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goingmoa · 2 days ago

Text

chronically offline

pairing: physics nerd!jake x fem!reader

summary: jake is strong in physics, but struggles when it comes to keeping up with internet culture. lucky for him, you can teach him a thing or two about it.

genre: fluff, two smart idiots in love

warnings: reader gets hit on by a guy that doesn't get the hint that she's uninterested, but jake swoops in just in time

word count: ~3.4k

author's note: my first fic!! i wanted to treat my jake biased bestie with a fluffy read, and i hope this delivered! i had a lot of fun writing this LOL ~~ please feel free to let me know what you think!

The physics department is musty in that specific, clinical way only old university buildings know how to be – too drafty, too bright, and somehow suffocating and drab all at the same time. You step in wearily, pulling the cuffs of your hoodie sleeves over your hands to rub the sleep out of your eyes. It was eight in the morning, so you were expecting the place to be empty. Almost no one comes to these optional tutorials.

Except, apparently, for him.

Jake, one of your classmates, is already there, one leg bouncing lightly under the desk, chin resting on his hand as he squints at the problem set like it personally insulted him. His laptop is open, his screen displaying neatly organized notes with colour-coded bookmarks. You spot a sticky note stuck to the edge of his screen.

Remember: you're NOT dumb!! Just confused (temporarily). A wonkily drawn smiley face grins beside it.

You stifle a laugh. Cute.

"Is this seat taken?" you ask, gesturing to the chair across from him.

He glances up, blinking once as if it takes him a second to recalibrate to human interaction. Then he smiles, slow and lopsided, shaking his head. "Nope. You're good."

You plop yourself into the chair and start unpacking your stuff. Jake goes back to his worksheet.

For about three minutes, the only sound is the scratching of pens on paper and the occasional sigh of defeat, mostly from Jake's direction.

"If this vector projection were a person, I'd square up with it in a parking lot." he mutters, mostly to himself.

You snort. "At this rate, I fear it may have the upper hand."

He lifts his head, surprised but amused to hear your little quip. "Oh ye of little faith."

"You know," you say, tapping your pencil thoughtfully against your cheek. "If you really want to cause some damage, you should hit it with a force equal and opposite to its own."

Jake blinks.

Then he laughs, and it's bright, warm, and a little surprised, like the sound suddenly snuck up on him. He leans back in his chair, shaking his head.

"Wow. Did you just weaponize Newton's Third Law?"

"Maybe. Keeps the course interesting, don't you think?" you shrug, grinning.

He looks at you for a moment, still smiling, something unreadable flickering across his face.

"Honestly? I haven't enjoyed physics this much all semester." he admits.

You raise an eyebrow. "What, because it finally came with bad jokes?"

“Nah,” he murmurs, twirling his pen between his fingers with lazy precision. “Because apparently, it comes with you.”

You blink, caught off guard, your gaze trailing from the spinning pen to his eyes, which were entirely too focused on you.

He clears his throat, eyes widening a bit in alarm.

“Sorry, that sounded smoother in my head. I’m Jake, by the way. I don’t think we’ve officially met.”

You glance up at him, mind still reeling. You’re not sure if you’re more confused or flustered – honestly, probably both – but the flicker of something warm and fluttery in your chest is quick, insistent. You ignore it. Now isn’t the time to go unpacking whatever that is.

Jake’s pen spins a little faster now, the movement noticeably less casual, and he’s chewing the inside of his cheek like he’s already regretting every word that just left his mouth.

He looks so embarrassed that you decide to spare him the added awkwardness, pretending not to notice and offering him an easy out.

“I know,” you say, your voice thankfully sounding steadier than you feel. “You’re always here early. Kind of hard to miss.”

And it's true, you had noticed him before. More than once.

He was always there when you walked in, tucked into the same spot, neat notes, brows furrowed in deep concentration. Quiet, but focused. Kind of effortless in that way some people are without realizing it. And yeah, you always thought he was attractive.

There were a few times you considered pretending not to know how to solve a problem just to have an excuse to ask him for help… but you would always snap yourself out of it before you did something you might regret. You were not about to play dumb just to get a guy's attention – even one with annoyingly good hair and a face so distractingly beautiful that it could ruin anyone's GPA.

Besides, you could handle physics just fine – more than fine, honestly. You had a knack for it, a natural instinct for numbers and patterns and solving for things people didn't always see. But you kept your head down and stayed out of the spotlight. You were more comfortable being the person people underestimated, letting your exam score speak for themselves.

So yeah, you had noticed Jake. And sure, maybe you had imagined talking to him once or twice.

But you kept your curiosity to yourself. Until now.

"I guess I like the quiet." he states sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

You respond by introducing yourself, and he says your name like it's something new and delicate. Like it's something worth remembering. You try not to overthink how much you like hearing it roll off his tongue.

“So,” you say, taking a sip from your drink and squinting at him playfully over the rim of your tumbler. “You must have a thing for fluorescent lighting.”

Jake shrugs, the motion a little shy, like he’s used to defending habits he can’t quite explain. “I just like having time to set up.”

“Interesting. Most people I know would rather rot in bed doom-scrolling than show up early to a physics tutorial.” You tilt your head, pretending to analyze him.

He blinks once, confused. “Doom... scroll?”

You pause, lowering your cup. “Wait. Don’t tell me. You don’t have TikTok, do you?”

“Should I?” he asks, looking genuinely uncertain.

You stare at him for a beat, then dramatically slap a hand over your mouth.

“Chronically early and chronically offline?” you gasp. "We've got a rare case here."

Jake laughs, and the motion sends a few loose strands of hair falling across his forehead. Your fingers twitch, resisting the ridiculous urge to brush them back in place.

“You make it sound like a condition.” he chuckles.

You raise your eyebrows, mock-serious. “It is a condition. I’m pretty sure you qualify for observation.”

"Chronically offline?" Jake repeats, furrowing his own brows.

"Oh no." you say, mock-horrified. "It's worse than I thought."

He laughs again, and oh. That’s when it really hits you, just how down bad you were. Because apparently, all it takes is one laugh to completely short-circuit your brain. “You’re making it sound like an actual medical condition.”

“It is,” you say solemnly. “I diagnosed you just now. You’ve got stage four meme deficiency.”

Jake grins and leans forward, elbows resting casually on the table, closing the distance just enough to make your pulse stutter.

“Is there a cure?” he inquires, playing along.

“Lucky for you, I’m the internet incarnate. Stick with me and we’ll fix you up in no time.” ypu smirk, lips quriking up at the corners.

“Good,” he says, and his eyes catch yours, lingering a second too long, like he’s testing the waters.

“I think I’m ready for treatment.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

The weeks pass by like pages in a physics notebook – messy, a little chaotic, and filled with things only the two of you would understand.

You start calling it Meme Therapy. Jake calls it “physically and emotionally enlightening.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

WEEK ONE

Jake is sitting in his usual spot with two coffees. He sips on one of them, extending the other shyly towards you as you approach the table. “I figured this might be part of my treatment plan.”

You thank him before accepting it.

“Caffeine and mild chaos?”

“Exactly.” he confirms, his eyes twinkling.

You sit in front of him again, scrolling through your shared Google Doc titled Chronically Offline: Jake’s Guide to Surviving the Internet.

There’s a new section waiting for you: Eras, Vibes and Cores Explained (A Visual Guide) – complete with wildly inaccurate frogcore diagrams and a chaotic collage of TikToks Jake clearly does not understand.

You turn your laptop screen towards him, pointing to something on the display.

He tilts his head, brow furrowed as he stares at a frog in a pink bonnet sipping a cup of tea on a brightly coloured mushroom.

“So… it’s giving frog?” he attempts, sounding defeated already.

You nearly choke on your coffee, laughing. “It’s giving amphibious excellence.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

WEEK TWO

The physics tutorial ends early, so you stay behind to show him a video called Italian Brainrot: A Cultural Awakening.

He watches in complete silence, eyes narrowed in focus like he’s analyzing experimental data, as ballerina cappunicca echoes dramatically over an AI-generated video of teacups in ballet slippers pirouetting across a spotlighted stage. Then comes the tung tung tung sahur family, seated in the velvet theater seats, watching the performance unfold. Finally, the crescendo: bombardino crocodilo. The crocodile-plane hybrid swoops in, spinning mid-air before crash-landing onto the stage in a pixelated explosion.

To be honest, even you have no idea what’s going on anymore.

You brace yourself for Jake’s reaction. Any second now, he’s going to laugh or look at you like you’ve lost your mind.

Jake turns to you, eyes wide and sparkling. “That’s… kind of brilliant. Like, chaotic resonance.”

You blink. “What?”

He gestures at the screen, still a little stunned.

“It shouldn’t work, but it does. It’s like constructive interference. Two completely unhinged things overlapping at just the right frequency to amplify each other.”

“You’re telling me bombardino crocodilo is like… a wave function?” you deadpan, still trying to wrap your head around the nonsense he just spewed.

He nods, totally serious. “Yeah. A beautiful one.”

You blink again. This man is not real.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

WEEK THREE

You’re late today. When you walk in, Jake’s already claimed his usual seat, along with the one next to it. A sticky note sits on the desk in his slightly messy handwriting, Reserved for: Meme Consultant. Perks include coffee, memes, and my undivided attention.

“Careful. This is dangerously close to adorable.” you say with a smile while sliding easily into the chair.

“Is that a bad thing?” he asks, nudging your leg with his.

“Depends,” you respond, teasing. “What exactly are you trying to get out of this arrangement?”

He pauses, then smiles, eyes warm. “I think I’m developing an addiction.”

“To memes?”

He hesitates, just for a second, then smiles, his eyes softening. “To you.”

Your breath catches. You pretend to be very invested in opening your notebook, but your bright red cheeks are already giving you away.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

WEEK FOUR

You’re working through a tricky problem together, seated side by side now instead of across from each other. His handwriting is a disaster, but his voice is steady as he explains something about vector fields.

You reach for the calculator just as he does. Your fingers brush, and you freeze, the sudden touch sending a rush through, gentle and thrilling all at once. The contact lingers longer than it should. The world seems to pause. His skin is warm against yours. It feels... right.

Neither of you pulls away.

Your heart stutters. His voice does too.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to yours. “Guess you’re in my field.”

You arch a brow. “Magnetic, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, you really are.” he whispers, letting out a soft, breathless laugh.

It’s so quiet, you almost wonder if you imagined it.

Eventually, the bell rings. Neither of you move.

Something between you is shifting, and it is impossible to ignore.

But neither of you speaks it into existence, sitting in comfortable silencs, as if naming it might scare it off. It was still too new, too fragile to touch just yet.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

The party is louder than you'd like and packed with people who major in shots, not physics.

You stay close to the kitchen island, sipping fruit punch from a red Solo cup and scanning the room for anyone familiar. Jake said he might come — heavy emphasis on might — because he's still “not sure how parties work,” to which you told him was “a pretty hot take from someone who was chronically offline.”

You’re about to check your phone when you feel a familiar presence at your side.

“I still don’t really peg you as a party person,” Jake says, suddenly there like a small miracle, all easy smiles and confidence. He’s ditched his usual flannel-centric fits (which you’ve secretly grown to love) for a dark, fitted button-down, left open just enough to reveal a glimpse of collarbone.

