reflecting the lights from the stars outside the window. You glance up and find his eyes focused on yours, the tenderness and affection clear in his gaze. "You know that, right?"

"No, I'm not," he murmurs, his tone firm. His fingers brush against your hand, his fingertips trailing along the inside of your wrist, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. "And I know you're not perfect. And that's okay. That's not why I..." He swallows and looks away. "That's not why."

"Why what?" you press. Your heart pounds in your chest, your hands shaking slightly, and Rex shakes his head, his jaw clenching, his expression strained. He reaches for the wine bottle and pours himself another glass, lifting it to his lips, his eyes focused on the stars. You wait for him to speak, but he remains silent, his brow furrowing, his jaw tightening further. "Why what, Rex?"

He lets out a deep sigh and turns back to you, his gaze moving from yours to your lips, and then back again. His eyes are dark and intense, and his voice is low, barely audible.

"You know why," he says quietly.

The words hang in the air between the two of you, the weight of them heavy and thick. There's a part of you that wants to deny it, to pretend that you have no idea what he means, but the other part, the one that's been pushing those thoughts aside since the day the two of you saw each other again, knows exactly what he's saying.

He wants you.

He's wanted you since the beginning.

But, it's more than that, and you know it.

Because, the truth is, you've wanted him too.

You've wanted him since the first time the two of you worked together, since the moment he looked at you, and saw the real you, the version of yourself that's hidden away, locked away behind a mask of anger and arrogance and stubbornness. Since the moment he saw who you really are, and decided he wanted to know more, to know you, to know the person beneath the surface. Since the moment he made you laugh, made you smile, made you feel something besides the darkness and the emptiness that has consumed your life for the past ten years.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. His eyes drop to the floor, his shoulders hunching forward, and you can feel the shame radiating off him. He shakes his head, and his cheeks flush, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have...this is stupid. Forget I said anything. It was just...the wine."

"Don't be," you tell him softly.

His head snaps up and he looks at you, his brow furrowing, his lips turning downward.

"What?" he breathes.

"Don't be sorry," you repeat. You take a deep breath and lift your hand, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing over his skin. "I'm not."

"You're not?" he asks.

"No," you reply as your thumb moves along his jawline, and his eyes flutter shut, a small sigh escaping his lips. “I’m only sorry that we won’t have the chance to do anything about it."

"About what?"

"About us," you murmur. “This new command…there’s no telling how long we'll be apart."

"I know," he says quietly.

He's quiet for a moment, his eyes still closed, and his face turns slightly, pressing against the palm of your hand. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, and when his eyes open, his gaze meets yours, the intensity in them sending a shiver down your spine.

"Then we should make the most of the time we have left," he says softly. His hand moves up your arm, and his fingers run along your jaw, tracing the line of your cheekbone. His gaze lingers on your lips before returning to yours, and his thumb brushes over your chin, sending a rush of warmth through you

“I don’t know if we should,” you whisper, but your conviction is waning, and your body betrays you, leaning into his touch, craving the feel of his skin against yours. Rex sighs, his fingers moving to the back of your neck, his palm cupping your cheek, his thumb rubbing gently against the soft skin below your ear. 

Your head dips toward his, and your foreheads touch, his lips hovering inches from yours. You can feel his breath fanning across your face, and your hands reach out, gripping his armor. Your fingers dig into the material, desperate for some anchor to keep you steady, to keep you from losing control, from surrendering yourself completely to the desire and need that are coursing through your body.

"Neither do I," he admits. His other hand moves up, cradling the side of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. His gaze meets yours, and the conflict and uncertainty are plain on his face. He swallows hard and his lips part slightly. "But...I want to."

"Me too," you confess.

"We should stop," Rex murmurs, his eyes searching yours. "Before things go too far."

"Probably," you agree.

But neither of you move, and his gaze drops to your mouth, his thumb moving along your lower lip, tugging gently. A small gasp escapes your mouth, and his eyes lock onto yours, his lips curving into a slight smile.

"I can't," he breathes.

"I know," you say softly. Your hands slide up his chest, moving to the back of his neck, and his head dips forward, his nose brushing against yours, the tip of his tongue running over his bottom lip.

There’s a moment of hesitation. A brief second where both of you know that there's no going back. A fleeting moment when the two of you stop and consider what it will mean if you cross the line. If the two of you finally give in and do the thing that you've both wanted for months. A moment where both of you wonder if this is the right choice. If this is the path the two of you should take.

A sudden, heavy lurch of the ship snaps you out of your thoughts and sends both of you crashing to the ground. You fall forward, your hands flying out, catching yourself before your body can slam into the floor. Rex lets out a grunt as he lands beside you, his elbow hitting the ground with a loud thud.

You watch as the blur of blue and white outside your viewport flips to black, a jarring change that leaves you dizzy and disoriented. There's a low whine and a rumble as the engines power down, and the lights flicker once, twice, and then shut off, leaving the two of you in total darkness.

"What the hell?" you mutter, pushing yourself up, squinting at the viewport. Your vision is blurred, and your mind is foggy, and you rub at your eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to make sense of what just happened.

Rex groans and sits up, and the two of you fumble in the dark for a few seconds before you call your lightsaber into your hand. The yellow glow from the crystal provides just enough light for the two of you to see each other. Rex's face is grim as he glances around the room.

"Are we under attack?" he asks. You shake your head as you reach out with the Force, searching for any sense of danger, and find none.

"No," you reply. "I don't think so."

"Good," he sighs, and he pushes himself up onto his feet, offering you a hand. You take it and allow him to pull you to your feet. His grip is firm and strong, and he holds your hand for a moment longer than necessary, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver up your arm. “We should—“

There’s another loud thump, and the two of you are thrown sideways, your lightsaber flying from your hands. Rex's arms wrap around your waist, steadying you as you both slam into the wall. You land on top of him with a thud, his hands still wrapped around your hips, his breath coming in short, shallow pants. You look up at him, your faces only inches apart, the sound of his breathing filling the air, his eyes wide and searching.

“That sounded like an explosion," you mutter, your hands braced against his chest. Rex's brow furrows as he nods, his lips pressed into a thin line. "An internal one."

As if in answer, the blare of the klaxons sounds throughout the ship, and the emergency lights flash on, bathing the two of you in a crimson glow.

"Attention. Attention. This is an emergency. All personnel are ordered to proceed immediately to their stations. This is an emergency. All personnel..." The computer repeats the message over and over, and you look up at the speakers, frowning in confusion.

"This can't be good," Rex mutters.

"No," you agree. Your head dips down, and you close your eyes, a deep, uneasy feeling settling in your gut. "No, it's not."

"We need to go," he says quietly, and you nod, taking a step back. His arms move away from your waist, and he hesitates for a moment before he reaches up, cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushes across your cheekbone, and his expression softens, the tension in his body easing. "Later."

"Later," you echo, and his hand moves to your shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. You watch as he straightens his back, his face growing serious, and he turns and marches towards the door, grabbing his helmet along the way. You take a deep breath and shake yourself, pushing aside the disappointment and frustration and confusion swirling inside you. You can deal with all of that later. Right now, there's work to be done.

You can only hope that whatever is happening isn't as bad as it seems.

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@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 @capricornrabies

[obizenyukii]

top 10 obizenyuki moments (+all of the honorable mentions that i almost picked bc these three are too much .) DISCLAIMER: these are my opinions and also i talk a lot. <3

under the cut bc this is so long oh my god

number 10

THIS PANEL OF THEM BEING SO AT PEACE RESTING BY EACH OTHER'S SIDE. OBI DEEP IN CONTEMPLATION AS HE WATCHES OVER SHIRAYUKI AND ZEN. THEM SLEEPING SO SOUNDLY BECAUSE THEY CAN LET DOWN THEIR GUARD AROUND HIM. I'M FINE.

every time i see this panel i just feel so happy. they belong together.

number 9

needless to say you'll miss the young miss, but you'll be lonely without me too, i bet. this entire conversation . obi saying this as a light joke but also because he knows how much they both mean to zen. obi searching, in a way, for a reassurance that he /is/ needed and wanted as well, since it's so obvious that shirayuki would be. zen's response. this is a moment that shirayuki isn't physically in so i bumped it down a few places, but it's still so meaningful for the ot3.

number 8

obi longing for zen and telling his bestie (zen's gf, who he's known for also occasionally longing for) about it casually under the stars (and saying he'll say that to zen under the stars) . i know what you are .

this moment is absolutely iconic and one of my personal favorites <3

number 7

ot3 date <3333 the entire next chapter is just a bunch of cute moments of them (honestly could have had like 300 pics on this post if there wasn't a limit). them spending time together, goofing off, having fun and enjoying each other's company. give me 10 more of these dates please.

number 6

whenever i reach out my hand, you would grasp it?

the most iconic trio of all time you will not change my mind. this moment being an unsaid promise between the three of them to always come back to each other . lay me to rest

number 5

THE FACT THAT YOU'RE NOT DASHING OVER TO HER RIGHT NOW IS ALL THE ANSWER I NEED. THE TRUST. GOD. SHE CAN HANDLE HIM. I'M ON THE GROUND.

this moment is not as talked about (at least i haven't seen much of it discussed) but it's SO important to me. so much is being said without needing to spell it out. obi and zen keeping watch from afar, content in each other's company but also making sure shirayuki is in their sight. this is so romantic to do under the stars . they make me unwell. i need a vacation

number 4

obi and shirayuki always keeping zen in their hearts no matter what, despite him wishing not to weigh on them. this also touching on zen telling obi he wishes the title he gave him won't be a burden to him. the bond they have is highlighted so beautifully here. it's pure love <3 i'm sick to my stomach. /j

(& the bonus of obi and shirayuki seeing zen off together and looking at his retreating figure fondly. this is so romantic . i'm crazy .)

number 3

the iconic whenever i'm with you two it's always like this ;^;; <3 obi's love towards these two started to take root here. you don't understand because it's love dude . you don't understand because you were never attached to someone like this. you never had a home to come back to, never had the acceptance and understanding you have in them. dumbass. (said fondly)

it's okay, he learns it later <3

number 2

zen, furiously questioning obi and shirayuki on their health, making sure they're fine, and finally pulling them into a hug. his relief to have them safe and healthy in his arms. them realizing how worried he was . this is probably the most iconic obznyk moment and is a contender for n1 for sure, it was tough choosing between the n1&n2 moments ;; . god this moment. zen's "that's the most important thing" . don't talk to me i love them

number 1

the iconic line that is also my ship tag, if it's for you and mistress, i'm willing to go anywhere </3 this moment was what solidified the ship for me when i was only an anime only (shudders) slowly getting into the fandom. the anime was enough but this entire chapter had me setting my house on fire (joke). the brainworms never stopped. the entire chapter is so crazy ot3 but this moment is my favorite and overall the message/highlight of obi's resolve & his answer to zen's questions. it also showed more than any other moment obi's love & dedication to shirayuki and zen. shirayuki isn't even in this scene but it's still my favorite ot3 moment in the manga so far <3

and now, some honorable mentions. these following moments were all contenders for top 10 bc obznyk is so good. also these are not all of the obznyk moments in the manga ofc. there are many that i couldn't find in my screenshots and tried to find skimming through the manga but failed lol. these are just some classics/faves.

zen's iconic heart eyes

pretty early on in their relationship development, zen liking seeing them together ;;

zen being so happy around obi and shirayuki ;-;

zen introducing himself as obi and shirayuki's companion <3 it's just spelled out at this point lol

zen's heart eyes pt 100, if this post didn't have a limit i would've posted so many more of these

shirayuki and zen fretting over obi and then spying on him (while obi knows and is having the time of his life stringing them along) because he was seen with a pretty lady

it's like a part of me is always by their side <3 <3 <3 this would've been n10, but it's now the official number 11 moment

shirayuki and zen putting their full trust in obi to the point of fully letting their guard down, and obi realizing that for the first time, he's wholeheartedly wanted.

zen and shirayuki being the obi detection/protection squad <3

there's so much more. i love them so much <333333

[bisexualwintermoon]

star wars holo-tumblr dashboard simulator (circa 21 BBY)

❤️ best-clone-tournament follow

🌀 small-and-sad follow

u guys know the clones are all the same guy right theres no point in doing a tournament

📸 five-oh-first

fuck off the clones have their own personalities and anyone who’s interacted with them knows that

#i fucking hate people like this #like hello the clones are PEOPLE

(765 notes)

🦂 starlightandsecrets

the thing about the separatist movement is YES they have some good points about the republic but why did they choose the worst people to represent them

#dooku’s a bitch #gunray and the trade federation tried to take over naboo #poggle the lesser tried to kill a senator and two jedi #and that’s not even all of them #current politics #separatist movement

(72,890 notes)

🎶 taylorswiftupdates follow

Taylor Swift has been spotted on Coruscant with famous podracer Sebulba.

🕰️ bejeweled-jedi

imagine thinking this is anything other than a shitty rebound lmaoooo

#hes not even her type! #taylor swift

(1313 notes)

🚅 coruscanti-mold follow

the fact that people still defend the jedi is disgusting tbh

✨ jedi-defense-blog

The Jedi (and clones) are putting their lives on the line every day to defend the Republic. Without them, countless innocent lives would have been lost. Maybe if the Senate actually tried to negotiate peace with the Separatist Parliament, this war could be over a lot sooner.

#tw jedi hate #added to blocklist #mod son’ya

(637 notes)

⬜️ clone-confessions

I lowkey have a crush on my Jedi general

#submission #please don’t try to guess the submitter’s identity in the notes #we’ve been through this before

(47 notes)

🐱 padmes-senate-gown

SENATOR PADMÉ AMIDALA AND JEDI KNIGHT ANAKIN SKYWALKER ARE IN A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP: PROOF

read more

#padmé amidala #anakin skywalker #someone help me figure out a ship name lmao

(2867 notes)

🔞 jedi-x-reader-imagines follow

the next chapter of my obi-wan kenobi x senator!reader fic is now up HERE on holo-ao3!!!

#obi-wan x reader #jedi x reader #obi-wan kenobi #the negotiator #jedi order #reader insert #senator!reader #jedi x senator #minors dni

(926 notes)

🐸 frog

swamp planets, i miss

(1 note)

[pocksprincess]

Chapter 2 - Meet Cute

Series masterlist

Obito Uchiha x f!reader

Modern AU, obi still has scars, he (29) is a doctor and reader (25) is a vet nurse, pining, he is a simp, obito isn't nice to himself :(

Word count - 1887

Beta baddie - @dabilove27 love you <33

<- Prev | Next ->

It's you. His pretty new neighbour. Standing at his door in a skimpy yellow sundress that leaves little to the imagination–not that his imagination isn't in overdrive right now at the sight of you. It's part of (the main) reason why he hasn't popped over to introduce himself. Pretty girls have always made Obito nervous. And for good reason, the prettiest ones are often the cruellest. 

And it's as your face breaks into a friendly smile and you trill at him, “Hi, neighbour!” that he hopes that rule doesn't apply to you.  

"Hi…" He manages to croak out a greeting in response, his scarred hand clenching the open door he leans against for support. He really wishes you hadn't caught him in his lounge wear and before he had a chance to shower. 

"For you." You don't give him any time to breathe as you hold out a bottle of red towards him confidently.

"What's this?" He asks dumbly, frowning at the neck of the bottle gripped between your fingers. Your nails are short, the polish on them chipped, each finger painted a different shade of pastel–mirroring the remnant colours of summer as the season begins to turn.

"Um, it's wine. Ever heard of it?" You're teasing him, smile turned a little more wicked, but not malicious. It surprises Obito, you're bold.

Your demeanour is playful, just friendly banter…between strangers. It makes him fidgety, he isn't the best at social interactions, let alone with someone as friendly and familiar as you. It makes him instinctively pull into his protective shell–the one he uses to keep others at an acceptable and safe distance. 

