#otp: being with you made me happy in ways they don’t even have names for | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kashimos-hajime · 4 years ago

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darling, dearest, not quite dead | o.k.

summary: twenty years. you have loved obi-wan for twenty years and the minute he comes back from what seems to be the dead, he wants your help to kill the supreme chancellor. then again, it seems almost like him to ask you to do this with him.

WARNINGS: swearing, brief death, mentions of injuries, sexual tension, angst, fluff, obi-wan is being annoying and y/n is being annoying right back, matching energies for our otp ❤️, questioning morality, crying men, happy ending!!! pairing: sith!obi-wan x fem!jedi!reader word count: 15.5k

a/n: i have no excuses ndklnsf i love him :) crossposted on ao3!

contritus | latin: broken, crumbled, worn down, crushed

Master Windu always said that a single moment defines a battle.

The moment Obi-Wan sinks his lightsaber through you, you realize that this is that moment.

It’d been a mistake—the marauder had thrown Obi-Wan forward and you’d been in his way. The Masters were too far, they were caught between giving up a Jedi holocron or their lives.

You had begged him not to give up the holocron. Your life was nothing—nothing—

It’d been a fatal mistake. You know it the moment he spears right through you.

“Obi—Obi-wan?” Your voice, soft as a whisper as you grab onto his wrist and his eyes, so very blue even in the light of his saber, widen as your fingers dig into his skin.

It’s a peculiar sensation, glowing, blinding, yet curiously numb as he chokes out your name and retracts the lightsaber. The hunter lets go of your shoulder and you fall forward, gasping at the shrivelled fabric melded to your skin as arms take you and you realize it is Obi-Wan who holds you tight just as the whomsh of another lightsaber swings overhead. Craning up, you see a decapitated hunter, Master Windu, and Master Qui-Gon.

The body falls and so do you. Your friend falls to his knees, cradling you close and you shiver as he keens over you.

The Masters look down upon their Padawans and Obi-Wan’s tear-stained face raises wretchedly to glower at them.

“Master, I—Do something—“

Oh, sweet Obi-Wan. Pleading as he holds onto you and you simply turn your head into his robes. You don’t feel any pain but you are shivering as he grabs onto your hand, holds it against the burns on your stomach.

“Bring her to the ship, Obi-Wan.”

“I’m so sorry, darling,” He looks down at you, at his young face, and you smile. Maker, you love him. “I didn’t—“

“Oh, hush, Obi,” you breathe, reaching weakly for his face. Your fingers barely brush his smooth chin before the strength leaves your arm and it falls back again. He catches your hand, gently lowering it to the ground before twisting and scooping you up with an arm underneath your knees. “You’re always so dramatic.”

“If it takes my dramatics to keep you awake, I will do what I must,” he says as he follows their Masters back to the ship. Master Windu speaks into his comlink and Obi-Wan’s grip on you only intensifies when the Padawans catch him calling for medics to be waiting when they land back on Coruscant.

They catch ‘critical condition’ and ‘uncertain odds.’

“You’re going to be alright, dearest” Obi-Wan whispers and you look up at him. Then, you smile again—he’ll be the last thing you see, won’t he?

His arms are so warm and you feel your eyelids growing heavier as the gentle sway of his steps begins to lull you to sleep.

You can hear him calling your name.

You do not wake up until both Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon have both disappeared.

You wake up and everything changes.

They tell you that Obi-Wan left the Jedi Order and Master Qui-Gon had offered his life to save you. It’s an ancient Force skill with the ultimate price.

The guilt is what eats you alive, and without your other half—Obi-Wan was more than a friend and just shy of a lover—you want to leave the Order yourself and find him.

But you don’t.

You persevere. You had forgiven him. It is, you believe, what Obi-Wan would’ve done.

What Obi-Wan would’ve wanted for you.

It is… the Jedi way.

You become a Jedi Knight in his and Master Qui-Gon’s memory. The Council trusts you, believes in your strength to return after what should have been your death. You become their top agent, true above all else.

You escort the Queen of Naboo, you land on Tatooine, you find yourself a Padawan. You do everything you can to keep his memory alive in your heart.

You do not speak of the dreams.

In your sleep, you feel the lingering presence of Obi-Wan Kenobi, his terrified screams, the untamed rage in his swings. Instead of blue, everything flashes red, and when you reach for him, he pulls away.

He’s out there… somewhere. You wonder if he knows you’re alive or if he left before he could know.

You are on Coruscant in your rooms when you get your answer. The Clone Wars are beginning to wear on them all, you are a Jedi General with an old Padawan who’s found himself an apprentice of his own, and life seems… not easy, but not complicated. There is no time to think of much besides the war and although you barely sleep these days, it’s better being so exhausted you can barely even dream.

“So he was right.”

Every inch of you stiffens as you whip around, pulling out your saberstaff from your belt with a practiced flourish and activating it. The yellow plasma hums and you narrow your eyes at the intruder.

“Jedi Sentinel, one of the youngest-made Jedi Knights in the Order, yet, held in such high esteem,” he continues. His eyes, glowing yellow in the shadows, pin you down and your grip on your saberstaff only tightens as the Sith steps out into the light and your breath catches when you stare into the face of a man you thought you’d lost. “Master Windu must love you, dearest.”

Obi-Wan, older, with his strong jaw covered in a beard and long hair raked back, stands in front of you with a smirk. A scar fractures his face, crossing his nose and digging into his cheek, but it only serves to amplify his looks. He’s handsome, still. Handsomer, even.

Mature, civil, cold.

You remember Master Windu once said he could’ve been the greatest negotiator the Jedi Council had ever seen and you, the greatest fighter.

He, the calming hand. You, the fist.

Now, it seems, that they each are both.

In black armour and a hood tugged over his head, he regards you as he descends down the small flight of steps into your sitting area and you swallow, twirling your staff so it points down along the length of your arm—a show of peace, for now.

He hasn’t pulled out his own lightsaber you see hanging at his hip. It makes you uneasy.

Is it still blue? Red, now?

All you know is that he is everything you swore to fight against.

“Sit.” You don’t even recognize your own voice when you speak, quiet and rasping as you deactivate your saberstaff and join him at the couches. Sitting across from him, you watch as he smoothes his hand over his robes and does so, pulling the hood off his head. “Is there any name by which you be called, or are you still Obi-Wan?”

His eyes snap to yours at the name and you meet him head on, your chest swelling in pain. How desperately you want to touch him, make sure this is all real, you cannot even begin to describe.

Obi-Wan, a man you had loved since they were mere children in the Jedi Temple—childish love that had matured in something wretched, something forlorn—lives in his eyes. You see it then, for a split-second, when you had said his name.

But then, it had been swallowed up by whatever sits before you now.

“Darth Contritus.”

“Catchy.”

“Hm.”

“I won’t use it.”

Silence. You look out at the balcony and note that the door is cracked open before glancing at Obi-Wan before you again. He looks at you intently, as if he’s trying to figure out a puzzle, and you sense something stirring with him—it’s powerful, negative—and you clench your jaw, hands folded in your lap.

“What’s true, then?” you prompt after a while of his glaring. You feel bare before him after all this time and your stomach flips as he blinks, looking up from where he’d been trailing his gaze down your body, to your scarred hands, you know.

You can feel him everywhere.

“That you live,” says Obi-Wan—Darth Contritus, you should say, but you refuse.

“I do,” you agree. “And you would’ve known that had you stayed on Coruscant.” With me, you want to add but he hears it anyway. You know he does. “It’s been a long time, Obi-Wan. What is it, twenty years? More?”

“Obi-Wan,” he echoes wryly. “It’s been just as long since I heard that name. You should watch yourself lest you say that in front of the wrong people.”

“Well, you’ll always be Obi-Wan to people who loved you, hm?” Your chest tightens and you find his eyes again. His eyebrows furrow inquisitively as his hand brushes over his chin. You want to scream.

You want Anakin to barge in here, ask for advice from his former Master. Or, maybe, have the Senator of Naboo herself summon you. Have anyone demand your presence as they have for what feels like the past year with late night meetings and delegations.

But there won’t be. You know this.

On this nights of all nights, Obi-Wan Kenobi finds you alone and your heart wilts in your chest.

Love. It weighs like a bantha between your shoulders. You once felt like you could fight a dragon with love, and now, it tears you apart slowly, limb from limb.

Loved.

You cannot linger. “Why are you here? If you were here to kill me, you would’ve tried already.”

“Only tried?” he mocks, leaning back into the sofa. Your arms stiffen and he smirks. “Dearest, I would’ve succeeded.”

“And there’s that signature Kenobi smugness. It’s a relief to see that some things don’t change,” you shoot back. “I’m not the same girl and you…” You laugh weakly. “You are not the same boy.” His hands shift on his knees and your eyes dart to the movement. Long, agile fingers dig into his knees and when you look at him, your gut clenches. “What do you want from me, Obi-Wan?”

“I need your help.”

That surprises you. Your chin jerks up to meet his eyes and he has that arrogant smile, that faint smirk that makes your stomach flutter even now.

You can’t remember the last time you felt this way—

Stop. You can’t think of that, you chastise to yourself. He is everything you are fighting against—everything that a Jedi cannot be. He isn’t the Obi-Wan you love anymore.

Except he is.

He always will be.

“With what?”

The fact that you do not outright deny him is proof enough.

“If I told you I know who the Sith Lord orchestrating this whole debacle was and wanted to destroy him with your help, what would you say?”

“I would say that you want something in return for my help. I would say it’s been years since we’ve last seen each other and the first time we discover the other is alive”—your voice is dangerously bitter—“all you want to ask is a favour.”

He chuckles. There is a trickling trail of cold dread in your stomach. “Oh, dearest, you haven’t lost your wit.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Call you what, darling?” He’s playing coy, but the predator in his eyes does not falter as he rests an arm along the back of the couch.

“You know what.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Obi-Wan—“

“Darth,” he cuts you off coldly, “Contritus. Obi-Wan is dead and I am finished entertaining the thought that he is anything otherwise.”

“I refuse to believe it.” You stand, smoothing a hand over your overtunic and turning your back to him. It’s foolish, you know, but you want to know if he will attempt to strike you down for refusing him—if there is a list of people he wants to turn, wants to help him achieve more and more power. Walking around the couch, you step up out of the small pit. “Find someone else.”

You take not one more step before you feel the faintest rush and your hand shoots to your saberstaff, activating it. Whipping around, you block his swing, their blades clashing in blinding white. Red meets yellow and you feel the hum of plasma in your bones as you stare up at Obi-Wan. He pushes down on you and you grit your teeth, digging your feet into the ground and shoving him back, your boots sliding along the floor with the force of his own strike. Energy fizzes in your bones and you’re breathless.

Just his presence so close to yourself again makes your nerves burn. Your senses are overloaded, memories flooding your brain and you stiffen when he lets out a soft laugh.

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

His lightsaber is burning so brightly you feel tears spring to your eyes and there is a swelling in your throat as you snap apart your lightsaber into dual blades, reversing the grip with a twist of your wrists. Obi-Wan’s eyes widen nearly imperceptibly and you raise a blade up in a defensive position.

You had spent years training in Niman and the Shien variant, convincing Master Windu to train you in Vaapad despite the temptation of the dark side, mastering them to fill the void inside you.

You’re not about to let the man who caused it to strike you down.

“A lot has changed. My answer is final.”

“You don’t even know what I want.” Curse him for being so relaxed, red saber burning and hissing and crackling yet loose in his experienced hand. “Dearest—“

“Stop it.”

“Darling, is finding the Sith Lord not the Council’s priority?”

“I won’t work with you.”

“Why?” The question is abrupt, and your eyebrows furrow together quizzically. It’s genuinely asked, you realize, and your grip laxes as he deactivates his lightsaber and clips it. “You can clearly match blows with me. I won’t get the jump on you as easily as some of the other fools in the Order.” You wonder if that’s difficult for him to admit. The Obi-Wan you’d known didn’t find it hard to admit, but…

But still. Still, everything’s changed.

“Is it, I wonder, because you care for me?”

Your stomach rolls and you don’t know if you should be ecstatic or terrified that he’s right.

“Obi-Wan—“

“Or because you still think of our time together?”

“There was no time. We were Jedi—“

“Temptation frightens you.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Now, now,” he says, walking over to you smoothly and tilting his head. He offers a crooked smile and your lips part as you suck in a sharp breath. You drop your own guard unwillingly, lightsabers shutting off with a whomsh and he gently pushes your arms down. You let him—you do.

You can feel every molecule of his being coming closer, the smell of soap heavy in your nose as he stops before you. Maybe it’s because your heart is racing as he nears and you don’t even know if you’re breathing, or if it is because the love you once felt for him is roaring to life, consuming you until you are nothing more than starfire. Either way, you don’t want to know.

“We both know that the memories we share still… haunt you here…” His fingers brush over your temple and your eyes flutter shut. His touch is so soft, so tender, that you feel a part of you break. His hand trails down your jaw, down your neck, fluttering over your tunic and exposed collarbones and you know he feels you swallow. You know that he can feel every inch of you as intimately as if they were the same being. “And here…” He presses fingers to your sternum, right where your heart is. “Here is where your true desires lie.”

“I have no desires,” you grit out, pulling back but he grabs your arm before you can escape from his reach. Your head snaps up from his firm hand to his burning eyes and you are incinerating from inside out. “The Jedi—“

“—don’t give a damn about what you are or what you want. They only care about what you can do for them—“

“And that’s any different from the Sith?” You rip your arm free and immediately regret it for a flashing moment. “Get out of my sight.”

“Or what?”

“What do you mean ‘or what’?” you snap, holstering your lightsabers with twitching snarl at your lips. “You said it yourself, you are no longer Obi-Wan Kenobi, I don’t love you, and I am done with this game.” There is pleasure in the way his facade seems to crack then before attempting to repair itself and there is a surge in your bravery as you shove your face into his. He can’t quite fix the breaks you’ve smashed in his mask. “Go. Or this time, I’ll cut you down.”

“Hm.” His eyebrow quirks as he stares at you intently, curiously. Those eyes are nothing like the blue you had once known. “I’d like to see you try.”

Your eyes burn but you do not blink.

“Leave. Me. Alone.”

“My, my. Such anger from the Council’s prized hound,” he murmurs mockingly into your ear as his fingers brush your jaw again and there is that cocky, sickening smile in the blonde of his beard. Your lips pull into a snarl and you jerk your head away, turning around. You detest this new man before you, yet you can’t even bare to see him go. You feel like everything inside you is peeling. “Anger suggests feeling, dearest. Temper that the next time you wish to convince me that you no longer care for me.”

“It’s a bold claim that I could care for someone who is everything I fight against.”

“One you didn’t deny,” he replies evenly. “Goodnight, Jedi.”

You wait until you’re sure he’s gone—when you can on longer sense his presence and your heart comes down from your throat.

You crawl into the bed and bury your face into the pillow before screaming out against every injustice in the world.

If Anakin notices anything the morning after, he does not say it. Instead, he simply says “Master” in his cordial tone as he always does and you, for the first time in a very long time, since he was a boy even, look at him and your bruised heart is listless in your chest, a puppet with cut strings. You hold his face in your hand and look at the man you’ve trained, raised from the ground up, and truly feel the life that’s passed you by.

“Are you alright, Master?”

“Fine. Just tired,” you murmur quietly. “I’m just… I’m so proud of you, you know that?” Your old Padawan regards you and you know what he sees as he nods against your palm and you let him go. He sees a mother, a sister, family.

You can only hope that he knows you feel the same way. Your son, your brother, the one thing left you know you can rely on.

“I know. I promise, I won’t let you down.”

“You could never,” you assure with a gentle sigh and when he looks at you with that hope in his eyes, it reminds you torturously of Obi-Wan when they still had hopes for their own future. Together. Together. The word aches everywhere. “You know you could tell me anything, Anakin, and I would never care for you less.” Anakin’s expression flickers and your eyebrows twitch together before he gives you a tiny, boyish grin.

“Of course. And you, as well. I am here for you, Master.”

You give him a plastic facsimile of a smile before squeezing his elbow. “I know. Come on. The Council is waiting.”

They send you to a warm moon that reminds you of Naboo. Yavin 4, outer rim.

At least it isn’t Hoth, or Maker forbid, Alzoc III.

There’s a Separatist chapter lodging in the jungles of the moon, causing enough trouble to warrant the Jedi’s attention.

You think your old Master notices your distracted disposition and sent you somewhere easy to work out whatever’s bothering you with a good droid slicing. Master Windu has always been attuned to your emotions, long before everything with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan happened. It’s why you were his Padawan.

He had sensed the darkness in you the moment he first saw you, or maybe he foresaw it.

You don’t know.

You land your starfighter in the brush where it’ll stay hidden enough before jumping out and landing in the soft dirt quietly. You’ve shed Jedi robes for a sleeker outfit more fitted for the jungles. With tan sleeveless tunic tucked into darker brown pants, your boots shift in the soil as you skirt into the fronds and head in the direction of the fortress.

There is nothing complicated about this.

It’s arduous, yes. Dangerous, monumentally. But it isn’t complicated. Training Anakin is more complicated than destroying a Separatist branch. Deciding between sleeping in Obi-Wan’s quarters or your own when they were just mere Padawans was a harder choice than deciding whether or not you swing left first or right.

It’s all instinct, second-nature and nearly your first. Soon, the fortress stops screaming from blaster fire and droid whining. You slash the head off the last droid, let its head roll at your feet and whirl around when you sense another presence behind you.

And there he stands again, a ghost you can’t shake.

It disrupts you to your very core. There is the smell of smoking metal and something worse as he tilts his head, amused. You clip your saberstaff with a practiced twirl, kicking a droid’s head away with a swift swing of your boot.

He’s leaning against the wall, all sleek and handsome, you’re sweating with oil smeared across your cheek.

How romantic.

“I told you to leave me alone.”

“And I knew you just couldn’t stay away,” he retorts. “I wasn’t aware you’d be here until I heard you destroying those poor droids.” His voice is dripping with scathing sarcasm. “My, my, Jedi, you’re a sight.”