You blink. Not what you expected. But definitely not bad at all. He’s always looked good, but… damn.

You arch a brow, smirking. “Didn’t take you for someone who owned anything other than flannels.”

“Didn’t take you for someone who’s been thinking about what’s in my closet.” he fires back with a shit-eating grin.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You’re caught off guard, and he knows it. You can tell by the way his smile lingers, looking proud of himself for short-circuiting your brain.

He takes the moment to allow his gaze to flick briefly over your outfit. Nothing scandalous, but a step outside your usual lecture-core comfort zone. You actually put thought into it. Even hoped it might get noticed. It was looking like it did.

“You look really good, by the way,” he says, a little softer now.

You blink, caught off guard again by his directness, and feel heat rise in your cheeks. You lift your cup like a shield, trying to play it cool. “Not bad for someone who only learned what 'rizz' meant last week.”

He chuckles, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Just trying to keep up.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

You and Jaka end up tucked into a quieter corner of the living room, talking about everything and nothing. Jake is leaning in closer than usual, his knee brushing yours, his eyes soft in a way that makes your pulse flutter. But you convince yourself that it must be because of the music, which was too loud to talk over without closing the distance between you.

Still, you can’t help your delusions from wandering, wondering if something might happen tonight.

Someone suddenly calls his name from across the room, snapping you out of your reverie. The classmate calls him again, already half-drunk and waving him over.

Jake glances at you, like he’s not quite ready to move.

“I’ll be quick,” he says, flashing an apologetic smile. “Promise I’ll be right back.”

You nod, trying not to let your disappointment show as he stands and disappears into the crowd.

You're left alone.

And it only takes a few minutes.

Someone else slips into Jake’s empty seat. It’s a guy you don’t recognize, all swagger and slurred confidence. He’s too close before you even realize what’s happening, leaning in with the heavy sway of someone who’s had a little too much to drink.

He’s not aggressive exactly, but there’s something about him that tightens your chest uncomfortably.

“You here alone?” he asks, smirking like you’ve already said yes.

Before you can respond, he leans in further and adds, “Wanna get out of here?”

His breath smells like beer and bad decisions. Your skin crawls.

“I’m good, thanks.” you laugh as politely as possible, standing up quickly to put space between you.

But he follows, pushing up from the couch with too much momentum. “Aw, come on, doll. Just a little fun. Don’t make me beg.”

You freeze, your smile slipping and heart racing warningly.

Then suddenly, a hand slides around your lower back, not quite touching, but providing comfort nonetheless. With it comes a familiar presence and an overwhelming relief of safety.

“There you are,” Jake says, materializing at your side like he’d been summoned. His tone is light, almost casual, but his eyes are steel. “Babe, we’ve gotta go. The livestream’s starting.”

Your heart pounds — from the pet name or the adrenaline, you’re not sure — but you nod, slipping into the role without hesitation.

“Livestream?” the guy blinks, thrown off.

Jake doesn’t miss a beat. His arm stays around you. You lean into his touch.

“Yeah." he says almost dreamily. "The Italian brainrot pasta review? The one where they slap spaghetti against drywall while the Tralalero Tralala remix plays?”

You cough into your drink to hide your laugh. Jake shoots a quick glance your way, a silent 'go with it.'

You nod seriously, slipping into the act with ease. “He’s right. If we miss it again, I’ll spiral and lose my shit. Last time, I cried. Full breakdown.”

“It was giving tragic.” Jake gasps dramatically, shaking his head with fervor.

The guy takes a step back, visibly confused. “Are you guys… okay?”

“We’re frogcore. It’s terminal.” Jake deadpans.

You both stare at the guy, eyes unblinking, doing your best impression of chaotic meme cultists.

The guy mutters something unintelligible under his breath and walks away.

The second he’s out of earshot, you both burst into laughter. Your shoulders are shaking, the tension snapping like a canned soda popping open. You lean into Jake further without thinking, and he doesn’t move away — just stays there, solid, safe, and warm beside you.

Relief floods your chest. You hadn't realized how tightly you’d been wound until now.

“Thank you,” you say, the weight of it folded between the words.

He looks at you, soft and serious beneath the grin.

“Anytime.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

You find yourselves on the front steps a few minutes later, away from the music and the buzz of the party. You were both ready to call it a night after that. Jake sits next to you, arms resting on his knees, smiling softly.

“That was the most cursed performance I’ve ever seen.” you chuckle, bumping your shoulder into his.

“I’m just relievee it worked so well.” Jake smiles, returning the action of endearment gently.

“I’m still speechless. I think you might’ve scared him into deleting his Instagram.”

“Nice,” he exhales slowly, but there’s something lingering behind the smile, a tension that hasn’t quite left him. “I just… I didn’t like how he was talking to you.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, he doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I know I’m not… great at this stuff,” he says, voice lower now. “But when I saw him – saw you and the way you were cornered, I couldn’t think straight. I was scared.”

He finally looks up at you, jaw tight with the memory. “Not that he’d hurt me. That he’d do something you couldn’t laugh off. That I’d be too late to stop it.”

There’s a pause, the air between you charged.

“But I knew I had to do something. Because I like you. And I couldn’t stand the thought of you not being safe.”

Your heart flutters at the honesty in his voice, rough with emotion and sincerity.

“I like you too, Jake.” you smile, soft and sure. “Even if your use of internet slang is objectively awful.”

He smiles, the kind that lights up his entire face, and pretends to be offended. “Hey, I’m improving.”

“Yeah, I can tell. You’ve gone from absolute zero to mildly impressive. That’s, like, a major thermodynamic shift.”

And before either of you can overthink it, you lean in to kiss him. It’s a little shy, but it’s real. He kisses you back, and you can feel his lips curving upwards against yours.

He blinks when you pull back, momentarily stunned, then breaks into that smile you’ve come to crave.

“So,” he says, sounding a little breathless. “Does this mean I’m officially online?”

“Welcome to the internet, Jake.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

The physics room looks the same as always: buzzing fluorescent lights, too much dust, and that faint smell of old carpet and blackboard chalk.

But it feels different now.

Jake’s already there, of course. He’s got a coffee waiting at your usual seat. There’s a new sticky note on your side of the desk, Reserved for: Meme Consultant + Girlfriend (hopefully).

“You’re really committing to the title, huh?” you say, plopping yourself down next to him.

Jake looks up from his notes, his face lighfing up at the sight of you. “I’ve decided to embrace my new era.”

“Which era is that?” you raise an inquisitve eyebrow, unable to suppress your own smile.

Jake pretends to think.

“Boyfriend-slays-with-vectors-core?” he offers.

You laugh, then steal one of his pens.

As you open your notebook, you find something tucked between the pages: a small printed meme. A pixelated frog in a physics lab coat, next to text that reads: My love for you defies Newtonian mechanics. It’s accelerating.

Your mouth hangs open in awe.

“I made it myself,” he says proudly. “Be honest. Is it giving?”

“You’re such a nerd.” you laugh, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“So you’re saying I’ve progressed to stage five?”

“Stage five of what?”

He taps the sticky note beside your coffee. “Terminally online. Emotionally attached.”

You smile, cheeks warming. “You’re hopeless”

Jake shrugs, his grin widening. “Worth it.”

#jake x reader #jake sim x reader #jake x you #jake sim x you #enhypen fluff #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen x reader #jake enhypen x reader #jake enhypen #jake enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #jake sim fluff #jake sim #enhypen imagines #enhypen x female reader

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rebldomak1tty · 19 hours ago

Text

A request for an alternative perspective of one of my other requests, Foilsick.

My 1st Love???? OH my God ... I am almost sure I am in love ... with Y/N. Hehehe ... such a strange name, like mine ... yet everything about her I love. From her good body to her almost perfect face, her charm, her wit & cunning, her NOT being popular. I just hope she likes me as much as I LOVE her. I think of her every second of every day. I want to be with her. I imagine me & her doing things together, the sound of her laugh, I picture her face, I love her. If soulmates exist, then I think I’ve found mine. I hope she likes Techno... :-) Y/N, I love you - Dylan

Eyes. Soft, warm, inquisitive, harsh, cold, unforgiving. They had a way of stripping you bare, peeling back the layers of skin you hid behind and finding your soul under all the falsehoods. And Dylan had never seen a pair of eyes quite like Y/N’s. The very first time she had looked at him, she’d been standing for the school bus as the heavens poured down around her, her wet hair whipping around her face: a living, writhing veil obscuring her from him. A flash of colour through the strands, and the darkness of a pupil, staring directly at him. He met her gaze, and his hair stood on end, his skin rippling into gooseflesh. Something twisted in the dark depths of her eye, and he felt his whole spirit move with it, floating up and out of his body, spiralling up, up, up, up, ever upwards and into the halcyon. His mind emptied, his ever-darkening thoughts quieting. VoDkA settled. His soulmate had been found. Yellow! Flashing past him in a blur of motion, even as the world around him ground to a standstill, fixing its rotation on the girl now climbing into the bus, buffeted in the swarm of kids like a diamond in a rock tumbler. As his soulmate took her seat and disappeared from view, his world began to turn again. Holding his hand out from under the tree he’d been smoking in the shelter of, he watched as the drops splattered across his large palm, slipping between his long, bony fingers, coating his skin with a rapidly decreasing frequency. A sliver of blue peeked between the heavy grey of the clouds above.

The locker opposite his. The seat across the classroom from him. The lunch table the other side of the cafeteria. The halcyon spiralled further out of his grasp. Beside him, Eric, REB, whatever it was that the annoying retard wanted to be called, chattered on and on. If it even was him talking. Not that it really mattered. The drone of the conversation he was supposed to be paying attention to buzzed around his head. He swatted at it. It dodged, and looped back to launch a second attack. Blue eyes drifted across the room, a magnet seeking its opposite pole. She was sitting by the window, the sunlight glancing off her hair, a halo of warmth illuminating her as she sat alone. It would be so easy to ditch the idiots he was eating with, play it cool as he walked over to join her, crack a joke as he slid into the seat opposite her… His heartbeat pulsed through his ears, sweat pooling in his palms. Alas, not yet. Movement near her: Robyn plopping herself unceremoniously into the seat next to her. Of course the two of them were friends. The halcyon crept ever closer, a tentative link bridged to heaven. His food remained untouched, his conversation neglected, the rowdiness of teenage boys bubbling, swelling around him, as he sat shrinking in on himself, insides coiling like snakes. Couldn’t even talk to a girl. How pathetic.