You huff a small laugh at his reaction and he wonders what his face looks like caught in the crosshair of your dazzling smile and shining eyes.

"Yeah, I've...I meant, what's it for?" He stumbles over his question, mentally cursing himself for not being more cool and assertive. Deep down (or maybe not that deep) he's still the gawky teenage boy that doesn't know how to talk to girls. 

"It's a housewarming gift!" You announce proudly, hand still hovering in mid-air, caught in the purgatory of his front porch–neither on your side nor his. 

"I think I'm the one who's supposed to do that," he nods at your offering, "yaknow, since…you're the one who moved in." He finishes lamely, what little confidence he had waning under your glittery-eyed gaze, mirth dancing deep within. It makes him feel bad, like a shitty neighbour, but in all honesty, he was too chicken to knock on your door.

You're so beautiful and warm, always smiling and waving at him like you're old friends. Obito knows he'd fuck up any welcome wagon he tried to roll out in your honour, so he just...didn't bother–figuring you'd probably just settle in and he'd never actually have to speak to you. He feels pretty stupid now with you at his door in a cute little sundress, hair playing about your face in the gentle breeze, and holding out a bottle of merlot (his favourite, how did you guess?) with a mischievous smile playing about your lips.

You surprise him once more when you lean towards him, just a fraction, as if you're sharing a secret only meant for the two of you. "Well, maybe I got tired of waiting." Your voice is low, so familiar, and he can see you quietly relish in how it makes him react.

He feels the heat rise to his cheeks unwarranted, mouth hanging slightly open as he flounders for any sort of response. Your words weren't even innately suggestive, you didn't say anything scandalous, but Obito's thoughts race at their hidden meaning anyway. Could you be...flirting with him? He isn't practiced in the art, but he's almost certain that's what's happening here. Either that or some serious wishful thinking on his part.

You shift in place while you wait for his response, putting your weight on your opposite hip, almost as if you're tired of standing out on his doorstep. He has a fleeting thought to ask you in but bats it away when he realises the absurdity of it-it would definitely seem weird coming from a near total stranger. 

"Um, yeah...I-I'm sorry about that," Obito isn't quite sure what to say, or what to do with his arms. He realises they are limp at his sides and decides to cross them over his chest instead, grounding himself with the embrace and hopefully making him appear more confident (or something). He forces his gaze to meet yours, fighting the urge to flit them away. 

"Don't be silly," you chastise him, but coming from your lips, it sounds gentle-reassuring, "It's no problem, really." You shake the bottle in your grip, all but pushing it into his chest, as you finally give him your name. It's just as pretty as the rest of you.

He quickly unfolds an arm to catch the bottle in his hand, his rough and scarred fingers grazing over your soft ones in the process. He didn't even think, just used his naturally dominant arm to reach for the object, forgetting his carefully trained practice of using the left since the accident.

The touch sends a jolt of something into his navel, and he has to suppress the urge to show his obvious reaction to your nearness. You have no such reservations, hitching in a breath as your eyes zero in on the place where your skin just barely meets his, your hand frozen in place around the bottle–delicate fingers overlapped with his larger ones. And he swears your pupils dilate–becoming large and round like a feline tracking its prey. Are you even aware of your reaction or is this all part of the game?

Obito jerks his hand away from yours, narrowly missing the door with his elbow, and barely manages to hold on to the gift you brought him. God, he must look and sound like a total idiot. 

Your eyes dart back to his face, your features twisting into a slight frown as you slowly lower your hand back to your side, fiddling with the yellow tie that dangles from your waist. 

"Sorry," you apologise, as if you did something wrong. You look so sad. Of course you think that, *he* made you feel that way…it's just been so long since anyone has touched him skin to skin, not even a handshake, especially a beautiful woman. He's always so careful, so aware of keeping only his left side angled towards someone, only ever using his left hand in front of others. Your little surprise visit made him sloppy, he forgot himself. And now you think it's your fault.

"No, please!" The words jump from his throat and Obito winces at the desperate tone in his voice. He gathers his courage with a deep inhale and then lets out the anxiety gnawing at his gut with a breath-get it together, man. 

"This was really nice of you," he looks at the bottle, turning it until he can read the label, "it's one of my favourites." 

He offers you a rare smile (one he doesn't afford many), it probably looks awkward and disingenuous on him but it seems to clear the brewing storm clouds from your expression, a sunny smile lighting up your face. Any reservations you may have had about the moment that just passed between you disappears and you are back to the friendly neighbour routine. 

"Really?" You seem excited that you so accurately pegged something about him. He's not sure whether he's impressed by your insight or irritated that he can be so easily read. You remind him of someone else in that regard…

"You just look like a red wine kinda guy, I'm glad I picked the right one." And you do look glad, you look proud of yourself and something else…something soft and oh so dangerous when you look at him.

Obito swallows instinctually, trying his best not to read into any of your actions or glances. He really is pathetic, you're just being neighbourly, a decent person and he has to ruin it by thinking with his dick. He's always been easily led by a pretty face with an even prettier smile. Usually women only use him to get what they want, knowing it will work every time, the desperately overlooked disfigured guy with no self esteem.

But you seem different, he doesn't get the impression that you have malicious intent, you don't even seem to be phased by his scars. Most women grimace when they see him, whisper to their friends, no doubt about what horrible thing could have left him so permanently twisted. No, you can't be…romantically interested in someone like him. You're just nice, maybe you even want to be friends, or something. It's refreshing and terrifying all at once.

You study his face, perhaps slightly amused, as if you can see the battle going on inside his brain. He thinks you might also feel a little awkward since neither of you has spoken in a while. He can tell because you're twisting your fingers together–a nervous habit, perhaps? It looks uncomfortable, but you don't seem to notice. 

"Well, I better be going…" you float the statement out into the sea of stillness between you, breaking the tension-filled silence. "I just wanted to give that to you before I forgot or chickened out."

He can't believe you could possibly chicken out…that's his job. But it feels oddly reassuring knowing that a stranger feels the same anxieties as he does. Guess he's not the only one who struggles with people. And maybe, just maybe, that means you aren't quite as confident as you appear. Maybe you are being genuine and are just looking for friends, no one has come to help you with your belongings or visited you since you moved in. Maybe you're as lonely as he is.

"Oh yeah, of course. Well, thank you, really." He tries to put as much sincerity into his response as possible but the words sound stiff to his own ears. 

"Any time, neighbour." You smile a wicked little grin, unfazed by his awkwardness, back to your mischievous tone as you descend his front steps slowly. 

And it's only in that moment that he realises he never gave you his name in return. What a fucking moron. 

"Obito!” He blurts out as an afterthought. You look confused and slightly taken aback by the sudden outburst. He takes a breath and tries a small smile, “Name's Obito.” 

“Obito,” you repeat, sounding the name out on your tongue. It makes his heart thump harder in his chest.

"Well, seeya, Obito!” You call out, throwing up a hand in goodbye as you walk to your door.

He returns the gesture, nodding his head and jerking his hand up clumsily when you turn around to smile at him one last time–key in the lock as you hesitate for a second. And then you're inside and his door is shut and he's leaning against it heavily–breath leaving his body in an audible whoosh. He rests his head against the door with a thunk, eyes screwed shut.

But it's no use, he can still see your kind eyes and pretty smile in the darkness.

[ladyxskywalker]

In Exile, ii

Anakin Skywalker x F!Reader/OFC

During his morning meditation on the mountain side, Anakin faces a new enemy

part one | part three

a choose your own outcome story !

weekly story polls posted at the end of each chapter !

hope you enjoy ! 💌

Cliffs

Anakin didn’t like very many people.

Not since forming a close bond with Obi Wan, and certainly not since falling in love with Padme.

The idea of love never even crossed his mind in the last few years living out his existence on this planet. Monotony, and isolation compounded all of that for him. It was no longer on his radar.

Wherever he ended up in life, he didn’t feel it necessary to speak to anyone, let alone form a friendship with them if he absolutely didn’t have to.

He kept his head down. Stayed quiet. Tended to his field everyday. Watched as his crops and trees took on shape and beauty. That was something he could relate to - hard work, and discipline. Doing his best, and making sure that he was absolutely ‘better’ than everyone.

they don’t know what I’m capable of…

But when his neighbor moved in on the plot of land next to his, everything started to change. A man who once lost his sense of humanity, started to become whole again. 

Her smile did that for him.

And the sound of her voice alone, seemed to have made things the slightest bit better again.

So, when she told him of her troubles the day before involving that lowly fisherman, he got angry. Even more so when he heard more about this from the villagers in town.

It took everything in him just to speak with the modest shopkeepers, and the elders. Going against staying silent in order just to help her.

what do you know about him?

he’s a defector! a scoundrel!

fled fighting in the war?

I don’t know where from, but yes. took off during the clone wars.

how did he end up here?

bar fight, ended badly.

what do you mean?

stole from someone, then killed them. had a bounty on his head but escaped, somehow ended up here.

he won’t be here for long…

we’re good people, lars, none of us asked for thieves and criminals to infiltrate our home…

If only they knew…

As he begins to feel one with all of his thoughts, a light breeze begins to pass through all of the trees behind him. The sweet melodic song birds, delivering their peace to all of the mountainside. Everything is green here. The water, freshest just from falling. All that was once jagged is now made smooth again; the river, freely flowing over all of the stones and rock.

It reminds him of a time when everything made more sense. At least, that is what he settles with during his daily meditation. Breathing like this with his eyes closed makes him feel as though he has some sort of purpose, a reminder that, yes, perhaps I can in fact be whole again. 

But, it’s this one fight that’s been holding him back from all of it.

A kind face, that no matter how hard he tries, can never be forgotten.

Frankly, it’s become somewhat of an annoyance…

A beautiful, and persistent, growing sort of distraction…

you’re nice to me.

I try.

“Ha! Would you get a load of this! Tough guy seems to be one with nature! I know what you really are!”

there he is, perfect timing. 

“And what’s that? I’m just dying for you to tell me…”

With his eyes closed, Anakin smirks, where instinctually he feels the vagrant in question pacing back and forth behind him. 

his steps make the grass fold.

a few twigs have snapped.

“You’re soft! Defending some disgusting woman! What’d you think I wouldn’t hear about where you are?”

“That was my plan all along, not my fault you fell for it.”

there goes a splash into the water.

an echo of a floating basket behind him.

Anakin stands, turning to see what the sound was, only to find broken stems, and dirt, clouding the bottom of a nearby waterfall.

Rose petals. Scattered thorns...

Sunflowers, and broken glass jars.

Stolen garden tools.

Homemade favors, and jam, wrapped in woven cloth of all colors, strewn about the neighboring rocks. 

“You’re nothing, Lars, just like the rest of us! Who knows if that’s even who you really are!”

He smirks, all while lifting the palm of his hand, and controlling the air around them. Watching as his newfound enemy begins to choke on his own breath.

“Perhaps it is best that you address me from the floor.”

Anakin circles him, all while tightening his grip around his neck through the force.

“I was…right…you are…”

With a sharp and instant motion, all at once, he slams him toward the ground.

“Enough.”

Then, he continues with his onslaught.

“It seems you know exactly who I am, and what I’ve done. So the rest is only inevitable…”

His enemy’s eyes are ruthless, but there is only silence. A quiet he can not withhold.

“You’ve led a kind woman into great distress. Destroying her livelihood. And for what? Because she denied you?”

Anakin backhands him, a hardened blow to the face that manages to break the force’s hold.

“Coward.”

He then lands a strengthened kick to his stomach, before stepping on his throat.

Through the grit of teeth, the fisherman snarls.

“You’re…no General…”

“How would you know? You never fought in my war.”

he’s been spreading falsehoods about me and my family throughout the village…

“All you’ve done is harass an innocent girl. Do you take pride in that? What makes you so miserable?”

Releasing his boot, Anakin slowly walks toward the wildflowers. For a second he thinks about collecting some of them when he’s done here. And…the possibility of how they would look on her, worn as a pretty crown.

“She’s nothing but a whore!”

With his back turned, so viciously, he smiles.

“So unfortunate…”

As the nameless vagrant begins to rise to his feet, the entire mountain begins to rumble, causing him to stumble and fall.

“...that now you will be no more than a pile of dust.”

With a menacing crack, Anakin’s wrath lays claim to all of the Earth, forcing his enemy over the ridge ahead of him; listening to his screams ring out from the shattered edges of the cliffs.

what have I done?

why should I feel remorse?

I did nothing wrong...

he deserved it...

“He won’t be a problem anymore.” 

The words come easily, but they are only above a whisper now.

Everything is strangely quiet, where the trees no longer move.

It reminds him of the calm that happens right before a powerful storm.

Except, the carnage has already happened…

And he feels all the more alone.

… ❤️

thanks so much for reading & sharing this story ! I hope you are enjoying the choose your own outcome polls. it has definitely been a lot of fun getting to write these short scenes. sometimes I don't even know what will happen next until I am actually writing them ! I would love to know what you think. 💌😊 xo A

[burntblueberrywaffles]

the desperate anidala bitches shall rejoice, because i come offering a second rec list 😌 /lh

My Anidala/Vaderdala rec list! (part 2)

You can find the first rec list here!

sorry I took so long this got buried way down in my drafts but it's finally out 🫡

some of these are not complete so do check chapter count and pls dont yell at me asdfhgkjfh

Modern AUs

The Bet

Anakin's had a crush on Padmé since fourth grade, and after putting up with his pining for seven years, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are finally stepping in and making a bet that he can't ask her to junior prom in the spring. Meanwhile, Padmé is realizing that Anakin isn't as annoying as she'd always thought. In fact, her feelings towards him are starting to go in quite the opposite direction...

Snow Place Like Home

For genre-typical convoluted reasons involving ill-timed blizzards, Padmé is forced to spend the holidays at Anakin's house. Anakin isn't as upset about his boss staying with him for Christmas as he probably should be.

Second Chances

When Luke Amidala and Leia Skywalker meet at summer camp, they're shocked to discover that they're long-lost twins. The logical next step? Getting their estranged parents back together.

I usually avoid Parent traps AU just because I dislike it as a setup, but when it comes to Anidala a bitch is desperate, and this was a cute and fun one, I really enjoyed it!

Lemon

“What other secret fantasies do I have that are glaring neon signs for you?” Anakin asks. “You’re conflicted,” Padmé says, “because on one hand you want to be a very good boy for me, but on the other you want to misbehave so I have a reason to punish you.” He blows out a plume of smoke and taps the ash off his cigarette. “You know, I really thought you were a nerd. I thought I'd have to be like, ‘Hey, how about you tie me up sometime.' Get you into this stuff little by little. But no, you’re diving right in like we met on a BDSM subreddit or something.” Or: Padmé has car problems. Thankfully she knows a good mechanic.

normally, I probably never would have checked out this fic, (mommy kink is just not my thing) but as previously stated, A BITCH WAS DESPERATE and you know what it actually slapped 😌

Rebound

Padmé Naberrie has just been broken up with. She wasn't prepared for a night out with her girls to find her a rebound. She certainly wasn't prepared for Anakin Skywalker.

Sith-Raised Anakin

the inevitable end of dancing with the devil

"Maybe it was too crass to compare the devil to such a creature—Lord Vader wasn’t the devil, he was worse." Senator Amidala was undoubtedly one of the most respected and adored public servants to walk the galaxy. Lord Vader was not. Vaderdala AU. Arranged Marriage AU

A Worthy Sacrifice

Chancellor Palpatine has dropped the act and decided to rule the galaxy openly as Darth Sidious. His reign wouldn’t be half as successful without his unhinged attack dog Darth Vader, a much rumoured warbringer who appears in black robes with a saber red as blood and brings even the strongest revolutionaries to their knees. Padmé is not only fighting for her home country but the freedom of the known regions and she is desperate to turn the tides of this war which is why she agrees to the deal Sidious offers her: A child with this favourite Sith Lord in exchange for her home: Naboo.