Joining him by the wall, you tentatively lean back against it as he turns onto his shoulder, regards you with a keen interest.

“You’re infuriating,” you admit quietly, refusing to look at him. You instead stare at the black leather of his boots, the way he’s crossed his legs at the ankles as he did when he was still by your side. Just more proof Obi-Wan’s there, torturing you with those tiny glimpses. “Why were you here?”

“There’s a factory here, over in Massassi Valley. I arrived to check in on their progress before I was alerted of a gorgeous Jedi with a yellow saber. Hm.” Your eyes flutter to his face and he smiles faintly. “Three forms.”

“You noticed.”

“How could I not, dearest?” He pushes off the wall with a smirk and, against your own will, a smile begins to pull at your lips insistently. “You’re just oh, so talented.”

Stubbornly ignoring the twitch, you follow him. “I told you not to call me that.”

“Oh, I apologize. Sentinel, then. Formalities, and such.”

“And I know you didn’t mean that apology.” They step over a droid body and make their way through the fortress, following the trail of droid bodies. You’ve rigged the place to explode and you know you could leave him to rot if you wanted but…

But he wants something from you, and if you can convince him to give you the Sith Lord without something in exchange—

“And I still wish to talk to you about our negotiation. We never finished before someone lost her temper.”

“Don’t test me, Obi-Wan. I don’t need to remind you the importance of warming up before a battle,” you warn and he lets out a sharp exhale, a hint of a laugh, and your smile grows as you lower your head, trying to hide it away from him. “And I think losing my temper is fair when I’m around such atrocious company.”

“Oh, now I know you aim to wound me.”

“Am I hitting my mark?”

“Not even close.”

Jumping over the railing of the building, they traverse in silence up a short hill before you turn around and pull out the detonator. With a simple press of a button, it goes up in flames and debris, caving in from the inside out and destroying any droid not alerted already by your little dance with your saber.

Job done. And there’ll be a million more like it in differing sizes and magnitudes. Dropping the detonator to your feet, you smash it to bits with a sharp stomp.

How many more factories can they blow up? How many droids can they kill?

All of it means nothing if you don’t kill the mastermind behind it all.

Eyes closing, you curse whatever deity pulls the strings and tell yourself that it’s just what you have to do. There are no clean hands in war. Just dirty ones and dirtier ones.

So be it.

Turning to Obi-Wan, your eyes flutter from his dark robes to his face.

“You wanted my attention, you have it.” His eyes squint a bit at your choice of words and you lift your chin up, refusing to back down in his overwhelming confidence. “Talk.”

“Now you want to listen to me?”

“Don’t waste my time.” Your boots shift in the soft dirt, leaves bending beneath the ball of your feet and you look at Obi-Wan, really get a good look at him for the first time since he’s thrusted himself back into his life. You wonder if you look at him the same way he looks at you. Then, you ponder if he notices that he stares at you like he’s seen a ghost or if he believes that no one can read him anymore.

But you still can.

You can rip the pages out of a book, but it does no good for someone who has memorized every single page and simply flips through for the memories.

“The Sith Lord, his name is Darth Sidious,” he says, tucking his hands into his sleeves. “He rules the Republic secretly, taking senators under his control with a simple word. The apprentice, on the other hand, was Count Dooku.”

“Count Dooku? The Jedi who retired.”

He nods. “The same. That is, before I killed him and took his place.”

“Killed him,” you repeat. “You killed a Jedi.”

“A Sith Lord,” he corrects.” It was of no consequence. He would’ve caused you more trouble sooner or later.” It’s the flippant way in which he speaks that sets you back as he turns to head deeper into the forest and you follow him for lack of nowhere else to go. This is the way to your starfighter, something he seems to realize.

“Obi-Wan, you can’t just say that.“

“How many times do I need to remind you that—“

“Well, I refuse to use that name.” You plant yourself right in front of him and his eyes widen, eyebrows rising as he looks up at you. Clenching your jaw, you wish you could somehow reach into him, pull the Obi-Wan you know out so you could just hold him again— “It’s cursed, and wretched, and wrong.”

“This again?” He tries to walk around you but you grab his arm. He freezes, rigid, under your grip and you try to pull him back.

“You know I’m right. You only correct me when I start questioning your morality—something I thought Sith don’t exactly doubt.” Your eyes narrow. “I thought you all believed you were evil and relished in it.”

When he rips his arm out of your grip, he tears a piece of you with him. “Don’t make me regret my decision to come to you.”

“Regret it, then. See if I care.” You start to walk back down to the wreckage of the building and you hear a loud sigh.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere where the air isn’t tainted with your presence. I’m not wasting my time when there is a war going on.”

“Tainted?” His voice rises as he walks down the hill after you. “If I was aware that the Jedi have made you so marvellously childish, I wouldn’t have come at all.” Stopping in your tracks, your eyebrows shoot up your forehead and you whip around, pinning him with a glare.

“What do you mean come? You said you were here already.” Before you know it, his mouth opens to argue but no words come out and you know you’ve caught him.

So you get under his skin as much as he gets under yours.

Good.

“You were following me.”

Dryly: “An astute observation. Now, will you help me kill a Sith Lord or not?” He stops in front of you and you tilt your head. His lips are twisted in an impatient scowl as you look over your shoulder at the ruins of the Separatist chapter.

Then, you cross your arms and sit down on the hill. You glance up at him, cock your head as a silent invitation for him to sit next to you. The sun is just beginning to set on the horizon, painting the sky a wondrous purple-orange. When you look at Obi-Wan, the orange ignites the gold in his eyes and sets his hair aflame. He stares out at the sky, legs crossed and hands on his lap. The perfect meditation posture.

“You haven’t succumbed to the dark side, have you?” you ask quietly, voice cracking, and he blinks, looking at you.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Then, his eyes are on the sky again.

You search his side profile. He seems so normal. So… like himself. It scares you yet brings you relief.

“Never mind.” You draw your legs up to your chest, rest your arms atop your kneecaps. “The Sith Lord, Darth Sidious. He taught you… whatever it is that’s so enticing about the dark side.”

“Oh, if only you knew, dearest,” he sighs. “But yes. I’ve no interest in seeing his reign continue.”

“But… shouldn’t your goals align?” you ask, confused. “It is the goal of the Sith to destroy the Jedi.”

“Not all Jedi,” he corrects. “Perhaps some exceptions can be made.” Again, his eyes flicker to yours and your eyebrows knit together. A delicate frown mars your face. “You. Your old Padawan. You join me and together we can rule the galaxy ourselves. We could keep him because I know how much he means to you. Personally, I find him endearing.”

Shock shoots through you like cold fire. “What? No. No, that’s not how this works. We do this for the Republic. Not to replace one dictator with another.”

“Why not?” he laughs. “We’d have no rules, or, perhaps, it’d be by our own design. We could have the power to shape the galaxy however we wish.” He leans over. “I know you want that as much as I do. I don’t see why we shouldn’t take the Senate for ourselves.”

“Because that’s wrong! Because democracy—“

“—has worked so well?” he asks dryly. “Look at the Trade Federation. The Separatists. Your democracy has failed you twice in the past ten years on a scale tantamount to the largest volcano on Mustafar erupting.”

“Then we amend what goes wrong. That’s how this works. We try and try. We do it until we get it right, even if we never do.”

“That is a fool’s play.”

“I’d rather us be the fools than the king,” you snap. “At least fools know where they stand.” You get up, turn to ascend up the hill again and you dust off your pants, dirt flecking off the fabric. “As for us…” You scoff, shaking your head and you can hear him getting to his feet as well. “I can’t believe I ever humoured the idea that there could ever be an ‘us’ again.”

“That idea could become reality if you would just join me.” His voice is harsher than a serrated vibroblade as he falls into step beside you. You hate how easily he catches up but you refuse to acknowledge him as you stride back to your ship. “Think of it. There wouldn’t be a single thing separating us again. Not death, not the Sith, not the Code. We could finally be together. I’ve thought of nothing else since I learned that you were alive.” You bite your lip, eyes resolutely staying forward despite his words seeping into your conscious. “I know that’s what you want. Without the Code, we could flaunt our love. I could cherish you as you deserve, darling. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to be with me, too?”

And something—something about how brutally honest those words are just hits you like a speederbike and you stop in your tracks for the second time that day. Obi-Wan stops a few paces ahead and you pin him with a sorrowful stare.

“So. That’s what this is about.” You let out a short, incredulous breath. “Not… not power. Not even some delusion that you can rule the galaxy better than the Senate. You just want me.”

His eyes widen before they narrow into a glare and he storms down the hill, shoves his face into your space and you swallow the rock in your throat.

“Yes,” he growls, nose-to-nose. “Is it so wretchedly inhumane of me to desire you?”

Your heart stops in your chest and you cannot answer right away.

Can’t. Won’t.

There doesn’t seem to be a difference. All you know is that you can’t breathe.

And when you remember how, all you can smell is him, feel him so close to you that you can’t imagine ever forgetting him.

“No.” The word, so fragile, so short, flutters past your lips and Obi-Wan reels back like you had punched him. “No, I don’t think it’s inhumane at all to love.”

“It is all I do this for,” he whispers furiously as if you hadn’t spoken, eyes searching your own. You reach to touch his tunic but he grabs your wrist so tightly that you can’t break out of it. “Let me make that very clear that it is because of you that I am like this.” His lips twist into a snarl. “You haunt me and I let you because I take a sadistic pleasure in wanting what I cannot have. Do with that what you wish.”

Your heart drops into your gut as you wrench your wrist out of his grip and their eyes meet in dark, ferocious anger as they linger in the heat of it.

Then, before you can question what he means, he draws back and all that anger, rage, grief, melts to a mask of diplomacy. No tension in his face, no feeling. He’s a blank slate as he clears his throat, regards you with an impassive gaze that somehow hurts more than his ire.

“If you do intend to help me,” he finally says icily, “join me on Coruscant. You will receive specific details on your terminal.”

Shaken, you watch him disappear into the jungle. Your legs give in before you can follow and as you fall to your hands and knees, you wonder if you cry for him and the fate you’ve tied him to or cry for yourself and the guilt that begins to eat you alive.

“I’m so glad you made it back safely. As for the Council hearing, that couldn’t have been easy.”

“Thank you, Padmé, and it wasn’t, but… we made it through. What’s done is done when you’re dealing with the Sith. Now that we found the name of the Sith Lord, maybe we can narrow down our serach.”

“Master Windu must be pleased with your work.”

“Have you met him? Nothing pleases him. Ever.” You sip on your tea politely but it tastes like nothing on your tongue. Padmé frowns faintly at your tone, not besmirching her beauty in the slightest as Anakin walks in. Looking up, you set down your cup. “Anakin.”

“Ahsoka told me I could find you both here. What are you doing on the terrace?” he asks with a glance at you, then a softer one at the Senator. Concern masks his features. “It’s cold at night.”

“You know, sometimes ladies need moments to ourselves,” Padmé teases, standing. You lean back into your chair, watching in amusement at the way Anakin’s expression completely melts when she walks past him. If he couldn’t be any more obvious. “How’d the research go?”

“Fine. Ahsoka asked me something that I couldn’t answer so I just wanted to ask you about it, Master.”

“Me?” You sit up. “What could I possibly know that you don’t?”

“Well, she heard of a name and it was before my time, so I thought you could help.”

“Calling her old when you want something, Ani?” Padmé calls from inside as she sets something down on the table. You get up yourself, letting the droids take care of their dishes as you join your friend inside. “Now, that’s classy.”

Stifling a laugh, you enter the apartment and glance over your shoulder at your old Padawan learner. “Ask.”

“Well, she was looking through the libraries and came upon a name. It’s popped up in our database now that we know the name of the Sith Lord. The Rule of Two demands an apprentice, and if we’re right, it could be him.” Your heart drops in your throat as you sit down and Anakin clasps his hands behind his back. His eyes are solemn, his lips set in a frown. Padmé’s eyes rest on you in concern and you know that your silence is just as troubling as anything.

“What name?” you ask, so quietly you’re not sure you’re audible.

“He was a Padawan at the same time as you, Master.” Your throat tightens and you pray to the Maker he doesn’t say what you think he will— “Obi-Wan Kenobi. He simply… disappeared. Not even the Council could trace him.”

“Anakin…”

“Did you know him?” Padmé asks curiously and your eyes dart to her.

“I did. He was… he was my best friend. His disappearance…” Broke me. Killed me. What else is there to say? “It was a great loss to the Order. He was the best of us. I wasn’t even aware that he was alive.” The silence that follows nearly chokes you and you sweep your gaze from Anakin to Padmé until you realize you can no longer bare their interrogating stares. Standing, you bow to the Senator and excuse yourself. “Goodnight, Senator. Forgive me but the war means little sleep for me. I must meditate on this.”

“Goodnight,” Padmé calls, the frown evident in her voice as you turn, leaving the apartment as quickly as you can.

You reach the elevator and step on just as Anakin catches up to you and you flash him a false smile, stepping aside to make room for him beside you. He lets out a breath, glancing at you. The doors close and he looks at the buttons, clasping his hands in front of himself before pressing the ground floor just as you did with a decisiveness one can’t fake.

That Skywalker swagger. Must be.

He steps back into line beside you. “Are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“In all my years under your tutelage, I’ve never seen you so affected. You’re steadfast, Master.”

“Did I miss ‘Compliment Your Elders Day’ in the calendar?”

A scowl. “And you deflect with sarcasm.”

“As all the best do.”

“Master.”

“Anakin,” you censure. “I’ll be fine. It is you who can confide in me, not the other way around.”

“Well, I don’t think that’s fair,” he replies stubbornly. “I hardly know anything about you and I’ve known you far longer than I haven’t.”

“Oh, that makes me feel great about myself.” The sarcasm drips through your words. “We work well together, Anakin. That’s all that’s mattered.”

“Whether we work well together or not isn’t the point. I’ve know you for years and you’ve never told me anything about yourself.”

“Well, you know I was born on Corellia. I like flying. You know how I fight, which is far more intimate than most people know me,” you list off the top of my head. “You know how I take my caff, that I drink often, even though unofficially, the Jedi don’t condone excess consumption of alcohol.” At Anakin’s skeptical gaze, you sigh. “Look, it’s not just you I refuse to speak of it to. No one except the Council knows about Obi-Wan. He’s… he’s not supposed to exist, in a figurative sense. He was supposed to be wiped from the databases.” Anakin’s expression scrunches up in confusion and you drop your gaze. “There was a situation. It was handled, but there was a whole mess that came along with it. A Jedi died—“

“I saw. Ahsoka showed me the death certificate of a Master Qui-Gon Jinn a few days after Obi-Wan Kenobi’s recorded documentation regarding him leaving the order. The reports speak of a mission with you and Master Windu, as well as Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon.” Hearing the Jedi’s name makes your guts twist and you look up at the elevator lights signifying their level. They still have so far to go. “What happened that day?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Master, trust me. You know me better than anyone. If Obi-Wan Kenobi is the Sith Apprentice we’re searching for—“

“Anakin, I am warning you. Do not mention Obi-Wan’s name again.” Your cold tone knocks him off and you know it’s because you never use that tone against him. You instantly regret your words and you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. Chewing your lip, an apology already works its way into your mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to lash out at you.”

The doors open at last and you begin to leave.

“I’m starting to sense he was more than your friend, Master,” Anakin murmurs, grabbing your forearm, stalling you, and you look at him wretchedly. A mirthless smile works its way onto your face and your heart wilts in your chest as you gently pull out of his grip. Anakin’s eyes widen and you can only look at him in apology.

“Anakin… what lies between you and the Senator?” you ask and he jerks back as if you’ve slapped him.

You might as well have as he stammers, “Nothing more than friends.”

Your smile only grows unhappily. “Then apply that ‘friendship’ to what was between Obi-Wan and I, Ani, and you have your answer.”

You sit on top of the building, knee jiggling as you wait. You could meditate, eat, pass the time any other way besides watching the speeders, but you don’t. You feel nauseous, cold.

You hadn’t told anyone of your meeting here, as Obi-Wan requested and yet, you fear Master Windu might’ve caught on to your lies.

The Jedi Council actively search for the very man you’re meeting and you can’t help but feel like sniper sights are aimed at your back every time you leave your apartment.

“Hello there.”

You whip around to see a cloaked figure emerge from the shadows. Obi-Wan stands there, dressed in black and a dark bloody maroon. His hood off and his hands in open display, he stands there until you face forward again, taking that as an invitation to come closer.

“I trust you’re well?”

“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” you utter quietly, clasping your hands. He climbs over the railing, sits beside you on the balustrade with a quiet sigh. Their feet dangerously close to the edge of the roof, he glances at the traffic and you stare at your boots. “Let me make something very clear: I want to help, no matter your own motives. I swore to keep the peace and that is what I’ll do, but after this, our arrangement is done.” Your eyes find his and you hope the coldness in your tone is mirrored in your gaze. “I never want to see you again. Let me be a ghost and you can be mine.”

Obi-Wan’s lips curved into a handsome frown. You look back out at the skylanes.

Quiet.

He must know you mean it this time. That there is no coyness, no game—you aren’t out to play hard to get. You aren’t acting like you don’t know what you’re saying. No, you’re well, and truly, done. Sick of it. Finished. Whatever synonym that can be concocted, it is what you are. Even if you do love Obi-Wan, you wish you had died that day. It would’ve been much better than this.

An odd twenty years later, and sometimes, your stomach still aches from old scars.

“Am I understood?” you finally inquire softly.

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, let’s get to work.” You draw your hands up your thighs, set your spine straight and look at your new partner-in-crime. “What’s our first move?” He stares at you for a moment, pale yellow eyes searching your face, but when you merely arch an eyebrow in prompting, he blinks and pulls something out of his pocket.

“Well, considering my Master hasn’t recognized that I intend to murder him in cold blood yet, we must move quickly. Have you deduced who Darth Sidious is?” You look at him and he sighs. “Who has always rubbed you the wrong way, no matter what everyone else said?”