Class now, one without Y/N. Blah, blah, blah. Words, words, words zooming around his head like flies, skipping over his shaggy blonde hair, crawling over his nose, his lips, his skin itching. The teacher, explaining something he already understood. Boredom. Wanna die. His cell thrummed in the pocket of his pants. Turning his head, he fixed his gaze out the window, watching the clouds drift past. Soft, wispy white things, rolling and tumbling in the breeze, flitting ahead of the bigger grey bulkheads, cutting their way through the vivid ocean blue. Trees swaying, pine needles brushing gently together, building to a subtle crescendo- BANG! The thunk of the teacher’s fist on his desk made him jump. A chorus of titters and giggles. Ducking his head and muttering an apology, he picked up his pen, dwarfed by his fingers - a child holding a stick - and skimmed the worksheet on the desk in front of him. His brain whirred, connecting dots, building sentences, constructing the perfect answers. It was all so easy, almost too easy. He twirled his pen between his fingers, the motion practised, precise, a drum thudding in his mind with each rotation. Putting pen to paper, the ink scoring the material in a line of bright blue liquid, he wrote, mindless things, what was expected, what was enough to get him by: the questions were dull, so easy to answer that mediocrity should be expected. If you don’t have to think to come up with an answer, why even bother expending the energy anyway? He made a beeline for the boys’ toilets between classes, fumbling in his pocket, fingers sliding over the lukewarm shell of his cell phone. Grasping firmly, overriding the tug of plastic catching on fabric, the device was finally in his hand. The button of the keypad depressed under the pad of his index finger: message from Kibbz, message from Kibbz, message from Mom - don’t forget you have diversion tonight! - message from Devon, message from Robyn, message from Robyn… His finger stilled, the button halfway pressed in, as he took in what Robyn had sent him. Dinner. Thursday. With… No. This couldn’t be possible. Bony fingers fell slack as shock trembled through them, the artificial clatter of plastic on bathroom tiles ricocheting between the graffitied walls. The cell phone spun across the floor, a knife spiralling through the air. It hit a pipe with a soft thunk and stilled, a grey and green grenade, ready to blow. Dylan stared at it, watching the way the fluorescents reflected dully on the plastic, a pale imitation of the halcyon. Eyes wide, hands trembling, he took one step, then two, towards his cell, stomach bubbling and twisting, his palms growing slick with sweat as the world swirled and slanted around him. Light, pulsing, spiralling upwards, filled his vision as he stooped, gingerly retrieving the device and cradling it in his hands. A white lily, blooming under a clear sky. The halcyon opened for him, an ethereal hand extended to him. He took it - he would be a fool not to - the luminous skin divine against his mortal flesh. Infinince was his, stretching eternally before him as he read the text over and over again, his eyes alight with the halcyon, its radiance shining from his face as a smile parted his lips. He knew exactly what his answer was to Robyn’s question.

Love is more valuable than anything I know. To love is to enter a completion of oneself. I hate those who choose to destroy a love, who take it for granted. love is greater than life even. As I look for love, I feel I can’t find it. Ever. But something tells me I will, someday. Somewhere. As my love will find me, she feels as I do right now, I can feel it, we will be inseparable. Her & I. We will be free, to explore the vast wonders of the stars. To cascade down everlong waterfalls, & thru the warmest seas of pure happiness .. . no limits .. . no limits. Nothing will stop us.

Thursday evening. Hair up, back in a ponytail. His mom stared back at him from the mirror. Hair down, frizzy around his face. Maybe some gel? A quick tousle? Clumsy hands moved to his head, playing with the limp hair, brushing it back until it fell around his face in a way that was at least satisfactory. His body next, unclothed, collarbones standing out prominently. His fingers drifted up over his ribs, following the dips and swells, counting, one, two, three, four… over his chest, raking through the light smattering of dusty brown hair beginning to grow in. Robyn had said they were going to a diner. A not-so-blind date. Opening the wardrobe, his eyes flickered between articles of clothing, skimming over t-shirts, drifting between dress shirts. His trusty AOL shirt? Too informal, plus he wore it frequently enough that she was sure to think he only owned one shirt. That wouldn’t be too far from the truth. Teeth biting down into his lower lip, he glanced back towards the dress shirts. A diner, he reminded himself. Far too formal. But he wanted to make a good impression on her, look smart and well put together… a button-up and jeans? The image flashed through his head, and he almost snorted at the ridiculousness. Mind whirring, his body stock still, he weighed the options in his head, pros and cons flickering through his brain at lightning speed, and cast his judgment. Jeans pulled over his waist, sagging down to his hips until tightened with a belt, a quick roll of deodorant, a dab of cologne, XTORT tee smoothed over his torso, tight around his head, catching on his nose. Back to the mirror, a quick ruffle of his hair. Not too shabby, he hoped, tugging on the hem of his shirt, the album cover print stretching with the material. The soft chimes of the hallway clock drifted to the bedroom… five, six, seven, late!! Robyn had said to meet them there at 7.30. He practically flew from his room, down the stairs and out into his BMW, fingers fumbling with the key as it turned over in the ignition.

Darkness, illuminated only by the full beam of his headlights as he hurtled down the road, the yellow of the centre lines blurring, engine roaring. Around him, endless night pressed in, obscuring his surroundings, leaving him alone on the lost highway. A flash of red neon, slow blinking letters of a restaurant logo - we are open! - the cool lights of a 50s-style diner. 7.45 pm. Classy. Real slick. Pulling into the parking lot, his tyres grinding against the asphalt, his eyes flickered over the rows of empty parking spots. A very quiet evening, just as Robyn had said. Picking one of the bays closest to the diner, he quieted the engine, removing the keys and depositing them carelessly into one of his pockets. Unbidden, his hands returned to the steering wheel, 9 and 3, his palms suddenly growing moist, arms shaking as if trying to pop from their sockets as the familiar writhing built in his gut, intestines sliding wetly over each other, tangling into knots. A deep inhale. The subtle scent of leather and rubber. Exhale. He was the master of his fate, and he would bow to no god, kingdom, or state. Inhale. Car air freshener, pine and the tang of sweat. Exhale. The happiness was close. All he had left to do was claim it. And then the car door was open, his feet on the tarmac, the sidewalk. The diner door was cold under his fingertips, metal, heavy, real.

Chiming merrily, the small bell above the door sounded his arrival. His shoes squeaked against the linoleum as he stepped inside: a few heads turned towards him, and he felt his stomach roil again, attempting to force its way out from his mouth. The trembling in his arms began again as his gaze darted from one face to another - an elderly couple, a biker, a few off-duty cops - only to be met with disappointment at every patron. Where was she? He knew he was late, that it looked like he’d stood her up, but surely Robyn wouldn’t have let her leave. He turned his head, taking a couple more squeaky steps into the diner. As if drawn towards her, a planet sucked into the orbit of a black hole, he met the eyes of his soulmate, his muse, his torturer, his Medusa, and somehow didn’t turn to stone. He was floating, his mind drifting towards the light, his body as soft as marshmallow fluff. Y/N looked just as she had done on that day in the rain, the halcyon reflected in her eyes, swirling down around her neck, cascading from her fingertips. He could feel the way his jaw had slackened, knew he was staring at her like a gormless idiot, but he couldn’t help himself. Robyn Anderson - his saviour. Waving him over with a strange urgency to her movements. Of course, he obliged, loping over to where she sat at the counter, a half-eaten key lime pie in front of her.

“Be nice.” The first thing from her mouth was a warning, twofold in its intent. Behave yourself, those words told him, I’m watching you. She needs reassurance, they continued, gentleness is the way forward here. Be nice. Robyn gestured to her, as if the movement explained the whole scope of whatever it was he was about to walk into. “I think she’s planning on bolting, and I’m not gonna help catch her if she does.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help himself: diaphragm contracting, forcing every doubt clawing at his insides to spew from his mouth, body vibrating with the effort, the tumult of his insides bubbling out in a harsh cackle that creased the corners of his eyes and stretched his lips until they hurt, the skin splitting. Robyn smacked his shoulder lightly, a reminder of what he was here for, and he bit down on his lower lip, turning to face his goddess, sitting in the booth of a shitty 1950s diner. Y/N’s eyes were wide: a fawn poking its head around a tree. He watched as she took him in, admiring the subtleties of her expressions. A small nose scrunch, a curve of her mouth, dilation of her pupils. Clearly, she liked what she saw. He knew he had to speak soon, as this was the first time they were officially meeting. Chaste glances across rooms and soft, bittersweet daydreams couldn’t even begin to compare to this. Taking a seat opposite her, he watched the way her body vibrated, her eyes darting everywhere, looking for escape in a way he’d done so many times before. He offered her a warm smile. Everything will be okay.

“You’re Y/N, right? Robyn’s friend?” He wasn’t sure what to say next. His friends were so chatty, words machine-gunning from their mouths in a humming swarm, that he wasn’t too sure what to do with himself. Long fingers clasped together under the table, twisting the bones in their sockets, the staccato of trapped air popping like gunshots in the silence. His goddess still didn’t speak, the fear in her eyes radiating through her whole body: her hands had not stopped trembling. A twitch of his fingers, an instinctual need to soothe, to quiet her shaking frame. Surely he should introduce himself if she was still not comfortable enough to talk to him. “I’m Dylan. Dylan Klebold. I think we have some classes together.”

Those captivating eyes widened, recognition flashing through them. A nod! Score! Blood pooled in her cheeks, a soft blush spreading over her face and creeping down towards her chest. He felt his mouth drying, his throat constricting. Tongue darting out to wet his lips, as he inhaled the soft scent of her, watching the subtle fluttering of her pulse under the skin of her neck. Lips pulling upward unconsciously, he couldn’t help but smile at her again, the muscles of his cheeks aching at the movement. Sunlight cutting through dark clouds. If he could spend all night simply staring at her in silence, then he would be content. But something about the look in her eyes, the innocent terror, compelled him to speak. Bursting from him like water broaching a dam, the words strung themselves together, long, winding sentences that curled across the table like cigarette smoke, filling the silence with a balmy warmth. Y/N rested her hands flat on the diner table, her shoulders slowly relaxing, her posture straightening, a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis.

“So, what can I get you two tonight?” His halcyon girl immediately shrank back in on herself, her body tensing up, her eyes locking on the laminated menu in front of her: tears glistening in the overhead lights. The waitress arched an eyebrow at her behaviour, waiting for one of them to speak. And Dylan, of course, found himself taking the lead once again. He wasn’t exactly sure what to order, stumbling over his tongue as he tried to remember how his mouth worked, lips disconnected from his body, voice box vibrating of its own accord. Y/N fared even worse. A squeak, the only sound she’d made all night. Mouth opening and closing; a floundering fish.

“Show me what you’d like to eat, Y/N.” The sound of his voice, quiet, like a parent calming a scared child, snapped her out of the paralysis, locking her muscles. Her fingers flexed, one sliding over the plastic coating, landing on a salad, a side of fries, a milkshake. He relayed this smoothly to the waitress, inching his large hands across the table, taking her hands in his, his thumb rubbing soothing circles across the skin of her wrist. Her breathing slowed, the menu falling back to the tabletop with a soft whoosh.

Soon enough, they were alone together, the silence between them imposing itself again. Fingers tapping against her skin, his mind whirred, sorting through possible conversation starters. Music? Video games? Guns? Movies? What if he came on too strong? Scared her off with his unusual interests? His lips parted, and: “Robyn told me you were shyer than me.” Awesome. Way to go, Dylan. If she wasn’t self-conscious before, now she certainly was. Attempting to backpedal, he continued. “I didn’t think there could be someone, but I guess I was wrong. It’s okay, Y/N, I don’t mind waiting until you feel comfortable talking to me.” Shit. Shit. Shit. Sideline, change the topic, talk about anything other than this: “I have plenty more to tell you about what I’m planning on doing to my computer. Once I have the money, the upgrades I’m going to buy…”

I love her she loves me. I love her. the journey, the endless journey started, it has to end. We need to be happy to exist truly. I see her in perfection, the halcyons. I await endless purity. I exist as less than nothing without her. –O. My humanity, –O.