This is one of my favourite fics with this trope!

Pearl in My Head

Padmé's just starting her career as a Senator when she attracts some unwanted attention from the Emperor, who has decided on a very different role for her in the Empire. [empire already exists, arranged marriage/forced proximity au! loosely follows some aotc/rots events]

What Was I Made For?

Darth Vader was not a man made for love, but this was not love. Or, Basically, Padme and Vader are friends with benefits, but she's so nice to him that it makes him question his entire existence.

FOR YOUR LOVE (i’ll do whatever you want)

𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰? 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐰? 𝐢'𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐢’𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐢��𝐥𝐥 𝐝𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 He gave her that devilish smirk of his. The one that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. “I’ll give you what you want.” OR, A rare moment of intimacy happens for Padmé and Anakin – whose relationship is strictly carnal.

I have yet to read the second chapter (will get on that when I get out of the snowbaird hole lol) but I really enjoyed the first one!

Vaderdala

love me, love me (like you used to do) 

In which Vader fails to capture his son, but gains a daughter, his wife, another pair of twins... and the past.

this fic was SO GOOD holy shit literally made me feral when i fiorst read it

Love Like Ghosts

There are very few people who know the location of the Rebel Alliance’s base on Naboo. Even fewer who know the names of any of the people who work there. So when Padmé gets up on a cold morning, the windows frosted and harsh wind rattling the doors of the large house that’s been the headquarters of the Alliance for nearly two decades, to see a package with her name on it sitting on the doorstep, her heart stops in her chest.

loved this fic but as a heads up it doesn't provide "they get back together" closure so be ready for that

news of old by @ineedausernamel829

Padme is a member of the rebel alliance. During a mission, her past relationships with darth Vader comes to light

No vaderdala interactions, but exploration of the relationship through Padme talking about it - It’s so so good

Sad Vaderdala hours

Imperial Socialite

In a timeline where Darth Vader doesn't face immolation and Padmé Amidala lives, their marriage continues in a form that is at once far more honest and deeply dysfunctional. Though Padmé tries to remain within the Imperial Senate, the trauma of her husband's betrayal--and the apparent deaths of her children--force her into early retirement. Too much of a liability to aid the emerging Rebel cause directly, Padmé seeks out new avenues of defying the Empire: by leveraging her connection to Vader to mess with the Imperial Elites of Coruscant.

it could be sweet

an interconnected collection of stories based on the idea of what would have happened if Padmé had lived. (aka me finally writing down my self-indulgent vaderdala daydreams aka me living my best life)

This series is so good in a "rip my heart out of my chest and steps on it" way

all joy sucked dry

Her husband had fallen, her life’s work had crumbled, and her own babies were strangers to her. But she didn’t even care, and that was the worst part. Or: Padme deals with postpartum depression, and Vader is ill-equipped to help her

Others

Across the Seas

Padmé Amidala - the daughter of the royal governor of Jamaica - never expected her life to be much more than it already was. Her routine is to dress in her finest clothes, put on a pretty face, and ensure she is presentable to not only the people but to the many men attempting to court her. However, Padmé's world is flipped around when pirates attack, and the young woman finds herself in the company of their fearsome, brash, (dashing) Captain. Initially sickened by the roughish man, Padmé will quickly learn there is so much more to the mysterious Captain Skywalker. A pirate's life for me

The pirate AU I didn’t know I needed. So good

Right & Wrong

After they watch a holoshow that portrays reprehensible content, Anakin unwittingly reveals the concerning way Chancellor Palpatine acts towards him. Padmé will not let anyone harm her husband — and she’ll make this Obi-Wan, the Jedi Council, and even the whole galaxy’s problem if she needs to.

when the grooming is actually adressed >>

cestrum nocturnum

Summer on Naboo, the Clone Wars have yet to begin, and Anakin is tasked with protecting Senator Amidala after an attempt is made on her life. It's too bad that every moment with her has him in agony, and every moment apart is even worse—especially after that night in the courtyard ... Or: Anakin spends a torturous time on Naboo in the company of the person he loves because he doesn't know how to tell her his true feelings.

Naboo smut 🤭

And that's it! if anyone has recommendations for a fic that isn't in either of my rec lists, please let me know! I am so so desperate I need my anidala fix

Since I was deep into the Star Wars hole and desperate, I’ve also been reading non-Anidala/non-Anidala centric fics about Darth Vader/Anakin/the Skywalker family, so I will be posting a rec list for that soon! (When i say soon it can mean anything from a day to months, my brain is not always great at tasks, if anyone wants to be notified when I do post it lmk and I’ll tag you ❤️)

[seresinoldhag]

scorch.

so, uh. a while ago, i was writing a pretty long slowburn with hangman that i loved but missed the timing and never finished. this is a major, almost finale, chapter of that story that i believe is good and i just wanted to post it somewhere, maybe someone will enjoy it. i've adapted it so it can be read without any context. some bits might instigate your imagination, even. lost pieces of the puzzle. the real thing ended up being over 10k words. you can either only read this part, or finish the whole thing on ao3. enjoy! jake seresin x f!reader. all you need to know is this is angsty, and they are not together.

It's all suffocatingly domestic, and you're trying not to think about it.

He's lying on the couch by your side while you read the dated paper of rules for the apartment complex, empty boxes of Hawaiian takeout covering the coffee table. Your hair is damp, your towel is inexplicably sitting on his shoulder now. He used your lemon-squeeze-scented soap. You made a comment about his predictable Axe deodorant. He helped you figure out the TV settings.

The words start blurring in front of your eyes when your thoughts take over, anxieties about how familiar his company has become, and how you could dangerously get used to this routine swarming your mind. It's not fair, you've already let him go. Why can't your heart live by your words?

"Who was your first movie crush?"

You lower the single page to look at the screen across from you, blessed by Natalie Portman's adorable smile in V for Vendetta.

"Obi-wan Kenobi."

Blonde, light eyes. A little shorter. So, he's not not your type. "Nerd. Why?"

"He was mouthy but still kind. I bet yours had something to do with an enticing pink wig?"

You smile again at the famous face that prompted the question, turning to him with teasing eyes just as enticing - even if you didn't know - as his teenage obsession.

He shrugs. "I'm a simple man."

"Don't I know it?"

Leaning back on the sofa, your eyes return to the page, and Jake's head remains turned to you.

He thinks back to earlier when Rooster teased you about your decision to stay and join Mitchell's program. How quickly you got in the man's face after he called out your 'work addiction'. As usual with the two of you, teasing became concern, and then a fight. "You need a break, Scorch. It's fine when I can keep an eye on you, watch your back, but-" "You do not watch my back." Jake couldn't be sure if he was shielding his eyes from the sunlight or the burning ire emanating from you. "I am as good as you, by your side. I don't need a carer." Rooster seemed less defeated and more disappointed. "You know that's not what I meant." He glanced at Jake. Too long to be accidental. "Can't live off of distractions, you gotta hold onto something real at some point."

He hopes he never forgets the first time he saw you choose not to say anything back.

Feeling needy for your attention, Jake steals the paper from your hands, reading aloud some of the strict rules for 'being a good neighbor'.

"Geez, guess I don't have to worry about your safety." He feels the chill creep up his neck when you glare in his direction. He is used to it. Your distant attitude doesn't discourage him anymore. Too late to protect his heart. "But are you…safe here? I mean, are you gonna be okay alone?"

When he turns his face again, you tilt your head to the side, as if it was weird that he'd even ask. "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure? Have you ever lived by yourself before? I don't mean on base or with a roommate, actually alone." Seeing your mouth open and close again, he sits up, stretching his arm on the back of the couch. "Maybe you could stay with Penny a few days of the week."

"Where is this coming from?"

"'S just we're all leaving, Mitchell can be a total fucking headcase sometimes and you have no close family so I'm worr-"

Your face falls almost instantly and he cuts himself off, sighing and bringing his fingers to the bridge of his nose, predicting your next sentence.

When you speak, it's not as confident as he was expecting. "I can take care of myself."

"I know that, Scorcher." His exhausted gaze finds you strangely open. "I'm just thinkin' it'd be nice if you didn't have to watch your own back for once."

Hand to his own heart, maybe a little subconsciously.

Then you do that thing he loves - when you know you're being kind of a jerk so you start apologizing for your words before they even come out - scrunching your nose and wincing. Like you're so sorry to hurt him but it's all you know. A vicious cycle.

A confession of your crimes against his tender nature.

"Before you say somethin' dumb," He raises a finger comically. "I didn't mean anything by it."

Gaze dropping to your lap, you sigh.

"No, really, I don't want-"

"Scorcher."

He knows how much of him you don't want. It doesn't change much of anything. He's been here before - after giving all of him, noticing the other person get overwhelmed, so he starts compartmentalizing. He'll adapt and make it fit until there's absolutely no more space.

Along the way, your silences with Jake became heavily meaningful, and it's something you feared. The unspoken is now easily interpreted. You're known to each other.

Feeling highly exposed under his unrelenting gaze, squaring your shoulders, an exit pops into your head.

"Should we, uh, maybe talk about earlier? You know, with Bob." Jake tries his best not to wince, embarrassed of his little jealous fit in front of the entire squad. "Not the lowest moment of my week." He concedes. Your body stiffens next to him, but when your voice comes out, it's empathetic. "Ejections fucking suck." "I meant you. You were definitely the worst thing that happened to me this week." Forced to punch out during a standard exercise. Two lonely nights at the hospital. A stupid argument with a squad mate over his bruised ego on everyone's last day. None of this would've happened if you hadn't brutally rejected him on the beach that morning. "You nearly died and you're cracking jokes?" "What do you care?" His nose is high up, cocky smile rubbing in your face that you've lost the right to treat his accident with sincerity after failing to show up in his hospital room. "Right?" "Jake, I-" He doesn't really want to do this right now. "I'm kidding. And I was kidding with Bob too."

"Of course." Innocently resting your chin on a closed fist but mocking him. He stares back, firm - if not a little flustered. "Okay."

"It's Floyd…"

"Which means?" Mouth slightly open, daring him. "He's handsome, smart, nice…Tragically not quite you, I know, but not bad at all."

Jake tsks. "Doesn't make sense for you."

"Oh?"

Although responsive, the striking green does not have the same livelihood they once held when he looked at you. The possibility he's simply no longer interested makes you feel what you think is your heart breaking, which in turn makes you sick at yourself. You fought for this.

You analyze his every move, struggling to not choke on your own mental back and forth.

"Yeah, he's too obviously good, can't get in your own head about cracking him - what he's got hidin' underneath. So boring."

If there's any snide in his voice it's forced for the sake of humour. Your inhale is choppy.

"I wasn't…trying to crack you."

Lie. That's definitely what you were doing, rummaging through the pieces that construct him so you could see if any of it could fit you. Of course he doesn't believe you either.

An exagerated sigh, throwing his head back and watching the ceiling. "Love it when we keep saying the opposite of what we mean to each other."

You're getting sick of Jake catching up, seeing everything exactly for what it is and not walking away, so your words come out through gritted teeth.

"What do you want me to say, Seresin? I had a feeling and…I like being right."

Jake tries not to dwell too much on the meaning of that. On your unwavering and selfless faith in him, but most importantly on the extent of your stubborness. You confessed to it a couple days ago, at the beach, caring more about being so sure of the disastrous fate of you and him than the fact he was willing to be with you despite all that you had against it.

"Seems like you had a lot of feelings you didn't tell me about."

When his gaze shifts to you again, he's met with that staple unsettling look, but it's different tonight. It doesn't feel aimed at him.

After an afternoon of beers and goodbyes at Penny's bar, Rooster is the last one to drive away with a waving Natasha on his passenger seat.

"Did they work out?"

Jake asks in a hopeful manner. Maybe they could, if we couldn't.

"I'm not sure, I-" Was so caught up in us. "I didn't ask."

"Damn, you are a terrible friend."

Your eyes drag away from the distant jeep.

"If you wouldn't have done the courtesy of nearly dying, I could've focused on other people more."

"Don't make up excuses, especially when it was your fault."

"Your ejection wasn't my fault! Are you insane?"

He takes a deep breath and inches closer. "I wasn't dehydrated, I didn't pass out. I had a panic attack."

Recognizing vulnerability in his eyes, your stomach sinks further, and you know you won't be able to say the comforting words you wish you could say or ask him what happened with a straight face.

"Can't blame a panic attack on me." You're short of breath, thinking back to the heated argument you and Jake shared at the beach about everything. About being in love, and how you couldn't possibly let that happen. He seemed...off after. You could never imagine how it'd end up.

"Hm, you're right." He circles behind you to the passenger door of your car. "I'll just say you're the bane of my existence and blame you for everything, generally speaking. Does that loosen the rope around your neck?"

You can't help but miserably giggle, climbing into the driver's seat. Your head is pushed against the headrest, fingernails scratching your nose as you try to understand what to do with the warmth pooling in your chest.

"What is this? I mean, aren't you going home?"

He's rummaging around the glove compartment, purposefully making a mess. "My brother's picking me up tomorrow morning."

"I thought you had sisters."

"And a brother."

A deck of questions opens itself in your head, biting your lip to stop them. Getting to know him more would be counterproductive at this point.

"So where are you spending the night?" He raises his head suspiciously. "It's just, Pete already worked out an apartment for me and I could use some help. There's a couch I bet is comfortable enough. Unless you-"

"My stuff is at the base."

"Mine too, I still need to get the keys with Mav." Seconds go by with him looking at you, your teeth biting the inside of your cheek, trying your best to make this look like an innocent invitation. A favor. The slick sound of the seatbelt being pulled sets you in motion, driving off with a burning confusion in the pit of your stomach.

Quickly, you crumple the paper in your hands, collect the empty boxes and strut to the kitchen, quiet.

The bitter laugh that comes out of him is muffled by his hand coming up to wipe his face and rub his eyes.

"Relax, I'm happy to be your guinea pig." He regrets saying it halfway through the sentence, not knowing how to get you to stop running in the other direction. He mumbles under his breath. "You're such a dick." finished work on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61256968

[awkward-tension-art]

Darkness on Umbara Epilogue (Rex x Reader)

Chapter 13.

Epilogue

cw: Rex x Reader, Reader is a medic, incorrect military procedure, crying, trauma, mentions of killing characters, Spoilers for the Umbara Arc, Pong Krell is an asshole, Anakin Skywalker's rage, reader insert, Grief, betrayal, REX CRYING, reader is gender neutral, no use of (Y/N), if i miss a tag L

In the end, Umbara belonged to the Republic.

General Kenobi's battalion routed the last holdouts of Umbarans. Which allowed the remaining 501st to also secure several sectors.

A pyrrhic victory. One filled with death, betrayal and agony. 

Gunships had arrived to pick up the 212th who joined you in the hunt for Krell. You watched Dogma get on one of those ships, intending to leave the 501st and become a Coruscant guard. 

It suits him, you think.

You were standing next to Rex, watching a 501st ARF trooper help one of the injured 212th stand. Jesse, Tup and Fives were also with you.

“What's the point in all of this?” The clone captain shook his head, “I mean…why?” 

“I don’t know, Sir.” Fives responded, looking down, “I don’t think anybody knows. But, I do know that someday this war is going to end.” He turned his head up to try and meet the captain's eye.

“Then what?” Rex turned to face him, “We’re soldiers. What happens to us then?”

I don’t know. But I’ll be with you when you reach that point. 

