#I HAVE HAD A LONG VERY STRESSFUL DAY AND WEEK | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lnightmrs · 1 day ago

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Caretaker (Yandere! Nanami x Reader)

You suffer a mental episode relapse after months of battling stress and you're too far from your family for them to help nurse you back to health. Luckily, your roommate has volunteered to assist you.

TW: sexual coercion, dubcon, yandere, fingering, manipulation, reader is mentally unwell and nanami is making it worse, dead dove: do not eat

You never thought it would’ve gotten this bad again. You thought that it had finally become manageable, that it was dormant enough for you to be able to live on your own again.

But you underestimated it, forgot how terrible it could get once it emerged. Not wanting to face the reality of it returning, you ignored the signs and symptoms in hopes that you wouldn’t have to put your half-baked plans to mitigate it to action. But distracting yourself with gallery deadlines and pretending that everything is fine could only do so much, and it only took one rejection email for everything to bubble up and burst through your chest, and for you to end up on the kitchen floor of your flat, knife dangerously close to your flesh, crying hysterically as Kento, your roommate, lurched towards you with terror in his eyes.

It was because of him that you weren’t dead. It was also because of him that you were now clad in a medical gown and grippy socks, laying against the rigid hospital bed, waiting for the doctor to come in and tell you that after 5 grueling days of tests and meds and various therapies, you can finally go home. When the doctor did finally emerge, Kento was at her side. The sight of him was no longer surprising, with him visiting you every day of your stay and playing advocate in place of your mother, who couldn’t make the trip into this side of the country due to her injured back.

“Came to listen in on my sentencing, Kento?” you greeted him. A tiny grin formed on his usually stoic face.

“A joke. You really are improving.” he responded. You smiled in response.

“Good news,” the doctor called your name. “Our test results do not indicate any need for further inpatient treatment. You’re free to leave. However, it’s heavily advised that you take your prescribed medication for the next 6 weeks for stabilization. It might be a bit tough for you to do it routinely, but you’re very lucky to have such a dedicated and loving partner here to aid you in your recovery.” she smiled.

Partner? You blushed in embarrassment at the mistake, but it was understandable that she would’ve come to that conclusion. It’s not exactly common for a simple roommate to go as far as he has in terms of checking up with you, and while you were far from ungrateful for his efforts, you did find it a bit odd. It didn’t help that he made no attempt to correct the doctor, opting to carry on the conversation with a stoic expression.

“Yes, Doctor. There’s no need to worry. I’ve followed your guidelines and made the necessary preparations.” He glanced at you, eyes softening.

“There’s nothing I won’t do to ensure that you recover properly.”

The car ride home was silent, awkwardly so. Kento made no effort to explain his behaviour at the hospital to you, and you felt it wouldn’t be in good taste to start questioning the man who saved your life as soon as you got discharged. You eventually gave up on mulling over it once your apartment building came into view, the prospect of a nice home cooked meal and the comfort of your own bed flooding your mind with relief.

Kento set your bags down near your bedroom door as you took a deep breath to let the comforting smell of your own space wash over you. The comfort didn’t last too long though, because when your eyes followed him moving towards the kitchen, feelings of guilt and embarrassment poked at your chest.

“Kento,” you started, looking down at your feet. “I’m really sorry that-”

“Are you hungry?” he cut you off, tying one of your aprons around his waist. “I’ll make you something. You should get some rest in the meantime. I’m sure you missed your bed.”

“Listen to me Kento,” you pushed. “I just want to-”

“If you want to apologise to me over something you had little control over, you’re wasting your time. I won’t accept it.” He stated.“I’m just glad that you’re safe. Now, go rest.”

When you finally woke up from your blissful nap, the sun had already set. As you stretched lazily, your eyes caught on to the changes that were made to your room that your prior tiredness prevented you from seeing before, the most notable change being the absence of some very important items.

“Hey, Ken,” you approached him at the table. “Where’s my laptop?”

“The doctor ordered that you stay away from the internet and work until the mood stabilizers settle you.” he replied nonchalantly as he continued to set the table. You scoff.

“No work, either? Is that why I can’t find my art supplies too?” you folded your arms.

“Exactly. You can’t use your phone either.” He pulled out one of the chairs, gesturing for you to sit.

“How am I supposed to talk to my mom, then? What exactly am I supposed to do in general?” you asked, sounding a bit more incensed than you hoped. Kento remained impassive, giving you a quick glance before returning his focus on plating the food.

“There’s no need to worry, I planned for all of this. You can use my phone to call your mother. I've been keeping in contact with her ever since your admission and I’ve promised to keep her updated. As for keeping you occupied, I’ve followed the guidelines that the doctor provided and organized some activities that you can do in the meantime. I know how much you crave creative expression, so I took extra measures to ensure that you can still freely do so. You’ll start tomorrow. I’ll also be working remotely from now on, so you can always come to me if you’d like to talk.”

You figured that you should be feeling grateful that he meticulously planned out everything for you, but all you felt was a familiar unease. Prior to all of this, the best and only way you could describe your relationship with Kento was that he was the perfect roommate; quiet, considerate, responsible, reserved. Despite living with him and being on a first-name basis with him, you knew little about his personal life and most of your conversations had never been more than polite banter, yet it was clear that all this time, he’s been observing you. Still, he was the only person who was available to help you, so you swallowed any remaining anxieties in favour of believing his intentions are pure.

“Let’s eat.” He cut through the silence.

As you looked down to pick up your utensils, you noticed what could only be another one of his preparations.

“A baby spoon and plate to eat oyakadon?” you looked at him, exasperated. His mouth twitched slightly. “I can’t trust you with anything too sharp right now. You understand, right?”

You sighed. It was going to be a long six weeks.

The rest of the night was uneventful. You took a shower, brushed your teeth, and decided not to acknowledge Kento standing outside your bathroom door the entire time. He watched you as you took your medication, making sure that you took every pill correctly. When you climbed into bed, he took a seat at your desk chair, saying that he just wanted to stay with you until you fell asleep. You were too tired to protest.