All too soon, the date came to an end, the moon shimmering high in the sky. The night air was cool against his skin as he leant against his car, watching his halcyon girl, his Y/N, fidgeting, wringing her thin little fingers. Looking up at him, the halcyon swirling through her striking eyes, she nibbled on her bottom lip, clearly building up the confidence to speak.

“It was great to meet you, Y/N. I had a lot of fun tonight.” He encouraged gently, a fluttering feeling blossoming through his chest, his cheeks beginning to burn at the confession. Nodding once, she placed her soft hand on his. The warmth of her flesh spread through him, the dappling sunlight through the leaves of a tree.

“Do you want to go on another date with me?” Her voice, as sweet as spun sugar, drifted through the air. His organs liquidated at the sound, his brain leaking from his ears, his stomach gooey chocolate. Everything about her was heaven incarnate: perfection made flesh. He couldn’t picture himself doing anything else than spending time with this gorgeous angel, wrapped up in a piece of heaven sent just for him.

An affectionate smile crept onto his face, lifting his cheeks, his eyes squinting. It was a genuine, happy thing that made his very being glow. “I’d love nothing more.”

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diana-bluewolf · 2 days ago

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Art evolution tag game

Thank you so much for the tag @lynnsartsworld and @myokk!

A very long post because I enjoyed remembering it all and want to save it here. Although I started drawing when I was a kid, I didn't draw constantly and often forgot about drawing for years. An occasional artist, I would say.

2007-2010 (Sadly, I don't have access to my earlier drawings but before that I had been drawing occasionally for ~7 years.) I drew mostly with gouache and loved drawing water because I was obsessed with Aivazovsky. Oh and Fullmetal Alchemist was my main inspiration for years.

2010-2011. First attempts to draw digitally. Turned out it wasn't easy. I felt like I had to learn drawing from scratch because everything looked much worse than I used to draw. But there was still one beautiful thing about it - I didn’t care whether it looked good or bad, I just enjoyed the process.

2015-2016 mostly did urban sketching + tried oil painting

2017-2018. I was surprised to remember the first one, looks a bit familiar 🤨 But it’s just a random nameless OC. The rest - my marauders era.

2021. I don't think I had any fun at this point. I was too focused on drawing PERFECTLY. Spent literally months for one drawing. Of course I just burned out ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Didn’t draw for 3 years after that.

2024-2025. Now, I just draw things for fun and keep it easy. Most of them are simpler than I used to draw, I barely draw proper backgrounds, I just love to experiment with lighting and colour. I guess what I'm learning now - how to let go of perfectionism and just enjoy the process of drawing regardless of the result.

np tag: @itsame-domi @syaolaurant @littlejony @phinik @accio-bagel

#art journey #tag game #my art #art evolution

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aspentreewrites · 1 day ago

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and when all the flowers are rotten and all the cannons shot

Chapter 8

Pairings: Codywan

Tags/Warnings: (spoilers for this chapter!!) getting together, feelings of inadequacy, miscommunication (very minor), explicit sexual content

Description:

The truth of the matter burrows deep into Cody’s skin, settling into the home it’s long-since made for itself there, nestled tightly amongst the other secrets he harbours that are too shameful to ever speak aloud.

He digs his fingers into his temples, breathing in heavy lungfuls of the steam-drenched air as if it might reverse the realisation that now weighs upon his heart like lead.

This is no longer just some passing infatuation.

He’s in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

(or: an account of the relationship between one Marshal Commander and his General from in the midst of a war.)

Link to read on AO3 here!

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A/N: It's the last day of the month so I technically got this one out on time, phew. Huge shoutout to my wife for proofreading this one literally like 30 minutes ago so I could get it out today :3

Wordcount: 10.4k

Prev chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

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Cody has learnt many unspoken rules about life in the GAR ever since he left Kamino.

First, the amount of caf needed to effectively run a battalion is always more than you think. No matter how confident you are when requisitioning supplies for the upcoming month, never forget to multiply the ordered amount of bags ordered by 1.3 times, otherwise you’ll run out on the final week of rotations without fail. If a particularly stressful set of missions are scheduled, change the multiplier to 1.5.

Second, shinies are a liability on shore leave. Make sure to assign one of the more experienced troops to surreptitiously watch them and drag them out of trouble if it arises. Subtlety is the key here - being too obvious about tailing will undermine the new trooper’s sense of agency in their first weeks out, but not doing it at all may lead to unwanted mess with the Coruscant guard. Better to prevent problems in the first place than have to call in more favours with Fox.

(Cody had appended a sticky note to the reminders on his desk two months into service, reminding him to under no circumstances ever again choose Boil or Waxer for shiny-watching duty. Their tendency for rule-breaking means that they inevitably end up joining the new kid in whatever trouble they were supposed to cut short, and Cody is inevitably left with an even bigger mess to untangle come sunrise).

Third, the Jetii are always right when they say they have a bad feeling about an upcoming mission or course of action - always listen to their concerns and try to work with them, even if it feels counterintuitive at the time.

And fourth, those unfortunate enough to be designated with the rank of Commander or higher never, ever get an uninterrupted night of sleep.

Entirely expected and on-cue, a shrill, relentless beeping cuts through the darkness of Cody’s room, startling him into wakefulness. The harshness of the sound is about as welcoming as an electrostaff to the skull, and nearly as likely to cause a headache.

Cody fumbles around in the dark for the source of the ringing, eventually finding the offending comm-link on his nightstand. It occurs to him in his half-awake state that he must have put it down in an unusual place last night, as it takes him a few blind swipes to find it - maybe he was just more tired than usual before he went to bed? With uncharacteristic clumsiness, he presses his thumb to the activator and brings it to his ear. “Commander Cody,” he greets, his voice rough with sleep. “What is it?”

Behind him, Obi-Wan lets out a sleepy murmur, curling tighter around his frame. Cody barely processes the movement, sinking back against the welcoming warmth instinctively.

“Oh– uh, right. Yes, Commander,” the voice on the other end says, surprise clearly colouring their tone. Cody frowns. Had they not called him? Perhaps it’s one of the shinies - they always do seem so intimidated by him when they’re first assigned, treading carefully until they’re used to him.

He’d have more patience for it if it weren’t currently 0530 hours in the morning with no missions scheduled for the day ahead.

“Spit it out, trooper. What is it that needs my attention?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” there’s a pause on the other end. “It’s… it’s just the morning check in. I usually give it direct to the General, but given that you’ve answered his comms instead–”

Obi-Wan huffs out a tired chuckle, the soft exhale stirring the hairs at the nape of Cody’s neck as the Commander freezes in place, realising exactly what it is he’s just done.

Of course the comms were out of place - he’s not in his own quarters at all this morning. And he suddenly very much remembers why that is.

Cody does his very best not to swear.

“Oh– yes,” he manages, after a pause he worries is far too incriminating. “We– we’re making battleplans together.”

There’s silence on the other end. For some Gods-forsaken reason, Cody feels the desperate need to fill it. “Which is why I answered his comms for him,” he adds, superfluously.

“That’s… that’s fine, sir.” Another silence. It seems like neither of them know what to say. “Does General Kenobi still want to receive the check-in, then, or…?”

Cody is sure he’s bright red.

“No, that’s– that’s alright. We’ll be at the bridge in an hour.”

The trooper sounds relieved that they don’t have to endure this awkward conversation any longer when they reply, “copy that.”

The comm-line goes dead, taking Cody’s professional reputation swiftly along with it.

A soft groan slips from his lips, burying his face into the pillow beneath him, as if it might hide him from the questions that are surely coming their way. The arm slung across his torso tightens, Obi-Wan shifting so he’s lying practically half on top of him - Cody can sense his amusement, flitting through the bond without an attempt to disguise it.

“It’s fine,” the Jedi mumbles sleepily.

“It’s not,” Cody protests.

Despite his words, he can’t help the soft sigh of contentment that escapes him as Obi-Wan gently squeezes his arm around him, telling him without words that they’re in this together.

It’s… nice. Very nice, in fact. Cody isn’t entirely sure what it is he and Obi-Wan are doing, what it is he wants them to be doing, but… he’s content with this for the moment, however they’d label it.

It’s a strange thought. Cody hasn’t given much time to the question of what comes after a night like that - dreams of the future are not a luxury a clone like him tends to get. Still, he can’t help the way his mind drifts to the dangerous idea, the possibility of not only surviving to see the end of the war, but of a happy life beyond it.

Some of the boys had full fantasies picked out - picket fence house, kids, the works - but such indulgent daydreaming always felt too naively hopeful to him.

Still, he allows himself this one small moment of weakness. If, Cody thinks to himself, if he and Obi-Wan make it through this all in one piece, he’d quite like to stay. Maybe not in the GAR, or whatever is left of it then, but stay near the Temple on Coruscant. Near to Obi-Wan, near to where he imagines most of his brothers will settle.

His mind drifts.

What does a soldier do, when not in the fight?

No, that’s not quite the question. A normal soldier exists as an entity even off-duty - they have the life-that-came-before, something that they can look back on and build from when the fight is done.

The clones were born into the fight. They don’t get the privilege of a ‘before’.

So, Cody supposes, it’s only logical that he’ll have to look forward, try something new.

He’s always felt intrigued by art, ever since a mission tailing a mark brought him through a gallery on Corellia - though he doesn’t particularly profess to understand it very much. He’d always assumed his battle-worn hands were too calloused for the delicacy that a paintbrush requires, but then again, it’s not like he’s ever really tried.

A soft hum escapes his lips as he considers what pursuing that life might look like.

His smile is short lived, souring quickly as his thoughts crash down rather rapidly to the real world. The real world where they’re very much waging a war, and part of that war is going to mean getting up in an hour and facing down the trooper who just called them and acting like nothing is amiss.

“I’m gonna transfer to the 501st,” Cody declares to the darkness of the room.

“They don’t know, Cody, I promise,” Obi-Wan insists. A glance over Cody’s shoulder shows that the Jedi is frowning at the statement. “The 501st?” His nose wrinkles. “They’d drive you up the wall. They’re lawless over there.”

Cody rolls himself over in Obi-Wan’s hold so that they’re practically nose to nose. Gently, he reaches out a hand to smooth away the crease at the Jedi’s brow with the pad of his thumb.

“Rex does his best,” Cody counters. “They’re just… enthusiastic.” He pauses when Obi-Wan raises an unconvinced eyebrow. The crease quickly returns, much to Cody’s dissatisfaction. “Admittedly, they’re worse when they’re egged on by Skywalker,” he concedes.

“As I said,” the Jedi continues easily, a roguish smile taking shape under his beard. “Lawless.”

Cody decides to ignore the complaint. “I’m still going, to save me from the humiliation if nothing else. Maybe I’ll change my name, while I’m at it.”