Silently, you grabbed Rex’s hand. You hadn’t been able to look at him since killing Krell. You hadn't entirely come to terms with the fact that you ended the General's life.

Another gunship landed and the doors opened. General Skywalker stepped off, looking around furiously. Once he saw Rex, he rushed towards your group, “Captain Rex! Obi-wan sent a transmission that something happened. Krell ordered you to fire on another battalion!?”

You weren’t force sensitive, but the air around Anakin was buzzing with worry and panic. He cared deeply for his men. 

“General,” Rex saluted in greeting, “There’s…a lot you need to know.” He motioned for Anakin to follow to the airbase center.

The Jedi knew something was wrong, judging by his stare. Rex was too tense. too stiff.

You went with him to the tower to answer questions about Krell. It was only right, as you were the one who killed the Jedi. It made sense a Jedi would pass judgment. 

Your lover had only gotten about halfway through his report when you all made it to the top. When Rex explained Krell’s attempted execution of Jesse and Fives, you noticed a growing crack in one of the windows. 

As you and the captain retold events, that crack grew until there was a web of instability through the glass. When the report reached the point of firing on the 212th, the window shattered, sending glass to the ground below.

Anakin’s anger was so thick you could taste it.

His blue eyes were bright with rage and sadness, “You…I should…” He paced, “I should have been here! I should have stopped him!” 

“General…” Your words were quiet. quieter than intended, “No one saw this coming…”

“The council should have!” Anakin shouted, “The council should have known! I should have known! Instead we were so focused on victory…” He stepped back, eyes wide, “How many…How many did he kill with his fucking plans?”

In the light, you swear you could make out unshed tears. 

You cleared your throat deciding to be honest with him, “A little over a third of the 501st is dead.”

“That can’t be!”

 “Kix and I have confirmed the number three times, General.” Your voice was steady, surprisingly since you were so close to breaking down, “A little over one third.” 

Because you failed to save them.

Anakin stumbled back, raising a hand to his face, “Krell…”

“Is dead, General.” Rex answered him, stepping forward, “He was executed after being arrested. His body is in the brig.”

“By who?” 

“Me, General.” You responded, taking the Jedi off guard, “If you see it fit that I’m punished for killing a Jedi-”

“No.” General Skywalker straightened, “No. No one is going to be punished for what happened here,” His voice was trembling. The glass of another window crackled. This time, it was undeniable, there were tears in his eyes.

He cares so much for his men…

The breath the General took was shaky at best, “Rex…I…I want the men to rest. Properly. Once we’re back on Coruscant, the 501st is going on leave, so everyone can recover,” He cleared his throat, trying to get his emotions under control, “I will need to speak with the council, but I swear, I will never leave you all in the hands of a madman ever again.”

Anakin put both his hands on Rex’s shoulders, taking the clone off guard. 

“I promise Rex. This will never happen again. Not while I’m alive.”

Your lover nodded, “I know General. The men appreciate your leadership. No one faults you for what happened.” 

“I still should have been here.” He responded, “Both of you, get some rest. I need to send a message to Obi-wan.”

Wordlessly, the both of you stepped out of the room to the lift. However, before you lowered to the ground, you heard Anakin through the heavy metal doors. 

“How could the council let this happen, Obi-wan!?”

Your lover was staring ahead, brown eyes haunted as the lift lowered to the ground floor. You notice that something in him shifted. As if a switch was just turned off. 

Umbara changed him. It changed you. Most likely changed the 501st too. 

Once outside, Fives and Jesse were waiting, “How’d the General take it?” The ARC trooper asked. 

“Did you see the second broken window?” You snarked bitterly. 

There was no response from your lover. No comment to tell you to hush. You looked over to him, worry washing over you.

Rex looked…empty all of a sudden. His steps seemed unsteady. His expression was blank.

Anakin’s arrival has brought a sense of safety. Everyone knew that the General would fight and defend the clones in his legion. Even die for them, if the situation called for it. With Skywalker here, the 501st captain didn’t need to fight so much. Everyone could finally breathe. Rex included.

Adrenaline crash. He needs rest.

“The General has commanded everyone to rest and recover from…everything that's happened.” You informed the two troopers in front of you, “He’ll speak with the Council, figure out what to do…When we’re able, we’ll be leaving for Coruscant to go on leave.” 

Jesse nodded before perking up, “Captain Rex..?”

“I got him.” You held his arm, beginning to lead him to the barracks, “Get some rest, guys. I got the captain.”

Rex was silent on your small journey to his quarters. He maintained his blank expression, looking calm to an outsider. Those who didn’t know him would think he was handling the situation well. 

But you knew him. He was finally collapsing. 

He’s been awake since landing on Umbara. While everyone else could rest, eat and sleep, he had been working. The captain, as determined and hardworking as he was, was still a human with limits. He was coming out of a several rotation long fight-or-flight episode, and his internal systems were most likely shot. 

Not to mention shock. From death. The betrayal. The trauma. 

Luckily, no one paid you two any mind as your steps lead you to the barracks. Quickly and silently, you opened the door and led Rex inside his small private room. Hopefully with some actual sleep he would come back to himself. 

You’d have to shift your services, you realized. Your focus would need to be on the mental well being of the soldiers. You do have training in psychological health, but you’d have to catch up on the latest research, speak with colleagues, maybe shadow a therapist or two…

That was for the future. Right now, your priority was the clone in front of you. 

“Rex…” You whispered his name, raising your hands to hold his face, “You’ve done everything you can to take care of your brothers. Now let me take care of you.” 

Recognition was in his eyes. He nodded, turning his face to kiss your palm, “I am yours, cyare.” he mumbled lowly. 

The captain would rarely allow himself to be vulnerable. He would always be strong and reliable, never let himself seem weak. Rex was someone who would break rather than bend.

Unless it came to you. 

He gave you his heart. He trusted you with even the darkest most vulnerable parts of his mind and soul. 

You refused to break him.

You took his helmet from his hands and gently placed it on the desk before you began to remove his armor. You started with his arms and chest, slipping the painted and scratched plastoid off his body with ease. 

It didn’t take long for you to have him in his blacks. You looked up at his face meeting his beautiful brown eyes. 

Glossy with tears.

“Oh Rex’ika…” you held his face again, using your thumbs to wipe his tears, “It's over now…”

“My brothers…” He whispered, “So many of my brothers…” His shaky hands were placed over yours. 

“I know…” you responded, pulling him to kiss his forehead, “I know, Rex’ika…” Your arms wrapped around him tightly. You stepped backwards, knees hitting the bed, getting him on the stiff mattress. 

He pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face in your shoulder. You felt the warm wetness of his tears he refused to show anyone else.

You held him, as tightly and as protectively as you could, letting him weep. 

“I got you, love.” you whispered, rocking ever so slightly to calm him, “I got you, Rex.” 

The darkness on Umbara had changed him.  But he wasn’t alone. You’d make sure of that.

[lightasthesun]

Happy Disability Pride fellow spoonies!

As always: mind the tags!!

Push through (until you break) by @guildofscribes

Oneshot | 1,6K | Obi-Wan, Anakin, Cody

Next to Anakin's ease and power within the Force, none of the clones realize just how far General Kenobi is pushing himself to keep up. It's war. And he'll do what he must. Until he can't.

Memories awash with colour by QuickSilverFox3

Chapters: 2 | 4,4K | Cody/Obi-Wan

There is a Spring Festival on Coruscant meant to remember when the city overtook everything and what they had all lost because of it. Obi-Wan and Cody never manage to see it, but they spend the time together regardless.

No words needed by jack_a_rose

Oneshot | 2,8K | Cody/Obi-Wan & the 212th Attack Battalion

“It really doesn’t bother me, my dear,” Obi-Wan lied through his teeth, struggling to sit upright on the bed in the medbay after his most recent injury. His arm was in a sling so he couldn’t sign, and Cody could see the frustration in his eyes with every instinctive move to lift his arm, “I have spent years not hearing, it is as much a part of me as my lightsaber is, it’s part of who I am. Yes, my implant allows me to hear and yes, sometimes I do miss the voices of my loved ones, but I am used to it.”

“But you shouldn’t have to be,” Cody signed as he spoke, letting out a sigh, “you chose to get the implant for a reason, to have the choice to hear. And that choice has been taken from you.” “You do not need to worry about me, dear,” Obi-Wan said, reaching out with his uninjured hand to place it on Cody’s knee.

Cody just shook his head and smiled sadly. “I always worry about you, cyare.”

a quiet tapestry by lux_arcana

Oneshot | 2,9K | Obi-Wan & Quinlan

The war had broken Obi-Wan, but he was alive.

Sometimes that was enough.

(Or: The impact of Obi-Wan's strained relationship with the Force after the end of the Clone Wars)

instead i took care of you by CallToMuster

Oneshot | 2K | Obi-Wan & Service Animal Boga & Ahsoka

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes again, he was on the ground and he couldn’t remember how he got there.

[Or: many decades after the successful ending of the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan is still struggling, in ways both old and new.]

heavy off a golden hue by catboydogma

Series | Cody/Obi-Wan (Rex & Qui-Gon)

“And there are some, like me,” Obi-Wan said, voice softening against his will, “who relapse. And relapse. And… and it never quite leaves. I’m afraid I’m rather susceptible to the kind of emotional distress that the flowers thrive in. There is so much love to be had in the galaxy, and I can’t help but… even when it hurts. Perhaps especially when it hurts. I let it get ahold and it’s chronic at this point. Even if I never loved again, I will always have… this.” He spread a hand over his own chest and already, he could feel the stuttering slip of petals and leaves threatening. He kept his breathing slow and shallow, and the threat passed—for now.

Heliotropism by wobblycompetencies

Oneshot | 15K | Poe/Luke (Rey & Wedge Antilles & Mace)

“Really,” he said, to underline the point, because Poe was looking a little doubtful. “I’m in no rush here. Whatever you want to do, or not do, is fine. I’m just...enjoying spending time with you.”

"I’m not in a rush, exactly, I just want – " Poe normally was able to state his mind with little angst or uncertainty; now, he looked faintly exasperated with himself. "I do want to find out what I still can do. Not all at once, though. And I don't know what it’ll look like, or – or how long it's gonna take for me to get there."

Luke reached for Poe's hand where it was drumming restlessly on the tabletop, and squeezed it reassuringly. "Find out together?"

Ni haa'taylir ner'st o'r gar (I see myself in you) by foreverchangingfandoms

Oneshot | 11K | Obi-Wan & Tholme (Qui-Gon, Quinlan, Bant, Vokara)

On a mission, Obi-Wan is seriously injured in a way that could change his life forever. Whilst healing, he finds help from his friend's Master and the one Jedi who understands how he feels.

look after you by piqu3d

Oneshot | 2.2K | Obi-Wan/Cody & Luke & Leia

He’s sitting in his chair, legs turned irreparably inwards leading to knobby knees covered by a loose blanket. The cannula in his nostrils is slightly crooked on its way to the tank attached to his chair. There are pale purple circles under his eyes, and wrinkles wear at his skin around his eyes and his nose. His hair, stringy with sweat, drapes against his pale forehead. His lopsided smile rests on chapped lips, and his hands are lightly trembling where they hover over his lap.

He’s the most beautiful person Cody’s ever seen.

if it's quite alright by piqu3d

Oneshot | 2.2K | Obi-Wan & Leia (minor codywan)

“Obi-Wan,” Cody’s voice filters from the cracks between Leia’s fingers, and Obi-Wan wants to sob. His heart keens at the phantom touches on his shoulders and around his waist as he listens to Cody’s steady, low voice. “Obi-Wan, it’s alright.”

A forced chuckle rips its way from behind his teeth. “Alright, is it?”

Cody’s response is a buzz over the wireless connection: “It’s going to be. You have Leia. Fulcrum and her charge are alive. Just breathe, Kenobi.”

Not Her by dieFabuliererin

Chapters: 23 | 76k | Ahsoka-centric | Padmé/Anakin (Obi-Wan & Ahsoka & Anakin & Cast)

A white-hot warning flashes through the Force, and Ahsoka jumps to the rooftop without hesitating. Whatever Obi-Wan's reason for not defending himself, she can't allow the sniper to kill him. She wouldn't be able to live with herself.

Incapacitation by whitchry9

Oneshot | 3K | Obi-Wan & Stim (medic oc) & Cody

Neuromuscular incapacitation: the disruption of nerve and muscle function by a targeted electrical stimulus.

Or, Obi Wan gets shocked repeatedly, and the aftereffects are... many.

Speak No Word (Hear No Sound) by TemporaryUniverse

Oneshot | 6K | Obi-Wan & Ahsoka and Anakin and Boga

Ahsoka wasn't sure what she was getting into when she was assigned to Master Kenobi and sent to the front lines. She didn't even know he was deaf.

Being captured together gives them the chance to get to know each other a little more. For better or worse.

dancer in the dark by catboydogma

Chapters: 3 | 10K | Cody/Obi-Wan & Dooku & Anakin

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan said. “Anakin, what’s Bly’s last name?” Anakin blue-screened for a moment. “Uh…”

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan said again, sliding ungracefully off the boards with a thump and putting his back to the door. “Is that—tell me that’s not Bly’s father, Anakin.” Good God, he’d never live this down.

“No,” Anakin said after a moment squinting first at the door, then Obi-Wan. A tangled mess of sound was echoing through the room as the newcomers greeted Bly and vice versa, all deep voices with light accenting—Māori, Obi-Wan remembered, slightly giddy. It was a Māori accent, because—“That’s his brother,” Anakin told Obi-Wan. “Cody—”

“Cody Fett,” Obi-Wan said, clutching his cup a little tighter and steadfastly refusing to look over his shoulder. “He’s brothers with Cody Fett, former Olympic gold medalist and—oh, God.“

[aspentreewrites]

and when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot

Chapter 3

Pairings: Codywan

Tags/Warnings: (for current arc) slow burn, fake dating, only one bed, general angst and pining, realising feelings, Cody is having a breakdown, AO3 rating is E for future chapters

Link to read on AO3 here!

Description:

The truth of the matter burrows deep into Cody’s skin, settling into the home it’s long-since made for itself there, nestled tightly amongst the other secrets he harbours that are too shameful to ever speak aloud.

He digs his fingers into his temples, breathing in heavy lungfuls of the steam-drenched air as if it might reverse the realisation that now weighs upon his heart like lead.

This is no longer just some passing infatuation.

He’s in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

(or: an account of the relationship between one Marshal Commander and his General from in the midst of a war.)

✷✷✷✷✷

A/N: Oh, Cody, we're really in it now. Happy holidays! It's been a tough end to the year, but everyone who's been so kind and left such lovely comments on here and on my AO3 have really been keeping me going :') thank you so much for reading so far!

As always, thank you so much to @whenyourfavouritedies (their AO3 link here) for beta reading!

Wordcount: 8.9k

Prev chapters: 1, 2

✷✷✷✷✷

The General and the Commander get a good deal of work done together that evening.

Their first order of business is checking in with Gregor about the state of the files they’d sent across - it seems they’re encoded, which isn’t much of a surprise, and will take a little while to fully decipher. A few select members of the 212th who can be trusted to keep quiet are already on it, and expect to have it cracked within the week.

Next comes the important affair of discussing the follow-up steps of the mission, particularly how they’re going to proceed with information gathering after facing Barrek directly, in a… less than subtle encounter. They aren’t able to come to a definite conclusion this evening.

Finally, they once more go over their guesses on what the deal they’re here to disrupt is actually likely to be. Knowing that it’ll be weapons related helps narrow it down, but not by much.

They trade dry comments about the state of things, about how much they’re already looking forward to getting back to normality once this is over. Obi-Wan makes a few comments about the state of the room’s provided caf machine - though he’s quick to mention that it’s still above the standard of some of the GAR-supplied requisitions.

