#padmes next and by comparison she makes vos look absolutely lose your virginity gentle

[tennessoui]

tbh i love writing a more perfect union quinlan vos he wants so hard to find this situation humorous but anakin is so thick that he is very close to wringing his damn neck like so:

Vos is lounging up against the door of his speeder when Anakin makes it out of the living area of Padmé’s apartments. The manufactured Coruscanti breeze stirs the long lines of his clothes, carrying away the thin smoke of the deathstick he’s got caught between his fingers.

Anakin’s scowl is automatic. “Obi-Wan doesn’t like it when people smoke those.”

Vos drops his hand from his mouth and gives Anaki a sardonic smirk. “Have you considered that some of us do not govern our lives based on what Obi-Wan Kenobi likes or dislikes?”

Anakin’s scowl deepens. “Well. They’re also bad for you.” “Speaking of,” Vos says, nodding to the cloak clutched in Anakin’s hands. “That took less time than I thought. Your little marriage issue solve itself?”

“What? No.” Anakin thinks maybe he should warn Vos away from standing too close to the edges of landing pads while being an antagonistic asshole. That’s also bad for oneself. “What do you mean.”

Vos rolls his eyes like he isn’t twenty years older than Anakin. “Are you divorced, Skywalker? Realized you’ve been panting after the wrong person? Realized you’ve been sleeping in the wrong bed?”

Anakin’s back straightens and his grip tightens on his master’s cloak. “What? No! I’m not—she wasn’t serious about that.”

Vos has the nerve to look unconvinced, even slightly amused, as if he knows Anakin’s wife better than Anakin does.

“She wasn’t,” Anakin snaps. “We’re not getting divorced—and it’s–it was out of line for Obi-Wan to even suggest!” His anger is roaring back into focus, and Vos is a much better target than some poor caterer. “Even if he is upset because of the Council’s misunderstanding, we both share the guilt in that, don’t we? They’d never think we were together if he didn’t—if he wasn’t—” The amusement slides off Vos’ face, and he drops the remainder of his death stick to the ground, stamping it out with the sole of his boot. “No, Skywalker,” he says, and his voice is quiet, but almost dangerous. “You don’t get to blame my best friend for you being such a shit husband that people don’t believe that you’re in love with your wife.”