You roll that question over in your head for a moment. “I’ve never liked how Chancellor Palpatine has attached himself to Anakin,” you confess. “If anyone, he’s painted himself the saviour of the Republic and the Council don’t trust him.”

“For once, the Council is right.” You frown at his bitter tone. “And your intuition never fails.”

“So the Sith Lord is Chancellor Palpatine, the most well-guarded man in the galaxy.”

“Yes.”

“And you do realize that a Jedi killing him portrays a certain… image, don’t you?”

“Oh, I know. I’ll do it. What I need is for you to get me access to his rooms.” Eyebrows shooting up, you rest your chin on your clasped hands, your elbows digging into your knees. “You said it yourself: your old Padawan learner is off mingling with the Supreme Chancellor himself. I assume you’re close with the Skywalker boy.”

“I am.”

“He’s powerful in the Force, that one,” he comments.

Quietly: “I know.” Sighing, your eyes find Obi-Wan’s. “So you want me to manipulate Anakin to let us in.”

“Manipulate is a strong word.”

“Didn’t realize you had such an aversion to using people to your own means.” The light of the city reflects off his eyes, cloaking his face in half light, half shadow. It only amplifies the arrogance of his smirk, the arrogant cock of his eyebrow. Your gut clenches and your thighs press together as he leans over.

“I have a strong, strong inclination for the consensual, darling.”

“So witty, as always,” you breathe. “As if the last time we spoke had no consequence.”

“Oh, it doesn’t. Not for me at least. For you, on the other hand…” He clicks his tongue. “I can feel the guilt inside you, twisting your every thought.” He chuckles. ”It’s funny, really.”

“My torture is your amusement?”

“Ah, no, never,” he corrects. “It’s a bitter delight that you never realized your hand in all of this. This situation, this war, this… conundrum of the heart. It’s… sick,” he acknowledges, “but after years of my own guilt consuming me, it’s almost… comforting to see you suffering like me.”

Your gut convulses at his words. “You think I didn’t suffer in your absence? That I didn’t dream of you every night for years?” His eyes study your face that begins to crumble underneath his stare.

“I think we are alike in our agony.” He flips the device he pulled out earlier over in his hands, activating it with a simple press of a button. “Do you know why I want to kill the Chancellor?” A soft voice begins to emit for the device and he hands it over to you with a faint smile. “Take it.”

“What will you do? Spin your tragic tale?” you inquire without any bite. You mean it—tales are tragic when it comes to their lives so interwoven with one another and as they sit on the edge of the balcony, overlooking a city still alive despite the war raging, the night edging in on all sides, you hold the device to your ear and swallow when you hear Darth Sidious’ voice, vile and old. It sends a shiver up your spine.

“She hangs in the balance, young one. Join me, and I will ensure that she lives.”

“A tragic tale,” he echoes. “Yes, perhaps it is.”

The recording scratches, skips forward. “She’s dead, Obi-Wan. I’m sorry for your loss but you can avenge her. Use that lust for vengeance for more than grieving a girl dead before her time.”

You lower the device from your ear. You don’t want to hear any more of his manipulations. Those brief glimpses had been enough to make your stomach churn. “You don’t need to say any more.”

“He cloaked you from me. For years, I kept seeing your eyes,” he continues distantly. He leans forward on his knees, almost leaning into the wind and you clutch onto the cylindrical device tighter. “I remembered what it felt like, feeling your lifeforce ebb and disappear by my hand.”

“But you found me,” you try and he chuckles darkly, looking out at the skylanes. Two speeders nearly collide and his lips twitch into a mirthless grin.

“Indeed. When I was looking for the boy.”

“Anakin?”

“Hm.” He looks at you again. “The Chancellor wants to replace me with him now that he’s all grown.” Then, his eyes drift, rich in drive, zeal, the spirit of a warrior, the soul of a man who refuses to falter. “I suppose that’s another reason why it’s time to deposit the tyrant. I don’t intend to die so easily.”

In a moment of irrational, or perhaps even lack of, thought, you reach for his clasped hands and hold onto him. He doesn’t rip himself away immediately and in fact, his eyes seem to fixate onto yours deeply as you slip your hand between his.

“I’ll be there,” you promise him, not daring to look away, not wanting to for a second. It isn’t the most romantic thing in the world—you could’ve promised that you’d protect him, that he won’t die because you’re there, that he won’t ever be harmed again, that ‘it’ll be okay’—but you’ve always been practical, just as Obi-Wan was. Is. The only thing you can offer is the truth: “You won’t be alone.”

Then, he lifts one of his hands and rests his palm on your knuckles, and your heart, thudding like thunder in your chest, hitches. You suck in a cold, clear breath and squeeze his hand gently.

“Thank you.” His fingers brush over your skin and electricity dances up your arm as he watches you softly, gaze falling from your eyes to your lips. The gauzy glow of Coruscant softens his features and a shuddering sigh leaves your lungs as he leans forward.

It’s a moment where you think no, I shouldn’t, I can’t, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t before your heart, screaming to meet his, shuts up whatever rational voice echoes in your head and you close the distance. The instant their lips meet, a hand lifts from yours and shoots to your jaw, cupping your face and deepening the kiss. You set down the device blindly, holding onto his neck. Their hands spring apart and your other hand rakes through his hair, fingers twisting in auburn locks as he holds your face, burns himself into your mouth.

You barely remember when your eyes closed.

All you know is that the smell of him, the taste, it’s all so familiar yet there is the hint of something darker, smokier leading you deeper into his influence. One of his hands spreads across your neck, thumb brushing over the front of your throat and the underside of your jaw as you scoot closer towards him and he chuckles, nose wrinkling at your insistent kisses but submitting all the same.

Your mind is blank, razor-focused on one thing and you don’t even remember your own name before your lungs screech for air and you suck in a deep breath through your nose, tearing yourself away despite their lips nearly refusing to part. Your mouth opens and inhale sharply, hands pulling through his hair. His chin tilts up and you blink, looking at him through the fuzzy dots in your vision and the gleam of his golden eyes, arrogance and tenderness in its very definition, douses you in cold water.

Jerking back, your hand flies to your lips, fingers brushing where he had claimed you moments before. Your thoughts are a scattered whirlwind and you swallow. Your breaths come rapid, your heart beating everywhere at once as you spin around, climbing over the balcony and back towards solid ground. Obi-Wan twists, confusion marring his face as he gets up and you whirl around. You feel like he’s set you on fire after a long winter left out to the elements and you’re incinerating.

You’re burning from the inside out. You’re thirsty, yearning for something to feast on. Your fingers itch to rip off clothes, slash apart a droid, do anything to work out the energy that’s beginning to fizzle in your chest.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you whisper, voice cracking, and you look up at him forlornly. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Why not?”

“Because—because—“ Yet with every second, you find your logic failing as you look at him. His hair is dishevelled—your doing—and he runs a hand through the golden strands as he waits for your answer but you’re starting to think you don’t have one.

After all, no one will ever know besides them.

That’s what you told yourself when they were Padawans. You fail to think of any difference now.

Obi-Wan stands there expectantly and your hands rake over your head, glancing around. There is no one but the sound of late-night traffic and the night.

Eyes sliding shut, you feel something inside you give like a fragile foundation finally slipping in the sand.

His kiss is like a toxin, still scorching through you, and something inside you tightens as you open your eyes again and see him standing there, expression so much like the old Obi-Wan that your heart aches.

Your hand drops. You look at Obi-Wan in his dark robes, and decide.

You can’t take it anymore. You will love a ghost. You’d rather do that than die lonely.

Walking over to him with a decisiveness you feel like you’ve lost since he’s crashed into your life, you take Obi-Wan’s face in your hands and pull him into your kiss.

He kisses back immediately, his hands finding your jaw and your eyes squeeze shut as your hands slide down his neck, find his shoulders and their lips meet again and again, drunk off the mere touch of their bodies. You find the buckle of his belt, undoing it with ease and the clank of his lightsaber hitting the ground along with the rest of the leather makes you grin against his persistent mouth. He kisses the corner of your mouth before nudging your chin up with his nose. His hands slide down your shoulders, hooking on your robes and sliding them down your arms with a slow, seductive intention that sends shivers up your spine.

Letting your arms drop, you let him guide the robe to a pool around your feet before breaking the kiss to look down at your belt but he grabs your jaw, tilting your head up and their mouths slot together again. With his free hand, he undoes the buckle with practiced ease and your lightsaber joins his on the ground before they sink to the floor in unison, their knees against cold stone, their lips never parting. A fire scorches between their mouths and you know that you have never felt more at home than the moment Obi-Wan’s hands find your waist.

His hand slides to the small of your back, scooping you up and lying you flat against the pavement as you find the waist of his trousers, tugging down insistently. Their breaths mix in desperation as their foreheads press together. Their lips part just enough for you to look down and he kisses your brow, your cheeks, cranes his head to find your ear as you run your hands over the front of his pants, feel something warm and hard against your palm.

A quivering sigh against your neck makes your stomach flutter as the hand on your back slides to your hip, squeezing the flesh there. Boots sliding along the ground, you let out a tiny whimper when soft lips suck on the flesh of your throat, teasing you with tiny nips. His hand goes under your long tunic, finding the hem of your trousers and a warm index finger traces the rim, tip gently brushing along the sliver of bare skin there.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your hands trail up his sides and wrap around his back.

Their foreheads are still pressed together when his eyes flicker from your body to your face.

“Are you sure?”

You bite your lip and nod. “Yes. I’m—I’m sure.”

“Stop me. Don’t be afraid,” he whispers. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as his cold skin meets the warm flesh of your thighs.

“I’ve never been afraid of you, Obi-Wan,” you murmur achingly, eyes beginning to sting. His eyes flash to yours and you smile to yourself, slithering a hand to his face and cupping his jaw. Your thumb brushes over his lips. “Even after all this time, I’ve only loved you until I’ve hated you and… I have never stopped caring about you. I became a Jedi in your honour, you know? I did what I thought you would’ve done, because you are good, Obi. I know it.” You tilt his head against yours. Their noses clash and their lips brush, and you can’t help but close your eyes as your fingers card through his hair. “You’re still in there and I will never be afraid of you, but I am afraid for your future. For ours.”

“Ours?” he echoes and you nod against him.

“Ours.”

“What—what do you mean?”

There it is. That split-second of hopefulness in his voice, the sound of the first sun after the darkest winter. You’d give anything to pull the sun out of the shadows. Even the Jedi Order.

“Ours if we make it through this. Ours when I renounce the Code and join you.” Curling your fingers in his hair, you feel your heart splinter into two, wilt like a flower in the winter rain and when the first droplet lands against your nose, you know he’s struggling to hold his tears in.

Your eyes open. Pressing a brief, soft kiss against his mouth, you gently brush his tears away.

“I will leave the Order for you if you leave the Sith for me. When we kill the Chancellor, we will disappear and live the life we deserve. That’s what scares me.” His eyes search yours and you smile, his beard tickling at your palms. He raises his arms until his elbows are by your head and he props himself up, lacing his fingers atop your head and shielding you from the world. His body pressed against yours, you can’t help the tentative smile on your face.

“Why?”

“Because we’re so close to it,” you tell him. “Because, for the first time, it seems so real. We’re just within reach.” You sigh, studying his face, his scar, the shape of his eyebrows. All tiny things, yet they mean the world to you.

“What happened to never seeing me again?” he asks in a faux smug airiness and you wrinkle your nose, wrapping your arms around his neck as you sniff, trying to ignore the burning in your eyes but when you look at Obi-Wan, you swear you can see the first hint of blue in his eyes. The first hint of day breaking through the night.

“A kiss or two changed my mind.” You tilt your head to the night, letting the bracing wind take your tears away. You think nothing of this night has been romantic, from what’s been said to what’s happening now.

Yet, you wouldn’t change a thing from this.

You’d rather have this mess than a fantasy—have this broken man silently letting tears slip down his face than anything else.

Tears smeared all over his cheeks, Obi-Wan sniffs and tries to clear his throat but fails miserably as you draw your hand across his face. He cradles your face in one of his own hands, swiping a thumb beneath your eye and you smile.

“I love you,” he whispers hoarsely, quietly, and you lift your head up to kiss him softly, again, assuredly. “Please. Please don’t wake me up.”

“I’m alive, don’t worry. This isn’t a dream.” You tilt your chin up to kiss between his eyebrows and the delicate scrunch of his brow makes you warm. “And I love you, too.” His hands holding your face begin to tremble as if he’s afraid that one moment, you will disappear like a ghost but you let your hands drop, press palms against his knuckles so that he steadies and smile up at Obi-Wan. “I’m here.”

“So many of my nightmares end like this.” His voice breaks as he ducks his head into your chest, forehead to your heartbeat. “I don’t want to wake up. I never do.” You wonder if he hears the distinct shattering of your heart at his words.

Folding your fingers over the spaces between his, you draw his hands away from your face and press a long kiss to his fingers.

His grip only tightens as he lifts his head again and rests it on your shoulder. Their hands part only for you to wrap your arms around his chest and for his to bend around your head again, sheltering you from the world around them.

The traffic is quieter now, nothing but your heart and his beating in tandem and the soft breaths that come only after tears are shed. His weight is suffocatingly warm and you bury your face into his neck, let his beard tickle at your eyes.

“This is real, Obi-Wan.”

You never want to leave him again.

“Anakin, let me begin by saying that you cannot interrupt me in the middle of me talking.”

“Do you think I’m six?”

A levelling look. A loud sigh.

“Okay, fine. I won’t interrupt you.”

“You better not.” You slip your hands into your sleeves, perching on the balustrade of Padmé’s balcony. It’s the only place you can think of that you trust to be completely absent of eavesdroppers. “First: Obi-Wan’s alive.”

Anakin’s eyebrows shoot up and he frowns faintly. “I thought we established that.”

“And I know for certain he is the Sith apprentice we’re searching for.” Guiltily, you lower your eyes to the ground as Anakin approaches, the frown ever growing. ”I met with him. Multiple times, actually.”

“Master—“

“He came to me first,” you say, holding up a hand. “I didn’t know until he came to me and I met him again on Yavin 4. Again, he followed me there.”

“Sounds like you have a fan.”

Sending him a wry look, you sit upright. “Funny. But I met him two nights ago.” Because all of yesterday was spent in my own apartment, trying to reconcile the possibility of a future with the man I’ve been in love with since I was sixteen. But that’s neither here nor there. “He told me what he wanted.”

“Which is?”

“Anakin…” You raise your gaze to your old apprentice and sigh, standing up. A thoughtful expression is etched onto his face. At times, you can’t help but think maybe you should’ve exercised or demonstrated more patience with him. It seemed like you only exacerbated his natural proclivity for recklessness. Other times, like now, you think you did a pretty damn good job. “Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord we are searching for.”

Anakin’s countenance drops and his mouth opens, trying to argue but you quickly continue.

“No one can know better than his apprentice,” you tell him. Reaching out for his shoulder, a cold feeling settles in your gut when Anakin jerks out of your reach, brushing past you with a stony expression. “Anakin—“

“How do we know you can trust this Obi-Wan?” he points out. “He could easily be using you, manipulating you to get what he wants.” Turning to watch him go, your eyebrows knit together. “Master, whatever you think he feels for you, he could be lying.”

That stings. It stings more than you thought it would and you saw it coming from miles away.

“Have you not stopped to consider the same thing applies to the Chancellor? Anakin, I know you and the Council have never seen eye-to-eye regarding your relationship with Palpatine, but Obi-Wan isn’t lying.”

“How do you know?” he repeats.

“I just do.”

“That’s not good enough! Have you told anyone else about this?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, great. So we’re going off the Sith Lord’s apprentice’s lead. That’s real trustworthy.”

“Anakin, if you don’t trust him, trust me.”

“I do trust you, Master. I’m just afraid that your mind is clouded.” Anakin’s eyes meet yours and a lightning current shoots down your spine at the graveness in his face. He looks much older than his years and you’re more than aware that the longer this war continues, the more exhausted they both will be.

“Anakin…” Then, you remember the weight of his secret. You wonder if that adds to it—if the burden of carrying the love for a certain senator drags him by the ankles. You understand that. You just wish Anakin knew that you would understand.

“I’m sorry, Master, but what does he want? This can’t be out of the goodness of his heart.”

“He wants to kill the Chancellor. That’s it. The Republic won’t fall beneath the weight of this war.”

“That’s it? That can’t be right. He must want something in return—“

“In return, I leave the Jedi Order,” you cut him off quickly, trying to rip the band-aid off. It doesn’t work because the colour drains from Anakin’s face and your heart wilts in your chest. Regret knots in your chest as he walks up to you and opens his mouth to argue, hands reaching for your shoulders. You raise your hands, stopping him. “It’s a done deal. I’m leaving on my own accord.”

“Master… you can’t. You can’t just—“

“You and I both know it’s more than possible,” you shoot back. Your words come out cold, flat, and you wish he could’ve found out any other way, but life is rarely, if ever, perfect. Anakin’s blue eyes search your face for answers you do not have and it must be something in how you say it but realization soon dawns upon him.

“You love him.”

“He loves me, too,” you reply quietly. “It is, I assume, not dissimilar to how you feel for Padmé.” You smile faintly and reach up, cupping his face. “I’ve never been blind to that, Anakin.” Sputtering, your old friend tries to come up with some excuse but you merely shake your head. “Once this war is over, Obi-Wan and I will leave Coruscant. That was our deal. And we need your help to do it.”

“My help?” The words come out strangled and you nod. “How?”

“The Chancellor trusts you. Get us into his office, and we will do the rest. You can leave the room, deny responsibility, do whatever you need to. The Council must not connect you to this.”

“But—“

“Anakin, you have the potential to be a great Jedi Master, if not the greatest. With my spot on the Council opening up, who knows? Your part in this may push you in the right direction.” Glossy azure eyes fix on yours and you hold Anakin’s face in your hands before resting your palms on his shoulders. “I’m more than willing to do this if it means this war ends and don’t worry. You’ve grown into a great Jedi. Greater than any other I’ve known. There’s no more I can teach you that you won’t learn yourself.”

“It doesn’t feel like it, Master.”