The one thing they don’t speak of, is the kiss. 

A few times throughout the night the odd, thick tension rears its head. Cody catches the Jedi’s eyes lingering on him with a strange expression more than once, always glancing away when their gazes meet. 

Each time, it makes Cody wince. White, hot shame crawls across his skin before he has the time to shove it down, prickling beneath his collar. Cody knows - Force, how he knows - that Obi-Wan sensed more than he should have, earlier. To call it ‘mortifying’ would be an understatement.

It’ll pass, he tells himself. A lapse of judgement and concentration that he can make up for by performing professionally and exceptionally in the field, as often as he can from this point onwards. 

With any luck, his General will have pity on him and forget about the whole thing.

Rather robotically, Cody finds himself getting ready for bed that night. He goes through the motions of getting changed, all the while trying very, very hard to not think back to the feeling of Obi-Wan’s mouth on his. 

Stars above, he’s never been kissed so carefully, so gently. 

Because it wasn’t real, the voice in his head reminds him, sounding particularly bitter. Because it was a strictly professional necessity.

The thought makes his stomach twist, his heart aching with a longing that he knows, intrinsically, will be incredibly tricky to sate. It’s one thing to have feelings for someone, knowing they can never be acted upon… it’s another thing entirely to experience a taste of what could be, if only everything were different.

If not for the fact that Cody is certain that it’s unrequited, if not for the war…

Cody can’t help but let out a heavy sigh. If not for the war, he wouldn’t exist at all. The reminder is a lead weight upon his soul, albeit an old and familiar one. 

He’s a man whose hands were engineered to be bloody, he’s come to be at peace with that.

Despite it all, sometimes he can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be nat-born. To exist for the sole purpose of living, not for taking life.

To be someone that could be allowed to love, and be loved in return.

Perhaps that version of Cody, unburdened by the war and the weight of expectation, would have the courage to go after the things he wants.

To tell Obi-Wan how he feels…

Cody wrinkles his nose. He’s being far too sentimental and dramatic over something that doesn’t need to be such a big deal. They’re just… feelings. He can live with that.

The two men settle in to attempt sleep that night, firmly keeping to their opposite sides of the bed. An unspoken rift of tension has opened up between them, and Cody doesn’t quite know where to start in broaching it. 

Perhaps the morning will bring clarity. It usually does.

With a deep exhale, the Commander closes his eyes, willing himself to shut off his mind and rest. 

The moons have risen high enough in the sky by now that their light permeates gently through the thin curtains of the hotel room, creating a uniquely soothing atmosphere. 

Cody, like most of the vode, is far more used to the artificial darkness of a sleeping pod than natural moonlight. Some of his brothers struggle to relax under the light of the real stars, finding it far too bright, but never him. In his mind, no fluorescent recreation is ever a substitute for the real thing.

He focuses on that light, on the repetitious sound of waves lapping at the shore outside, and allows himself to let go, as much as he is able.

When the morning comes, Cody isn’t afforded the luxury of a gentle awakening.

Rather, the sound of a scream startles him into consciousness. His hand moves without deliberate input, closing around the blaster on his nightstand even before his eyes have fully opened. When they do, his gaze is sharp, deadly - a trained killer, alert and hunting for the enemy. 

… The enemy that appears to be a distressed child outside who’d dropped their ice cream. 

With a slow exhale, Cody’s grip on the pistol loosens, setting it back down as his shoulders slump, just a little. 

He glances around the room as his heart rate calms, his eyes settling on the source of the sound - the open balcony door, much wider than they’d left it last night. That’s odd.

His gaze automatically shifts to Obi-Wan in concern - or, rather, where Obi-Wan should be. Instead, he finds himself staring at an empty side of the bed. 

The Jedi being up before him explains the balcony being open at least, though Cody can’t deny that the smallest flicker of disappointment that wells up within him at the sight. 

He tamps it down swiftly.

Cody has kicked himself into his normal alertness, showered and dressed for the day by the time the Obi-Wan returns. The other man is as calm and steady as he always seems to be, balancing two bowls in the crook of one arm and two mugs of caf in another as he steps through the threshold of their room. 

For the briefest of moments, Cody stills, quietly remembering that he doesn’t quite know how to approach today. 

And then Obi-Wan turns to face the door behind him with a scrunched brow, and any hesitation in Cody is immediately overridden by the sight of his general in need of rescue.

“Had a trip to find breakfast?” he finds the words to ask, heading over to offer aid for the precarious crockery situation. Obi-Wan hums appreciatively in response, gratefully allowing the other man to take a bowl and both mugs from him, slipping the door closed with his now-free hand.

“Thank you. Yes, I bought some fruit from the kitchens downstairs. They were supposed to be complementary, apparently, but they still somehow weaseled some credits from me. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Ah, so they’re pretending that nothing happened last night. Cody finds himself considerably relieved - he can work with that.

“Beats ration bars,” he returns with a shrug, eyeing the offerings with cautious interest. Even if the rest of the food here was definitely over-complicated and over-priced, they surely couldn’t go too wrong with preparing fruit. He sets the mugs on the sideboard to better investigate.

“... How did they get you to give them money?”

Obi-Wan grimaces. “The staff said it was a ‘charitable donation’.”

Cody can’t help the way his mouth twitches into a smirk..

“Uh-huh.”

“... To go towards their Life Day bonuses.”

“There it is.”

Obi-Wan frowns, looking defensive even as he pops a grape into his mouth. 

“If they say it’s for charity, I can’t very well go ignoring their request,” he protests, waving a hand in front of him as if to illustrate his point. “And they’re likely being underpaid anyway, so it’s simply good manners–”

Cody snickers, shaking his head and giving his Jedi a fond grin. “Mm, no, absolutely,” he agrees, a hint of teasing in his tone. “Which reminds me, sir, I have a bridge to sell you on Corellia, actually–”

Obi-Wan does his best to not look impressed, though his eyes betray him as they always do, lighting up in mirth. “Oh, hush, you.”

Cody can’t hide his amusement, even as he attempts an imploring expression.  “It really is a fantastic piece of architecture, though. And at such a reasonable price…”

He trails off as he sees the fond exasperation painting Obi-Wan’s features. It’s one of the other man’s signature countenances, and one he’s been on the receiving end of many times over the years. He doubts he’ll ever get sick of it.

“So,” the Jedi starts pointedly, steering the conversation to more practical topics. “The finalised agenda for today.”

Cody nods, taking a bite of a piece of fruit as his expression turns more serious. It’s one he’d seen growing on the native trees here during his excursions through the grounds yesterday - bright pink and not dissimilar to an apple, but decidedly more sour. He thinks he likes it. 

“Right. We’re hoping to intercept Barrek at 1030 hours,” he recites easily, shrugging slightly at the Jedi’s request to go over all of this again.

Cody is a man who prides himself on his strategic prowess - it’s entirely good practice for he and Obi-Wan to cover the mission details whenever they have downtime, he’s aware of this.

… All the same, this isn’t a battlemap with three chokepoints, a hundred enemies, and countless potential flanking positions to watch out for. This linear-style of plan is as simple as it gets.

“While he’s booked a slot on the local tour,” Obi-Wan adds, stroking a hand over his beard in thought. Cody’s eyes track the movement idly. 

“For some reason.”

The Jedi hums. “It seems as if he’s treating every moment that he’s not involved in intergalactic crime as a legitimate holiday.”

Cody huffs at the thought. It doesn’t seem particularly likely to him that someone preparing to take down the Republic would be so relaxed as to go around sightseeing like a normal tourist - but then again, he supposes he’s not really got an insider look on the proclivities of terrorists. 

“Perhaps,” he responds, though his tone is doubtful. “So we tag along on the tour to watch Barrek, see if he tries to slip away, or takes any extra notice in concealed coves or hideaways. What comes after that…?”

Obi-Wan finishes off his bowl of fruit, placing down the dish on a small side table. “Lunch, I suppose,” he says evenly, checking the chrono on his wrist.

Now it’s Cody’s turn for exasperation.

“I meant with Barrek,” he clarifies. He reaches for a cup, taking a sip of his caf. The warmth of the mug in his hands is a grounding sensation, the same here as it always is during their morning meetings, wherever they may happen. It’s a pleasant constant to be drawn back to.

“Well, I imagine he’ll be eating lunch too,” Obi-Wan muses, “perhaps we might be able to do so together, hm?”

Cody raises a brow.

“You’re certain that’s wise? Won’t he remember, well… everything from last night?”

Obi-Wan smiles. “I daresay I’m counting on it, Commander.”

Now that catches Cody’s attention. He gestures for Obi-Wan to continue, and the Jedi steeples his fingers together, a plan already put together in full, it seems.

“We introduce ourselves with an apology for our drunken impropriety last night, and tell him that we recognise him from previous Pyke dealings. He’ll be irritated by us, but intrigued. Play up the oblivious angle and he might just spill something about the deal tonight.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Cody’s brow pinches in a frown, already going over the thousands of ways that such a direct ploy might backfire. “Wouldn’t announcing our intentions like that be an incredibly suspicious move?”

Obi-Wan shrugs, clearly an old hand at this social game by now.

“Then he writes us off as oblivious and unsubtle smugglers - they’re a credit a dozen in a system like this. A spy would never be quite so direct.” He finishes off his own mug of caf, glancing at Cody with a sly twinkle in his eye.

“Never,” Obi-Wan starts, his tone indicative of an incoming lesson, “underestimate the value of someone believing you to be a harmless fool.”

Cody can’t help but chuckle. “That’s usually Skywalker’s gambit, as I recall.”

“And just who do you think he learned it from?” Obi-Wan responds lightly, giving Cody a friendly pat on the shoulder. The Jedi taps his chrono, before turning to grab his coat from the nearby hook. “Now, we’d best be off, my dear. I believe we have a tour to catch.”

Cody nods, rolling his shoulders as he slips on his own jacket. Once more into the fray by each other’s side. 

The lingering nervousness of the need to uphold his alias remains, though with the success of last night, Cody has to say his confidence has grown, just a little.

He offers Obi-Wan a small smile as they step out into the corridor, offering him his arm to take in a moment of boldness. 

He knows he probably shouldn't indulge like this, and it'll likely only serve to make his predicament worse, but he can't find it in himself to care as he feels Obi-Wan's arm slip into his own, the Jedi's warmth steady and reassuring.

“It seems we do.”

______________________________

The tour of the curated grounds outside of the hotel ends up being as much of a waste of time as the both of them had suspected - not that they’re here to sightsee, but the Jedi and Commander still can’t help but make muttered comments to one another under their breaths with every egregious claim made by their guide.

The worker giving the tour has a veritable litany of diplomatically worded stock phrases about the history of the planet that they cycle though, obscuring the planet’s history as a corporate bidding ground and making it sound more like a ‘paradise’ that happened to be discovered by their company’s founder. The word ‘colonisation’, in particular, is very carefully tiptoed around.

At least some of the views are worth appreciating.

From their position at the back of the group, they maintain a watchful eye on Barrek, noting anything he seems to be paying particular attention to, any moment that could possibly give him means to slip away unnoticed.

… And Cody has to begrudgingly admit that it does, in fact, seem like the man is here to enjoy himself - it looks like he’s genuinely interested in the things the tour guide is saying. Force knows why.

As the event is wrapping up and the group is beginning to disperse, the two men share a glance and a subtle nod. Now or never.

Obi-Wan and Cody make their pre-planned approach, catching up to their target before he can disappear out of their sight. The Jedi clears his throat.

“Atashe Barrek?”

The Rodian’s shoulders stiffen, and the man turns, eyeing the two warily. Obi-Wan puts on a bright, easy grin, offering a friendly wave as he steps over. “It’s Renne. From that party for the Syndicate, back on Oba Diah? I knew I recognised you when we talked last night!”

Bold, bold move. Barrek lurches forwards as Obi-Wan says just the right amount of ‘too much’, the Rodian’s hand reaching out to grasp him by the lapel of his coat. Cody tenses, but taking his cue from his General, doesn’t move to intercept the attack. Still, he feels his shoulders draw up, body coiled like a spring even as he tries not to show it.

“Keep. Your voice. Down,” Barrek hisses, his fist tightening in the fabric. Cody makes note of the four different ways he could break the Rodian’s wrist from this position if things get ugly, his entire focus narrowed down to the threat currently being presented. It’s a nice fantasy, if nothing else - the sight of someone manhandling the Jedi like this irks him, and he itches to act.

Obi-Wan can handle himself, Cody knows this, but it’s his job above all else to handle things for him so he doesn’t have to. 

During a particularly intense confrontation, Ventress had once referred to him as Kenobi’s trained attack dog. It was meant to be a disparaging comment, he’s sure, something intended to deny him of his agency - Obi-Wan’s eyes had flashed with something uncharacteristically dangerous at the comparison -  but in the moment, Cody couldn’t find it in himself to disagree.

So he’s an attack dog, then - good. Obi-Wan is his charge, and it’s his duty to go down fighting with bloodied claws and teeth, ensuring that he takes the hits in the other man’s place. 

The small thrill he gets from the thought is probably not wholly borne from the loyalty trained into him since decanting - though Cody finds it easier to pretend that’s all that it is.

There’s no Commander Cody without a General Kenobi to protect. It’s simply the way of the Galaxy.

The Jedi placidly smiles as Barrek’s grip loosens and eventually lets go, Cody’s hackles lowering reluctantly as he does so. A small, irrational part of him almost wanted the Rodian to push, just for an excuse to put him in his place. It would certainly be more comfortable than playing nice.

“Ah, of course, of course. Secrecy, got it,” Obi-Wan murmurs, the vacant grin still plastered on his face as he taps the side of his nose conspiratorially.

Cody forces on a smile too, though his gaze is probably still a little too sharp on the man who’s far too comfortable with putting his hands on Obi-Wan. 

He sucks in a quiet breath as he feels a foreign, yet soothing rush of calm entering his mind, no doubt courtesy of his Jedi sensing the tension that runs through him. 

Cody allows it to seep into him, relaxing his shoulders and reminding himself that even without their usual access to their weapons, they still have the advantage here. His eyes meet Obi-Wan’s for the briefest of moments, silently thanking him for the assist.

Barrek takes a step back to brush himself off, though he’s still clearly irritated. He glances around rather conspicuously to check no one else is listening in, before shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Good. Who are you and why do you know me?” he growls, voice low.

Obi-Wan blinks, managing an incredibly convincing look of offense. “You don’t remember? Really, Atashe, I would have thought you would.” 

At Barrek’s ensuing blank stare, he elaborates, “Renne and Vidarr Emerin. We were at the Pyke Palace - the soiree last year? We were speaking to Lom himself when you were passing, and I said–”

At the mention of the leader of the Syndicate, Barrek pales. 

Cody holds his breath. If their words are being believed here, then Obi-Wan has made them out to potentially be incredibly important. This could all come tumbling down terrifyingly easily.

“Right– right,” Barrek interrupts, nodding vigorously. “I, ah– I remember now,” he lies. “Yes, at the, uh, mid-year party, right? I had drunk a lot, so that was why I didn’t immediately…” he trails off, eyes darting between them, evidently trying to put together pieces of a puzzle, unaware that the two men in front of him are playing chess instead.

“Of course, of course,” Obi-Wan returns brightly, clapping a hand on Barrek’s shoulder. “Now, you were on your way to the buffet before I interrupted you, right? How about we join you for lunch?” 

The Rodian isn’t quite as adept at concealing his grimace as Cody imagines he intended to be.

“I… already arranged for company,” he says with a frown, his discomfort palpable. Obi-Wan’s smile grows brighter, clasping his hands together in delight. 

“Well, more colleagues to meet sounds perfect! Lead the way.”