“Mhmm.” Obi-Wan yawns, the playful indignation leaving him in an instant as he relaxes. Something flutters in Cody’s chest - he looks more at ease than he’s ever known him to be.

The bond radiates a feeling that holds layers of depth that Cody doesn’t quite yet understand how to untangle, but he knows enough to recognise that it altogether amounts to the feeling of safety. The Jedi smiles. “What would you change it to, dear?”

Cody rubs gentle circles over Obi-Wan’s side with his thumb, considering the answer that would elicit the most aggrieved response from his lover - his lover, it still doesn’t feel real - it takes him a moment, but eventually, he settles on something satisfactory. “... Ben,” he murmurs thoughtfully.

His effort is rewarded in the immediate narrowing of accusatory eyes.

“You can’t just steal my go-to alias–”

“It’s not like you’re using it right now.”

… Accusatory eyes that can’t help but crinkle at the corners. So much for being a good actor. “You’re ridiculous,” Obi-Wan returns, mirth filling his words despite an admirable attempt at remaining irritated.

“I prefer the term ‘hilarious’, actually, given the way you’re laughi–”

Cody’s sentence is promptly and succinctly cut off by Obi-Wan’s lips covering his.

Well, far be it for him to complain.

Fingers sink into hair, curling into soft strands and pulling impossibly closer. A gentle tug, and Obi-Wan sighs into his mouth, the sound sending his heart rate spiralling. Cody thinks he might like to freeze time forever here, if he had the choice. Well, he might, except–

Morning breath, he discovers rather quickly, is a strange sensory experience that the holofilms never mention. Not outright unpleasant, and certainly still preferable to not kissing the man in his arms, but strange nonetheless.

Obi-Wan gingerly pulls back, freeing Cody from his embrace in the process. He sheepishly grins, reaching up to push back the mess of hair that’s fallen over his forehead.

Stars, does he even know what he looks like? Cody wonders if the other man is ever aware of just how much simple movements like that make him feel dizzy.

“You’re right,” the Jedi muses. “We should probably at least brush our teeth before continuing.”

The ship’s artificial lighting has crept in enough that Obi-Wan can evidently see the confusion that’s overtaken Cody’s face.

“I didn’t say anything about– oh.”

Obi-Wan must have sensed his direct line of thought through the bond.

Cody suddenly sits up in the bed, feeling strangely vulnerable as the sheets pool around his hips - not at his nakedness or their proximity, though that’s certainly still a little disorienting to be faced with - but at the realisation that he no longer has anywhere to hide, not even internally. That… will take some adjustment.

“Sorry– it’s just unnerving that you can…”

He trails off, not wanting to say anything to offend Obi-Wan. It’s a privilege to be connected like this to him, of course, and Cody mentally chastises himself for his discomfort. The last thing he wants to seem is ungrateful.

At the same time, it’s disquieting to think that his privacy is forever forfeited by the bond, despite his appreciation for it. It’s a lot to get used to.

Obi-Wan tilts his head, remaining quiet for a moment as he watches Cody carefully. It’s a small measure of comfort to see no judgement in his gaze, only sympathy and understanding.

“Does it upset you?” the Jedi asks, his tone a familiar, careful neutrality. A negotiation tactic that Cody’s seen before during their many diplomatic excursions.

Cody can’t help the way he softens as he recognises what Obi-Wan is doing - trying to meet him where he’s at before offering a middle ground. Always so thoughtful.

A small smile tugs at his lips despite himself, and he hesitates only briefly before shaking his head. “No, I– I do like it.”

He pauses, well aware of the fact that the sentiment is woefully inadequate for describing just how strongly he feels about the bond they share. Despite knowing he should say more, he still finds that his tongue ties when trying to put the complexity of it all into words.

Until recently, his inability to talk about his emotions was a non-issue - a point of pride even, something he thought he was above needing to do. Learning to disentangle himself from the genuine belief the Kaminoans had instilled in him that clones are simply more resistant to feeling any form of emotion is… an ongoing process.

Regardless, he pushes through the discomfort, reaching out to take Obi-Wan’s hand in his. He stalls for time by brushing his thumb slowly over his knuckles, letting the warmth of the contact ground him. “I like it,” he repeats. “But… a little control over it might be nice.”

Obi-Wan smiles absently, reaching out to idly trace a feather-light finger over an old scar that dances across Cody’s ribcage. Not something won from battle, for once - this was earned during a particularly drunken night after the 212th returned home from their first campaign.

He was told by Wolffe, much later, that he’d apparently taken a tumble from a speeder, but it seems that no one remembers anything else about the incident, despite Cody’s subtle attempts at asking around.

He’d somehow woken up in the correct bunk, so it couldn’t have been all that bad. He’d profusely thanked the Stars for his rapid healing, though even that couldn’t fix the way he’d recoiled from the mere smell of Phattro for six standard months after that day.

“I forget that I’ve been learning to shield since birth,” Obi-Wan murmurs, “and that something of this intensity will be incredibly new to you.” He cocks his head, offering a soft smile. “I can teach you, if you’d like - some more advanced techniques than the ones you already know. I imagine you’ll pick it all up rather quickly.”

Cody lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Of course he had nothing to worry about, this is Obi-Wan. He’d move mountains to help him feel comfortable.

He nods his affirmation with a gentle squeeze of his hand. “I’d like that,” Cody says, relief colouring his tone. “Not that I want to hold back from you, but–”

“But sharing your mind should be a choice,” Obi-Wan cuts in, sitting up beside him with a slow stretch. “I understand entirely, my dear.”

After leaning in to give his Jedi a grateful, lingering kiss, Cody wrinkles his nose, remembering exactly why they’d started this conversation in the first place. “Alright. Brushing teeth first, then teaching,” he declares, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and reaching out to flick on the light.

Obi-Wan groans, covering his eyes briefly, but a soft laugh leaves his lips despite the noise of complaint. “Whatever you want, my darling.”

_____________________________

They spend the next half an hour sitting across from each other, going over the complexities of Jedi shielding techniques. Having someone actively test your mental barriers by pushing on them as if they’re something physical is a… unique experience, Cody learns - though Obi-Wan is careful to lead him through the experience slowly and carefully. While he knows he has a long way to go, the Commander leaves Obi-Wan’s quarters that morning feeling vastly reassured by the progress he’s made already.

Obi-Wan, on his end, promises to close himself off from the bond entirely until Cody feels a little less overwhelmed by it all - a fact that he’s immeasurably grateful for, even if he finds himself missing the warm, steady presence at the back of his mind as they go about their morning.

It would be a stretch to say that he had gotten used to it over the past rotation, but he definitely feels its absence.

Just for a few days, Cody thinks, and then we can start opening up to one another properly again.

He has absolutely no idea how the Jedi cope with experiencing this inherent connection to literally every living being that they come into contact with - he imagines that if it were him, he’d have torn half of his hair out by now.

Then again, he supposes, most of the Jedi he’s known with hair have started going grey a little before their time, his General being no exception to that rule. Perhaps empathy induced stress is just part of the package for them.

Today’s morning briefing, much to Cody’s relief, is a quiet one, and Obi-Wan is thankfully proven right about there being no dramatic line of questioning queued up for them about his supposed whereabouts last night.

Still, Cody does his best to ensure he’s standing as far across the table from the General as possible, glancing over to him only when necessary as they go over the day’s agenda. Every second of eye contact is starting to feel dangerous, and he’s all too aware that any slip up could give them away. There’s going against regs, and then there’s… this.

He's aware he’s being dramatic, but that doesn’t ease the worry that constricts his throat every time he thinks about it. Cody hopes the paranoia will ease with time.

They’d docked back at Coruscant overnight, and with the rare opportunity of a free schedule ahead of them, the two had decided to give their men a day of leave. It had been far too long since they were last able to offer some good news, and Gods know they deserve every reprieve they can get.

The order is sent out over comms as the meeting adjourns, and Obi-Wan is quick to clear his throat, making his way over to Cody’s side of the table. Shortening the distance between them feels like a tactically dangerous maneuver, but Cody tries his best to not think of it as such - if Obi-Wan is acting as if everything’s normal between them, he can do the same.

“I thought we might make our way to a shooting range this morning, given that we have found ourselves with time,” the Jedi suggests quietly.

Cody isn’t all too surprised. Obi-Wan has a tendency to choose to spend every waking moment of his day immersed in training or meditation - he often proposes they make productive use of their ‘downtime’ together, if it can even be called that. Cody, who has a tendency to itch whenever he’s forced to be still and not work for more than an hour, is always happy to go along with him.

He rolls his shoulders, powering down the display on the holotable as the last of the troops trickle out.

“Oh, I can go and set up the sims in the training room if you’d like, sir.”

He’s already mentally working through the drills they could run together. There’s not much variety in the duo sims, as they were mostly designed for full squad exercises, but that doesn’t mean they can’t modify something to fit their needs.

Obi-Wan shakes his head, offering a small smile. He places a hand on Cody’s shoulder, the weight of it comforting even over the plastoid of his pauldron. “That won’t be necessary, Cody,” he says warmly. “There’s actually one that recently opened on the surface that I’ve heard is fairly unique - if, perhaps, a little pedestrian for someone of your skills.”

Now that is unusual. Cody scrutinises Obi-Wan for a moment. Without the bond being open, he’s left to try and analyse his body language to decipher his meaning, the subtleties of the way he speaks. Running through a training drill outside of the barracks…?

He’s left with one conclusion - there must be something that his General needs to talk to him about that he can’t approach where the others might overhear - and that inherently suggests something serious. Perhaps a strategy overview of an upcoming mission, or some classified information that they need to go over.

It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve stepped away from the rest of the team to go over strictly need-to-know intel and plans, but for the life of him, Cody can’t figure out what this would be in relation to. It’s not like there’s much on the agenda for upcoming missions this week. Regardless, he gives Obi-Wan a cautious nod.

“Of course, sir,” he replies, heading for the door and trying to not let his racing mind get the better of him. “I’ll just grab my pack.”

_____________________________

It’s only mid-morning when Cody finds himself regretting his decision. He’s certain that has to be a record of some kind.

Staring down at the small, unmodified pistol in his hands, Cody wonders if it’s too late to fake being sick as a means to get out of this, though he knows Obi-Wan would see right through it.

He casts a scrutinising gaze over the blaster, taking note of the bolt of lightning painted over the side in a sickly green. His mouth presses into a thin line.

Obi-Wan is not quite successful at stifling a chuckle behind his hand, flicking his wrist in an agile motion to twirl his own weapon in an arc. His, for some reason, sports a decal of an electric pink rancor over the grip. “You’re not impressed by their offerings?” he asks innocently, gesturing enthusiastically around the establishment he’d chosen.

And what an establishment it is, Cody thinks sarcastically as he casts an eye around the room. The whole thing is dimly lit, and absolutely everything that’s not nailed down is splashed with stripes of fluorescent paint, glowing obscenely under the UV light that the entire range is apparently drenched in.