“It’ll always feel like that. We never stop learning, but that’s how life is. Don’t worry.” You squeeze his shoulders. “There won’t ever be a goodbye between us, Ani. Only a temporary parting.”

“But you’re leaving.” And just like that, he is nine again and you are twenty-five, crouching in front of a young blond boy from Tatooine as you tell him you will be his Master, prove your own Master wrong. Newly made Knight and desperate to please, you were determined to give Anakin a life he didn’t have to worry about never seeing his mother again, nor money, nor hunger. Pain, anger, fear.

You know you failed.

Still, you tried. That, you decide, must count for something.

“And you are staying. I have never, never, wanted to leave you Anakin, but I believe in you. I know you are the change the Order needs and if I can’t be here to see it…” You hum thoughtfully. “Maybe one day. One day we will return and I will see you as the Master I know you can be.”

A weak attempt of a smile on Anakin’s part.

“I’d welcome you back with open arms, Master. No matter what.”

You force a grin onto your own face and pull him into your arms. Immediately, he embraces you and you hold him tight, eyes closing. His face buries into your neck and you cradle the back of his head like you did when he was younger, a boy tainted by nightmares, and you know soon, you won’t be able to do this again. Hug your family… hug someone who has become your son when he’s scared.

“I’ll help you,” he finally whispers into your shoulder and your arms tighten around him. His voice may be muffled but it doesn’t manage to stop the everflowing sadness. “Just tell me when and where and I will be there.”

“Okay.” You draw back and hold his face in your hands, smiling still. Your eyes refuse to shed the tears burning there so instead, you just… stand in his presence for a moment longer until they have to part.

“Darling.” Obi-Wan stands when he spots you approaching their meeting spot on the roof again and you stop in front of him, pulling your hood down. “And your old Padawan?”

“He’ll help,” you murmur. “He’ll alert us through the comlink when he’s in position, then this assassination attempt will go through.” Disgust curls at your tongue and you shake your head. “I still don’t like this plan.”

“Why?”

“Because it seems too easy.” You cross your arms over your chest. “We just go in there, you cut off his head, and what? How do you explain this death? The fallout of this will be torrential.” Looking out over the city, you sigh. “What will we say?”

“Say that I was his assassin,” Obi-Wan says, joining you near the edge of the roof. “The Jedi tried to stop me but were too late.”

“That still paints us as failures.”

“Then what will you have me do? There is no alternative that doesn’t paint the Order as murderers. I know that isn’t what you want.” His eyebrows rise. “Is it?”

You scowl. ”No.” Thinking, you add on, “Couldn’t we say we struck you down? Eliminate the threat all together.” Eyes lighting up, you look at Obi-Wan. His eyes, a strange mixture of gold swirling with blue, squint in confusion. “Obviously, you won’t actually be dead, but I think people won’t think twice looking at you if you’re supposed to be dead. The Jedi Council said so.”

Realization: “Ah. Faking my death.”

You nod. “Exactly. If we settle on some planet and someone recognizes you, well, that’s impossible. You’re dead. The Jedi are very rarely wrong.”

“You’re quite clever, you know.”

“It’s honestly a wonder you haven’t thought of it yourself,” you reply. He smirks and you roll your eyes as he gently takes your shoulders and places a tender kiss upon your forehead. Something inside you melts at the touch. His nose presses into your scalp and their eyes close before you pull back and take hold of his hand. He’s warm to the touch.

Raising your other hand to flit over the scar crossing his face, you feel the sunken edges carefully. His eyes flutter shut and you run over his nose. It’s caused a small chasm in the structure of his face but you find that you can’t fault him for it. It’s become a part of him—a mark of his history. It may be a mistake in some eyes—not fast enough, not strong enough, not good enough—but to you, it’s simply a reminder that Obi-Wan is human. That he’s alive.

He’s alive. You still marvel at that. “You’ll have to tell me the story of this some day.”

He smiles and the scar stretches with it. It’s somehow endearing. “Some day,” he agrees. “As well as many others.”

“Sounds like a date.” You squeeze his hand just as the comlink beeps and you grab it from your pocket. “Anakin?”

“I’m ready. Ahsoka’s speaking to the Council as we do.”

“Ahsoka?” Obi-Wan questions.

“His Padawan,” you explain quickly. “Good. Keep your link on. We’ll mute ourselves from here on out.” Sending a nod to Obi-Wan, the two begin the plan. Clipping the rope to their waist, you wrap the end around a pipe, giving it an experimental tug as Obi-Wan looks over the edge of the building. Soon, they’ll be scaling down to the maintenance room and managing a way into the ventilation system.

“You know, if I thought we were speaking to the Council of this, I would’ve packed my fancy robes,” he calls dryly and you shoot him a glare to be quiet but he merely tips over the edge of the building and you suppress a groan,. The height makes you a bit woozy but you turn your back to the ground, grabbing onto the rope and slowly lowering yourself until they’re scooting down the side of the building together.

“Master Windu trusts my judgement, and better than we tell them when they can’t stop us,” you retort. Swinging out of the way of a window, the two glance at one another. “Sorry I didn’t tell about that. Didn’t think it was quite so imperative, what with the fact that we’re overthrowing a dictatorship tonight.”

“I don’t mind. At least I found out before Master Windu showed up out of the blue and decided to splice me in half for being anywhere near your vicinity.”

You barely contain a retort as they continue down.

Are you really doing this? Are you about to assassinate the Supreme Chancellor with a man you long thought dead?

Yes, a quiet voice replies, you are. And then, you will run.

They manage to crawl into the vent, him first, you second, and you’re stuck trying to avoid staring at Obi-Wan’s ass as they inch forward towards the Chancellor’s office. It’s not the most dignified position to find a Jedi and a Sith apprentice in, but alas—one must do what they do to rid the galaxy of tyranny.

Besides, you’re pretty sure the arrogance radiating off of Obi-Wan means about a million jokes will stem from this.

They stop when they are just above the office, Obi-Wan crawling over the tiny gap and turning around so they can both peer down the vent. You manage to unhook your saberstaff, breaking it into the two separate sabers, clutching each in tight hands as you listen in on the conversation below.

You aren’t even aware that your nails are digging into your thumbs before a gentle hand brushes over yours.

Relax, Obi-Wan’s voice orders gently in your mind. Remember—I do all the dirty work.

That doesn’t omit my part in this, Obi-Wan, you shoot back but your fists relax anyway and his hand withdraws. Everything inside of you is tense when you hear a voice.

“Anakin, what a surprise. What brings you to my office at so late an hour?”

“I wanted to talk to you about these dreams I’ve been having. I… I trust you and I’m not sure if it’s real or not.”

Just a little more.

Obi-Wan, are you sure he’s the Sith Lord?

Why are you having doubts now of all times? Your eyes flash to his and he glares back. I’m sure. I wouldn’t lie to you.

A sharp nod.

You spot Anakin’s figure approach and then the Chancellor, meeting just below and your fingers tighten around your sabers.

“What dreams?”

“Dreams of the Sith Lord that caused this war.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I believe I know who he is.”

The Supreme Chancellor’s eyes shoot up and he regards the Jedi Knight with a strange mix of confusion and suspicion.

“I’m sorry, Chancellor Palpatine.”

Anakin’s eyes flash up to the vent and Obi-Wan sends you a nod. You send your sabers into the grate, melting it off its hinges and letting the metal clamor to the ground before Obi-Wan jumps out, landing behind the Sith Lord who whirls around.

Activating his lightsaber, Obi-Wan stares at his former Master with a cruel snarl to his lips. You jump after him, twirling your yellow sabers as you stand behind him.

The contrast is near blinding.

“General Y/L/N.” The Chancellor has never sounded more unforgiving as he looks from you to Obi-Wan. “I believe you have a job to do. Kill this assassin.” You stare at the man who’s feigned warmth and kindness to the entire galaxy and you wait for his head to start rolling but when Obi-Wan doesn’t move, frozen, knuckles white as he clutches onto his saber, your eyes dart to his form.

“Obi-Wan,” you whisper. His gaze snaps to yours and for a moment, you don’t even recognize the man behind it. His golden eyes peer at you curiously and then he twirls his saber with a practiced motion, turning back to the Chancellor.

Palpatine frowns.

The vibrating hum of another lightsaber igniting joins the buzzing symphony and Anakin raises his blue lightsaber with a harsh, cracking expression upon his handsome features.

“By Jedi law, you must arrest me. Surely you won’t let him murder me in cold blood, Anakin,” Chancellor Palpatine says, glancing back at your old Padawan and hesitation flickers across his features. “Surely your Master taught you better.”

Anakin’s eyes flicker to yours. You are silent in return.

“This is treason.”

“What you have done to the Republic is treason,” you correct icily. “You do not deserve the luxury of a fair trial.”

It happens so quick. Palpatine reaches into his robes and there is a flash of red before the smell of burning flesh rises. A hand drops to the floor with a sick slap and a lightsaber rolls. Anakin sticks out a hand, letting the hilt fly into his hand and he deactivates it with a quick flourish as Palpatine keens over, clutching at his stump of a wrist.

Obi-Wan raises his lightsaber from the Chabcellor’s arm to his neck.

“I am finished with your manipulations, Sidious,” he murmurs lowly, and then, with one great, unfaltering swing, he decapitates the Sith Lord and lets the head roll.

There is no blood. The lightsaber burns too hot for there to be any and you can only smell the shit and piss as an old man dies.

Obi-Wan’s harsh pants are the only sound as the body drops and you deactivate your lightsabers. Anakin does the same as you step forward, placing a hand on his shoulder and another on the trembling fingers that wrap so tightly around the hilt of his saber.

“Obi-Wan.” His name passes by your lips softly, like a caress, and he drags his gaze from the dead Chancellor to your face. “It’s over.” Eyes fluttering shut, he lets you pull him tight against you, their foreheads knocking together as his lightsaber deactivates with a whomsh.

Your name passes by his lips in a soft breath and he cups your face just as doors open and he springs away from you. You grab his hand, tugging him behind you just as Master Windu and the rest of the Council walk in, and his hand tightens around yours as Anakin pivots around.

Ahsoka steps out, panting, her eyes wide.

“I tried to stop them—“

“Ahsoka, please.” You step forward, letting go of Obi-Wan’s hand but he tugs you back. Glancing at him, you smile. “Let me handle this.” His eyes search yours and you give him a nod of assurance before he finally lets go and you step towards the Council, past Anakin who wants to speak but you grab his arm gently, stopping him. “Master Windu.”

“General Y/L/N. Would you care to explain why the dead Chancellor’s body laid at your feet?”

“He was the Sith Lord orchestrating the war. Doubt there’s any other reason.” You meet your old Master’s eyes. “Master Windu, know that this is all my doing, and mine alone. Anakin had no part in this and neither did Ahsoka. She just found out and told you about our plot. I don’t want them to be punished.”

“That remains to be decided.”

“‘Our’?” Kit Fisto inquires.

You sigh, eyes fluttering to the floor. “Obi-Wan and I. It was our plot, together.”

“With the Sith, you conspired?” Yoda questions and you open your mouth to argue but you catch Ki-Adi’s shaking head and something inside you sinks.

“Look, he was manipulated. He’s not Sith. Not anymore. That man”—you point at Palpatine’s body— “was the Sith Lord we were all searching for and Obi-Wan led us straight to him.” Stone-cold silence. Your shoulders fall and the adrenaline that had burned through you drains away, leaving you oddly exhausted. “I understand if you wish to charge me with any crime against the Republic. Sedition or otherwise.”

“Obi-Wan is the one who killed the Chancellor, Master Windu. Master Y/L/N had nothing—“

“Anakin, don’t,” you cut him off quietly. “It’s not worth it to pretend otherwise.”

Anakin’s frustrated glare meets yours but you only smile at him and shake your head. Facing the Council again, you wait for one of them to speak. Master Windu’s unimpressed glare goes from Palpatine to you, and you only look at your former Master with raised eyebrows.

“What proof is there?”

“Nothing more than my memories, Master Windu, and a few recordings,” Obi-Wan speaks for the first time and eyes dart to the man as he steps forward into line with you. “I will submit those if you need them. Attempt to arrest me, however, and I will not go willingly. I’ve renounced the Jedi Order, as well as the Sith way. That, I can assure you of.”

“Master Yoda, your thoughts?” Master Windu asks, turning to the Grandmaster. A hand presses against the small of your back and you turn to Obi-Wan who watches with a stony glare. However, when he turns his gaze in towards you, something softens and you step closer to him.

“Upon the former Padawan, the dark side still lingers. Unsure of what to make of it, I am,” he admits and your hand finds Obi-Wan’s back, your other hand hovering by your lightsaber. No matter what, you are not leaving him alone in this.

“However this looks to the Republic is my greatest concern,” Ki-Adi murmurs. “To see a Jedi Master conspiring with the Sith—”

“Then manipulate the truth,” you argue. “That has never stopped the Jedi before. It didn’t stop them from completely erasing what happened twenty years ago and it can happen again.” Your hand drops from your saber and you send Master Windu a pleading look. “Say Obi-Wan was struck down, say he escaped, say anything but what happened. The only truth that needs to come out is that Chancellor Palpatine orchestrated the Clone Wars and with him gone, we might be able to find some semblance of peace again.”

The Council look at one another. Anakin and Ahsoka, standing side by side look to you.

War is rarely that simple.

“I forfeit every right, privilege, and rank I have achieved in the Grand Army of the Republic. I renounce my status as a Jedi Master.”

“You understood that you are barred from the Jedi Order henceforth?”

“I understand.”

Master Windu’s expression softens for his old Padawan and you could’ve sworn there was something darker, something breaking, as if he himself felt for you turning to someone else for the help he could not give.

You want to tell him it has never been his fault.

You don’t. Instead, you ask one last time for your own sanity: “And Obi-Wan? What of his records?”

A bitter, coy smile resides on his face: “Who?”

Satisfied yet curiously empty, you walk out of the Jedi Temple, to where Anakin, Ahsoka, Padmé, and Obi-Wan await. There are tickets and bare necessities for them to make a fresh start in a bag slung over Obi’s shoulder. There’ll probably be a speeder waiting for them at the base of the steps, waiting to take them to their new transport arranged courtesy of the Senator of Naboo herself and then… then who knows where to next.

You suppose that’s part of the excitement of it all.

You feel naked, stripped bare. You no longer wear the tan neutrals of the Jedi. Instead, a leather vest covers you, a shirt tucked into brown pants and paired with Obi-Wan, they look nothing more than smugglers. A cloak is draped over your shoulders and clasped at your throat, one you tug closer around yourself as you approach.

Obi-Wan extends a hand to you and you take it numbly, letting him kiss your knuckles.

“Are you alright?”

“Fine.” You squeeze his hand and he nods. “Wait for me at the bottom?”

“Always.” He lets go and his eyes turn to the others. “I appreciate your aid.”

“Thank you, Obi-Wan.” The words sound strangled coming from Anakin’s mouth. The two look at one another and you think, in another life, they could’ve been good friends. “Take care of her. Please.”

But that is not how it is now. Instead, Obi-Wan merely dips his head again, once to Anakin, and then to Padmé and Ahsoka before climbing down the steps of the Jedi Temple.

You watch him go until he is out of sight, your eyes lingering even after, before you turn around to feel Ahsoka launching herself into your arms. Eyebrows shooting up, you embrace the Padawan tightly, eyes closing shut and then two more bodies pile in closely.

Shaggy hair and floral scents—Anakin and Padmé.

“I’m going to miss you all so much,” you whisper, raising a hand to cradle the back of Anakin’s head and another to hold onto Padmé’s shoulder. “You don’t understand how much you mean to me.”

“If it’s anything close to how much you mean to us, I might have some idea,” Padmé says. She kisses your cheek, a tiny blush on her cheeks. “Stay safe, Y/N.”

“I will. And you, too. Make sure this one over here protects you,” you say with a sharp nudge to Anakin who winces, running a hand through his hair with a brash grin. Ahsoka, with her arms still around you, looks up and you rest a hand on her shoulder. “And you, little one, make sure you take care of your Master. He’s a lot. Make sure he’s not too in over his head.”

Ahsoka laughs much to Anakin’s irritation and even Padmé breaks a smile, poking the Knight teasingly. “I promise, Master.”

“I think,” you correct with a sombering smile, “that you should get used to calling me Y/N. I’m not a Jedi Master anymore.” Ahsoka’s expression falters and you squeeze her closer, cradling her head against you. Anakin’s downcast face catches your eye and you look up at him, finding blue eyes watching.

“You will always be my greatest teacher,” Anakin murmurs. “I just wish there was another way.”

“But there isn’t, and I’ll miss you more than you know, Ani,” you reply. “You will never fail to make me proud.” Letting go of Ahsoka, you reach forward, hugging him tightly once again. His arms wrap around you and he seems to sink against your frame, shoulders dropping, head buried into the crook of your neck and you close your eyes, knowing the torment that rips him in two. Patting his hair, you let him hold you as long as he needs to.

It’s not until Padmé touches his arm gently that he remembers to pull away and you cup his face, brushing your thumbs over the apples of his cheeks. Then, looking into his face, a face you’ve seen everyday for the past decade and now a face you don’t know for how long you’ll have to wait until you see again, you can feel two hands take your heart and tear it like paper, into uncountable bits.

Tilting his head down, you press a kiss to his brow. Then, with one final squeeze to Padmé’s hand and a squish of Ahsoka’s cheeks which she takes only because you don’t know when they will see each other again, you pull away.

“I’ll be okay, guys.” Trying to joke, you force one last smile upon your face. “You can at least look like you’ll see me again.”

“We’ll see you again,” Ahsoka decides. “The Force wills it so.”

“I hope it does.”

You pull your hood over your head and turn around, descending down the steps and leaving your old life behind.

They nestle between two ginormous crates. The captain’s paid to turn a blind eye in exchange that they take up minimal space and don’t cause problems. That’s easy for them—they’re heading to Tatooine and from then, who knows? Maybe somewhere cooler, wetter, snowier. They’ll decide when they want to.