When you woke up in the morning, the world felt hazy, your body heavy. Side effects of the medication that would wear off in a few hours was what Kento told you when you made your way to the table for breakfast. Keeping true to his word, after you finished eating he let you call your mom, and you spent half of the phone call listening to her gush about how thoughtful of a man he was, how he called her everyday to soothe her worries about you, and that you were lucky to have him around while she couldn’t be there. The last part sounded as if she believed you two were a couple, but you didn’t have the energy or the heart to explain to her that Kento was just being a really thorough and kind guy. You doubt she’d believe you anyway. You barely believe it yourself.

When the grogginess started to clear up later in the morning, he introduced you to one of the activities that was supposed to help ‘satisfy your need for creative expression’; an assortment of colouring books, each one clearly designed for children under the age of six. Before you could open your mouth, Kento began to explain.

“Colouring is considered a very relaxing and stress-free activity. Your doctor suggested that completing a few pages a day should help you recover properly.”

“I get that part, and I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong, it’s just… I think I’d enjoy colouring in things that are a little more complicated than cartoon princesses and giant numbers, Ken.” you reply. He offered you a sympathetic smile.

“I understand that this is below your caliber but it’s only temporary. I suggest you give it a try.”

You sighed in response, reaching for the crayons. Kento’s face briefly softened before he turned his attention to his laptop. The two of you stayed in the living room like this for the rest of the morning, working mostly in silence, occasionally breaking it to make small talk about Kento’s work or your colouring progress.

As soon as noon arrived, you were given lunch, another preparation made by him. When you were done eating, you spent the rest of your afternoon doing crosswords and sudoku puzzles, or “brainteaser activities” as Kento called them. You were given a short break to follow the doctor’s recommended stretching routine, and then the two of you ate dinner while watching some lighthearted television. The rest of the night followed the same pattern as the one before; you cleaned up, took your meds in front of him, and fell asleep with him watching you.

Soon, this routine became the norm, with very little variation. But if it was helping you get better, you couldn’t tell. It was becoming more apparent that the side effects of the medication were starting to last longer, with the initial morning haziness now bleeding into the afternoons, and the monotony and simplicity of the activities given to you only amplified the feelings of dullness that permeated through your skull. Still, feeling numb was miles better than feeling suicidal, and Kento didn’t seem to have any concerns about your quieter demeanor, so you figured it would be best to simply rally through it.

Until you nearly cracked your skull open on the bathroom sink.

You barely even remembered it. You got up in the middle of the night with the intense urge to pee, which was rare these days thanks to your meds usually knocking you out until morning. You remember stumbling down the hallway and then waking up in Kento’s strong arms, your head pounding and his eyes bulging out as he shakily called your name, just as he did on the night of your breakdown.

The following morning, you were still laying in bed as Kento sat near the edge of it, his calloused fingers rubbing circles absentmindedly on your calf as he relayed to you the doctor’s new instructions. If it wasn’t for the constant throbbing in your head, you might’ve had the mental energy to feel confused about the intimacy of his touch, but right now it was taking all of your power to focus on what was being said.

“- so that’s why you’ll no longer take the antidepressant until your next ward review. You may experience some irritability and insomnia until then, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed with some additions to the routine.” You nodded in acknowledgment, your eyelids heavy. You wanted him to stop talking so you could sleep off the pain.

“Furthermore, until your next appointment, I will be accompanying you to all your trips to the bathroom.” Your eyes shot open. You were wide awake now.

“Kento,” you mustered your strength. “I can’t let you do that.”

“It’s nothing,” he replied nonchalantly. “Just call for me whenever you need to- “

“No, I mean I won’t let you do that. It’s too weird.” you asserted.

“There’s no reason to feel ashamed, there are many people who need assistance for things like this.” he responded, his tone still neutral.

“Well I’m not one of them! I’m not that ill!” you raised your voice.

“You nearly split open your forehead trying to use the bathroom.I think it’s reasonable to-”

“You’re not gonna watch me piss and that’s final. I’ve let you take the reins these past few weeks and I’ll be glad to let you continue but not on this. No.”

You were expecting some sort of retaliation, another lecture about the importance of a buddy system for toilet time perhaps, but Kento simply sighed, stood up and wordlessly made his way to the door.

You were unsure if to take his silence as a sign that you won, but at this point your head was pulsating too much to ponder about it.

When you woke up, you found yourself needing to use the bathroom again. Thankfully this time you were able to control your body more properly and you managed to make it down the hallway to the bathroom door without any stumbling. But when you turned the handle, it didn’t move.

“It’s locked.”

You turned your head to see Kento sitting on the recliner in the living room, pretending to be engrossed in the book on his lap. When you caught sight of the bathroom key dangling in his hand, you couldn’t help but flare your nostrils.

“Do you think this is funny? Unlock the door.” you spat.

“I don’t think you potentially hurting yourself because of your pride is funny, no.” he responded nonchalantly.

“Did you not see me walk down the hall without a scratch? I’m fine!” you bark, trying to ignore the pressure building in your pelvis.

“Your tone is becoming rather hostile,” he replied. “It’s a bit concerning.”

The pressure was growing stronger, fueling your panic. “Kento, please. This is insane, if you don’t open this door I’ll, I’ll-”

He sighed, rising from his seat to walk towards you.

‘If you don’t want to wet yourself, I could offer you some adult diapers. I had them prepared in case your medication caused any incontinence .” Your mouth fell open at the suggestion. He cut you off before you could protest.

“ Or ,if you find that to be too inconvenient, we can go back to the original proposed arrangement. It’s your call.” he gave the key a light twirl. For the first time since you’ve known him, you wanted to cuss him out, to scratch those hazel eyes that were currently looking down at you as if you were some miserable child. But the fear of being humiliated even further cancelled out your indignation.