Arcade machines line the walls, low, bassy electronic music thrums through the air, and the employee uniform is an absolutely dreadful attempt at replicating military style. The second the two of them had walked in, they’d been accosted by one of the workers (and Cody had needed to fight against every trained instinct not to tackle them when they’d rushed over without warning), who promptly launched into an overdramatic, very rehearsed speech about how they must be customers who have arrived here to ‘save the Galaxy’ from ‘the invaders across the stars’.

Obi-Wan had seemed positively delighted by the sales pitch. Cody, on the other hand, had spent the next few minutes silently mourning for the credits his General had all too readily handed over the counter.

Literally any other venture would have been a better spend of his allowance. Hell, even throwing the pouch of credits out of an airlock would at least have been momentarily amusing.

Realising that his General apparently wants an answer out of him, Cody raises a brow, glancing down as he hesitantly looks the blaster over again. He’s unable to disguise his disgruntled expression - not that he’s really trying that hard to look thrilled. He offers Obi-Wan a shrug, trying to find the least offensive thing he can say. “It’s… not exactly a DC-15,” he mutters, and the Jedi snorts.

“It’ll do the job.”

“Mm.”

As the pair make their way to the back of the range where the targets have been set up, one question nags at the back of Cody’s mind - why here, of all places, for a secretive meeting? It’s obvious that some part of Obi-Wan finds this funny, but there has to be another reason for it, too.

While it seems like an… irregular choice of meeting place, to put it mildly, Cody does have to concede that if anyone were looking to listen in and pick up compromising GAR secrets, they wouldn’t be looking to hear them here, of all places.

Perhaps it’s so bizarre that it winds back around again to being genius?

Regardless of his reasoning, Obi-Wan seems insistent that they actually try out the Force-damned exercise, humming to himself jovially as he looks down the piss-poor excuse for sights that his choice of blaster has attached.

He shoots Cody a sidelong grin as the countdown for the session begins, an amused sparkle in his eye. “Well, my dear, shall we show them how a real soldier does it?”

Despite his bafflement at the whole situation, Cody finds himself wanting to smile in turn at Obi-Wan’s infectious, if very misplaced, enthusiasm. He rolls his shoulders, raising the - it would be an insult to call it a weapon, really - cheaply made equipment he’d been provided with up to shoulder level. His eyes narrow as he watches the vaguely humanoid shaped holo-targets approach.

Tacky, he thinks to himself, even as a smirk tugs at his lips. But what the hell. They’re already here, right? May as well make the most of it.

Cody nods, sparing a glance back at the workers at the entrance. No one else is here at such an early hour - it’s not a stretch to think their performance is going to be watched. “Let’s give ‘em a show.”

_____________________________

“On your flank!”

“Got it, thank you. Seventy five!”

“Ah– Sixty four.”

“You have some catching up to do, then.”

Cody snorts, relishing in the feel of the steady presence behind him as he lets off three more shots.

Sixty five,

Near miss - they dodged left when he expected right–

Sixty six.

“Not all of us have magical energy swords that can take down multiple clankers in one sweep,” he retorts. They turn a few degrees clockwise, not needing to check in with each other in order to remain back-to-back, instead just allowing themselves to be as in-sync as they always are. It’s as natural as breathing.

A shower of sparks answers Cody’s next shot, a pile of circuitry left exposed and twitching as it falls to the ground. Sixty seven. “I’d wager you’d be behind me if you were also using a blaster right now.”

Obi-Wan scoffs, his lightsaber buzzing as he continues to deflect shot after shot.

“An unworthy excuse, Commander. You’re almost as much of a sore loser as Anakin.”

The lighthearted jab has its intended effect. Cody narrows his eyes behind his helmet, knowing he can’t let such a wound to his reputation stand unchallenged.

Time to stop holding back.

He lowers his aim, angling a shot at the leg of a nearby B2 to send it surging to the ground. In the half-second before it completely collapses, Cody squeezes the trigger again, this time aiming right at the head - now exactly level with that of the B1 behind it.

The single bolt tears through the machinery with pinpoint accuracy, disabling both droids immediately.

He doesn’t wait to watch them fall, already locking his gaze onto his next target.

The droids may be literal machines, but Cody has the programming to match - and outdo - the best of them. Blaster raised, he takes one, two, three more shots in a brutally efficient arc, counting each head as they roll from the power of each hit.

They pivot together again. Clone and Jedi, an unstoppable whirlwind of power, even outnumbered as they are on the battlefield.

Cody smirks as another clanker falls in front of him. “Seventy three.”

“... Seventy eight.”

The smirk grows wider. “You’re slacking, sir.”

He hears a soft chuckle behind him. “Perhaps I’m just outmatched. I shouldn’t have prodded you so, even if the results were… admirable.”

‘Admirable’. Cody feels his chest glow at the praise, even as he knows it's well-earned. He turns sharply to take out a sniper droid that was aiming for Obi-Wan’s side.

“Make it up to me by buying a round for the boys at 79’s later.”

He doesn’t need to see his General’s face to know that he’s smiling.

“You know I wouldn’t miss it for the Galaxy.”

_____________________________

A timer goes off above them, promptly signalling the end of their half-hour slot.

Cody blinks slowly, as if coming out of a daze. Is it really over already? His eyes turn upwards to the scoreboard, displaying a bright red holo number beneath each of the names they’d given to the employee earlier.

Ben: 106

Fett: 106

Obi-Wan sighs beside him, placing a hand on his hip as he follows Cody’s gaze. “I suppose it was too much to ask that this decided which one of us was the most skilled sharpshooter, once and for all. Perhaps we’ll just have to keep coming back,” he teases, laughing heartily at the look of exasperation on Cody’s face.

Cody casts one last scathing glance around the loud, overbearing premises that surround them. “Respectfully, Obi-Wan, if we never came back here again, it would be too soon.”

They make their way back to the front of the building, handing their ‘blasters’ back over the counter to the worker on shift. Cody forces himself to smile politely as they launch off into a theatrical closing speech to try and get them to come back in the future, and he does his best to not visibly wince when Obi-Wan decides to leave a tip. He’s not entirely sure he succeeds, but he hopes trying counts for something.

As they step outside together, Cody squints against the bright light of the morning. The sunlight, weak as it is at this time of year, serves as a stark contrast to the dim atmosphere of the shooting range, and it takes him a moment to orient himself.

Obi-Wan walks alongside him, subtly steering the both of them towards a nearby park. Cody has always thought that that’s one of the best things about the surface - green space.

Kamino and Coruscant both hold their fair share of dull, grey concrete. Maybe it’s a simplistic sentiment, but Cody can’t help but feel like it’s nice to remember that nature exists, once in a while. Between spending time holed up in his quarters in the barracks, and then down in the Lower Levels on shore leave, he doesn’t tend to see much non-Sentient life in his day to day.

And this park is beautiful, if slightly over cultivated.

Their arms brush against one another as they walk, and though Cody wishes he could reach for Obi-Wan’s hand, he knows it wouldn’t be the wisest thing to do, out in the open as they are.

Still no mention of work, he muses to himself. Did he not think the range was private enough to talk? Maybe that’s why we’re coming here - more open space, though that also means more angles we could be watched from–

Cody shakes off the train of thought as he notices Obi-Wan watching him, fidgeting with the ends of his sleeves in a recognisable, yet rare, gesture. Is he… nervous?

“You’ve been quiet. Did you… enjoy yourself?” the Jedi asks tentatively, watching Cody’s reaction carefully.

Cody blinks quizzically over at Obi-Wan, not quite sure how he’s supposed to answer.

After a prolonged silence, the Jedi slows to a stop underneath a tree that’s covered in pleasing lilac coloured blossoms. He gazes up at it with a knitted brow, and reaches up to run a slow hand through his hair.

“I… know it wasn’t the most romantic of places, but I thought– well, I thought it might be more ‘us’ than the typical type of thing, and–”

Romantic?!

Cody opens his mouth, then promptly closes it again as his mind scrambles to catch up.

“This…” he frowns, entirely bewildered. “This wasn’t a covert strategy meeting?”

Obi-Wan’s attention snaps back to him, and he looks at him like he’s lost his mind. Cody wonders for a moment if he actually might have. “What– by the Force, no, of course not! It was a date, Cody!”

… Ah.

That would explain… a lot, actually.

After a prolonged beat of silence, the Jedi deflates, his shoulders caving forwards slightly as he sighs again. “Or… it was supposed to be a date.”

A wry smile tugs at his lips as he reaches out to pluck a single petal from a blossom on a low-hanging branch nearby. “Not a very successful one though, evidently, if you didn’t even realise that was my intention.”

Cody feels like he’s running on a delay. “You…”

He glances around them, making sure it’s definitely safe to speak freely before he steps off the path to join Obi-Wan underneath the tree. The dappled sunlight plays across the Jedi’s cheekbones, accentuating the sharpness of his features. “You wanted to take me out on a date?”

There’s that look again. Obi-Wan looks even more lost than Cody does, now. “... Yes?” he responds, as if it’s obvious. As if it’s not a big deal at all.

A date. A date. It doesn’t compute.

“Is that what we’re doing?” Cody asks, before he can think it through. He hates the way it comes out, hearing his doubt reflected back as the words leave him.

Alarm flashes across Obi-Wan’s face, followed by something dangerously close to hurt, though he quickly schools it. Cody immediately regrets his tone, biting down on the inside of his cheek, hard. Di’kut. Why would you say that?

“Is it… not?” the Jedi asks, softly. He lowers his voice slightly, his eyes falling to the petal he holds in his palm. “We shared a bed last night. We… shared more than that.” He returns his gaze to meet Cody’s - searching, hesitant.

Shit, shit, shit. Fix this. Quickly.

Cody reaches out to grasp Obi-Wan’s hand, clasping it tightly. “Sorry– no, I didn’t mean–” he exhales sharply, teeth gritting together as he tries to get his thoughts in order.

“You know exactly how I feel. You were in my head, when we…” he starts, biting his lip as he trails off. “I just– I didn’t consider it was an option because– I didn’t think I would ever… I never imagined anyone would want to…”

Obi-Wan takes in a quiet breath, his expression softening as he realises what Cody’s trying to say.

“You didn’t think anyone would want to take you out on a date,” he finishes for him. Cody nods, feeling his cheeks flush in humiliation, as he keeps his eyes trained down at their intertwined hands.

It’s embarrassing. He’s a fully grown man - a soldier, and a well-adjusted one at that. And yet here he is, feeling like a mere child, naive and foolish in the face of someone who knows what it’s like to be a normal person.

“I’m a clone,” he murmurs, feeling a sudden bone-deep weariness sweep through him. He’s so tired of feeling like he’s on the back foot when it comes to something as simple as existing. So very tired. “That type of thing is for other people. We don’t get… that.”

A gentle sigh leaves his lover’s lips.

“Oh, Cody.”

Carefully, Obi-Wan prises Cody’s hands from his. Taking the blossom petal carefully between his forefinger and thumb, he reaches forwards, nestling it in a curl just behind Cody’s ear. “You deserve more than you have been given - all of you do. I’m so very sorry that the Galaxy has denied you the kindness - the humanity - that all beings should experience.”