There’s not really much Barrek can do with that level of social ineptitude. As frustrated as he clearly is, Obi-Wan has done a skilful job of getting across that ‘Renne’ does run in the same circles as him, and the Rodian has no way of knowing how important they are to the Pykes, meaning he has to play nice just in case.

Barrek blinks, bewildered, not quite realising that he’s been expertly backed into a corner.

“... Uh, fine. It’s… Yeah, this way.” 

Cody and Obi-Wan share a glance behind the Rodian’s back as he begrudgingly gestures for them to follow him inside. The Jedi has a distinctive triumphant gleam in his eye, but Cody suspects it’s a little too early to call victory just yet.

The real work starts now.

______________________________

Barrek leads the two of them through to a small table at the resort’s pop-up buffet for today’s lunch, awkwardly introducing the two of them to an apparent girlfriend, a Togrutan woman named Lia. 

It’s admittedly strange that their intelligence hadn’t mentioned her at all, and from Cody’s memory, there was no hint of a second person staying in Barrek’s hotel room last night. Not enough reason to outright be suspicious, but definitely something to keep track of.

Despite his reservations, he offers her what he hopes is an easy smile as they settle down to eat.

Obi-Wan takes a seat across from Barrek, wasting no time in starting conversation about their ‘mutual’ line of work. 

Cody is content to let the Jedi take the lead in conversation, his eyes tracking the lunch hall around them as subtly as he can. It’s not particularly busy in here right now, but they’re not exactly in the most secluded of spots… if someone were to attempt to listen in, they’d find it all too easy.

He’s startled out of his thoughts by Lia reaching across the table and tapping him lightly on the arm.

“The two of you are together, then?” she asks with a smile, inclining her head towards Obi-Wan.

It takes Cody a moment to register what she’s asking. Ah. Here they go. Time to actually play the role he’s been preparing for for the past few weeks.

He glances to where Obi-Wan is still very much engaged in conversation with Barrek, wincing internally. Looks like he’s on his own.

“Ah, yeah,” he replies, finding a tone that feels too light and airy to be natural to him. “Married, actually,” he adds, gesturing to the band on his ring finger. 

Lia seems to be expecting him to say something else in the ensuing pause, so he offers a small smile. “We’re… here on our anniversary.” 

Lia actually sighs at that, resting her head on her hand and smiling dreamily.

“Oh, how sweet. I figured it must have been a special occasion for the two of you,” she practically coos. Cody raises a brow.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I saw you the other night. The two of you are just so…” she shrugs, eyes sparkling. “... In love, really.” She leans in, giving him a playfully conspiratorial nudge. “I wish Barrek would look at me like that.”

Cody lets out a strangled laugh, the sound more one of a desperate need to cover his surprise than anything else. He takes a sip of his drink, trying to stall out the need for a response. How had they been looking at each other, exactly?

“I, uh, I suppose we got lucky,” he manages to say after a moment, hearing the way his voice comes out a tiny bit strained, though luckily Lia doesn’t seem to pick up on it. Keep talking, Cody, Vidarr would not shut down on this topic, he reminds himself, trying to keep his calm as much as possible. “Closest thing to soulmates someone could get, I’d say.”

“Yeah?” Lia prompts, twirling the end of one of her lek around her finger. She’s enraptured, which Cody is grateful for, because it means he’s being believable enough - but it’s also absolutely terrible, because it means he’s going to have to improvise more.

“Well, y’know…” Cody starts, glancing sidelong to Obi-Wan, who’s currently leant back against the chair lazily as he talks shop with Barrek. He finds a strange sense of sureness wash over him as he takes a moment to just… look. Talking about being partners with someone. He thinks he can do that. He turns back to Lia with another smile, this one more certain than his previous attempts.

“We just… fit, I suppose,” he says with a shrug, his voice soft, thoughtful. “A good duo. Not just the, uh… romantic stuff. We’re close friends, allies first and foremost.”

He pauses to take another sip of his drink, feeling his heart ache slightly, tugged on by some invisible (but far too familiar), force. For once, he thinks, it could be helpful. He doesn’t push it away.

“It’s what makes it so special, you know? I know there’s nothing I can go through that he wouldn’t have my back for, and he feels the same about me. It’s…” Cody looks down at the band on his finger, his expression turning more pensive. “It’s only been a few years, but I can’t imagine anyone else being by my side. Being that… primary person that I turn to when I need advice, or… just company, really.”

He falls quiet for a moment, reflecting on the truth of the words. How much of this is him trying to play as Vidarr, and how much is real? It’s all tangled up in his mind, an inextricable knot of uncertainty.

“... That’s love,” Lia responds softly, giving him a warm smile.

Cody blinks. “Is it? I–” he meets Lia’s gaze again, scrambling to not blow his cover. “It– it is, I mean. Love.” 

He lets out a steadying breath, focusing on making a recovery, and not on the way his heart has picked up its pace violently.

Is that what love is?

 “I think I just forget that not everyone has something like this,” he says, forcing on the smile again. “It becomes so normal after a while. Background noise.”

Lia offers him a wry smile, her eyes landing on Barrek briefly, something like sadness etched there for the briefest of moments.

“Would that we all could be so fortunate,” she murmurs, her finger idly tracing the rim of her glass.

She smiles something bright and fake as Barrek turns back to face her, slinging an arm over the back of her chair.

“Ready to go, babe,” the Rodian announces, and the two ‘couples’ stand from the table, bidding their goodbyes. Obi-Wan goes in for a hug, which Barrek uncomfortably rebuffs.

‘It’s not laying it on too thick if it works’, Obi-Wan had told Cody earlier, blatantly enjoying the idea of playing the fool a little too much.

The man was right, Cody concedes, watching the way Barrek rolls his eyes as soon as they think they’re out of sight. ‘Renne’ seems to have been relegated to ‘harmless idiot’ status in the Rodian’s eyes, just as they’d planned.

Obi-Wan takes Cody’s arm once again as they head outside. The Commander forces down the distracting, odd feeling in his chest that has been lingering from the conversation with Lia, pushing it away to deal with later. Much, much later, if he has anything to say about it. His deathbed, perhaps, when he’s old and only has half of his memories left anyway.

… Although, Cody imagines he’s kidding himself with the notion that he’ll get to live that long in the first place.

“Success?” he asks the Jedi, attempting to shake off his persistent discomfort as the two head to the resort’s gardens to speak privately.

Obi-Wan nods. “He was incredibly resistant to saying more than he needed to, but all the same…” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, looking considerably self-satisfied. “They’ll be meeting at 9:30pm tomorrow. I’m not certain where, but we can trail Barrek if we’re careful.”

Cody lets out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“I don’t know why I was worried. Good job.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “It was purely luck, I assure you, but I appreciate it nevertheless.”

They pause for a moment to watch as a sparrow flutters overhead to land at a nearby birdfeeder. A small moment of peace after the emotional chaos of the last twenty minutes.

Beside him, Obi-Wan’s head tilts a little, a warm expression gracing his features.

“And you did excellently, too. Not that I could pay attention to the entirety of your conversation, but it looked like you dealt with Lia confidently,” he compliments. Watching Cody’s response carefully, he adds, “I do not, of course, wish to patronise. I only mention it as I knew you were nervous about the ordeal.”

Cody feels himself flush a little under the praise. He can take commendations about his prowess in battle - he knows he’s good at that - but it always feels harder, somehow, when it’s something he’s unsure about.

“Thank you, Obi-Wan,” he murmurs, eyes still tracking the small bird ahead of them.

Obi-Wan nods, and the two fall into a companionable silence.

Cody allows himself a brief reprieve from the stress of the last hour, quietly letting himself just enjoy the moment in the here and now. A gentle scent from the flowerbeds around them diffuses through the air, the sunlight peeking through the sheet of clouds above to softly make itself known.

Obi-Wan turns to fix him with a faux-earnest look, his eyes twinkling with what can only be described as mischief. 

“Though, speaking of that chat you had… Soulmates, are we?” He asks innocently.

… Well. Cody was enjoying the moment. He feels his cheeks flush even brighter.

“Not. Another. Word,” he mutters, frowning over at the other man. Obi-Wan simply grins in return.

“No? Not one?” he presses, clearly delighting in the huff of annoyance that draws from his Commander.

“You’re incorrigible,” Cody grumbles. “I’m not going to encourage it, I know you too well.”

Obi-Wan hums at that, expression softening ever so slightly to reveal a genuine affection underneath his smirk. He gently nudges the Commander’s shoulder with his own, glancing back to the resort behind them.

“You certainly do, my dear. Come, we should be getting back to get our further agenda in order.”

Cody sighs, unable to keep from returning the fond smile.

“Right behind you. As always.”

______________________________

Obi-Wan had always been good at flirting.

Flirting, flirting, flirting, with anything that moves, anything that breathes.

He particularly has an aptitude for flirting with the enemy.

That doesn’t mean that Cody is good at listening to him do it.

The Commander sighs, fiddling with his comm-unit to give him something to occupy his hands with, focusing on getting the signal as clear as possible.It’s fairly clean already, but he’s desperate for something to do.

The smooth tones of his General drift out from the small device, serving to make the crease of his brow deepen.

“What’s gotten into you?” Rex asks from beside him, glancing sidelong at his oldest friend. 

Cody grumbles under his breath, keeping his attention on the damn comm-unit. The tiny thing is vexing him more than it probably should. 

For a brief moment, he fantasises about crushing it.

“Nothing,” he responds irritably. 

Even through his vod’s helmet, he can practically feel the raised brow this earns him. 

“Nothing,” Rex repeats, sounding skeptical. “Sure.”

The two drift into a silence once more, keeping an ear to the unfortunate conversation they’re listening in on over the comms. Once General Kenobi says the codephrase, the 212th are going to rush in, the 501st backing them up.

It’s just… taking longer than they expected.

Stars, why can’t they just get on with it? The Commander feels twitchier than usual, some unknown force making his usually endless patience wear thin. 

His General throws out a casual line about the target’s eyes pleasantly matching the shirt they chose, and Cody rolls his eyes. At this rate, his scowl will be permanently etched onto his features. 

Rex once again notices his tension.

“He’s just stalling until Skywalker arrives,” the Captain tries, but it doesn’t do anything to abate Cody’s prickly mien. 

“Then he should get there faster,” Cody huffs, trying not to let the words come out in as much of a snap as they seem to want to. He’s aware he’s being irrational, but he can’t seem to shake it off.

Rex doesn’t respond. 

After Skywalker comms in to inform them that he’d be at least another ten minutes (because of course he will be, Cody thinks to himself), the two hunker down in their small, temporary bunker (if it can even be called that - it’s more of an empty shack that they’d squeezed themselves into to keep out of sight while awaiting their next orders). Rex removes his helmet with a sigh, running through a routine check of his blasters to give himself something to do in the meantime.

A soft, charming laugh fills the room, a little fuzzy from the distortion of the comm signal. “You’re too much, truly. But I would be lying if I said it doesn’t intrigue me,” Obi-Wan murmurs - or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say he purrs. 

Either way, it irks Cody considerably, making his chest feel oddly tight. He can clearly imagine the look on the Jedi’s face as he speaks, that sultry glint in his eye that comes to him so easily when he’s making eyes at the enemy.

“... It’s not about the mission.” 

What? Cody startles as Rex breaks the silence, having apparently been watching him carefully for the last few minutes. Cody looks back at his vod like he’s grown a second head.

“Of course it’s about the mission,” he objects, absolutely baffled by his suggestion. “We’re wasting precious time, and the men are sitting ducks out here. I’d rather not do most of this firefight after sundown–”

“Sure, Codes, but difficult odds never phase you this much,” Rex counters, raising a brow.  He continues to watch Cody, his gaze searching for Force knows what. The Commander is suddenly very grateful he never took his own helmet off. 

“In fact,” the Captain presses, “I’ve never known you to be so off your game in the field. You usually do best when you’re backed into a corner. So it’s not about the mission.”

Cody doesn’t really know how to respond. He doesn’t particularly want to delve into all of the reasons behind his uncharacteristic distractions today.

“Just drop it, Rex’ika,” he insists, his voice a little weary. “I’m just feeling a little off today. It’ll pass.” 

Something like sympathetic understanding crosses Rex’s features. Cody watches him hesitantly try to find his next words. 

“... Is it about what happened on Cato Neimoidia a few weeks ago?” he asks. “How’ve you been sleeping since then?” 

Cody shakes his head quickly. “No, I– I’m fine. I’m sleeping fine.” Or - as fine as a man whose life has been spent at war is capable of sleeping, but Rex knows well enough what he means. His last mission had been… messy, to put it lightly, but he’s dealt with worse. He can compartmentalise.

His brother looks a little relieved to hear that, though Cody can tell he still wants to push.

Another comment from Obi-Wan that implies he and the target are imminently about to go home with one another makes its way through the space, and Cody grumbles quietly under his breath. Something seems to click for the Captain. Something that seems to amuse him greatly.

“... Ah,” Rex says. The corner of his mouth twitches up into a smirk. Cody wishes it didn’t do that.

“What?” he responds, tone clipped and making it clear that he is absolutely not in the mood for whatever the other man is about to come out with.

“Just connecting some dots.” If Rex looked any more smug right now, Cody might consider walking right out of the shack and eating his blaster - it would ultimately be more dignified than sitting through this inevitable conversation.

He does not want to talk about this, not now, not ever.

“Rex…” he murmurs lowly, a clear warning bleeding into his tone.

A warning that, of course, goes unheeded.

“You’d be unfazed trying to take down a kriffing rancor. And jealousy is what throws you off?”

If looks could kill, the 501st would need to hire a new Captain after this.

“I’m not jealous,” Cody rebuts without hesitation. He spoke too quickly, he knows immediately from the look on his brother’s face. Damn it all.

“No? Then why is every flirt he makes causing you to sound like Fox on that day the caf supplies ran out?” Rex looks practically triumphant in his discovery. “Oh, Force. That also must be why you got all touchy when that Twi’lek came onto Kenobi that time in 79’s. I thought it was about the other guy, but it wasn’t, was it?”

Cody sputters for a moment, trying to come up with a viable defense. 

“That’s not– I–”

As far as Rex is concerned, that’s a veritable confession. He offers his friend a wide grin, returning his focus to the comms.

“Your secret’s safe with me, ori’vod. I won’t tell a soul,” he says, far too brightly for Cody’s liking.

Cody considers continuing to argue, but he knows that it’s a lost cause. With a heavy sigh, he deflates, slouching in his chair.  

“If you were one of my men, I’d have you court-martialed for insubordination,” he mutters darkly, folding his arms across his chest.

“I’ll add that to the extensive list of reasons I’m glad I’m not one of your men, then,” Rex returns easily, giving Cody a playful nudge.

The Commander snorts, shaking his head. A wry smile finds its way onto his face, despite everything.

“Yeah, yeah. I still outrank you.”

The comm crackles with murmurs of conversation, and the two share an alarmed look. The codephrase.

“I’ll harass you about it later,” Rex chuckles, pulling on his helmet as the two rush out of the bunker.

“Just worry about surviving long enough to do that first, vod.” Cody mutters. “I could still shoot you in the back before this is all over.”

His brother only laughs.

______________________________

With the knowledge that the deal was set to be happening the following evening, the Jedi and Commander had spent the rest of their day at a fairly leisurely pace. After much persuasion, Cody had even let Obi-Wan buy a dinner for them both.

(“We usually split at Dex’s,” Cody had protested, not wanting the Jedi to pay out of pocket for such an expensive outing. He was aware that Obi-Wan had access to much more money than he did, but it was the principle of the thing.

“Yes, but I want to do something nice for you,” Obi-Wan insisted, gently placing a hand on Cody’s, staying his hand from reaching for his wallet. “I asked you to join me here on the mission in the first place, so let me repay you in kind.”