“Fine! Fine!” you trembled, squeezing your thighs together. “You can come in, just please unlock-”

Before you finished your sentence, Kento had placed the key in the handle and turned it. You were on the toilet before he cracked the door fully open. True to his word, he stood near the sink, waiting for you. Your face burned.

“I apologise for my harshness.” he murmured as you washed your hands. “I only did it because I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you kept your gaze to your feet as you hurried to your room before he could revoke your right to cry in private too.

The days following the incident were torturous. You knew now that Kento was capable of cruelty, and that put you on edge. The air felt thick and heavy whenever the two of you were in the same room, but if Kento was aware of the tension, he was doing an excellent job of not showing it. His perpetually composed demeanor left you unnerved and unable to decipher his true intentions, a far cry from the days where it used to soothe you, back when you believed he was just being kind, if not a little neurotic. It was because of this shift in your perception of him that you continued to diligently follow this ridiculous routine despite how frustrated and angry it made you. You could no longer safely predict how he’d react if you did otherwise.

But the routine was suffocating and Kento was suffocating. He bled into every inch of your existence, he was the first voice you’d hear in the morning, and the last thing you’d see at night. He followed you wherever you went, he’d supervise your calls with your mother, he had a front row seat to your bathroom breaks and even though he swears that he doesn’t look when you have to strip yourself to shower, you’ve felt his eyes linger on your back.

And you were tired. Tired of playing along to avoid any possible repercussions, tired of pretending that his care and activities were doing something to help you, and tired of these fucking insulting colouring books.

“Kento,” you called to him calmly from the dining table, crayon still in hand. “I’ve finished all of the colouring books you’ve given me. May I have my sketchbook and drawing pencils back? I’m ready to start drawing again.”

He glanced at you from his place on the couch. “I can’t. The doctor’s guidelines state that I am to give you activities that will not cause any stress.” You felt your eye twitch.

“I think I can handle some doodling, Kento.” you responded, fists clenched.

“I’m sorry but you don’t know what you can handle, not in your current state. I won’t-”

“When are you going to stop treating me like a fragile flower?” you were barely hanging on to your composure.

“When you no longer are in a fragile state.”

“I’m not fragile, you’re just being a condescending prick.” you spat, composure slipped.

“What I’m doing, ” he replied, annoyance dripping through his voice. “is trying to help you heal. Now please-”

Something in your chest snapped. Before you knew it, you had thrown your crayons directly at him, hitting him squarely in the chest.

“You’re not helping me! You’re making me miserable! Just give me my fucking shit you fucking- you fucking-” the pounding in your ears and heat coursing through your chest made it difficult to remain coherent.

Kento just stood there, collected as usual, staring into your wild, bloodshot eyes as you continued to breathe shakily, as if he was assessing your existence. After 20 seconds of his scrutinizing stare, he completed his assessment.

“The medication must be making you irritable as the doctor said. Your poor sleep may also be a factor. Let’s see about taking a nap, that may calm you.” he strode towards you.

“I’m not a cranky toddler you piece of-” you didn’t get to finish your statement before he swiftly wrapped his arms around your torso and lifted you, his grip tight enough to squeeze the air out of your lungs. Before you could look up at him, he moved one of hands to the back of your head and pushed it to his chest, forcing you to inhale the crisp scent of his shirt as he headed down the hallway, shushing your muffled protests. You heard the sound of keys turning a lock and a door opening before he released you by tossing you onto what seemed to be a mattress on the floor.

This wasn’t your room. This was supposed to be the office space that the two of you agreed to share, but instead of a small desk and chair in the corner and some easels near the window, the room was bare save for a standing lamp that was securely strapped to the floor, a large stuffed animal in the corner, the mattress that you were landed on, which was covered in frilly bed sheets and the addition of burglar proof grates on the window. You heard a click, and turned to see that Kento had left, closing the door that now only locked from the outside.

“I apologise for how bare-bones it is, I didn’t have enough time to finish it.” He spoke from behind the door. “I was honestly hoping that we wouldn’t have to use a safe room but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. Please try to get some rest. I’ll come back for you once you’ve calmed down.”

Rest was the last thing on your mind, not when your roommate basically placed you in a makeshift padded cell. You kicked, you banged and you screamed as many threats as you could to try.to get him to open the door, only to be met with silence on the other side of it. Eventually, your kicks and threats were reduced to weak knocks and pleas. When you saw the setting sun through the caged window, panic began to spread through your chest. It had been hours and Kento refused to even acknowledge your existence, and you had no idea how long he planned to keep you trapped in there. As time continued to pass slowly,there was little else to do aside from curl yourself up on the floor and wonder how things got so bad. Were you actually in the wrong about this? Was this actually your fault? Kento was just trying to help you, even if he was being a bit controlling about it. And you screamed in his face and threw things at him like a bratty child and he still didn’t get mad at you. He never gets mad, you’re the mad one. That’s why he locked you in here, you scared him. You scare everyone. You always scare everyone.

You should’ve never moved out of your mom’s house. You should’ve never felt guilty about the idea of her having to take care of you even in her old age. You should’ve never believed that you could live like a normal person. You’ll never be normal, you’ll never be healed no matter how many pills you take or routines you follow, you should’ve just finished what you were going to do before Kento walked in on you in the kitchen. At least that would’ve been quicker than starving to death in here and-

Click!

Your spiralling thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. You found yourself at Kento’s feet, clinging to his pajama pants, tears spilling from your face, blubbering helplessly as your pride prevents you from properly apologising to him. You felt a hand rest at the top of your head, and through blurry eyes you looked up to see him looking down at you pitifully.

“It’s okay,” he cooed. “I know you can’t help it.” He helped you to your feet and took your hand to guide you back to your room. You were relieved, you were so incredibly relieved. He didn’t leave you to die, he wasn’t scared of you. He knows you can’t help it. He just wants to help.

You were sitting on your bed, freshly showered and properly fed when he spoke.