He gently lifts Cody’s chin, giving him a small, sad smile. His eyes burn with a sincerity that makes Cody’s breath hitch and eyes burn, though he blinks hard to force the feeling away. “I cannot make it right, darling, but I can promise this; I will do all I can to show you the love you deserve, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Obi-Wan Kenobi is many things.

He is kind, certainly, and his wit is sharper than any blade Cody’s ever come across - but while he is a genuine, honourable man, it is rare for him to express such heartfelt sentiment without at least a few layers of dry irony to hide behind. This, right here, is his Jedi stripped bare, and Cody isn’t entirely sure he knows what to do with that.

Words fail him. He wants to tell Obi-Wan that he loves him, wants to express just how much the promise means to him, but the words stick in his throat. He knows it’s alright, though - Obi-Wan’s expression tells him that he understands, without the need for him to say it aloud.

They return to strolling the path not long after. It’s still quiet at this hour, which helps to soothe Cody’s racing mind. Their earlier display was risky, and though he knows it’s unlikely that anyone saw them - let alone anyone who would recognise them - the fact that he doesn’t have to worry about being court martialed on top of everything else today is a relief.

When they finally stop once again, this time to observe the flitting motion of a songbird crossing their path, Cody finds he can just about muster up the ability to speak.

“As long as we avoid that particular shooting range in future, more dates sound good to me,” he says softly, his eyes trained ahead on the expansive view.

Obi-Wan’s hand finds his, for just long enough to give a supportive squeeze.

“Consider it blacklisted,” he replies quietly. The smile in his voice is clear as crystal.

_____________________________

For someone with a lifespan as short as a clone’s, the passage of time is much more easily marked in notable events than in standard years.

One month after that day, Cody finally feels comfortable enough for the two of them to completely open the bond up again. The first touch of Obi-Wan’s mind to his after so long apart feels like coming home - a drink of filtered water after weeks of travelling alone in the desert. He wonders, awed, how he went so long without it.

Over the coming weeks, the two of them start to experiment with the bond, testing what, exactly, they can project to one another, and at what distances.

They quickly determine that it while isn’t as outright strong as a Force bond between two Jedi, it’s just as intense at close enough range. As soon as they’re a planet’s distance apart, however, the connection dwindles swiftly. Once there’s an entire system between them, they’re unable to feel each other at all.

(The exception to this rule, they discover after a particularly odd night, is that they tend to share strange, faint dreams of one another after a while of being physically apart. They haven’t yet been able to pin down exactly how and when this happens, though ‘it’s on the agenda’, as Obi-Wan puts it).

As far as what they can send through the bond goes, they’ve figured out that with a lot of concentration they can share vague impressions of memories, but nothing clearer than that. Obi-Wan feels confident that that’s something they’ll be able to work on, with enough practice and time.

Time. Cody likes the sound of that idea more with each passing day. The thought of a future.

Dates are something he settles into quickly, much to his surprise. He and Obi-Wan initially stick to a strict schedule of making time for one another in whatever way they’re able to biweekly (even this means simply calling each other and trying to find something to talk about something that isn’t work while they’re away on separate assignments. After a little bit of work, they’d managed to set up a secure Comms channel that flies under the Republic’s radar, though Cody is both diligent and paranoid enough to ensure he re-scrambles the frequency once per standard month).

The schedule, unfortunately, goes out the window rather fast, after a few back-to-back campaigns mean that they’re apart more than together. By this point though, they’ve set enough of a routine to mean they thankfully don’t fall out of the habit. As the months progress, the two of them continue to steadily make their way through Coruscant’s impressive list of cafes, galleries, and museums whenever they have time.

Cody finds that he likes the ‘normal’ dates the most - well, holofilms excepted.

Obi-Wan, as it turns out, is the Galaxy’s most terrible pedant wherever anything he considers himself an expert in is concerned.

Inaccuracies about anything - the Force, the Jedi, the biology of certain plant-life, ancient languages - they’re like tooka-nip to him, and he can’t help but comment about it. It’s sweet, endearing even, for about five minutes, but after the twentieth interruption to correct mistakes in the first quarter of a film, Cody often finds himself willing to do anything to shut the other man up before he drives him up the wall completely.

… Which often leads to other exciting results, but also means that Cody needs to take some of his very limited free time to re-watch whatever it was later on his own to see the ending. He hates leaving anything half-finished, terrible holofilms included.

Outside of the new routine of his relationship with Obi-Wan though, in the coming months everything around Cody continues as normal.

The war ramps up.

His brothers die.

New flowers bloom in The Negotiator’s nursery.

Life goes on.

Some days, though, are more memorable than others - mostly for the wrong reasons.

It’s an unfittingly sunny Taungsday when Obi-Wan has part of his heart ripped away from him. Cody does his best to provide comfort.

“I’m sorry about Satine,” he tells him. If there’s one thing Cody truly understands, if there’s one thing that links him and the rest of the Vode to every other Sentient in the Galaxy, it’s grief. Ironic, perhaps, that something so cruel is ultimately the equaliser they’ve been fighting for.

He doesn’t feel jealousy as he pulls his lover’s head into his lap, carding gentle fingers through his hair. Cody may not have the wealth of years of experience that nat-borns do, but he understands that love is complicated and many-layered.

“It’s alright,” says Obi-Wan, but the tremor in his voice says otherwise.

Cody can only hold him.

Some nights, it’s all they can do for one another. Other nights, they talk and laugh and are nearly able to forget that there’s a war outside.

At one point, Cody realises with a start that he can’t actually pinpoint the last time he slept alone in his own quarters. He imagines he probably should feel some measure of guilt at the notion - a past version of him would have fretted about being an imposition on his Jedi, about flaunting the regs so very blatantly after prizing himself on his strictness for so many years.

As it is, he finds himself feeling more guilty about not feeling guilty at all.

“After the war,” Obi-Wan tells him one evening, in the dark of night while they’re drifting off to sleep, “I think I might leave this all behind.”

Cody stirs sleepily, tucking his head onto the other man’s chest. “Where would you go?”

“Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere we could start a normal life.” The swiftness of the answer tells Cody that he’s thought about it before, probably more than once, and his heart swells in his chest.

“I’d like that,” Cody yawns. He knows, deep down, that he could never put too much distance between himself and his brothers once the war ends, but the thought of disappearing off with Obi-Wan to a remote farmstead on a planet he’s never heard of sounds like a nice fantasy, even if he can’t let himself believe that it could actually be real.

Maybe they’d adopt a tooka. Maybe they’d adopt children.

Probably not, in all honesty - he doesn’t think that kind of life is for him. But to have the option…

He tilts his head to press a kiss to the hollow of the Jedi’s throat, feeling the rumble under his lips of the hum he earns in response. “I’d like that a lot.”

The war demands everything of them, pressing down on them like a weight that only gets more suffocating with each passing day.

In the end, Cody thinks he only gets through it all because of Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan, who has become a sanctuary from the front line. Obi-Wan, who has become his home.

Obi-Wan, who is currently struggling to focus, his attention stretched as taut as the rope binding his wrists to the headboard. He’s drawn back upwards by Cody’s touch at his jaw, encouraging his dazed gaze to return to him.

“Eyes on me,” Cody commands, keeping his voice soft and low. “That’s it. Now, cyar’ika - ground rules.”

The man beneath him shudders, his eyelids fluttering, and nods. “Ground rules,” he repeats. Breathy, needy.

Cody takes a moment to appreciate the sight below him.

Obi-Wan, above all else, prizes his composure, his ability to keep his cards secret while observing the table. It’s how he’s made it so far in the war, how he’s faced down death countless times and survived - his ability to remain unruffled, at least to the eyes of those who would face him.

It’s an incredibly effective intimidation tactic that only gets more potent the more the enemy seems to be winning. There’s nothing quite like being snarked at calmly by the man with blood dripping down his face to realise that you were never truly the one in control to begin with.

Which is why his decision to let go of that veneer of poise, to allow himself to be reduced to such vulnerability, carries such weight. The sheer trust he’s putting in Cody is enough to make the Commander’s heart squeeze in his chest.

Stars above, he thinks, watching as Obi-Wan obediently waits for him, I would do anything for you.

“I know you said you could handle this,” Cody begins softly, watching the Jedi carefully to ensure he’s listening, “but I don’t want to hurt you. I know we have the bond, but I need something more… concrete.”

He trails a slow finger over the side of Obi-Wan’s ribs, watching intently as his muscles of his torso jump and tense under the light touch. Force, he wants to ravish him, to take and take until he forgets his own name… but Cody forces himself to be patient, just for a few more moments.

“Say ‘kyrdir’,” Cody continues, meeting his Jedi’s gaze, “and we stop immediately, no questions asked. ‘Pare’, is a call to readjust.” He pauses, letting the words sink in. “Repeat that to me, darling.”

Obi-Wan swallows thickly, his breath stuttering slightly at the command in Cody’s tone. Cody feels it through the bond, whenever he makes… creative use of the tone he reserves for instructing his men - the way it sparks white hot flames of desire, pooling low and heavy within Obi-Wan’s gut, almost enough to make the Jedi forget how to think. It’s nearly always followed by a curling of shame and self-reprimand, embarrassment at his loss of self-control, but Cody is determined to chase that all away entirely before the night is done.

“Kyrdir is stop,” Obi-Wan repeats, his flush deepening, beginning to creep down his neck now. “Pare is readjust.” His tongue doesn’t quite wrap around the Mando’a syllables as easily as Cody’s does, but he’s been improving as of late. Cody rather likes the way the words sound, falling from his lips.

“Very good,” he praises, drawing out the syllables and drinking in the way his lover shivers in response.

With a critical eye, he examines his handiwork with the rope as Obi-Wan instinctively tugs against it amidst his light squirming. It’s tight enough to not have too much give, which was his main concern - but he doesn’t want him to hurt himself.

“Comfortable, mesh’la?” Cody asks, smiling as Obi-Wan nods breathlessly. “Perfect.”

Without warning, Cody lowers his head, his teeth finding the juncture between Obi-Wan’s neck and shoulder and biting down hard. Obi-Wan gasps, his body bucking at the sharp sensation. Cody flattens his tongue against the sting, soothing it quickly.

Hickeys are a dangerous thing to leave when discretion is key, but here, Cody knows, right here, is just the right place for a mark to not peek out under Obi-Wan’s robes, while still being close enough to cause a thrill.

In early days, the two of them were far too cautious to leave any kind of evidence, but Cody has since learnt exactly how far he can push without crossing the line. It sends heat thrumming through his veins to feel just how much Obi-Wan loves it, too.

He nips at the bruise he’s left before kissing down lower, to his collarbone, his chest, his torso. After each press of his lips, he scrapes his teeth against the Jedi’s skin, tasting him, marking him.

With each dig of his nails, each lingering bite, Obi-Wan shudders and keens beneath Cody. Pain, the two of them had slowly discovered together, is something the Jedi craves in small doses.

Nothing else seems to ruin him quite as quickly.

It makes sense, Cody thinks. When your body has become used to withstanding horrors that most people couldn’t even comprehend - blaster burns, stab wounds, electroshock torture - all feeling has the tendency to be numbed in intensity.

The choice then, to experience pain but to not be in any real danger, is a precious one to have the ability to make. It provides a sense of control for him that’s been all too lacking in the chaos of the past few years of warfare… and Cody is all too happy to provide.