Cody had raised a brow at that. “I’ll be getting paid by the Republic for agreeing to come, regardless.”

Obi-Wan’s expression didn’t falter. “You might be, yes, but not nearly enough. Allow me this, please.”

Cody always had been bad at denying him when he used that tone.)

They’d both fallen asleep quickly that night, having stayed up to trade stories - a familiar ritual from when they first began working late together to get their mountains of paperwork turned in on time.

Obi-Wan tells Cody of planets he’d visited before the war, and promises to take his Commander to see some of them once this is all over - to give him the holiday and time off that the Jedi says he deserves. Cody regales his Jedi with tales of his childhood on Kamino, telling him of the books Shaak-Ti had helped smuggle to them to help the tubies sleep at night.

The following morning brings with it a quiet sort of strangeness.

Something urgent, but not necessarily dangerous, tugs at the edge of Cody’s conscious mind, gently drawing him to wakefulness.

He’s warm, warmer than he’d usually like to be, and he can’t quite shake the feeling that there’s something important that he needs to be paying attention to.

He dozes, trying to figure out what, if anything, is different about today.  

Obi-Wan lets out a soft murmur behind him in his sleep, pressing his nose closer against Cody’s back and– 

Oh.

Well, that would certainly explain the warmth.

Cody doesn’t move, doesn’t even dare breathe as his mind works overtime to process the situation. 

Obi-Wan is pressed directly behind him, one of his arms slung lazily over his torso. For want of a better word (and Cody is desperately searching for one), the Jedi is… holding him.

An explosion of conflicting emotions bubble in Cody’s chest, his mind still far too fogged from sleep to make sense of any of it.

With each breath from Obi-Wan, Cody can feel the rise and fall of his chest against his back, and in a brief moment of delirium, he finds himself wishing that he’d forgone his undershirt too, just to feel the touch of skin against skin.

It’s a thought he immediately admonishes himself for, wondering just where, exactly, he’d gained the audacity to think such an unprofessional and objectifying thing about his commanding kriffing officer. 

Cody’s breath grows progressively more shallow as he continues to draw a blank. How had this even happened? Cody is firmly stationed on his own side of the bed, meaning it was the Jedi who had to have shuffled over - but that means nothing. He’s asleep, and pressing close is a normal sleeping instinct when you’re in bed with someone else. Right? Perhaps Obi-Wan was just cold - though, that would hardly make sense, given that they’re on a tropical kriffing island.

Cody’s face, he’s sure, is flushing deeply, his heart hammering against his ribs at the contact. It’s fine. This… can be fine, and not existentially mortifying - as long as he extricates himself from the hold before Obi-Wan wakes up.

He doesn’t even want to imagine how awkward this would be if the other man was aware of what was happening.

He tries a very, very gentle shuffle towards the edge of the bed, but Obi-Wan lets out a quiet groan of protest in his sleep, curling himself around the clone even tighter.

Cody desperately tries to ignore the way that the sound goes straight to his groin.

Shit, shit, shit. 

He doesn’t see another solution, though he wishes he did. Cody once again shifts, a little more firmly now, peeling Obi-Wan’s arm off from him as carefully as possible.

The second he sees a hint of freedom, the Commander bolts, rolling out of bed and rushing to the ‘fresher. 

His Jedi, thank every star in the sky, does not seem to stir.

Safe inside the refresher, with the door locked behind him and his mind buzzing, Cody thinks faintly that his legs might actually give out under him.

Between the feeling of Obi-Wan pressed close against his back, and Lia’s words from yesterday still unsettling him, he feels like he’s losing his mind.

It all adds up to a great cacophony in his head, one Cody has absolutely no idea what to begin to do with. It’s too loud, too insistent, and his heart is still fluttering like a caged bird attempting escape.

A shower, he decides, is a good first step. He could probably do with a shower.

Shrugging off his sleepclothes, he numbly makes his way to the cubicle, determined to do something, anything, to calm his racing thoughts.

Cody presses his forehead against the cold tiles as the scalding water runs down his back. Neither of the contrasting sensations serve to ground him in reality the way he wishes they would.

He… wants.

No, that’s not quite right.

Wanting is ephemeral, malleable. It’s intense, burning, but it doesn’t stick around too long or cut down quite to the bone. 

It usually, in Cody’s experience, is something that can be ignored, temporarily or not, with enough focus and discipline.

No, Cody does not want. He needs.

He raises his head from the tiles, closing his eyes as the water trickles in too-hot rivulets down his face.

Of course. Of course. He should have known, should have seen the signs… perhaps then, he could have done something to stop it.

Cody lets out a quiet, strangled groan. It echoes off of the tiles of the small shower back to him, sounding pitiful even to his own ears.

The truth of the matter burrows deep into Cody’s skin, settling into the home it’s long-since made for itself there, nestled tightly amongst the other secrets he harbours that are too shameful to ever speak aloud.

He digs his fingers into his temples, breathing in heavy lungfuls of the steam-drenched air as if it might reverse the realisation that now weighs upon his heart like lead.

This is no longer just some passing infatuation.

He’s in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Force.

This whole mission has been a cruel play by the Gods. By even stepping foot here, he’d opened the lid on something he could have gone the rest of his life ignoring, and Cody is afraid - no, terrified - that there’s no going back now.

Passion, desire, infatuation - he can deal with those. They’re to be expected for anyone, even someone of his station trying to navigate living through wartime. Love, on the other hand… 

… What the fuck does a clone do with love?

From the other room, he hears the front door of their room close, feels the slight shake of the walls. Obi-Wan has left, no doubt waking and deciding to pick them up breakfast like he did yesterday.

Slowly, Cody slides down the wall of the shower, sitting with his knees drawn to his chest and his gaze unfocused as the water pools around him.

His thoughts drift back to the words his Jedi had said to him two evenings ago, just before their kiss. 

‘This… isn’t ideal.’

No, General, Cody thinks to himself, more than a little miserably. He drags a hand over his face, doing his best to stop his teeth from grinding together in frustration. No, it is not.

______________________________

The effort required to pull himself together for the evening is gargantuan, but then again, the Commander has always thrived under impossible odds.

They’ve been trailing Barrek from afar since 9pm, waiting for him to make his way to the site of the deal, wherever it may be. It’s almost a relief when, at 9:25, he finally takes his leave from the resort’s main building and slips out into the night. 

“Showtime,” Obi-Wan murmurs, his eyes locked on the Rodian from their vantage point in the gardens. 

“So it seems. We should be careful.”

“Ah, but we’re simply two lovers going on a nighttime stroll,” the Jedi responds lightly, giving his companion a gentle, friendly nudge. “Nothing suspicious there.”

Cody isn’t certain he’s up for their usual banter tonight. 

Still, he forces on a small smile. It begrudgingly becomes genuine when he takes in Obi-Wan’s expression. 

“You’re sure you’re alright, Cody?” he asks quietly, worried eyes searching Cody’s.

Obi-Wan had noticed his distraction earlier - of course he had. Cody had told him, not entirely incorrectly, that he was simply feeling a little ill.

A mistake, he immediately realised, as that meant that he’d been unable to avoid the Jedi’s fussing for the rest of the day.

A situation that had, unfortunately, not helped Cody’s heart after his earlier discovery. If he had to feel the gentle press of the back of the other man’s hand upon his forehead one more time…

Cody sees the familiar concern in his friend’s eyes, and nods. 

“Can’t be too wrong by your side, sir,” he murmurs, a little more truth in the statement than he imagines Obi-Wan will ever know.

The Jedi’s expression softens further, and he reaches out a hand to squeeze Cody’s shoulder, sparing a quick glance over to Barrek’s retreating form in the distance. “Good. Let us go save the Galaxy once again, then, Commander,” he murmurs, smiling gently.

Cody allows himself a quiet chuckle, even as his stomach does a somersault at the gesture. “It does seem to fall on us often, that.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes sparkle in a combination of fondness and amusement that he seems to only reserve for those quiet, between-mission conversations.

“Then it’s a good thing we’re always fit to answer the call, I suppose.”

It begins to rain a little ways into their excursion, the two pulling the hoods of their cloaks up as they follow Barrek from a safe distance. 

He’s jumpy - though for good reason, Cody thinks, considering he’s being tailed - repeatedly checking over his shoulder and keeping a twitchy hand on the blaster at his side.

Rodians have considerably better night vision than humans, so Obi-Wan is sure to breathe a soft word of warning for them duck out of sight each time he senses the other man is about to turn. 

Cody silently gestures for the two of them to take a path up the side of a nearby cliff as they see Barrek wander down to the shoreline of one of the many nearby beaches - less chance to intervene, perhaps, but a better, more secure vantage point.

The wind rushes past them as they find a place to properly set up, their cloaks billowing out behind them as the waves crash against the shore below. Cody frowns as he removes the blaster clipped to his back, fully extending it out to become a sniper rifle.

Yesterday he had been out of his element, but this is his arena. He's run countless stakeouts before, and the Commander is confident that today’s won't be particularly more difficult than any other.

“Wind’s in a bad direction, gonna affect my aim,” he gripes, glancing down to where Barrek is waiting around on the beach with his hands stuffed in his pockets. They have time, but the others will be arriving any moment. “Stand there,” he orders.

Obi-Wan raises a brow, though he steps over to where Cody had pointed without question. 

“And kneel,” the Commander directs firmly, his focus dedicated to fiddling with the scope. 

He belatedly realises that that is perhaps an incredibly inappropriate request to make of your commanding officer when he glances up to see Obi-Wan, wide eyed and a little red in the face.

Before he can open his mouth to apologise, rectify the situation, Obi-Wan nods, clearing his throat quietly. He arranges the cloak below him, settling himself down on the damp grass below.

Usually, the Jedi would make a joke out of the whole thing, or gently needle Cody for making such an order. For whatever reason, though, he stays quiet.

“Might I ask why…?” he eventually responds. Cody could swear his voice comes out a little strained, though he quickly dismisses the thought.

“Didn’t bring a stabiliser,” Cody answers with an apologetic smile, crouching in front of Obi-Wan and setting the body of the rifle down on the Jedi's shoulder, checking the scope and adjusting it minutely.

Cody tries not to think too hard about the way Obi-Wan's gaze burns into him as he hovers just over the other man, face to face and barely inches away between the cold metal of the blaster.

… But now is not the time for such distractions.

His attention zeroes in on the task at hand, the importance of it all providing a welcome reprieve from the pressure of being so close to his friend.

“... Slightly to the left,” he murmurs, and Obi-Wan dutifully shuffles himself over bit by bit until Cody, keeping close, breathes a quiet ‘stop’.

A few moments pass while he fixes the focus, feeling how tense the Jedi is.

“You can breathe, you know,” Cody says, unable to hide the amusement that slips into his teasing tone. “This is just a glorified telescope, I don’t need it steady enough to take a shot.” 

It takes Obi-Wan a long beat to respond.

“... Right. Of course,” he says, letting out a quiet, shaky-sounding exhale. Cody frowns in worry, nearly commenting on how strange his General is being, but his attention is drawn first by three more figures moving into the scope.

“It’s starting,” he whispers, pulling back briefly to meet the Jedi’s gaze. “Tell me anything you sense.”

Obi-Wan nods, his eyes fluttering closed in that peaceful way that tells Cody he’s reaching out to the Force. “I will. Tell me anything you see,” he requests in return. 

“I will.”

The General and Commander fall quiet as they settle in to work, their world narrowed down to the four people down on the quiet beach below.

The wind, though still strong, ceases its howling, as if holding its breath along with them.

It’s now or never, Cody thinks, watching as conversation on the beach begins. Time for them to save the Republic.

✷✷✷✷✷

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @mitth-eli-vanto

[tennessoui]

It's a kit fic so it's wonderful but that's not a satisfying ending 😭😭😭 what happens next! I obviously read the whole thing in one sitting so I've got some thoughts. First, water titles are back! Shame on obiwan for thinking anakin would leave him. When I heard set was on a mission I knew that made more sense, I'm still surprised the council managed to talk him into leaving the temple at all. I'm surprised obiwan managed to wait so long to ask about anakin and didn't then immediately go to find him. I also need you to know i shed physical tears over those com messages. Until the end I really did think anakin was getting the sent ones just cause of how caught up in obiwans perspective I was. The dream at the beginning of chapter 9 got me teared up too and the emptiness obiwan has when he thinks anakin is dead. That's probably enough rambling thoughts, but what happens next 🥺 they were just getting to realize how much they love each other

ahhh thank you I’m glad you were very excited for the fic!!

(in-depth spoilers beneath the cut)

I feel like anakin’s motivations while obi-wan is asleep are interesting because he really should probably go do something else, this isn’t healthy and he probably recognizes that. He’s also only 17 and then only 18 and then only 19 so he’s a baby. I think he definitely learns to trust vos as a stand-in, temporary master, and so when vos brings this career path up to him out of concern for him, he says yes - thinking as well at the time that he can just come back whenever obi-wan does wake up. And I can definitely picture anakin thinking that if he goes on a solo mission to the outer rim and aces it as a spymaster and obi-wan wakes up, obi-wan will be sooooo impressed with him and will absolutely see him as older and more mature (and more attractive and more romantically compatible, etc)

as for Obi-Wan not contacting anakin sooner or leaving to go find him, he probably regrets it a little! but it just wasn’t that sort of story 😊 for one, he’s physically very weak and in recovery after waking up and in no position to go out looking for anakin; for another, he’s trying respect what he thinks is anakins wish for space from the Jedi. He has his commlink frequency and if anakin wanted to talk to him, he’d respond to his message. And that ties in to the fact that their relationship before the coma isn’t great - he probably thinks anakin really does want space from him specifically. They were in the rocky period of anakin’s teen years (where anakin is very moody and obi-wan doesn’t really know why but it’s definitely because anakin wants to be treated as an adult and also cause he has feelings for his master)

as far as what happens next, I’m not sure! I know it’s a bit more open-ended than any of my other fics, but I spent a whole lot of time in the fic writing about how everything was wrong because they weren’t together (obi-wan is a withdrawn character who misuses the Force and can’t confide in any other Jedi, he’s too overly emotional and attached to anakin; anakin is…well, Vader) and so it felt right to end it at the moment where they’re together again and have reached some level of honesty/understanding - because if they’re together, everything will be alright in counterpoint to when they’re apart.

I suppose they return vos to the council with a little note saying who Sidious is so that can wrap up the clone wars because obiwan does have a conscience still. Then they. Fuck off to some distant corner of the galaxy for a bit for cuddles and kisses and falling in love

[edward-munson]

"Be Safe" - Anakin Skywalker x human f!Reader

Summary: You're an ordinary human fighting against the Sith alongside with Obi-Wan Kenobi. While being kept hostage by Anakin, you try to break down his armor of rage.

Notes: Crastyne is a fictional planet. I love the idea of energy and magnetic feelings 😭 Raging Anakin is so painful and making eye color transition is more painful!

Notes¹: Let me know if you all would like a part 2!!

Warning: Pretty much none, just a small fight scene, mention of injuries and a little fluff

Word count: 3.8k

next chapter

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There is something about not being a Jedi or even any sort of galactical person that makes you fear going to wars to defend your own.

Even the slightest usage of the blaster makes you feel uncomfortable when you're around them, even if they're willing to protect you, knowing you can't protect yourself.

There's also a reason why you don't become a Jedi yourself, because they're specifically being extinct and you're not going to sacrifice yourself that way.

You were rethinking your life when you came to the realization that being amongst troopers from your group, blasting against mostly the Sith. One of them being Anakin Skywalker, who not only was once Palpatine's apprentice, but also the one who as leading the attack.

Behind Obi-Wan, you could barely see the incoming, as he made sure none of them got through you. But you were surrounded by a few Jedi's and could hardly be discovered as some ordinary woman.