“I was going through the doctor’s guidelines on how to resolve your current issue.” he sat near the edge of the bed. “Unfortunately, even though you didn’t hurt me, your actions are considered to be violent.” Your eyes widened slightly. He continued. “It says that if you were to begin displaying violent tendencies, I am to contact the hospital to have you committed again. However, they will have to put you in seclusion, where you’ll be locked in a padded room that smells of filth and unlike me, they won’t hesitate to keep you in there for longer than two days. I don’t think you would want that, would you?”

You gulped. He was right, you didn’t want that.

“Please,” you rasped. “Is there anything you can do to avoid this?”

“Well, there is one last activity that I haven’t tried that is supposed to help soothe your symptoms. If it can calm your nerves effectively then I can delay having to call the hospital.” he inched closer.

“What is it?” you asked.

“We can add orgasm sessions to your routine.”

You blinked. You couldn’t have possibly heard that correctly.

“Add… what?”

He inched even closer, snaking a hand up your thigh. You tried not to recoil in disgust.

“It’s proven that orgasms release oxytocin and dopamine, which could help improve your mood and relax you. You could try to do it yourself, but if that’s not possible…” You caught a faint blush spread across his cheekbones, and your heart sank.

“I don’t- I don’t think I want-” you stammered to find the right words to reject this proposal without causing any repercussions. He took your inability to form a sentence as an invitation to get even closer, shifting himself so that he was now in the center of your bed and you were in his lap, your back pressed against his solid chest.

“It’s okay if you’re a bit nervous,” his voice was gentle above you, eerily so. “I will admit I don’t have much experience but I won’t hurt you.” You felt his hands slip under your shirt, trailing along your sides, causing you to squirm at the contact.

“Kento, please I’m not sure if this is-” your protest is cut off by the feeling of his hands groping your breasts.

“Shh, don’t think. Just focus on how it feels.” He pressed a kiss into your temple. “I want this to work as much as you do. I don’t want you to leave me again.”

You didn’t have the time to process his words before one of his hands dropped to your core. You shut your thighs closed on instinct, and you heard him tut against your earlobe as he spread them apart again.

“Uh uh, none of that. I’m doing this to help you, remember?” You were trying your hardest to remember, to convince yourself that this was just another activity to help you, but the way he was touching you so eagerly, how you could feel something hard pressing against your lower back, and how he groaned with every open wet kiss he placed on your skin as he sunk his fingers deeper into you made it very difficult.

And despite his self-proclaimed lack of experience, whatever he was doing was working. You eventually found yourself succumbing to his ministrations, your mind unable to do much but swim in the waves of pleasure that flooded your body. When you finally came, it was probably the hardest orgasm you’d ever experienced in your life, your vision burning white as his whispered praises barely registered in your brain. But most importantly, it was over. The way you laid limp and pliant on your bed as Kento moved from underneath you was hopefully enough to convince him that you didn’t need to be committed again. You were waiting to hear the sound of Kento closing the door behind him before you could fully drift into a hopefully dreamless sleep, but it was taking a while for him to leave. It was only when you felt a pair of rough hands pulling apart your legs, you realised that he wasn’t done.

He was now breathing heavily above you, his hair disheveled, his face flushed and his eyes now filled with hunger instead of apathy. Your eyes dropped to his lower half, where he was using one of his hands to hold up your leg while his other hand was occupied with pumping his now exposed leaking cock that was getting dangerously close to your entrance. You felt your heart shatter.

“Kento, what are you doing?!? I- I thought-”

“It’s okay. I just think you should have one more. Let me take care of it.” he strained, hardly containing himself as he sunk into you.

Kento was still asleep in your bed when you woke up. This was your only chance. You slid out of the covers as quietly as you could and made your way down the hall to his bedroom. You would’ve made a break for the door if you didn’t already know that he changed the passcode for it. Instead, you needed to find your phone and get someone else to help you get away from this monster.

You rummaged through his drawers, his wardrobe and the cabinets in his bathroom before finally finding what you were looking for in his closet. Your phone and laptop were laying neatly on the floor in a ziploc bag. You closed yourself in to hide and with shaky hands, pressed the power button on your phone. You sighed with relief when you saw the familiar boot up screen pop up.

You called your mom. She would be the only person who’d believe you. She’d be able to send someone to collect you, to take you away from this cursed flat and to safety. When you heard her soft voice through the speaker, it took everything to not start bawling in the closet.

“Mom, please listen to me. I don't have much time. I’ll explain everything when I’m out of here but I need you to send someone to get me. Or maybe call the police. I just can’t stay here anymore. It’s Kento, he’s-”

The closet door slid open and you shrieked. Kento grabbed your wrist and yanked you to your feet, grabbing your phone in the process. You could hear your mother’s confused shouts coming from the phone over your own protests as he tossed you onto his bed and straddled you, pressing his full weight onto you. Before you could scream to your mother for help, he swiftly shoved one of his socks that was lying around in your mouth, gagging you. Once he was done silencing you, he turned his attention to your panicked mother.

“I’m so sorry ma’am, I was hoping to avoid something like this happening.” he spoke calmly. “But now you’ve witnessed it for yourself. How much worse she’s getting.” If you weren’t so frazzled, you’d roll your eyes. There was no way your mother would believe that this was some episode-

“Oh my, this is the first time her paranoia has gotten that bad. Have you spoken with the doctors?”

You froze. Why wasn’t she suspicious? Why was she actually listening to him?

“Yes I have.” he lied. “We’re waiting til her review next week. Hopefully, a change in medication might resolve this.”

“You have no idea how relieved I am that she found someone as dedicated and responsible as you, Ken. I was worried that I would have to take care of her alone for the rest of my life. I can rest easy knowing her fiance will be there to care for her.”

You tried your best to tell your mother that this lunatic was not your fiance and that she was being lied to, but all you could manage to make were pathetic, muffled whines. Kento remained nonplussed.