He continues in his ministrations, dipping ever lower until he can sink to his knees at the edge of the bed, nudging Obi-Wan’s thighs apart. He doesn’t miss the way the Jedi’s breath hitches, the way he’s already such a mess for him. He’d needed this today, it seems.

Cody nuzzles his face into the inside of Obi-Wan’s thigh, nipping at the skin there as he gently presses the Jedi’s hips down into the bed below, holding him still with ease. Obi-Wan sucks in a sharp inhale as Cody turns his head to bite at his other thigh, ignoring his neglected cock as it twitches painfully.

“Cody…” Obi-Wan hisses, grunting as his lover licks a stripe up to his pelvis. He’s been hard for far too long, but Cody enjoys drawing out the tease. “Force, have mercy.”

“It’s not the Force you need to be begging, cyare,” Cody murmurs, smiling against his skin as he hears the other man whine.

When he raises his head to lock eyes with his Jedi, he can’t help but feel a thrill, pure electricity arcing through his veins as he takes in just how utterly helpless he looks, flushed and trembling as he’s bound, entirely subject to Cody’s every whim.

He’s sure he looks just as debauched, not even attempting to hide how hungry and wanting he feels as he sizes up his prey.

Tilting his head, he brings his lips close to the shaft of his cock, watching with a low, satisfied chuckle as Obi-Wan’s hips try to cant upwards against his hold. So very desperate. His breath stirs over the sensitive skin, and the Jedi’s eyes screw shut tightly. Precum leaks from the head, and it takes every thread of restraint that Cody has not to lean in and taste it… but he can’t, not just yet.

“Still holding back?” he murmurs, tutting softly. “You know I won’t do anything until you ask nicely, darling.”

Obi-Wan’s body twists as much as he’s able, sweat breaking out across his brow as he takes in a shuddering breath.

A silence stretches between them, but Cody is patient. He has all the time in the Galaxy tonight, and he’s well aware that he has the upper hand.

It takes less time than he would have expected for Obi-Wan to give in.

“Please…” he tries, barely more than a breath.

Cody fights down a smile with considerable effort. With an unconvinced hum, he feigns boredom, drawing a slow, teasing circle over Obi-Wan’s hipbone.

“Are you sure that was the best you could do? You don’t sound like you want it very much,” he muses, delighting in the utterly wrecked moan that slips from his lover.

Obi-Wan curses harshly in a language that he doesn’t recognise.

“Please, Cody,” he begs, but it’s still not enough. Cody knows that he knows it, too. He narrows his eyes in faux-disappointment.

“You can be more specific than that, darling,” he chides, moving to hover just over the head of his cock, barely inches away. “Please what?”

The Jedi grits his teeth, and Cody can sense that his mind is an utter mess of incoherency right now. He loves knowing that he has this effect on him - he’s addicted to it. If they only had the time for it, Cody would draw this out for days.

“Please, Cody, just kriffing take me.” Obi-Wan’s words are hoarse, raw with need, and Cody finally decides he should have mercy on the poor man.

Lowering his head, he licks a stripe up the underside of his cock, his tongue slowly tracing the prominent vein that resides there.

Obi-Wan practically mewls at the relief of it, and Cody feels a sudden surge of power flicker through their bond. Above them, the room’s overhead light sparks and sputters.

Cody pauses, the cessation immediately dragging an aggrieved whine from the Jedi’s lips.

“That– was that you?” he asks, glancing up to the light with an amused grin.

When they had been setting this up earlier, Obi-Wan had shown Cody a way to bind his wrists just-so in a way that would prevent him from making use of the Force… but it seems his powers are exerting themselves in other ways now.

It takes a moment for Obi-Wan to respond, his eyes flickering up, confused, to follow Cody’s gaze. He fights for coherency, his eyes glassy as he frowns. “I… was what me?”

Cody snorts, moving closer once again to continue in his attentions. He might enjoy pretending that he’s ever-patient in the face of his lover’s neediness, but in reality nothing could be further from the truth. Now that he’s had a taste, he can’t keep himself away for much longer.

“It doesn’t matter,” he assures Obi-Wan, taking him shallowly into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the weeping head of his cock. It does the job to distract him - the Jedi’s question is all but forgotten as his fingers curl into his palm and his body shakes with the force of his pleasure. Cody’s eyes flutter closed in bliss - Stars above, he tastes divine.

With a low groan, he pushes his head down further, taking him as far as he comfortably can, relishing in the feeling of the thick weight of him on his tongue.

Cody swallows around him, and the Force bond bursts with stars, heat and desire and the feeling of being alive coursing through the both of them in equal measure.

After a moment of weighing up his options, Cody sacrifices his control over Obi-Wan’s movement to remove one of his hands from where he was pinning his hips, bringing it down to stroke himself languidly as his head begins to bob up and down, slowly at first, but gaining in pace rather rapidly.

Each moan that slips from his Jedi’s lips, each curse and breathy gasp of his name - they all send him spiralling, dizzy with the need for them both to come apart just like this.

It doesn’t take long for the telltale buzz through the bond to intensify, the sign that Obi-Wan is teetering on the knife’s edge of ecstasy. Despite it all, the Jedi’s last vestige of control holds him back, and Cody feels a gentle prod at his mind, a shaky, desperate request for permission.

His heart flutters. Even now, pulled apart as he is, Obi-Wan is checking in on him. He returns the feeling through the bond, sending back a soft, loving affirmative in response.

And just like that, the world shatters around them.

Obi-Wan’s body arches upwards with a soft cry, his entire body tensing as Cody eagerly takes everything he has to give. He tightens his grip on himself, spilling himself over his hand with a low, broken groan.

They stay locked like that for a moment, breathing heavily as they float, untethered. Love and affection drifts almost lazily through the bond from one to the other as they slowly come down from their shared high.

With a slow, contented sigh, Cody pulls back, squeezing Obi-Wan’s hip apologetically as he winces at the overstimulation.

He stands, sparing just a moment to stretch before he moves to the other side of the bed to untie Obi-Wan’s wrists. He presses a lingering kiss to the heel of each of his palms as he frees them, leaning over the bed to capture the Jedi’s lips in his.

“You doing alright?” Cody murmurs. He knows the answer - they have the bond, after all - but he always likes to ask, regardless.

Obi-Wan smiles sleepily up at him through his lashes, rubbing gently at his wrists. “Very much so, darling. And you?”

Cody nods. “Very much so,” he echoes. With one final kiss, he straightens up, turning to head to the ‘fresher. “I’ll just be a moment,” he says softly.

Cody returns from the bathroom a few minutes later to find Obi-Wan with his robe draped around himself, hunched over the edge of the bed as he gazes at the floor.

Unease prickles throughout Cody’s nerves, sensing the way the energy of the room has changed.

Even worse, he can’t feel Obi-Wan through the bond as strongly as he usually can - he’s shielding from him.

Something is very wrong.

“... Cyare?” he asks softly, stepping forwards but leaving enough distance between them that Obi-Wan doesn’t feel crowded. “What is it?”

The Jedi doesn’t respond for a long moment, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he tenses.

“I have a mission that I’m leaving for, first thing tomorrow morning. I… wanted to tell you earlier, but I couldn’t,” he says eventually.

Cody waits for an elaboration, but it doesn’t come. He risks taking a step closer to where he’s sat, and Obi-Wan looks up at him. His expression is an attempt at neutrality, but Cody knows him better than that. There’s worry, and something akin to regret in his eyes that he can’t quite keep at bay.

“Alright,” Cody murmurs. “I assume it’s classified.”

Obi-Wan nods.

“Even to me?” Cody presses. Obi-Wan looks away, closing his eyes.

“Especially to you.”

The ominous words hang in the air for a few moments, Cody trying and failing to decipher the meaning behind them.

“... Right. So you won’t be joining the rest of us on our scouting excursion in the Outer Rim tomorrow?” Cody asks. He lets out a wry chuckle that he doesn’t really feel, trying his best to bring a smile to Obi-Wan’s face. “Well, I can’t say you’ll be missing out much. Maybe I’m even jealous, routine exploration is hardly ever exciting.”

Obi-Wan remains quiet.

The stoicism breaks momentarily as Cody reaches out to cup his cheek, the Jedi leaning into the touch with a soft sigh. He turns his head to press a kiss to his palm. “I love you,” he whispers, breathing the words into Cody’s skin.

A frown tugs at Cody’s brow, a worry digging its claws into him that he knows he won’t be able to abate. This isn’t like Obi-Wan at all. Is he worried he won’t come back from an assignment? Even in his worst moments, he’s nothing if not cocky about his abilities, and Gods know he’s not scared of the idea of his own death.

“I’ll bring you back something from the Outer Rim,” Cody says, relieved to see the smallest upturns at the edges of his Jedi’s lips.

“I don’t believe the cluster you’re surveying will have many markets.”

It’s true - the 212th is being sent en masse to a nearly entirely unoccupied planetary system for two standard weeks, to ‘survey and analyse’ the local areas for potential locations to set up a secret Republic outpost.

Cody had argued, when the order came in, that it was a baffling waste of an entire Battalion’s resources - surely this was the Exploration Corps’ area of expertise, after all - but apparently they were the only ones available to carry out the mission. Obi-Wan had shrugged when Cody had tried to ask him about it.

The silver lining at the time had been the promise of two weeks away on a low stress mission, giving the two of them some sorely needed private time together… but now it looks like it’ll just be Cody and their men.

He hums thoughtfully, mulling his options over in his mind.

“There are supposed to be crystal caves on one of the planets, right?” he muses. “I’ll bring you back something from one of those.”

That draws out a full smile from Obi-Wan, and he reaches out to wrap his arms around Cody’s waist. His mental walls lower just slightly, enough for Cody to feel gratitude, safety, I don’t deserve you.

Cody closes his eyes.

“I love you, too.”

He’d ask Obi-Wan to keep himself alive, to come back home safely to him, but they don’t make promises like that to one another. They know all too well that tomorrows aren’t guaranteed.

Instead, he leans down to press a kiss to the top of his head, breathing him in.

There’ll be time for worrying later, but right now it’s late, and they both have missions to head out to in the morning. Sleep needs to be their priority.

Regretfully, he extracts himself from the embrace, leaning down to capture Obi-Wan’s lips in a chaste, yet tender kiss.

“I’ll make us some herbal tea,” he promises, and his Jedi nods slowly.

“Thank you, darling.”

We’ll be alright, Cody thinks to himself. He takes a calming breath as he busies himself with making their teas, trying to let go of the concern that hangs over him like a cloud. No matter what it is that Obi-Wan can’t tell me, we’ll face the outcome together.

We always do.

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A/N: Just as a heads up, I'm going to be fucking heavily with the established canon timeline for next chapter to jump some missions (or one particular mission) around to a different chronological order. I figure if Disney can do it then I can too lol :)

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @mitth-eli-vanto

#codywan #aspentreewrites #star wars fanfiction #cody x obi wan #my fics #tcw #commander cody #commander cody x obi wan #flowers & cannons #star wars #cody x obi wan kenobi #commander cody x obi wan kenobi

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