You rip apart a piece of bread and hand it over to Obi-Wan, resting your head on his shoulder. Your arm is looped through his and he takes your offering, swishing it down with spotchka. You chew on your own piece, their fingers interlacing and their boots knock together playfully.

For some reason, it makes you feel like a Padawan again—stealing moments, sharing secret smiles. In the darkness only fractured by a sliver of white light, the two are lost in each other’s eyes.

Raising your head from Obi-Wan’s shoulder, you look at his side profile again, the sharp lines of his jaw, the fine ginger-blonde of his beard. His nose and his eyebags and that scar—

“You still need to tell me that story,” you murmur, and he turns his head, swallowing with a quirked eyebrow. “Of your scar. We could trade.”

“You have scars I don’t know about?” he asks mischievously, and you roll your eyes, struggling not to laugh as his lips sneak a kiss. Reciprocating, you can’t help but wrinkle your nose at the taste of spotchka on his mouth. Maker, the stuff is not your cup of tea. Obi-Wan seems to note your reaction because he pulls away, kissing your eyes and between your eyebrows before pulling back. “Not a drinker, are you?”

“Oh, I am.” You try not to pull the face that’s so desperately begging you to come out. “Just… not something I’m used to tasting.”

“Well, we still have time.” He blinks, returning to the rest of the food they have laid out in between them in their tiny tin containers, and you sigh, just watching him. With every passing moment, you just see more and more of the Obi-Wan you think he could’ve grown to be. The fissures are barely covered by dry jokes and thin smiles, but still, you can see where the dark side had shattered him in to pieces.

No matter. You suppose that this is where their life together begins. Building each other up again.

He catches you staring as he pulls a grape off its stem and pops it into his mouth.

“What is it?” he asks curiously, amused, and you say nothing, brushing hair out of his eyes and marvelling at the gentle blueness that stares back at you. “Is there something on my face?”

“No,” you whisper. “Not at all. I love you.”

He smiles. “I love you, too. This isn’t a dream?”

You shake your head. “This isn’t a dream.”

And he kisses you.

1K notes · View notes

the-iceni-bitch · 4 years ago

Note

For smutty prompts: 97) “I think you forgot to lock the door, that means anyone could walk right in and see you like this.”

With Andy or Ransom? Anyone really 😂

Oooookkkkk, this is gonna be Ransom, cause I’ve had a similar idea to this for him for a while now.

What, the OTP again, you say? You guys just keep lining them up for me 😉

Tagging the OTP babes @stargazingfangirl18 @chrissquares @subtlebucky @egcdeath

Send me smutty prompts!!!

Again, 18+ only guys, this is straight up porn!

You had never been more bored in your life.

It was Linda and Richards’ 40th anniversary, and they were throwing a giant party at a fancy hotel in downtown Boston. Of course you had to go, you and Ransom were pretty established now, as much as Linda hated it.

It was literally just a bunch of old money families that Linda was trying to ingrain herself to, bunch of stuffed suits that had nothing better to talk about than summering in the Hamptons or their brand new yachts or whatever the fuck the obscenely rich and out of touch loved to drone on about.

You’d lost track of the number of gin and tonics you consumed an hour ago, keeping yourself glued to Ransom’s side purely because you needed someone to roll your eyes at and he was your only option.

“How you feeling there, sweetheart?” He asked as some ancient man with a name like Chauncey or something finally walked away from you after chatting at you about his damn hunting lodge for what felt like an hour.

“Please kill me.” You whined, running your hand over your face before taking another sip of your drink as he chuckled at you. “Just break your glass and shove the shards into my throat.”

“I thought you were used to talking to rich people?” He said. “Isn’t that all you do at that charity of yours?”

“Those are rich liberals.” You said as you chugged the rest of your drink. “Who also aren’t the best, but at least I don’t have to listen to them complain about environmental regulations the whole time.”

“Well, why don’t we give my parents those super thoughtful gifts you got them then get the fuck out of here?” He said, taking your glass from you.

“Yes, please.” You said grabbing the presents you’d spent way too long on and following him through the crowd.

It didn’t take you long to find Richard and Linda, at the center of a flurry of activity. You waited patiently for them to be free before stepping in front of them, Ransom wrapping a protective hand around your waist.

“Mom, Dad, Y/N and I are gonna head out but we wanted to make sure to wish you a happy anniversary and give you your gifts.” He said, his fingers drumming against your side with nervous energy.

“Yes, happy anniversary you two.” You said, giving them a forced grin as you handed them their presents.

“Oh you can’t leave yet, Ransom.” Linda said, completely ignoring you. “There’s someone here I want you to meet. Muffy!”

Ransom let out a groan as Linda wandered off to grab some uptight looking woman who was about your age but who looked about as bored as you felt. Richard just gave his son a clap on the shoulder and gave you a lecherous grin, before turning to head to the bar.

“Gross.” You muttered before turning back to you boyfriend. “You wanna tell me what’s going on, babe?”

“Yeah, my mom’s been trying to get me to go out with this Muffy chick for months.” He said nervously, loosening his tie around his throat. “I think her parents own a textile conglomerate or something. I thought she would’ve let up once we made it official but I guess not.”

You didn’t get a chance to respond before Linda was shoving the poor girl at Ransom and trying to get the two of them to chat, still pointedly ignoring you.

“Yeah, it’s nice to meet you. This is my girlfriend, Y/N.” He said as he pulled you even closer.

“Hi Muffy, it’s my pleasure.” You said, offering her your hand as you beamed at Linda, who was looking very unhappy. “So sorry to cut this short, but we really do need to get going. Always great to see you, Linda.”

You dragged Ransom away from the crowd by his tie. He made a small sound of surprise when you turned away from the exit and started to head towards the bathroom.

“Babe, the exit’s that way.” He muttered, grinning at you.

You turned around and brought his face to meet yours, smashing your lips against his in a searing kiss, running your tongue over his teeth before breaking away and leaving him breathless.

“I know where the exit is, but there’s something I want to take care of first.” You murmured as he rested his forehead against yours. “Now go make sure there’s no one in the bathroom, and I’ll make you come so good baby.”

“Fuck, don’t gotta tell me twice.” He muttered before striding inside.

He was only gone for a few seconds before popping back out and dragging you in after him, picking you up and wrapping your legs around him.

“So...” you murmured as he set you on the counter, his lips moving all over your neck and shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me your mom was trying to set you up with a socialite?”

“Didn’t really seem important.” He muttered against your chest as he slotted himself between your thighs. “It’s not like I was actually gonna do anything with her.”

“Right.” You said as you started to undo his belt.

You removed his belt and started to work on undoing his fly, sighing as he sucked a bruise against your throat. You tugged his slacks and boxer briefs down his legs and wrapped your hand around his cock, making him groan.

“Whose cock is this baby?” You purred as he straightened up to rest his forehead against yours, your grip on his length tightening as he hissed between his teeth.

“Shit, you’re mad.” He mumbled as you squeezed him harder, biting your lip as you watched precum leak from his angry tip.

“Not mad, baby.” You murmured, running your thumb over his slit and making him groan. “Just feel like maybe your need a little reminder. Now tell me whose cock this is.”

“Fuck, it’s your cock.” He moaned as you smeared his precum over your fingers and dragged your hand over his length.

“That’s right baby.” You whispered as you brought your hand up to cup his cheek. “All mine. Just like this pretty mouth.”

He hummed as you slipped your fingers into his mouth and continued to draw your hand over his dick. His tongue swirled around your fingers as you pushed them further into his mouth, nudging the back of his throat as you slid off the counter.

“Look at you taking my fingers so good baby.” You cooed at him as you moved to stand behind him, sliding your fingers out of his mouth. “You know what else is mine?”

His breath hitched as you ran your hand over the curve of his ass, teasing your finger around the rim of his puckered hole, your other hand still drawing over his length as you bent him over the counter.

“Fuck, oh my god.” He groaned as you slid your finger inside him, arching his back into your hand.

“Ooh, baby, you are so fucking ready for me aren’t you?” You purred at him as you stretched him open, his cock twitching in your grip. “I own you, Hugh. This is my body, sweetheart, I can play you like a damn fiddle.”

He cried out as you slipped another finger inside him, scissoring them in his pretty hole as you curled over his back and pressed soft kisses against his neck. You shoved them even further inside him until they were nudging his prostate, and he swallowed a scream as your hand moved even faster over his cock.

“Mmm, sing for me pretty boy.” You murmured into his hair. “I think you forgot to lock the door, that means anyone could walk right in and see you like this. Now cum for me sweetheart.”

You sank your teeth into his neck as you shoved a third finger inside him, your other hand squeezing his cock. Ransom screamed as he came violently, his body rolling underneath you as his cum spurted all over the counter and his pretty hole fluttered around your fingers as he sobbed against the countertop.

“Oh my god!” You heard a sound of disgusted surprise from your left and turned to see Walt and Richard standing there with shock written all over their faces.

You stood up and grinned at the two of them as you pulled your fingers out of Ransom and unwrapped your other hand from his cock, smacking his ass hard and making him yelp as he panted against the counter.

“Hey there boys!” You beamed at them, Ransom finally coming back to himself and straightening up, avoiding making eye contact with his father and uncle as he pulled his slacks back up and tucked himself in. “Richard, please tell your wife to stop shoving WASP bitches at my boyfriend.”

——————————————————————————

A/N: This ended up being super long, whoops! But hey, sub!Ransom guys!

#natalie answers #smut prompts #chris evans #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x y/n #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale x female reader #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #ransom x you #ransom smut #chris evans smut #chris evans characters #dom!reader

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astronomiaa · 2 years ago

Note

Grue for the character ask.

GRUE, MY BELOVED 😭

favorite thing about them

My favorite thing about Grue would have to be that in a world comprised of people with corrupt morals and beliefs, he’s a good person whose determined to hang onto his ethics for as long as he possibly can. He has every reason to hold a grudge against Tony, as their coworkers don’t really treat Grue with much respect due to their perception that he’s “scrounging”, but he doesn’t. In fact, they’re actually close friends and he frequently looks after Tony in his own subtle way, going as far as to offer Tony shelter despite the risk.

Additionally, when he had that assassination job, despite the target being an obviously shitty kid (he was selling major drugs) - Grue genuinely felt bad for having to go through with killing him. He’s just... a really good person, and the bar being named in his honor by his daughters more than 20 years after his death shows just how much he was loved.

least favorite thing about them

That he didn’t get enough screen time. It’s understandable given that he’s a novel-only character and what happens to him during the events of the story, but I would’ve loved to have learned more about how he and Tony became friends in the first place. He even mentions that he owes Tony a life debt during their final conversation, though I’m unsure if that was referring to when Tony absolutely demolished all those zombies towards the beginning of the book.

favorite line

“Grue returned Gilver’s dispassionate stare, seeing his own reflection in his captor’s eyes. He bit his cheek to stifle the pain from his damaged right arm, which was now inching toward the pin of a grenade that hung from his munitions belt.

Grue let his mind flicker back over his beautiful daughters’ faces and Tony’s brilliant smile.

Goodbye.

A moment passed.

And then an inferno raged through the abattoir. The courageous last stand of a washed-up mercenary was commemorated in flame” - page 121

Not exactly something he says, but this very specific scene was absolutely phenomenal and probably one of my favorites throughout the entire novel. Despite being so short and simple, it’s heartbreaking to see Grue die - especially after his and Tony’s earlier conversation, which ended on not quite very good terms.

In spite of the tragedy occurring, it’s also one of the outright ballsiest moves anyone besides Dante has made against Gilver. Grue refuses to let Gilver have the satisfaction of killing him, and instead decides to put a wrench in his plans by blowing himself and everything up in the area to smithereens. It’s awful that it doesn’t completely succeed, but I have my suspicions that Gilver had to go into hiding for a few days after that confrontation to recover from a face full of grenade. People say that ‘you should fear older men in a field of work where people die young’ for a good reason, and Gilver learned the hard way.

Also, I will never not be emotionally destroyed by the information that one of the last things Grue wanted to see before he died was Tony’s smile. Just mess me UP.

BROTP

Grue & Tony

Despite the novel trying to initially tell us otherwise (literally saying that the two tried to not hang out together), Tony and Grue have a really close friendship that I find immensely endearing. We’re never told about how they became friends in the first place or when they started working together, only that it’s been long enough that they’re considered a package deal. Grue clearly trusts Tony enough that he frequently invites him over to his home, which is saying something considering how protective he seems to be of his family. Grue is also the one person that Tony will listen to, no matter what. It’s sweet.

OTP

Grue & Happiness

That man was clearly dealt not a nice hand in life, but still found the strength within himself to be kind to others nonetheless. Grue deserved so much more than the ending he received, and I’m sure that Dante thought the same.

NOTP

With the retcon in mind, probably Grue/Tony since Tony's confirmed to be in his teenage years during the events of the novel, and Grue is old enough to be his father. Aside from that, definitely Gilver/Grue, because I seriously suspect that Gilver set-up that entire situation (including Jessica’s hospitalization) in the first place to get rid of Grue so he could have easier access to Tony.

random headcanon

As a consequence of a difficult childhood and early adulthood doing nothing but mercenary work, Grue doesn’t have the proper credentials or experience to do any high-paying work outside of the mercenary world. When he and his wife got married and started to settle down, they agreed that Grue would stay at home to take care of the kids partially because of this, and partially because it was just the best option for them. He would still take a job on very rare occasion, but they were almost always very easy with low risk.

After his wife got sick during her third pregnancy, Grue started to take back up mercenary work because he couldn’t really support their family and pay for her hospital bills on a measly cashier’s budget.

unpopular opinion

Grue isn’t a very well known character, so I don’t think I have anything that can be considered an unpopular opinion. The closest I can come up with is that I interpret his avoidance of Tony after Jessica gets sick, to be something more about pride than it is about safety. He’s an incredibly proud person, and he’s fallen rock bottom to the extent that he’s been forced to resort to taking the kind of jobs that both he and Dante despise.

song I associate with them

Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked - Cage The Elephant

favorite picture of them

There’s only one official picture of Grue, and it’s of him looking terrified while Tony goes ham on a bunch of zombies. So I decided to switch things up, and give you a doodle of Grue I drew shortly after I finished reading the novel for the first time.

#sorry this took so long spoiler!!!#spoiler1001 #dmc grue #dmc #astra's asks

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funkypoacher · 2 years ago

Note

25 OTP prompts #16 "It's always been you."

Coupling of your choice 💚

When I said “there might be smut” what I actually meant was “they don’t even kiss.” But I am super happy with how this turned out. Max and Archie have more ignored, misplaced baggage than a big-name airline, and, thanks to this prompt (thankyouthankyou), it looks like The Winners of the Award for Worst Adults Adulting might actually start to heal. Someday. <.< Maybe.

Warnings for: way too much dialogue, Max being a prick, and Archie impersonating garbage. Also warnings for mentions of a sick baby and difficult childbirth and drug use and withdrawal. (this is almost 5,000 words what happened)

also i'll tag @the-lastcall because you tagged me for WIP whenever <3 this is my wip, and it'll stop wipping when I put it on ao3 eventually.

___

The Outer Worlds Maximillian DeSoto/Archie Quaice "Millie"

Humpin’ bureaucracy’s leg like a rutting canid weren’t so bad if it landed you in luxury’s lap afterward. Leastways, that’s how Archie figured, as her finger, frilled with purpleberry frosting, jammed between her lips, that savorating goodness smacked vociferously to dissipating. Yum.

With tizzied taste buds, Archie finished the Rizzo’s pastry split-lickity. She rode a sugar-high back to her room, biding time at one of the large windows on the way, lingering long enough to look out at Byzantium’s streets. There wasn’t much action, and it made Archie smirk.

The Halcyon Holdings Corporate Board had been born anew, slapped on the bottom, and told to get crackin’. Surprisingly, it was doing better than simply hollering. Rounding-up and rebranding every available scientist with a new, iron-seared vision of the future, the Board was allocating resources according to some ‘grand plan’, though such verbiage was verily avoided for its religious lean. Most of the Board’s big-hats rather side-eyed faith these days, which ruffled the OSI’s red-faced clergy in the middle of ameliorating a fresh regime with their stale ways.

As Archie heard it, one particular up-the-chain colony director was none-too-shrewdly shooing the Bishop’s attempts at confabulation, and it was this said director’s sparse agreeability which had him sent on such long furloughs about the colony. These furloughs never seemed for-long-enough, though. His relationship with Archimedes Quaice was gasoline-doused and pitch-sticky. Primed to explode at even the mention of sparkage, its fuse—his fuse—was quite the clipped one.

Short-fused Maximillian DeSoto was there now, actually. Max was in her room. It hadn’t been expected.

Less expected than his presence, of course, was Max stooping over her kid.

“Should you even be on that bum leg?” Archie strode across her room, speeding towards the man who gripped the bassinet with one hand, while the other white-knuckled the polished curve of his cane.

Upon turning towards her, Max’s expression weren’t any measure of practiced, sternly inscrutability. If anything, he’d decided new position was supported by such perks as dismissing them Scientician pillars of stoicism entirely. That, or it was his loss of faith. Either/or, he looked like he’d come to fight.

“No more than you should be leaving the child alone,” Max answered headedly, stepping back to afford her room.

Peeping the bassinet’s payload to reaffirm the child’s sound sleeping, Archie managed to shrug.

“Just went down the hall for food. Wasn’t gone longer than a few minutes.”

Walking to the parlor of her open-concept quarters, the woman lit a Wentworth cigarette, humming gratified for the taste. Tossing its squat pack on a table, she slumped into the velvet divan, eyeing someone she hadn’t put peepers on in near-bouts a fortnight.

Much hadn’t been said, then. Actually, they hadn’t spoken at all. Her baby had been born—Archie could hardly recollect it, save an impression of agony—but, afterwards, weaving in and out with her wavering subconscious, was something she flatteringly settled on calling his braided-in concern. Archie remembered Max saying something to Ellie Fenhill while gripping her arm… The wrinkles on his hands had been exaggerated to craggy cliffs due to whatever brain-bending pain-placater they’d had her hooked to… And then Archie remembered Max had gone.