“Don’t worry, ma’am. Your daughter is in good hands.” He ended the call and tossed your phone somewhere on the floor, turning his full attention on you.

“Did you hear that?” he spoke, stroking your cheek. “Your mother just confessed that she was terrified of having to take care of you.” he gently pulled out the gag.

“That’s not true!” you wheezed, ignoring the burning dryness in your mouth. “She’s just being lied to!”

“And she believed it instantaneously. She didn’t even question why you never told her about our engagement yourself. She was all too happy to relinquish all of her duties to me.” he sounded as if he was disgusted. “I’m sorry, but she thinks of you as a burden. But it’s not just her.” He eased himself off of you and walked back to the closet. He kept talking even as you climbed out of the bed.

“Your friends, your coworkers, our neighbours. Everyone knew what happened to you and yet no one wanted to help you. No one even came to visit.” You ignored him and tried to pull open the door. He was behind you in an instant, placing one of his hands above you to push it back closed. You hesitantly turned to face him.

“Is that what you’re so desperate to return to? A world where no one cares about you?” he asked gently.

“I’d rather that than whatever the fuck is this.” you spat.

“Then you really are unwell.”

He swiftly took hold of your wrists, and that’s when you noticed what he was carrying in his arms. It resembled a sweater but its sleeves were way too long. A straitjacket.

You thrashed and kicked as much as you could to get out of his grip, but he was too strong, too overwhelming. You were soon restrained within the jacket, and Kento scooped you up into his arms as if picking up a swaddled baby. With the way you were crying, you might as well have been.

“That night I found you in the kitchen was the scariest night of my entire life.” he spoke softly as he carried you down the hallway. “The only person in the world that makes me feel worthy to feel alive and I nearly lost you because of your own mind, of all things. I was at a loss. I could protect you from other humans or accidents, but how could I protect you from yourself? Even now, I don’t know the answer.”

He opened a door. You were back in the poorly-constructed ‘safe room’ again. Your throat tightened.

“Regardless, I love you, and I want us to work. I want to enjoy your cooking again, I want to hear you laugh at the terrible sitcoms you make me watch. I want you to be perfect again.” He set you down on the mattress, and pressed a kiss to your temple. He made his way back to the door, and despite your desperate pleas, he once again closed it, leaving you trapped.

“And there’s nothing I won’t do to ensure that.”

A/N: Another repost from my old account! A new fic will be dropped soon dw <3

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere x reader #dark content #yandere nanami #yandere nanami kento #tw: coercion #tw: dubcon

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skywritestudios · 2 days ago

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Hey guys it's Joy! I'm alive, I've been pretty silent on my socials and skipped last month's devlog because I did nothing in April outside of managing teams and communicating in servers. Thanks to my good ol' friend burnout.

General Recap Luckily, May was night and day comparatively. I had an exceptionally productive month.

I shipped out more merch, and generally just kept up with development. I was able to get over my burnout in the first week of May and find a pretty decent work life balance again. My job is thankfully very stress free and easy, as well as part time, so I have plenty of time off to work on dev stuff. Just as long as I schedule it out properly.

Nothing especially noteworthy happened outside of specific dev cycles, so let's just get into that.

Criminally Yours

Let's start with Criminally Yours this time! Specifically the development of "Criminally Yours Part 2" aka "Criminally Mine" set to release August 1st 2025.

Criminally Yours Part 2 is nearly complete totalling at 53k words at the time of writing this, I have 3 ½ scenes left, I'm halfway through scene 15/18 and I estimate the final word count to be anywhere from 60-65k. Totalling for 6/6.5 hours of gameplay.

It's quite large. I originally only anticipated for it to be 40k at most, to be double the length of Part 1 which is 23k for reference.

It'll probably be 3 times the original length almost, but hey, what can you do? Friends of mine have joked that it's basically Part 2 and 3 at that length, and I can't disagree with that. With an extra love interest alone I knew it was going to be sizeable, but not like this.

However, I am extremely proud of it so far. I honestly expected it to be better than Part 1 just from the outline, but it has only gotten better and better as time has gone on and I think it's going to make a lot of fans happy.

Our VA's have started recording their lines, our artists have plenty of sketched CG's and finalizing of sprites left, programming is in the works, and everything is moving very smoothly! (Not to jinx anything)

I have our wonderful community of "Criminals" (Criminally Yours fanbase) for that! It's been so motivating for me to share my progress, and hear theories, and receiving messages telling me how much they loved the first part and how much more excited they are for the 2nd!

I just want to say, y'all are not even a little ready for what's in store, it truly is the emotional rollercoaster I planned for it to be and more. Buckle up, we've got 2 more months. (I'm sure they will fly by). When I've finished drafting I'll be posting an announcement on the "Criminally Yours" Tumblr which you can follow here.

Speaking of Tumblr! I'd like to plug the Skywrite Studios tumblr page, there is not a tumblr for Meant to Bee Studios. To be honest, Skywrite is my replacement for Meant to Bee, but since M2B has a large following, it'll be awhile before I can stick to only Skywrite.

Anyway follow Skywrite Studios Tumblr here.

Fanart for Criminally Yours opening scene by iveu

The Prince's Keeper

Okay, I know it's been like 3 months of TPK is coming, it's coming guys I swear. But it really is. It's literally a finished game, the only thing missing is 2 finished CG's. We've had some setbacks in regards to our CG artist this time around. Luckily, we have remedied this and will have a release as soon as those CG's are finalized. I hope you still look forward to playing once it's out. Its something truly special and deserves attention. Unfortunately it fell into a bit of a dev hell.

CG concept for The Prince's Keeper- art by anonymous

My Sweet Fairy!

So unlike TPK. We've had a lot of luck with our artists and have made substantial progress, however, remember that burn out I'd mentioned earlier, well I was responsible for the last half of the script and completely dropped the ball. I had legit no motivation to work on the project or really anything at all. Even still, May I could have worked on it in time to get it done for Blossom Jam, however I have been hyper focused and stressed about Rectifier: In Bloom and Criminally Yours releases as they are commercial projects. Not free jam ones.