You sure can use your black belt perks, because usually that's what you come up with when you're facing someone stronger. But maybe you couldn't use that to your favor if you were ever to stand in front of Anakin. It's not like Obi-Wan would ever let that happen.

You've thought this through every single day, he made sure he would stand by you all the way through. You had extra blasters if you needed to, even.

But nothing prepared you for the moment Skywalker came behind you, just in time for a few of his own took Kenobi away from you. You were face to face to the evil himself, he seemed to be seven feet tall compared to your size.

He grabbed you by the neck and raised you from the floor, not squeezing your skin just yet. His dilated pupils and red eyes were just staring intensely at you, that frown holding his gaze against you.

"Pathetic woman", he said as he was still holding you up. "How dare you come to this war against us and defend the Jedi?".

He wasn't even himself anymore, he was already been taken to the dark side. His glowing red eyes made sure you recognized that. He was still a good-looking guy, with pretty curly hair and fading blue eyes.

But corrupted. Corrupted by the man he was supposed to fight against. His fear of losing someone made him angrier. He was selfish, greedy and aggressive.

He didn't even have to see you through your helmet to know you're a woman, and he can sense your fear, which you disguised with repulse.

"You're not gonna win this fight", you held him by his wrists, knowing he was too strong to let go of. When he tried squeezing your neck, you wrapped your legs around his torso, shaking him down suddenly.

He tripped on his foot and you got rid of his grip. You blasted against him, but Anakin used his metal hand to shield himself and it ricocheted.

You ran only for a few feet and he insisted on tackling you down on the floor. He could've used his force against you, but he was willing to knock you down. Obi-wan was nowhere to be seen.

"You're such a petulant person. Your confidence is disturbing", Skywalker pulled you against his grip as he dragged you out of the fight, leading you to somewhere else.

You've realized he was taking you to Coruscant, where you learned it was the capital of the Republic. He got rid of your Trooper outfit and left you cuffed on his ship while he was piloting.

For the entire trip he didn't even say a word to you, only staring at you at some point, through his rearview.

When he arrived at the planet, he managed to still hold you hostage, mostly because that way he knew Kenobi would find you and save you from him.

It was his way of telling the Jedi their best Master got himself into a definite war against his enemy.

He dropped you in a cell, watching as you retracted yourself into a corner. It was only then you realized he was feeling confrontation with himself. He was still in an anger phase, which was slowly turning him into Vader.

His cold way of showing attitude, the dark shadow flickering against his eyes, made you see how much he was actually in pain inside.

After a while, which you had no idea how much time had passed, you could hear Anakin speak in a low tone with someone, probably Palpatine.

He would just agree and not say too many words, when you would hear his footsteps getting closer, you'd brace yourself.

But he actually never got near you anymore since he left you in the cell. You were starving, you were tense, you were tired and sleepy. There was only one sheet and a very uncomfortable pillow to lie on.

You tried contacting Kenobi using your mind and your feelings, but you only annoyed the newly Sith, who showed up not a minute later after your first try.

"If you try that one more time, I'll slice you up", he demanded. His voice was husky and held a deepness you've never heard before.

"Then do it, you'll never find him again", you responded. It actually made him become feral, trying to choke you with his force.

The advantage of him being so powerful is that he didn't need to get closer to you. He would just stand there and have you around his force.

He dropped you on the floor and you gasped for air. Your airway was almost crushed and it was harder to breathe now.

Anakin pointed his index finger at you, his red-blue eyes were so desperate for power. At the same time, it was showing off pain. Too much pain.

"Let go of that anger, Skywalker. You're in pain", you said before he could speak first. "Whatever happened to you, just let that go".

"You don't know shit about me", he retorted. You just woke the beast inside him. Anakin could be worse than he really shows when he's mad.

How was he so sure of that when more than half of the Universe has heard about him before? The once great Jedi apprentice who gave up on his good side.

You scoffed, making him wrinkle his forehead in response. "You were Obi-Wan's best apprentice, you know that? I've worked with him thousands of times before you raged. You don't know shit about me".

Anakin just examined you from head to toe. "We're bringing him. You're gonna watch him die".

You know you had to take this into consideration, but you were sure it would be impossible for Kenobi to stop it from happening.

"I don't need a lecture from an ordinary woman", his voice was bitter. He was trying to spell like he was throwing knifes, but it had a different tone for you.

"You're gonna choke on your own words, Lord Vader", you mocked him. He knew better than this that you were only doing it on purpose.

But Anakin didn't take sarcasm, or jokes. He didn't take any words that would actually involve himself. When he opened the cell and rushed to you, you flinched.

You flinched so hard he almost faltered. He punched the wall so hard it broke down entirely. The pieces of it almost falling above your head as he started to pant.

It was that moment you saw the mistake you've made, he lit up his red saber, the sword swinging in front of your face.

"Anakin, please", you begged. Your frowned face almost making a scrunch from the fear.

He still held that terrible gaze and he just stared into your soul. He could hear your heart beating fast, racing against your ears. He knew better than anyone that feeling.

He was struggling with himself, with his awful transition he couldn't get rid of. He could beat itself.

One moment of distraction and you captured it from his hand, running away while holding it. It was the stupidest idea you could've had. But it only helped you get through one of his rooms, which you had no idea where it led to.

You were thrown against the wall, feeling that excruciating pain piercing through your back. Anakin didn't seem too impressed by your action, but he made sure you would learn a lesson.

It burned differently than anything else, the saber was burning your skin until it was completely raw and the sound coming off of your mouth almost made him deaf.

He was too sensitive to sounds, as well. But it didn't shake him. You were now more tired than before, trying to collect yourself, almost begging for Obi-Wan to actually show up before you were dead.

He crouched in front of you, his eyes burning from anger. "You move again and I swear I'll kill you".

"You've said that before and did nothing", you retorted.

"I'm trying to spare you. I want Obi-Wan. I don't care about your stupid body, I want his", Skywalker was never one to explain his tactics, but you were slowing him down.

As Anakin started walking left and right, he studied you. He watched the way you would confront him even when you knew he was the most dangerous person to be around at this point.

He saw you agonizing in pain from the burn of his saber, which he was still holding while walking. He never left that frown on his face, the flickering of his eyes was distressing, you could never really know what he was possibly feeling besides anger and pain.

"You don't have to do this", you started, your voice barely coming out. "You were like a brother to him, you know that. How do you think your mother would feel if she was here?".

And then, instead of stabbing you with his saber, he just broke down on his knees, begging you to stop. It hurt him, it was the most painful thing to hear about. His mother was everything to him.

"What would she do if she knew you've become something you weren't supposed to, Anakin? Stop while you can", your voice echoed in his room and he was panting again.

"Stop", his voice failed against his mouth. "Stop!"

You couldn't be more right about that, he felt inside his guts. But he wasn't going to admit it, he was deeply involved with the Sith and now his body was only a vessel.

"You don't get to talk about my mother. Don't you ever say that again", he looked at you and you almost gasped at the sight of his eyes becoming yellow.

He was about to break down in tears, he was one step closer to feeling like Anakin again.

"Anakin, you need to remember her. You need to remember who you were before. It's going to consume you".

"Shut up!", he shouted at you. He was still on his knees, his knuckles supporting his hands on the floor. "Just.. shut up".

You saw the man becoming more fragile than he ever was. You noticed he let his guard down, surprisingly putting down his shield he used to use around himself.

The tears streaming down his cheeks were burning his skin, it tasted too salty on his lips. The lump in his chest quickly rising in his throat, making it harder for him to actually breathe.

"Please, stop", you could barely hear him pleading. He was surrendering himself.

He slipped and he fell into your trap. You managed to cross his evil shield and you made him miserable. He didn't know how he could actually be able to feel like he was Anakin again.

Everything inside him felt dark, empty. His head was void, emotionless. He had too much anger inside him, it made him blind. He was too greedy for power. The more power the better.

You carefully approched him and wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, they were shuddering. You felt his body give in and shiver.

He actually felt warmth, apart from his cold hands and cold sweat, he was warm. His tears felt like waterfalls.

"Just leave before I change my mind", he said after a while, the room was so silent before that, not a single noise could be heard.

"Can you feel this?", you ask as you grip his hand tightly, firmly, crossing your fingers against his. The energy between your veins circulating, transmitting him a sensation of peace.

"This is what it feels like to be free from pain, anger. This is how you were supposed to feel like".

Skywalker was shaking, he could feel a different wave of serenity between his fingers, feeling your energy. He was almost absorving it for himself. It felt light, weightless. It tickled his inside.

He spent too much time gripping your hand, enjoying your energy. His eyes were becoming blue after a moment, the yellow almost fading.

He flinched his face and closed his eyes. He let go of your hand, getting up and held your arm, getting you up along with him.

He didn't say another word as he took you to a medical room and demanded the droids to bandage your burnt skin and give you food.

As you rested in a bed you saw him walking with a stiffened attitude, his eyes wandering across the giant window.

You would give all your money to know what he was actually thinking about, you couldn't ever know what he was going through, besides the honest pain and struggle, and anger mostly.

You ended up falling asleep while being taken care of, you were too tired and your body was giving up on the pain as well.

Only when you woke up you felt like you were being watched, and you thought one of the droids was still there taking care of you. As you slowly opened one your eyes, you saw him staring at you.

He was holding his arms crossed against his pumped chest, his face still frowned while he was leaning against the wall. His eyes were meerely blue anymore, a yellow gaze watching you.

"You should leave this place before Obi-Wan gets here", he demanded. His voice had a low husky tone. "I can't promise I won't kill him".

You were sort of dozy from the painkiller. You were trying to gather his words as you slowly sat up on the bed.

"I'll get the droids to watch over you while you get back".

Were you honestly awake or was it some kind of messed up dream you were having? That didn't sound like him at all honestly.

"Anakin, you gotta take care of yourself", you stated as you slowly got up from the bed, looking at him.

He was much taller than you, you have to raise your head to look at him. His frown was almost loose.

"Don't tell me what I should or should not do. I've made that clear before", he responded. His tone sent a shiver down your spine.

"Anakin", you raised you hand as you tried to approach his scarred face, but he was much faster and held your wrist tightly.

"Don't call me that. Don't ever call me that".

He was too hard to soften, not even Padmé would have been able to do so. You didn't know how you could manage to make him vulnerable before.

But again he had built up his walls and he was ready to use his shield against you. Other than that, he didn't break eye contact, he didn't twist your wrist.

But he still was a Sith. He still had anger inside him. Your gaze was comforting, it transmitted peace. With your other hand you cupped his jawline, you traveled your finger against his biggest scar.

Your soft, warm hand felt like shockwaves on his skin. Your heard as he let out a heavy sigh, like he was fighting against his feelings.

Skywalker let go of your wrist, not touching you or getting away from your touch.

"I know there's good in you", you say as you make a trail with your fingertips on his cheek. He looked away from you, closing his eyes almost squinting them.

"No", he was too reluctant. He was feeling his blood boiling immediately. "No".

"Please, look at me", you tried to tame him. He didn't look at first.

When you locked your other fingers through his flesh hand, he almost gasped. It felt like heaven for a moment.

He gave in, and it first scared you. His eyes, as red as fire, his pupils were dilated and it was so intimidating. It was hard to look at him that way.

You must have gone mad, but when you pecked his trembling lips you felt your heart almost jump out of your throat. You felt his hand grip your waist so tight it was gonna leave a bruise.

You didn't move your lips, you didn't deepen that kiss. Hell, you didn't even move your body too scared he would back out. And it felt good like that.

He must have felt like that too, Anakin didn't push you away. He didn't flinch. When he felt your skin against his hand, he almost let out a groan, but he was holding himself off.

He was on the verge of snapping out of his mind. Skywalker felt his brain collapse and something inside him melted down. His veins were pumping his blood faster than ever.

You opened your eyes for a slight second, realizing he was looking intensively at you, his brows were furrowed. But what really shocked you was how deep blue his eyes were.

They were blue like the ocean, they were bright like the sky. They flickered with the sudden emotion washing over him. You broke from his lips and gave him an honest side smile.

He gave you nothing, because he was probably as shocked as you. He only then noticed what had happened to him when you tried to touch his face again and this time he backed out.

It pinched your heart, but it was actually expected. He moved away from you, looking tormented and stunned as he didn't even look at you when he left the medical room.

When he came back, he was holding folded clean clothes and left them at the bed. He warned the droids they were going to take you back to where you came from.

It didn't exactly make sense for you the way he reacted to your kiss, but you understood it. He was too conflicted to really know how to deal with it. And his self defense was to push you away.

"I'll let Obi-Wan know you're going back. Don't you try and make him come after me". Anakin was almost back to his normal self.

He managed to not make eye contact with you, but it slipped and he tried to look away. Your gaze at him burned his entire body.

It if keeps happening he's gonna lose it. And God, you wanted it to happen so bad.

You just nodded, getting ready to leave the building. It was making you feel so bad for leaving him alone but he wanted to be alone.

He like being by himself. He didn't want company. He didn't need company.

You didn't even have the chance to say a goodbye, because he made sure he was gone before you left. He just honestly didn't want to see you.

Inside the ship, you made sure you asked the droids to take care of him. If they obeyed and listened to him, maybe they could listen to you as well.

"Please, look after him. And if you need to, just let Obi-Wan know", your voice was almost desperate.

They seemed to agree and treated you nicely after all. Weirdly nice, to say the least. Usually their droids were built to kill people like you.

When you arrived at Crastyne, Obi-Wan was already there waiting for you and gave you the most desperate and the tightest hug. He almost crushed your bones.

It was so good to see him there, to actually feel his arms around you. He smelled like mud, but you weren't going to question.

"It's so good to see you alive, (Y/N)". He noticed your injury, and quickly changed his composure. "Are you hurt anywhere else?". You shook your head.

"He burned my skin with his saber, but that's all?", you tried to sound like it was a normal thing. But coming from Skywalker it was definitely not.

"He didn't try to kill you?". Kenobi was more confused than you were. And again you shook your head.

"He actually wanted to use me as bait, he wanted you to go there. He wanted to kill you there".

He was trying to gather your words. He wouldn't expect Anakin to actually do that, he should've seen that coming.

"But there was an overturn. I'll explain it later. I wanna take a shower, rest".

He nodded and you left with him, he was going to make sure you were safe for now. He was going to watch over you for the next few days.

But deep inside you weren't worried about yourself, you weren't worried about your safety. You were so hopelessly worried about him. You had no idea how he was going to deal with himself after that.

You weren't even sure he would be able to consider what happened between you two. You just hoped you could find him, meet him again.

Skywalker, on the other hand, couldn't make himself sleep. He was relentlessly playing your words and touch over and over in his head.

The sweat streaming down his spine was cold and harsh. His breath was out of rhythm, making it hard to come out of his throat.

What have you done to him, he thought as he couldn't wrap his mind around the mixed feelings surrounding him.

It was so hard for him to process how you reacted to his threatening, to his deep sharp gaze against you. And yet you didn't run away from him, you didn't fear him, you didn't flinch.

His metal hand crushed another wall, and he let out the most feral and loud groan. He was panting loudly, his vision was distorted.

He couldn't let you get through him like that. He couldn't let himself let you in like that. Either he keeps helping the Sith or he drops down his armor.

This energy thing is pretty intense, you think. You can't seem to sleep either, both of you connected by a feeling that keeps wandering through your veins.

It's like it's keeping you both magnetized, even through miles and miles apart.

"Be safe, Anakin", you wish while trying to calm your brain down.

Skywalker was still sitting on the corner of his bed, his arms resting against his knees while he was holding his head with both hands.

A fading voice echoing inside his brain woke him from his messed thoughts. "Be safe, Anakin".