Two weeks(ish) had shilly-shallied passed since then. The days’ long hours had filled with barrels of befuddlings. Halcyon’s upheaval aside, Max DeSoto was now very the head honcho. Captaining the Unreliable’s rag-tag bag of Board-certified unemployables, Maximillian and Co. had stormed the prison-planet Tartarus, saved the scientist Phineas Welles, bargained with big-cheese Sophia Akande, and come-out the other side smiling (sorta).

Halcyon had been headed for a dust-up, no bones there, but Max had the healthsome prestige which came with causing such a revivifying ruckus, and that… It was something to chaw at, certainly. Archie was at his mercy as much as anyone. That, as a kindness, was questionable.

“You could have called for something. Someone would have brought you food.” Today, Max was cold and flippant.

“Don’t like anyone waiting on me. You know that.” Meanwhile, Archie was aiming for lax.

Such divided and negative dialectical mathematics didn’t so much suggest a positive sum.

Gripping his cane, it weren’t quite the feeble front it ought’ve been. No one could seem frail when they stood to the height that Maximillian DeSoto did, or when they looked down from it, which he’d always enjoyed.

“No, I know,” he answered thinly. “Just as you won’t wait for anyone else. With the child to look after, that’s going to have to change.”

Taking a drag of her cigarette, Archie leaned forwards, ashing into the expensive marble tray. She also leaned towards a new avenue of chit-chat. “Expecting you’ll want me back at work soon. It’s why you brought me here, after all.” She glanced at him after another puff. “You’d said you might have me looking at McDevitt’s work? Seein’ about bettering the hydroponics?” Taking another cigarette-hit, Archie smiled nostalgically, nattering about how she’d “put so many of those rigs together back on Earth before the lay-offs, could probably do it in my sleep, now.”

“That was the plan, originally,” confirmed Max, “but we’ve since located a few soil engineers who are making great strides. For now, you can focus on the child. As I understand from Miss Fenhill, its health is still rather poor.”

Archie nodded slowly. “Child-rearing. Got it.” It wasn’t the responsibility she was skeptical of: it was how long they’d let her do it. Taking care of her own weren’t much the contribution in a colony going full-speed towards desperately-required efficiency.

“For all the trouble it took in wrangling me here,” Archie noted, “might we’ll’ve left me on Monarch if that’s all I’m to do.”

Max’s head tilted. “Is that where you wish to be? On Monarch?”

Archie considered the fiction in her casual pose; the inaccuracy of her disinterested tone; the falsehood in her furtive eyes. All she put forth suggested detachment as his presence, but her heart were beating manic like a madman at the door. So Archie tried, for a second, at honesty.

“Maybe.” She huffed. “No. Not really. Monarch is…”

… A cesspit.

Max’s rounded eyes coldly waylaid their surprise. “No? I would think you’d want the child’s father involved in raising her.”

“There’s hardly any raisin’ her now,” Archie replied. “There’s just waitin’ to see if she lives through the month.”

“But you would rather be with Bryant,” Max said—he didn’t ask—this was simply confirmation of his suspicions.

Archie shrugged.

The sneer that spread across Max’s face seemed like a smile gone sour—as though a happiness had gotten into something bitter and went terribly, sadly wrong.

Wishing not to wander that avenue of conversation—wanting, in fact, to copiously cold-shoulder anything that so riled Maximillian DeSoto—Archie stood. She offered him a cigarette. Bending forward slight, Max allowed her to place one between his lips, as though some kind of catered-to, fine and lofty Board executive, which he was.

Which is he, Archie thought, fumbling with the lighter.

Lighting the stick stuck between his lips, she tried not to stare there. “So. How’s the colony, Mr. Director-of-Colony-Assets-and-Acclimation? Quite the fance-and-pomp title you’re flashing these days.”

Taking a deep drag, Max’s eyes closed. “It could be worse.” Exhaling, he tsked frustratedly under his breath. “Phft. Hardly. As the title suggests, acclimating Halcyon’s citizens has been one of the larger responsibilities. I’d thought it’d be the more difficult one. But, as it turns out, all their lack of intelligence does not translate to a scarcity in faith.” He rolled the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. “The citizens of Halcyon are steadfast, and they’ll turn whichever way the OSI dictates, no matter its stark contrast to their precepts from the day before. Fools,” he spat, alongside an exhale of smoke.

“It’s the assets, then, that are sticking your craw?”

Max nodded, side-eyeing, as usual, her low-brow verbiage. “Yes. Byzantium’s stocks aren’t so impressive when set against system-wide projections for the next five years. Even if we took every able body In Halcyon and converted them to laborours, we still may run out of food. If we took every scientist and threw them at the problem—which we have—we still may not be able to properly terraform the system.” Worked near to throes with the bothersome subject matter, Max began pacing, his cane tapping the marble floor and cigarette casting an ashen trail. “The Adjutant has been pushing for partial institution of the Lifetime Employment Program. And Welles’ pessimism when it comes to old-Board rhetoric has him blind to the fact that the program may save us in the long-run.”

“The Lifetime Employment Program… That was the scheme to freeze folks, wasn’t it?”

As his pacing brought him back around, Max noted, “that’s right—you left us after we secured the dimethyl sulfoxide.” Stopping his step, this curbing of agitated action complemented a curiously apologetic tone. “I know it seems like a step back,” he said tiredly. “We fought the Board to stop such callous, clear-cut measures—”

“No, no,” Archie interrupted, smiling softly. “I trust you. If it’s all so dire, I’m sure you’re right. I’m sure it’s what needs to be done.”

She thought to check her time-peice for the sake of clocking their moment of understanding. It were, historically, always a rather spectacular second: when Max looked her over and saw no judgment, and Archie, ever the moralist, appreciated his pragmatism which could be remarkably kind-hearted.

With some kind of ice broken, small-talk rose through the cracks. They sat at the couches, Archie pouring two glasses of Spectrum Vodka, and over the rims of their watered-drinks they discussed what few shared interests they had, namely what the Unreliable’s former crew were up to, and, finally, the fates of any small towns that they were both aware of, Archie’s geographical knowledge of the system not exactly robust by any means.

Like many stuck slumming in Law-forsaken back-waters, their conversation rested in Edgewater, eventually. Defying their brackish ties with the town, however, it wasn’t so salty a topic.

“Half the problem was parts, is my understanding.” Max took another gargle from his glass. “I’ve asked not to be bothered with such insignificant minutiae, but it seems everything crosses my desk, regardless of what I say.” He huffed. “Anyways. Stellar Bay’s cannery has been largely disassembled, with its parts destined for Edgewater. We debated its usefulness as a functioning unit on its own, but ultimately we’re going to continue the evacuations of Monarch that the Board couldn’t be bothered with.”

“Where you sending them?” Archie asked, drink-cozy on her spot on the couch.

“Wherever the workers are needed,” Max answered. “There’s even a fair few of your Iconoclasts set to become useful members of society here on Terra 2. Zora Blackwood is in Edgewater now, in fact, overseeing reformations. It’s likely she’ll remain there as Outpost Administrator for some time.”

“Zora jumped ship?” Prodding at this crap-tacular reality, Archie perceived, rather painfully, that the rum had hassled her head to aching.

Wincing, she peered at Max.

“Have you not spoken with Bryant at all?” he wondered.

Reaching forward, Archie forsook her drink far and away on the coffee table, soured to it. “No. I keep meaning to. Supposing I oughta radio him, or write him. He should know it happened, at any rate.”

Max offered, sans any stab of concern, “he does.”

Archie swallowed, drowning in what care he lacked. “What?”

“Your recovery following the birth was difficult and I thought he should know,” Max explained, boredly inspecting his drink. “In case anything should happen. In case the child should need to be relocated.”

Archie spun without influence. She had a whole roll-call of favored pharmaceuticals, and, while booze might’n been sitched swell at the bottom, she weren’t a light-weight, either. Archie could hold her hooch. Archie could hold her drink a damn-sight better than what Max was now throwing at her by the beefing barrel-full.

“You talked to him.”

“I did,” Max confirmed.

“You talked to him,” Archie repeated, sprat-angsting as though stuck in a corner.

“Yes,” Max repeated, words heavier than lead. “I spoke with Bryant. He said congratulations were in order. He seems to be under the impression that the child is mine.”

The plush, pillowy couch cushions ‘neath her noggin didn’t comfort. They only rooted her to the spot, though they did, at least, hold her head where her neck couldn’t. What Archie would’ve given for a flash of Focusitol, or Level Head, to clear-out the brain-fog, but she’d been cut off. It were the drugs, after all, that made the birthing so dangerous in the first place.

Due to stress and thanks to lifestyle-choices, Archie’s then-recently increased cocktail of daily opiates had fairly fucked her system. Requiring a C-section, an immediate detox of her body followed on doctor’s orders. It wasn’t the birth that nearly ended her: it was the withdrawal. Archie had been tied to the hospital bed, and covered in her own sick, for days. At the end of it, she didn’t feel like herself.

She still didn’t.

“As much as I dislike the man,” Max said, hoisting himself up from the couch, “what you’ve done is cruel.”

Archie’s voice stuck on the notion. “Cruel?”

“Yes,” Max snapped, “cruel. Of course it’s cruel to keep the truth of the child’s breeding from the father!”

“But don’t you…?” Mustering the merest smidge of grit, Archie swallowed and begged him, implored him, “but don’t you think it’s kinder than the burden of it?”

“You think it’s a burden?” Max wondered, too stunned, now, to sound angry.

“Could be,” Archie answered quietly, shrinking into herself.

Max was awestruck: smucked where he stood by something he’d apparently been thinking on lengthily, yet the conclusion he’d previously come to had been short.

“Is that why you told Bryant the child was mine? To absolve him of the responsibility?”

“Maybe,” Archie shrugged. “Maybe I just don’t know who the father really is.” They both winced distastefully in turn, and Archie, sighing sourly at herself, recanted. “No, sorry, that’s me bein’ smart. I know who the daddy is, Max. And… the truth all out? I know I didn’t want him clinging to me outta some high-minded sense of obligation.”

“Do you honestly believe Bryant has a high-minded bone in his body?” Max, too, made an off-handed sound of displeasure, though it was hardly aimed at himself. “What am I talking about, the fool is stoned almost 24-7. If not on medicinals then certainly on his own hog-wash.”

“I know you don’t like him, but Graham…” Archie’s shoulders fell. “If he knew the child was his? He wouldn’t’ve let me leave Monarch without a fight. Shoulda heard the things he said. About fatherhood, and the universe understanding itself through progeny, and… and the like.” Archie bit her lip. “Point is, I don’t want…” She closed her eyes. ”I don’t want to be walkin’ all over anyone’s right to livin’ as they like because they think they oughta be fatherin’.”

“Ah, yes. Your ‘generosity’ regarding personal liberties. The same benevolence that kept you from killing marauders is now, miraculously, absolving you of telling the truth in regards to this child.” Max 180-ied to irate from sarcastically-tickled in no seconds at all. “Void take the Pillars, but they are certainly right to say that emotions are a base reaction in comparison to reason.”

“You think I’m being emotional?” Archie asked, grinning for the hypocrisy. “You’re the one riling.”

Max stood taller, then. Both hands resting on his cane lessened to just the one; his shoulders straightened with the grace of someone far too happy to be correct.

Taking a step closer to the couches, Max towered over her.

“Doctor Fenhill explained that, despite the child’s frail state, she was not born prematurely. Given the new time-table… I know it’s mine.”

Archie’s gaze fell to her lap. “That’s not true.”

“Archie,” Max warned.

Eyes turning upwards, Archie’s mouth fell ajar, but no words fumbled passed her lips. Jaw working to get anything out, as though she were an animal choking on a bone, yet still Archie could emit nothing but a moan that sorried, slowly, into low, desperate sobbing.

He’d known… Void, how long? As they’d sipped tipples, all friendly, he’d held, in his palm, this accuracy she wanted kept from everybody. And here was the killing-blow from a man who loved to land his punches, her fate still crumpled in his hands.

“Max, I…”

She cried garbled half-excuses, and confused explanations, none of it shaping into any language-based lick-of-sense. The only thing she could properly manage, truly, was her anguish, which sputtered and gobbed between thick, heavy tears.

“I can’t believe this,” Max spat. “You’re pathetic, you know that? Caught in a lie, and all you can do is blubber like a child.

“Max!” Archie gasped as though slapped.

“Do you hate me so much?” Max demanded, pacing once more. “To go to such lengths—to lie like this? Do you know I hold your life in my hands?”

Dizzy with regret, turned-about and tousled, Archie was finally able to tether herself to this—to something he’d said she knew to be a lie.

“I don’t hate you,” she whimpered. “I don’t, I swear…”

“What is it, then?” Max asked. “You’re afraid of me?”

There’s something to be said for history—for having lived through it, and to see it coming ‘round again. In a moment of clarity, Archie was able to eye-ball Max unwaveringly, remembering the lengths he went to in apology after hurting her during the fray with Reginald Chaney. He’d regretted, often times, startling her with his tempers. Moreover, Max’s self-superiority loathed to see him wrong, and his present acrimony clearly came from assuming just this: that he’d thought Archie had forgiven him, and, as it turned out she never had.

But she had, damn it. There weren’t no sin of Max’s that she couldn’t stand. She’d lied out of fear, but it wasn’t outta fear of him.

“No, Maximillian,” Archie said, voice warbling under the weight of her conviction. “I am not afraid of you.” She softened. “But I am afraid to be around you.”

Max scoffed. “Same thing.”

“No—no it rutting isn’t!” She yelled, voice echoing off the walls.

Calming herself, Archie craved that mellow, yellow, sunshine-n-posies dulcet of various drugs and doses that had often seen her through parley with Max. But she was on her own—it was just her skin against Max’s, with the question being whose was thicker?

“It’s not the same,” Archie repeated. “Being around you makes me think of everything I walked away from when I left the Unreliable. Don’t mean the others so much, good as they are. Or the free meals. But us… We could’ve…” Archie sighed. “And I walked away because I was afraid of what Welles had us doing.” She whittled a serene smile out of her certainty. “I’m not cut-out for captaining. Nor for crew-work, neither. Not even fit for kitchen-duty. And I didn’t want to be a burden.” Archie straightened her posture, mirroring Max’s iron-rod spine. “I don’t want to be a burden now,” she clarified. “It’s why I… It’s why I’ve said what I’ve said to those I’ve said it to.”

The ending dregs of Max’s fury burned away to a subdued expression.

“Sorry as I am for what you and I missed,” Archie promised, “I didn’t fit with what you were doin’. It was better for everyone that I left.”

Max’s gaze meandered over her, taking measurements, making notes. It weren’t like he was seeing her anew, or appreciating the familiar. Maybe it were just something for his eyeballs to do while his brain blistered with what she’d said.

“That isn’t true,” he said at length.

Max gripped his cane with a hand that suddenly wanted of colour. Most of him blanched; most of him seemed old, matching the bend of his back which suddenly curved as he walked away in inches.

He came to a stop, having not shuffled much distance. But he was far from the man of moments before, young for all his fury.

“I had lost my faith,” Max said, his back still to her. ”It was the only thing making sense of this Void-blasted joke we call existence. You were supposed to be the thing that kept me together after. You and your endless answers; you and your inexhaustible alternatives to anything I’d ever preached, or stood for. But you didn’t. You left when I needed you. And I’ve been blaming you ever since. For things…” Max sighed deeply. ”For problems of my own making, I suppose.”

Archie walked over, lighting along so quiet she didn’t even harken her own step. She’d always figured they were hum-dingers of a distraction for each other: something to paw at—something to love until the lie of it got too heavy, and they could vent it out the airlock alongside other such vain, idle vocab as ‘let’s be together’ or ‘forever’. Things didn’t last in the universe—reason schooled them so. And even if Archie weren’t religious, she still respected facts.

But here they were: at the end of it. After the end of their relationship. And still Max was admitting to sentiments past a best-before date. It meant they’d been truthsome: anything he’d said, or singed across her skin in tenderness, hadn’t been some pretty, pearly prose to get him what he’d wanted, in the moment. He’d cared for her—the real deal—which meant any clinging, after the baby, wouldn’t have been for propriety’s sake.

This Archie realized quite regretfully. Still, she smiled as he turned to face her.

“Perhaps it’s simply that I prefer to find you vexing,” Max theorized. Reaching out to cup her cheek, his thumb rubbed her skin, keeping to habit. “Perhaps the anger allows me some distance from what I truly feel.”

“In the time I’ve known you,” Archie said, “you’ve only ever been angry. About everything. Bein’ placed with the plebeians in Edgewater; about your past, and your parents. Now you’re pissed at the church, which I must say is a very nice shade on you.” She grinned at his tersed brow. “Plus you’re pissed at me. If it ain’t anger, Maximillian, what else have you got?”

“And if it isn’t fear masquerading as sympathy,” Max replied smoothly, “what have you got?”

Archie grinned cheekily. “I can have both.” Moving closer, she came flush against Max’s chest, one hand resting on his as it gripped his cane. “I can be afraid of what I feel, too,” she breathed across Max’s neck.

The lights in the room were low. They deepened the hazel of his eyes to brown—just brown, warm and dark. Roving for that scent of creams, cosmetics, and lovely soap, Archie inhaled with shaking breath, aware that Max was not so easily moved as her.

“We’ve been here before,” he warned. “And our… discourse only goes so far.”

“Yeah, but it’s seen us to some pretty swell places,” Archie said wryly. “Your anger…” Her hand flattened against his lower stomach, her fingers inching down. “My sympathies.”

“Nng.” Max’s eyes snapped shut, mustering strength-of-will. Head tilting, he told them both, “that isn’t good enough—not anymore,” before pulling away and hoofing for the door, his stride quick, healthy, and confident.

“If you wish to return to Monarch, you may,” he said, pausing to look at her, as she shivered where she stood. “If you want me to stay away, I will.” Turning, he added over his shoulder, quietly, “something has to give, Archimedes.”