So I made a tough decision, we decided to roll development over to next year and to release for Blossom Jam 2026. It hurts me a little to have to, but it was just not the right time, and I don't want to spread myself too thin as it can harm the quality of all projects involved and harm myself which is something I've learned not to do if I can help it.

Next year will be here before we know it, and this way no team member who volunteered will be forced to crunch.

As my cofounder and best friend, Grey said. I'm not getting rid of the balls being juggled, just setting them to the side for when I can juggle them. (We love our silly analogies) but they're right. I'll happily pick up where we left off with fresh eyes and renewed spirit and produce the best project we can.

I hope you'll look forward to MSF! When it does eventually release, it's a super sweet romantic comedy with so much style and love put into it.

CG concept for My Sweet Fairy! Art by Zac/Jamkats

Starfallen: Strength

Strength's development like My Sweet Fairy! Is going very well, we have all sprites finished and finalized, and our OST. However, for the same reasons as before I had to roll this project over to next year as well, for next years Otome Jam.

I was very excited to release at least chapter 1/7 for the jam, but I think it's for the best to hold off so I can properly commission my artist for the project. I also would love to do an additional chapter for next year's release so 2/7.

Image: Verona from Starfallen: Strength- art by Pinachos

Rectifier: In Bloom Update

And last, but certainly not least, especially in my heart. We have the Rectifier: In Bloom update, as some of you may recall. Rectifier: In Bloom was my project for Otome Jam 2024, and what a time it was. Despite everything, I am still very proud of what I accomplished with a team of 4.

However, it's clear from the current build (which you can find in the March devlog btw- only for Windows users though), what's clear from that build is that it's fundamentally flawed. Not only was the game made in RPG Maker MV meaning it lacks all the standard quality of life features and functionalities of a standard Renpy VN. It also was programmed by me, and lol it's not great. The routes are pretty good, however we had very little time for playtesting, and by little time I mean practically none. Art is stunning, though I wished I could've had more, soundtrack is very hodgepodge, some being original tracks with others being royalty free.

And don't get me started on the GUI or lack thereof and the abhorrent game page for Itch.

The whole thing felt like it was being held together by tape and child's glue.

This time around, I wanted to polish the entire experience and add what was missing before.

So this time, we have a brand new game, completely reprogrammed into Renpy with all the QOL features that come with it, as well as a few more. A stunning GUI, more CG art, a fully edited script, as well as brand new extra scenes for each of the 7 routes! Extra tracks, and so much more!

We are set to release the update here on itch June 30th 2025 in time for Otome Jam 2025.

I want to say that despite all the flaws the original build came with, so many players were so supportive and saw something to love in the project despite its hang ups. This time around, I hope there is less focus on what holds the game back, and instead focus on all the little things that came together to make it so wonderful.

I've said it before, but Rectifier is my favorite project I've ever done. It has my whole heart and has so much content more to come, In Bloom was a way to sell people on the greater universe while still getting a complete experience. I think we accomplished that last year, but I want to cement it for those who liked it, and bring on new fans.

Next year, I want to work on the main game, and In Bloom's success will help fund it.

The game will be commercial with 1 free route for the demo- Greer's, and 6 that will have to be paid for. The price will be $5.99 USD. However, you can donate $5 now to my Kofi now as a way to "preorder" the game. You'll get a key as soon as the game releases if you donate.

Thanks to all those that have donated so generously and bought one of our stunning keychains! (Mainly the Percy ones, but HEY lol) I am eternally grateful, I advise that even if you played the game last year you consider doing so again when it releases, I promise it'll be worth your time.

CG concept for Rectifier: In Bloom Greer's Route art by Gisselle

Thank you so much for reading and, even more so, for following and supporting my work! If you want to keep up with what we do, following Skywrite Studios on Itch.io) , Bluesky, and even me on Twitch are the best ways to do so!

We've got a lot more exciting things happening coming in the next 3 months, so please stay tuned! This time next month, Rectifier: In Bloom we available to purchase and play!

#devlog #indie otome

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lareinedulune · 2 days ago

Text

Chapter 1 of Shades of Grey by La Reine Du Lune

After life has left you wounded and alone, you decide to apply to teach at Xavier's School For Gifted Youngers. There you meet the older, wiser Professor Logan Howlett aka The Wolverine and while your attraction to him is undeniable, you know love and romance isn't for you. Your mutation has left you too damaged and unlovable a thing. Logan may have a different opinion. While you navigate your new life and friendship with Logan, one of the X-Men, once a friend to all, may become a threat to you.

Read at Ao3 - Shades of Grey Chapter 1 and see the banner Tumblr deemed too mature to allow me to show, despite having found all the images on Tumblr! 😂

This fic is dedicated the extraordinarily inspirational @princessanglophile whose encouragement and support made this nearly novel length fic possible!

I hope you all enjoy this introductory chapter. I hope to post once or twice a week. This is also my first go at writing smut! Eek! There are a few kinks in this one!

Shades of Grey

This story takes place a year post the end of "X-Men: Days of Future Past", after Logan has returned to his new, kinder future, a thriving school and a whole new world to get used to.

Our very sexy, but older, wiser and kinder Professor Howlett.

Chapter 1

On with the show!

Your nerves always got the better of you when you entered into a new situation. Reserved and guarded, you walked through the front door of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngers, more than a little awestruck by the sheer size and scope of the mansion. It was unlike anything you had known before, especially compared to the run down little studio apartment you’d come from in the city.

It was time for you to start over and to start fresh. Your life in the city had gotten to be too much, too stressful. You’d done as much good as you could for as long as you could, but in the end, it was swallowing you whole. When you applied to Charles Xavier's school, you honestly hadn’t expected a response, but you’d been offered an interview. The Professor himself and another, Ororo Munroe, had met you in New York City in your neighbourhood for an informal meeting. You’d been shaking like a leaf, but both of them had put you at ease. Being a mutant yourself, they understood how challenging it was for you to fit into society. While your powers were not beneficial to the X-Men, but they would serve you well in working with children.