Archie ran to him. Wrapping her arms around his middle, she held Max, in the hopes he wouldn’t, in turn, hold her accountable for all her griefs. “There’s something to be said about predictability, ain’t there?” She demanded desperately. “The planets boot it around the sun time and time again. So can’t we come back to this?” She held him a little harder.

Both of Max’s hands gripped his cane, his body swaying despite the hold she had on it.

“Not if it leads to another argument. Not if it leads to my hurting you. Or your lying to me.” He tensed. “I’ve been

lied to enough in my life as it is.”

Ice crept through her veins, following the blood flow to a heart which cracked. An imprudent nature caused blame to aim towards the church, first, but, yes, Archie remembered soon those lies of her own forging.

Pulling away, she went to where she might take Max’s face in both palms. Opening her mouth to speak, Max looked away, knowing, most like, what were to come. Archie had always been a woman free with her affection, though frugal with the truth, and there sat their great difference: in the matter of diction.

Their definitions varied, as their personal dictionaries were not written from the same stock.

“Max, look at me,” Archie said. He wouldn’t. He did allow himself, however, to rest his face in her hands, eyes closed warily.

“I want to say it and mean it,” Archie swore, appreciating his lashes. “And I want to say it and not do something two seconds on the after that makes it seem empty.”

“Are you trying to say that you’re sorry?” Max asked, blearily eyeing her. “Or are you trying to say that you”—he huffed doubtfully—“love me?”

“I don’t know,” Archie admitted, preferring pretty stupidity to falsifying. It was their definitions of love that had never been the same. “I’m saying… Max, I’m trying to say that…”

With nowhere else to set her sights, her gaze drifted towards the bassinet. Something—she didn’t know what—struck her, and sucked her into this fanciful image where it might be the three of them.

“It’s you.” Archie turned back to him. “It’s always been you.”

Max nodded. It was new—it was an acceptance he didn’t seem obligated to explain. Or perhaps Archie no longer felt needs to interpret. Without a swig of Level Head (or its slower-acting, longer-lasting tablet form), her mind favored wading through what was rather than swimming through scant specifics, comparing every damn thing in her life, or Max’s, to some personal, historical tragedy.

Max nodded—and he accepted. And that was all it need be. But Archie still had no idea what he thought of the baby.

“She’s really very quiet, isn’t she?” Max wondered, startling Archie from her not-thoughts, their bodies continuing to press together. He’d followed their conversation to its inevitable, swaddled conclusion.

“Way I understand it, that might not be such a good thing.” Archie noticed a few new white hairs at his temple. “You want to hold her?”

Max’s chest swelled. Yet, still, it paled to the way his hand clutched at his cane, this being but the barest of examples of how his body now frustrated his wishes. His shame was transparent, as was his dread.

“I’ll bring her to you,” Archie offered, touching his cheek.

As Max sat on the couch, cradling the child shifting with listless life, Archie watched, lighting a cigarette that she stubbed out within seconds. This was as automatic as it had been when she’d struck the match; her body was going through the motions, as her mind absorbed utterly in the scene before her. Max weren’t an expert in baby-holding; he weren’t so savvy in supporting the delicate, neither. But he made do.

More likely than not, it was his darling stupefaction gettin’ both of them through it, of course. Because Max was gobsmacked.

Archie was about to formally start fretting—she catered no inklings towards Max’s notions regarding kids-raising, nor even where they stood in regards to each other—however, Max looked to Archie with such gentle intentions that fretting fell far on the backburner.

“She needs a name, Archimedes,” Max informed her. His certitude was comical.

“Oh, I’ve been calling her Millie,” Archie replied. She added, just as casually, “after her daddy.”

Max’s eyes rounded; his posture stiffened; his jaw dropped a smidgeon. Not because of the admission; not because someone was calling him a father, for Archie was hum-dingin’ sure that Ellie Fenhill hadn’t employed any such jargon when spilling those exceptionally fragile beans.

No, it weren’t that he was furnishing the DeSoto family-tree with more foliage that struck him. What surprised Max was that anyone would find him so grand as to cherish this child with his name.

“After her father?”

Archie nodded, giggling at the joy in his voice. As Max went back to looking at the little girl in his hands, Archie repeated, grinning, “yeah. After her father.”

#the outer worlds #tow fanfic #archimedes quaice #maximillian desoto #i lost steam in the last quarter not gonna lie #and i'm too tired to edit #also i hate that banner because his face is fucking hard but i think archie turned out cute #also i've already started re-writing the end skdksfjker

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scripturiends · 2 years ago

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this was so cute for NO REASON like i mean obviously jerome’s hand on joy is a given we’ve all collectively gone crazy over that BUT their little head tilts ??? so precious

#hoa #house of anubis #jeroy #jerome clarke #joy mercer #otp: being with you made me happy in ways they don’t even have names for

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lvlyhao · 4 years ago

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『you’re dating him but he’s not your bias』

reaction fic; NCT Dream

A/N: this is nct dream’s reaction to realizing your bias is not him (and you’re a couple). gender neutral, got way too deep at some points and was NOT meant to be this long. enjoy.

note that english is my second language and i speak mixing slang, accents and spellings from 3283928 places so i did notice there’s practice written with both s and c down there so

just dont mind it pls

also, today’s photo theme is dream looking cute in low quality shots.

𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮𝓼: fluff (♡), angst (❆), comedy (☼), crack (⍢).

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: lots of swearing, my tough love for the neos, one mention of cheating that doesn’t actually happen, a couple of mentions of alcohol and drinking, some violence hidden in metaphors, me being chaotic, it got a bit more angsty and darker than i intended, but we do have all happy endings.

word count: 6.8K

pairing: nct dream members x reader ( includes mark, renjun, jeno, haechan, jaemin, chenle, jisung)

disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Mark

oh, poor baby

i feel like he would be a little heartbroken

just a little

not so much if it’s someone from dream, because they’re his little brothers, but if it’s one of his hyungs from 127 or wayv,,,,,

boy might cry

he’s not super dramatic about it or anything but i don’t see him as being super confident about himself

so he might think like

“do they think he’s cooler than me?”

and it’s silly, yes, he knows

but it’s just something that pops up in his mind sometimes when you bring him up

so for the sake of this fanfic let’s pretend you’re johnny biased

because gods know i am

at least when it comes to 127

mark would be divided into fanboying with you and being like “YO, HE’S THE COOLEST GUY ON EARTH OH MY GOD I’M SO GLAD YOU AGREE”

and

“a h”

would constantly try to get closer to you when johnny is around, and just

showing off in little (kinda dumb) ways

complimenting you

being even more whipped than usual

like yes he’ll give you all of his watermelon slices just please don’t look at johnny like that again

i think johnny would kind of play into it with the whole “imma steal your s/o” thing

and he doesn’t do it to make mark jealous or hurt

we know he’d rather get hit by a train than ever actually upsetting his son on purpose

but we also know he’s johnny

cue “OH DUDE HE’S FLIRTING”

so yeah he might call you lil pet names (beautiful, cutie, you get it)

just to see you giggle

(and see your soul leave your body)

might say he’s taking you out for dinner when he’s just driving you to get more ice cream for a movie night with the gang lol

and winks

expect a lot of winks

anywhere and anytime

which makes mark sometimes feel like he’s intruding???

and that you appreciate johnny more than him???

he genuinely doesn’t understand how you can date him and still not have him as your bias

don’t you like, love him above everyone else or smth lol

his “showing off” phase eventually fades tho

now every time you hang you with the boys and johnny is around, he’ll be a bit more distant

he thinks he’s giving you space to interact with his friends but he’s just shying away from competing with one of his favourite people ever

and it’s a competition that Does Not Exist™

but he’s not 100% aware of that

and you’re not that dense

so ofc you notice

and you wait till you two are alone to talk to him, and he BEGRUDGINGLY admits that you being johnny biased makes him feel kinda small and unimportant

he’d never try to make you change your bias or anything

he just needs reminders that he’s your #1 boy sometimes

which is fine by you

and by him

cus now it’s you calling him pet names all the time

and hugging him

and kissing his cheek

and praising his work

and blowing kisses from across the room

and just telling him straight up that no matter what, you’ll always go to him

(not that you ever had any chance with johnny lmao)

THIS GOES TO SHOW COMMUNICATING IS KEY, CHILDREN

COMMUNICATE

Renjun

wym donghyuck is your bias lol

literally are you fucking kidding him

don’t get me wrong ok

everyone knows renjun loves haechan

they’re bffs and could not live without each other

but at the same time,,,

what is wrong with you

who did he choose as his s/o gods help him

if it was jeno, or mark, or jaehyun, or winwin, or kun, or lucas, or yuta, or taeyong, or ten, or,,,,

literally ANY of his other members

he’d understand your point and be like “ok fine”

but haechan???? hmmm bestie no

he’s not gonna throw a fit

not after the first time you told him anyways

HE WAS SURPRISED OKAY

and he just whined very loudly after having laughed for 5 minutes thinking it was a joke

if you don’t know that iconic scene, renjun had a whole ass meltdown in 3 seconds while yelling “aAAAAAH JINJJAAAAA” and getting ready to punch the living shit out of hyuck

for no reason other than the fact that it’s haechan we’re talking about and injun’s little body is filled with rage

BACK ON TRACK

would probably try to act all cool about it and be like “i don’t mind” but bruh does he mind

and it doesn’t help that haechan is such a little shit about it

he doesn’t even flirt with you

he just

constantly reminds renjun that he’s your bias—not him—and then constantly praises himself over you

“ah, y/n~ did you choose me as your bias because i’m the best vocalist? or was it because i’m the best dancer? mAYBE IT WAS BECAUSE OF MY OH SO BROAD SHOULDERS—”

(pause for injun to punch him)

(unpaused)

and ok in the beginning it was funny seeing him all worked up but now it’s just annoying to be in the same room as these two

haechan won’t let either of you live

and renjun just wants to

fight

so it eventually gets to the point where you’ll talk to renjun and jeno will talk to hyuck cus even the other dreamies are tired of it

except maybe for chenle, he always laughs his ass off when they start bickering

ANYWAY

your conversation goes something like “oh my god renjun i’m literally dating you, i don’t like haechan better or anything you little pile of fury”

while jeno sits hyuck down in front of him and jaemin and just

“bro why are you like this”

“bro”

no but renjun would apologize for going overboard with his protectiveness and jealous energy because he’s not generally like that

he’s angry all the time but never about something involving you, you know

he tries his best to treat you like the royalty you are

but something about hyuck being your bias makes him feel a bit like a castaway???

he’s very creative and as an artsy kid myself i know we’re very prone to feeling left out because we’re just different from the others

so he’d think maybe haechan really has a better voice

or better dancing skills

or he looks better

he is taller than injun after all, and has broader shoulders, and his hair is all fluffy and—

the whole thing just made him insecure about things he had settled with himself long ago

he was fine with being him

but not so much when it came to that

i don’t think you two would fight over it cus tbh i think renjun would really only get with someone who can be very understanding of him

and i think hyuck would actually apologize to renjun too

not when everyone’s around but like, maybe after dinner or something and he just needs to feel like they’re besties again

hyuck never meant for things to get out of control

he just really likes both injun and you as his friends, and aside from skinship his most prominent love language is,,,

teasing

he was really just trying (very poorly) to grow closer to the person his best friend loves so much—you—because renjun is SUCH a big part of his life it would just feel wrong to not be good friends with you as well

don’t tell them i said this but they hug it out

injun strikes me as someone that could take a bit of time to bounce back from something that hurt his pride or his sense of belonging

and his way of healing and bonding is just,,,

art

sure, keep being haechan biased, but also please read with him

and talk about his fantastic animal creations

and watch those buzzfeed unsolved alien theory videos because he really wants to discuss it and maybe even draw what he thinks the aliens look like

hyuck tones it down, you make sure renjun knows you like him for him, renjun starts to (secretly) appreciate hyuck’s talent along with you...

and now let’s take a moment to imagine the minute you watch their latest mv with injun by your side

and yes okay the first thing you see is CLEARLY how good renjun looks because holy fucking shit he’s an angel (and i’m clearly not renjun biased)

but then,,,,,,

wAS THAT A HAECHAN HIGH NOTE

(there’s always a haechan high note, just look for it)

and ok maybe he did scream a bit with you because of how good it all sounded

and you know what, it works out perfectly bc you two are my new otp and you were meant for each other

but we do have to mention the eventual happening of chenle saying like “oOoOoOoH y/N wErE yOu dRoOliNg oVeR hAeChAn AgAiN” after a special stage

and then you, injun and hyuck all attempt to choke him

i’m kidding

or not

Jeno

ah, lee jeno

aka samoyed boi

yes i do call him that no i will not stop

everyone is always writing jeno as being super protective and literally about to burst a lung if someone else ever does as much as look at you

but i just

don’t see him that way

he’s a taurus and from what i know about taurus they can be v v jealous, yes, but they mainly seek comfort

so he’s fine with you biasing jaemin

as long as you’re not ditching him or anything lol

and ok, imma be 100% honest here even if it sounds like literal no fun (jenojaem wink wonk)

jaemin doesn’t flirt with you

not any more than he flirts with

every other breathing creature

ever

he’s really only platonically interested in you, never remotely romantic or anything lol

on the other side, he is in love with jeno

basically, if jaemin is your bias, jeno is his

so nothing really changes

we know how nomin are, okay

they hold hands, they stare deeply into each other eyes, they nearly kiss at least once every time they go live

it's just them

you gotta respect it bruh

i know this is the most boring reaction ever so let’s create the one (1) instance where jeno would actually dislike that you bias someone else

i think he would feel a bit hurt if you seemed to be more supportive of jaemin’s work than his

and it’s not something big or on purpose

it’s just something like going with him to a recording session but not going with jeno because you have homework

or after a very busy practise day going to praise jaemin first

even if it’s just three words

“you did good”

and then you’re going towards him, he’s gonna feel like maybe he doesn’t deserve your praise as much as nana????

i actually feel like, among the dreamies, jeno is the least confident one when it comes to his performance

he knows he’s not an awful rapper or anything but i think it can be a bit too much, being around such bright and huge presences like the others while his nickname literally means “no fun”

his members are just so loud and full of energy most of the time

and sometimes he just really needs to be quiet and observe in silence

(yes i do know he’s chaotic and a crackhead, i’m just saying as we know he can be a bit introspective)

so what if you just

stopped seeing him?

did he become invisible to you?

did you finally fall for jaemin’s beautiful smile and stupid pick-up lines?

he’s not gonna let it show that he’s affected, though

earth signs are nearly always the ones to “stay strong” because we have this image that people are relying on us???

so we do what we do

bottle everything up and overwork ourselves bc we only got two modes

1. chill, super balanced and down to earth (ay for the pun)

2. please make us take a break we’re literally about to cry if we work for one more minute but we can’t allow ourselves to fucking take it easy

so yes you’ve guessed correctly, we’re going with 2

jeno is going to go so, SO hard on everything he does

literally every single activity you can think of from dance practice to photoshoots to cooking for the dreamies

he stays up later than usual to get that one tricky move in the choreo just right

he works out more because he thinks he has to look absolutely perfect for when they shoot the mv

jisung asked for ramen? he’s making it but you bet your ass he’s spending over 40 minutes just chopping so

many

vegetables

AND STUFF THAT JISUNG WON’T EVEN EAT

but he’s doing it anyway for the reason being that it just has to be the Best™

and it’s not like he’s competing with anyone else to be diligent

this is just about being better than he was and showing himself—and maybe you—how painstakingly hardworking and driven he can be

maybe then you’re gonna acknowledge him as much as you acknowledge nana :((

:(((((

writing this is making me downright sad, jeno is so underrated and unaware of his power UGH

and i need to point out this is NOT about making you change your bias from jaemin to him, this is solely about having you recognize his efforts, even if you already do

if you just thought jeno was like going off in work because it was asked of him to, jaemin would DEF notice and talk to you about it

turns out it’s a habit of jeno to go extra hard sometimes and he needs someone to make him take a break

so it goes down like you breaking into the practice room when jeno and jisung were practising

the first reaction is confusion

the second is oh hey babe how are you

third is

a-are you dragging jeno and his bag out of the door while screeching at jisung to order pizza and doughnuts for everyone??

yes you are and i’m proud of you

so jeno is still confused and making those cute “hUh” noises he does omg i love him so much

and you’re just rambling about how much of an amazing artist he is, and you love his voice, and he’s a fantastic dancer, and his expressions and gestures are on point, and he takes such good care of the dreamies and

he’s perfect

and he knows jaemin must have talked to you, and he feels so vulnerable to have you know how on edge he’s been

baby boy just needs some rest

and that’s exactly what you give him, with a bath full of those fancy bath bombs and flower petals and candles at your house/apt

then a quick sheet mask while you massage his shoulders and keep saying how much you genuinely admire him

the mask might be ruined cus he started crying out of exhaustion

after that’s been done and you’ve hugged for at least like 5 min nonstop, you head over to the dorms, where hyuck was in charge of setting up a blanket fort while mork and nana gather board games, jisung gets the food and chenle

well chenle just had to make sure jisung doesn’t forget to order for someone and doesn’t break like 10 plates trying to set the table lol

this is way longer than the others so imma wrap it up

make it obvious and loud that you see and respect jeno’s hard work and he’ll be alright again

and maybe make those game nights a weekly thing when possible, it would make him very happy

he’ll never again feel sad when you praise jaemin cus now he’s sure he does enough, and above all, he is enough

Haechan

haechan = full sun

why would you ever bias someone when you’re dating the goddamned sun

does not understand

but also does not care that much

actually, one out of two really depending on who your bias is

if it’s one of the members he has that tom/jerry relationship with, prepare for so

much

complaining

and clinging

AND HE’D BE SO LOUD OH MY FUCKING GOD

donghyuck please stop screaming about doyoung not deserving to be your baby’s bias, it’s 2 am

on the other hand, if it’s one of the (few) members he,,,

adores with all of his heart and is not afraid to show it

ex: sungchan, jaehyun, taeil and yang2x

then you can bet he’s going to be right beside you whenever you feel like throwing a fit because he’s just so handsome and talented

IF IT’S MARK OSHDISJD

i’m going to write you as being mark biased ok? ok

i honestly don’t know if he’d feel more jealous of mark or of you

he loves you both

a lot,,,,

and he really doesn’t like it when mark blushes when you compliment him

and he doesn’t like it when mark literally just walks past you and you trip over your feet because bro tf u doing, that’s some embarrassing shit

lowkey done with you two

but also PAY HIM SOME ATTENTION

or don’t, he’s fine either way (cue crossed arms and staring at you from across the room until you come give him a kiss)

“he’s pretty cute but i’m cuter right baby”

pouty pouty pouty if he ever feels neglected

will be so fucking annoying lmao i can’t write haechan, i love him but i do understand why renjun is always trying to beat him up

he’d be a show-off in a different way than mark because he can be so petty

will take every chance he gets to pull a one-liner

will sing everything he has to say just so you know he can hit those high notes

what do you mean dream doesn’t have a schedule today

oh man, he could swear they did

because that is the sole reason why he’s wearing his most expensive clothes and shoes + makeup to walk around the dorms, yes

no he doesn’t want to impress you

shut up

will text you like every single fancam he sees on twitter

every

single

one

and are they mark’s?

lol no, they’re his

he is so genuinely trying to make you a member of his sunflower cult

<whispers> “tell me i’m your bias”

“donghyuck what the actual hell why are you standing at the end of my bed in the middle of the night like a fucking demon child”

he really wants to act all cool and composed but he wants to be your bias so fucking bad

he’s a bad bitch all around and just does whatever

cus haechan privilege

and he tends to not care about what people say and think???

bc he knows he’s lee donghyuck

he’s fully aware of the effect he has on people

but you

not biasing him

naw, he can’t take it

will do anything and everything he can to make you say, JUST ONE TIME, he’s your bias

then you can go back to loving (his) mark

so for your sake, for his sake, for mark’s sake

just give donghyuck what he wants

i can promise he’ll keep being an ass no matter what you do

like yeah did you just buy him coffee and his favourite cake? well that’s sweet but iS HE YOUR BIAS YET

“aw babe thanks so much for taking a bullet for me but now please say i’m your bias”

if you still don’t do it, it’s time to be extra petty

will actually drop you for mark

his logic is something like: he can’t be your bias? pity, so he’s just gonna date him instead

and mark is mark so he has no idea what’s going on

everyone in 127 and dream finds this absolutely hilarious cus suddenly donghyuck seems to be doing his best to win over mark’s heart and i mean more than usual???? and he’s treating you like his bro????