You had described your empathic abilities as best you could, as they were unusual. What you couldn’t explain was why you had allowed Professor Xavier to touch your mind, but you knew he hadn’t manipulated you into it. He appeared trustworthy and didn’t probe too far into your psyche. After he’d caught a glimpse, you’d held back tears at the sympathetic look he’d given you. You understood then, that he was not just offering you a job, but also a refuge and a sanctuary. Life had been monstrously unkind to you, and he presented security and stability. It was something you’d never truly had.

Your possessions were few, having not gathered much of your own to hold dear in your twenty plus years of life. Mostly, you had your clothes, some necessities and your art supplies. You had more of those than clothing. Your boxes and suitcases were brought in by the cab driver and he deposited them just inside the front door. You’d given all your paintings to a gallery you’d discovered. Your identity would be kept quiet to the public at your request. The dealer was certain the New York art scene would have an avarice for your work. You hoped it would give you a nice little nest egg, but money couldn’t buy purpose.

Early on you knew you couldn’t have made a living as an artist and that was why you’d originally become a social worker. You had tried in vain to fix what you could touch of the broken system, but you’d saved a few kids and helped them along to better lives. Inevitably, a breaking point had come. It had taken you weeks to get over your last case. The abuse of those poor little ones had experienced had been too much for you to cope with. You couldn’t go through it again. Knowing that kind of suffering existed was a burden you’d bear, but it had nearly killed you.

When no one had answered to your knock, you’d opened the door to the mansion and walked inside. You’d paid the cabby and thanked him. You hoped the Professor could sense your arrival. You’d given him the time you expected to be there, and you were always punctual. A bell rang out and you braced yourself as the classes were dismissed and children of all ages poured out into the hallways and the foyer where you stood. You smiled at the few students who caught your eye. You stepped forward, to look for anyone who might be faculty, when a man with red lensed glasses came towards you. You realized too late that he hadn’t even noticed you were there and he accidentally collided with your shoulder, sending you off balance as you stumbled back. He didn’t stop to apologize or see if you were ok, and instead wove his way between the students, hell bent on wherever his destination was.

You winced and rotated your shoulder. Your diminutive frame had taken quite the impact and it had hurt. You were used to pain at least, but you hadn’t been expecting it today. Sighing wearily, you girded yourself but before you could take any action, you felt eyes on you. Looking up to the great expanse of the staircase you saw a rather large, rather handsome man coming down, his stare fixed on you. By the attractive gray hairs at his temples you guessed he was a couple decades older than you. His hazel eyes held mystery and his stature had you feeling weak the knees. He was a giant compared to you, well over six foot tall, muscular and broad. Suddenly you realized who he was, he was the infamous Wolverine. While physically impressive in the flesh, you were taken by surprise at the openness in his face and the kindness behind those mysterious eyes of his. He had a look of concern. Once at the bottom of the stairs he approached you, cautiously so as not to intimidate you. You supposed you probably did seem like a little rabbit caught in a snare. You’d dressed down for your travels in a pair of boots, jeans and a t-shirt under a grey cardigan. Your jewelry was silver and delicate, your long hair done up in a messy bun. You would dress more professionally for class of course, but hauling all your possessions had necessitated a more basic attire. You looked up at him when he stopped in front of you, trying not to gawk. He really was so handsome.

He placed a hand on your wounded shoulder and frowned. His touch was warm and unexpectedly soothing. “Are you alright?” he asked in a gruff voice.

“I’m ok,” you replied, swallowing any other words you might have for him.

“I apologize for Scott. He’s been in a foul mood for weeks,” he spoke, “Not that it’s an excuse. He needs to get his act together. You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

“Um… yes, of course. It’s just a little wrench. I’ll be fine in a few days. I’ll make an ice pack later,” you replied, trying to sound bright and upbeat, but your voice waivered. Logan’s scowl deepened. He took his hand away and offered it for you to shake. You took it, his skin practically thrumming against yours. He felt so alive. “Logan Howlett.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Howlett,” you smiled at him with doleful eyes, you couldn’t help yourself. “I’m Y/N. The new art teacher.”

“Oh! So, you’re her, huh? Chuck told us you were coming on. Welcome, and call me Logan.”

“Thank you, Logan. No formalities for me either, please, you can call me by my first name. Is the Professor in? Or Ms. Munroe?”

“Yeah, of course, they should be around here somewhere. Guess I’m apologizing for everybody today. They’d normally be here to greet newcomers. Tell you what, have a seat on that bench over there and I’ll find them for you. I think I know where they’re putting you, I’ll take your shi… stuff upstairs.”

“That’s ok, you don’t have to, my suitcases are pretty heavy…” But Logan was already piling everything together. He bent down and lifted them all as if they weighed nothing. He winked at you as he walked past and made his way up the stairs with your things. Your skin turned a shade pinker. That always happened when you felt a little spark of joy. You admired the way he moved and the ripple of his muscles under his too small t-shirt as he carried your belongings up the stairs. You were pretty sure you were already developing a crush. Crushes were easy. They were sweet and harmless. You’d never let anything be any more than a crush. Love and romance? That was not for you. It would never be for you. You were too broken on the inside and too damaged by the havoc your mutation had wrought upon you. You might’ve been conventionally cute or pretty enough on the outside, but the inside? On the inside you were ugly. Putrid, even. A nice man like Logan Howlett, the hero of the X-Men, would be revolted if he knew how your power manifested itself at its maximum. That would stay private. Even the Professor hadn’t seen the worst of it, but rather just a superficial glimpse. If you were anything, you were good at keeping your mental wards up. Still, a crush on someone so attractive was pleasant. He’d left a good first impression on you, unlike Scott, aka Cyclops. You knew who all the X-Men were.