<you leaving the dorms to go to uni or smth so you go to hyuck for a goodbye kiss> “no can do, i’m committed”

“i’m your partner”

“no that’s mark”

it’s not 100% a joke when i say i can see him getting down in one knee to propose to mark while making eye contact with you to

assert his dominance

and mark is just

“dude

what HAHAHA”

and you are so done, i’m so sorry you have to go through that bby

i don’t think there’s another way to fix haechan other than just admitting he was your bias for an era, or a comeback or something

like yeah with the other dreamies before him it’s bonding + healing time bc i wrote it all kinda angsty (lol sorry) but with donghyuck

“will you stop this if i say you were my bias during reload era”

“mark wasn’t in dream that era tho”

“yes i know”

i say he’s gonna take what he can get and now things can finally go back to normal

with the exception that something else comes along with hyuck being satisfied with you biasing him

he just has a full pass to fanboy over mark now too

what am i talking about?

new 127 mv is out

you: watching it beside haechan and going off about how pretty mark looks

him: going off even harder bc he’s whipped too

this is what a happy couple looks like

but now i pity mark because he has you two idiots fanboying over him irl

savemork2021

Jaemin

nana is just such a chill and fun guy

i can’t see him being actually jealous or anything if he finds out you bias someone else

and so the two of you become insufferable together

bitch, i’m telling you

he (ur bias) is not gonna have one peaceful day ever again in his entire life

cus you know the thing jaemin does where he just looks at someone doing some random shit and goes “oOoOoH sExY”

yes that thing

he’s doing it to your bias

and you’re doing it too

and your bias probably wants to run away to some very far away land

PLEASE IF IT’S JISUNG

i’m not gonna write this whole thing as if you bias him but let’s just imagine

two fully grown people

pilling on top of poor, poor park jisung playing games on his phone

“URI JISUNGIEEEEEE

MWOYA, MWOYAAAA~"

i genuinely think he would avoid being around you two at the same time

cus individually he can handle it

like yes y/n please let me go this hug has lasted for about 4 minutes now

or oh hi jaemin hyung my cheeks hurt when you pinch them that hard

but when you two are together

bruh

a power couple not bc you two are v confident or some shit but bc you can and will be extremely affectionate towards anyone that comes too close

and now let’s talk about how it would be if you biased jaehyun

jaemin loves jaehyun

they’re 2jae

2jae are soulmates

therefore,,,, it’s also kinda hellish but in a different way???

bc 2jae are on the end of that spectrum about the neos that know how in love the entire world is with them

they’re too powerful

they’re aware of their charm and they do everything they can to rub it in our faces

so the flirting between 2jae and you would be insane

and i mean insane

insane as in even johnny is kinda disgusted tbh bc

they’re doing a photo shoot with the 23 of them for some shit, idk don’t ask me

and of course, you had to tag along

but oh my god you three, please stop calling each other sexy/hot in weird voices now, the staff is staring

there are def rumours the 3 of you are a poly couple lmao

jaehyun denies everything on social media (throwback to saying “no way lol” when we asked if he REALLY slept in the same bed as jungwoo)

but every piece of content there is of you and jaemin or you and jaehyun or just them is so ridiculously flirty

you can bet there are compilations on youtube like

“y/n being in love with 2jae for 8 minutes heterosexual”

ok i was having way too much fun with that, moving on

i don’t think he’d ever be actually upset about you biasing someone else

he trusts you and treasures you a lot so he doesn’t see the problem in you also appreciating another one of his members

bc gods know he does

he’s a bit in love with everyone so why shouldn’t you be too lol

one time he would feel a bit blue because of it???

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

i think it’s possible he’d turn pouty or whiny or just kinda needy (not in a bad way, he just misses you) when he’s like

done with people

and needs some time away from everything

we know he’s an introvert, even if he acts very, very loud around the boys and it’s honestly just a matter of time until an introvert grows tired of being around humans

it depends on each person, of course, but there’s a 99% chance every once in a while he’ll start to feel too drained

and he’ll need a break to get his energy back

jaemin would probably want you around even when he feels like that, though

i see you being such a big source of comfort for him in a relationship

he enjoys taking care of people so please take care of him too

and for just this one day don’t talk about your bias that much, or don’t leave nana to go over to him to chat

and just cuddle him a lot

that will make him a smiley baby again

and then things are back to how they normally are

and by that i mean most neos hiding from you because they’re scared

i don’t have a lot to say aside from that so let’s think about the neos that would be the most intimidated by your shared thot aura

dotae would be confused in different ways lol

taeyong would be just ????????????blush/awkward smile/hahaha??????

and doyoung might actually ask what is wrong with you

<points to jeno and his s/o> “why can’t you be like them”

mark would laugh-scream and slap his knee into oblivion whenever you two are cornering him

but then go super shy and be like “dUDE DON’T DO THAT”

resident confident gay jungwoo would rejoice in the attention and make so many goddamned jokes

a literal comedian i love him

i think sicheng and renjun would be on the same wavelength of repugnance towards you lol

chenle would deadass call you weird and tell you to leave him alone

shotaro and kun might faint (or kun will panic-scold you)

taeil is as confused by affection as usual (have you seen the face he makes when haechan kisses him LMFAO he’s smiling but like wondering wtf happened on the inside)

ten is not very amused but might play into it

yangyang: that’s disgusting, man (cue flashbacks to that live with renjun after the from home stage where renjun pretended to lick his hand and slick his hair back,,, catboy injun,,, you know the one)

xiaojun and hendery are such panicked gays they just turn to stare at whoever else is around and make that “help” expression like they’re on the office

haechan is haechan, kinda doesn’t mind it

jeno is used to dealing with this at this point

lucas and yuta love the attention but while yuta will flirt right back lucas is just gonna smile and try to jop his way out of there while screaming

sungchan will go hide behind haechan and say “hyung they’re being dumbasses again”

this turned into ‘how would nct react to you and jaemin being super flirty together’ and i’m not sorry

Chenle

chenle is so fun to write i love him lmao

okay so

he doesn’t strike me as the possessive type with anyone other than jisung (bc i swear he can be a bit jelly towards his bestie but i think it comes with sungie being the sweetest bean ever, he’s just protective)

he’s such a ray of sunshine and witty jokes and dolphin laughter i love him

back to the plot

he literally couldn’t care less about you biasing someone else

b u t

i will say there’s an exception

this exception is tall, kinda lanky, very awkward and born on the 5th of february

you’ve guessed it, it’s jisung

i think most of the time he’d tease THE SHIT out of you for it because c’mon

you had 22 chances not to mess up

and you still somehow ended up biasing jisung? lol do better next time

and this is not me and chenle hating on jisung, please—

he’d just find it funny that your bias is his best friend and

hold the fuck up

your bias is his best friend

oH NO NO NO NO NO

i think after realizing that he would lowkey try to keep you two apart because he’s somehow jealous of both????

and if he can’t help it then you can bet your ass he will be screaming all along

it’s his sweet, dummy jisung

with his sweeter and dummier y/n

what is he going to do

probably has a mini-breakdown with kun because like he’s always wanted you two to get along bUT NOT LIKE THAT

kun will just sigh like the tired father he is and pet his back while saying “there, there”

and a genius idea is going to come to chenle’s mind

you know the teasing thing?

well it’s upgrade time

he’s gonna turn into such a try-hard with tmi and embarrassing shit you two have done

and he’s not trying to stop you from being friends

he just wants you to like

know who you’re befriending

bc i think since he’s really really close to jisung, he doesn’t want you getting closer to him bc you like his idol side alone

and he doesn’t want jisung getting close to you just because you’re his partner either

if you had high hopes for each other and ended up kinda falling face-first into the ground bc it was nothing like you had imagined—

he’d be so broken

because he loves you so much :((((

so like, if you can get past the teasing and annoying barrier he’s putting up, he’ll be more than happy to have two of the most important people in his life being buddies

so get ready for it

if you’re the type of person to go batshit crazy when you drink, oh boy, oh boy

so you and the dreamies are just having dinner when lele feels like it’s the perfect time to disclose some of your drunken adventures

“hey y/n”

“yeah babe?”

“remember that time you got really really drunk on vodka and candy and wanted to call your mom”

“chenle the hell don’t talk ab—”

“but then you tried using the microwave as a phone”

“...”

“or that other time you were equally as drunk and watched the make a wish mv and cried because you noticed the height difference between xiaojun hyung and lucas hyung”

yeah so now’s the part you get up to chase him around the dorms and try to land a kick

BUT WORRY NOT, HE’LL MAKE SURE TO EMBARRASS JISUNG JUST AS MUCH

he likes doing that when it’s just the three of you though

so picture this

movie night the girls boys

chenle would 100% pick the most terrifying horror movie he can find so that he could see jisung clinging to whoever’s closest to him

and then right before a jumpscare, he’d whisper like

“jisung”

“w-what”

“why don’t you do that thing you were doing while you slept last night”

(honestly, i’d be mildly scared if i heard lele say this with no context at all)

and then the jumpscare happens and jisung is nearly fainting and crying at the same time

but chenle is laughing

and trying to get out what he wants to tell you between wheezes

“he-he” <dolphin wheeze> “hE WAS SINGING CHEER UP BY TWICE WHILE SLEEPING” <more wheezes>

and look this is just gonna go on for weeks until you and jisung are over it

and stop being weird and awkward around each other

lele needs you two to be bros ok

so be bros

once you do adapt to being pals with your bias i think chenle would take the teasing down a notch just to make you more comfortable

and like he’s so happy now the three of you can hang out and there’s just no tension

happy chenle is the thing i love the most i swear to gods

and if you don’t adapt to it?

well,,,

i honestly think he’d be pretty disappointed, cus it means to him one of you isn’t ready to fully embrace the weirdness within????

and like what u scared of

jisung is a weirdo, what about it, so are you

either that or he’d think you’re maybe being judgemental

so yeah please accept jisungie and your dumbass boyfriend

then everyone can be besties

i love thinking about the three of you as just this hellbound chaotic trio

because chenji already wreak havoc wherever they go as the two of them

but now that you’re coming along,,,,

no neo would escape from your pranks ever again (and even members of other groups lmfao watch out sehun, i’m talking to you)

and it’s so incredible infuriating in a good way that it just turns to be endearing

you’re cute as fuck so no one gets actually mad with the shit you pull????

which is dangerous, someone should really keep an eye out on the three of you

we don’t need sm to be on fire

well we kinda do cus they’re pretty bad but not my point

i said somewhere above that chenle would tone the teasing down but i don’t mean he’d stop

bc c’mon guys

he’s chenle

no limits here

but sorry, i really cannot write jealous!chenle cus his heart is just too pure and filled with joy for him to be jealous for real

last scenario?

chenle after a comeback stage: ya y/n, i was gonna ask how was my performance today but you were probably more focused on jisung’s arms right

jisung is choking on water somewhere behind you

Jisung

it’s maknae time <plays i.n’s maknae on top>

i don’t mean to picture jisung as being like

ridiculously innocent or just downright naive because i really dislike it when people do that

he’s a literal 19 yo and jaemin himself has said he’s not as innocent as we think lol

however

i do see him as being quite new to all things love

i think you’d probably be his first partner and with first relationships comes a lot of other firsts

first kiss maybe, first time holding hands, first time being jealous….

first time being jealous, yes, focus on that

i don’t think jisung would be aware that like

you not biasing him is even a possibility

cuz you’re dating

doesn’t that come along????

ah poor baby i love him

if you biased chenle i think he’d be just

disgusted and weirded out but okay?? you do you i guess???

he’s comfortable enough with lele to not feel intimidated

but if it’s another member

ESPECIALLY one of the oldest ones

i think it would be a blow straight to his confidence

you biasing ten, kun, taeil, taeyong, doyoung or johnny and maybe yuta would make him feel a bit hesitant and concerned

his first thought would probably be that you don’t like being with someone as young as him

and who knows, maybe you’re even younger than him, maybe you’re the same age, but what if you actually like older guys??

what about him then???

and jisung doesn’t mean to feel so worried and insecure, ok, pls understand where i’m coming from

first relationships normally take like a very long time to build trust and acceptance of the other person’s feelings bc it’s literally a whole new world for you

and that goes extra hard for jisung because he is so fucking whipped for you it’s still hard to believe you like him as much

and it absolutely does not cross his mind that you’d cheat on him with your bias, GODS NO

he really respects you and his hyungs

so no, never

that’s not a thing that can happen

but you realize you’re too good for him and maybe see he doesn’t fit your ideal type?

well, yes, that’s what he’s thinking

probably goes straight to chenle or renjun (he talks about renjun so much asjahj) to vent and ask for advice

i think they’d be surprised to see what’s going on inside his pretty little head because it’s so obvious for everyone that you just adore jisung

and they do tell him that

however, i don’t think it would completely calm his nerves, and again, this has nothing to do with not trusting you

it’s just that

his hyungs are so cool…

HE CAN’T HELP IT OK

would probably try to mirror your bias (i’m saying it’s taeyong for the sake of what i’ve imagined ok) and like

grasp onto some of his qualities?

so in his mind taeyong is: nice, sweet, caring, amazing, perfect, smart, perfect, sexy, mature and did i mention perfect

i can see him trying some new rap styles that mimic tyong’s a bit???

like would lowkey learn his raps from cherry bomb and superm’s one and listen to recordings frequently to pick up on how taeyong does it

i think he’d also just change the way he acts in general to dodge a bit from his maknae image

so now he tries to speak with a more formal-ish language and learns random facts about things you like to seem more intelligent???

“good morning y/n, you look as beautiful as one of voiello’s paintings today :]”

“wait i thought that was a pasta brand”

he’s just trying to show you he can be mature and serious if you want him to

long story short, he’s not acting like himself (not that he’s childish, he’s just out of it) and you don’t like it, so you ask about it and wait for him to feel comfortable with sharing

when he does talk about it breaks your heart so much :((

you’re going to need some patience to try and show him you’d choose him, and not your bias, even if you had the chance

they’re completely different people and you love him BECAUSE he’s jisung, not for any other reason

please reassure him so he can go back to acting like his authentic self, i think it would be such a relief for him too

your words and affection are obviously enough for him, but if it ever happens that he feels especially low and insecure again, it would help if your bias talks to him too

and taeyong wouldn’t have a problem with it

actually, scratch that, taeyong probably knew what was going on all along

he just has that motherly 7th sense (ay) that is even more acute with the dreamies cus like

127 has him, wayv has kun, but dream has…

the dreamies

and that, my friend, is terrifying

anyway he’d come to talk to jisung asking like “what’s wrong buddy :(“ and sungie would be a bit ashamed because it sounds so silly when you say it out loud

of course tyong wouldn’t judge him, and he just really has to tell jisung what is it you and he are always talking about

it’s him

“when they come around to talk and hang out here it all goes back to you, jisungie. they can’t spend one second without mentioning your name

it’s so cute; it’s always like ‘oh jisung would love this’ or ‘jisung likes it that way’

so please be kinder to yourself and let yourself see that they’re in love with you, not with me and not with any other member they ever mention”

jisung would feel 10000000% better

and smiley

and giggly

and oh my god do you really talk about him that much

LOOK HE’S BLUSHING

would just go over to your house immediately and hug you, burying his face on your neck from behind you

and not let go

ever again

the whole situation just teaches him a lot about accepting your love for him and not questioning it

shut up i’m not crying

---

final notes: this was my first work after the humanity series and it was so fun lol i think next up is probs gonna be an ideal type scenario for ot23 (but if i really write it i’m gonna post it by subunit and its gonna be way shorter than this, don’t expect 23K words at once lmao)

if you’ve enjoyed this fic please consider reading my humanity series, which is a zombie apocalypse au with kun <3

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