The children made their way to their next class and soon the hallways were clear again and all had become quiet. You took the seat Logan had suggested and sat with your hands folded in your lap, feeling butterflies gather in your stomach. You debated getting your phone out of your purse, but decided against it. You didn’t want to appear as one of those flighty young people who couldn’t stand a moment without looking at their phone. As time wore on, you began to grow impatient and even a little worried. Then, way down the hall you were certain you heard a crash. It sounded very much like breaking glass. Though startled, you rose and followed after the sound, wondering why no one else was coming running. There was another crash, this one a little denser, more like pottery being smashed. You quickened your pace, down the corridor and past all its closed doors to a wing of the mansion that seemed to house offices.

You peaked around a corner and found a gathering of adults, including the Professor, Cyclops, Storm, the one you knew was called Beast, and to your surprise, Logan. The mansion must be quite the maze as he hadn’t come back down the front stairs. The five of them were gathered around a young boy of about 10 or so years old, huddled in a ball, rocking himself, crying out every time someone came near him.

“Can’t you just calm him down?” Scott snapped at the Professor.

“I would prefer if we could talk,” the Professor spoke, directing his words at the boy and ignoring Scott. “Tyson, there’s no need to be upset. You can redo your project. I’m sure Susanne didn’t mean to break it. It was only your homework, no one is upset with you. I have every confidence you can remake it just as good if not better. Come now, place the objects back on the desk, if you please.”

The boy was caught in some sort of emotional spiral, it was plain to see. His mutation allowed him a degree of telekinesis, as several objects from the room floated above them. Every time Scott tried to inch closer the boy sent one flying at him.

“Ty,” Logan spoke, calm and measured, “We talked about this, keeping your cool. You were doing great with your breathing exercises. C’mon, we’ll go to the gym and I’ll let you kick the shit outta things again. We had fun last time, remember?” Logan cast a concerned look at the Professor.

“This is getting ridiculous, just put him to sleep Charles!” Scott all but shouted.

“Can it, Summers, we’re not doing that to Ty,” Logan growled.

“The Professor has promised Tyson not to influence him with his power, you know this, Scott,” spoke Beast. The conversation quickly unravelled into arguing as Tyson became increasingly agitated and you decided that was enough. Manoeuvring between Logan and Beast you got down on your hands and knees and crawled towards the boy, evading Logan’s reach to hold you back.

“Tyson?” you spoke softly once you got closer to him, he looked up at you warily. “Hi, I’m Y/N. I can make it stop. If you want. I can take it away, if you let me. You don’t have to feel hurt if you don’t want to.” Tyson looked at you, skeptical, but intrigued by your words. “Will you let me help? There won’t be any pain. I promise. It’ll all stop.” You offered your hand and after a few moments, surprisingly, he took it. You opened yourself up and made the connection and invited in all of Tyson’s negative emotions. The anguish over his school project getting accidentally bumped off his desk and smashing, the anger and humiliation over the other students laughing at his misfortune, and most of all the embarrassment of the girl he liked laughing along with them. But then, it went deeper, so much deeper. You felt his years of frustration at not being understood. You felt the deep, soul tearing ache he felt at missing his parents in addition to the rejection he’d felt when they’d sent him away. You took all the negativity into yourself and left Tyson free of it. You snatched your hand away as it overwhelmed you and the room began to spin. You’d taken too much and cursed yourself for your mistake.

The next thing you knew there was a cool wash cloth being pressed against your forehead and you lay on the couch in the Professor’s office. Tyson was nowhere to be seen, but the others were with you. You tried to sit up, but became woozy and was forced to lay back down. You looked at your skin and saw it was drained of colour, appearing sallow and grey. Every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire and every joint ached something fierce. The migraine in your skull was excruciating. But inside, inside was worse. All of Tyson’s emotions swirled around inside your mind in a miasma. When the emotional pain is too great, it turned itself into physical pain. Your eyes filled with tears and streamed down your cheeks from unopened eyelids.

“Is Tyson ok?” you mumbled.

“Young Tyson is quite alright, thanks to you,” the Professor spoke, “The boy is on the Autism spectrum and while he’s made excellent progress, he occasionally is unable to self-regulate when deeply upset, and he closes in on himself and becomes very hard to reach. He hasn’t had an episode in nearly a year but he was set off today. Usually, one of us can help him focus, but not today. That was quite remarkable what you did. I’ve not seen an empath with such sway. What precisely occurs?”

“Make it not hurt…” your words slurred and you thought you may pass out again.

“And the physical manifestation in you?”

“Just… just pain. I… I take their pain, make it mine. My skin… it changes.”

Logan’s face grew deeply concerned.

Your face scrunched up as a wave crashed over you. You closed white knuckled fists around the fabric of a throw pillow and your body shook while you involuntarily whimpered, high pitched and long.

“I’ll head down to my lab and…” Beast spoke, but you shook your head.

“Painkillers don’t work,” you whispered as your curled in on yourself and then you knew no more. You came back to yourself on and off for the next little while. You vaguely remember being scooped up by strong arms and the warmth of a firm, ample chest beneath your cheek. It was the sort of warmth you wanted hide yourself under. You felt protected, which was a rarity in your life. You remembered a scent filling your nostrils, heady and wild, like a forest after a storm.

When you finally came back to yourself, it was nighttime. You were in a bed in a darkened room with moonlight streaming in from a closed window. You were under a thick chenille blanket and someone had taken off your shoes. Your purse was on the bedside table and your luggage was in a corner by an armchair. This must’ve been your room at the mansion. It was fairly spacious with all the furniture you’d need, and an en suite bathroom. You still felt nauseous and your body ached, but the worst of it was over. The experience with Tyson was minor. You’d experienced far worse. You rose and cracked your spine and your hands, wincing as you did so. Fishing into your suitcase you found your toiletries bag with your toothbrush and toothpaste. You made your way to the bathroom and made use of it, brushed your teeth and splashed cold water on your face. You took your hair down and brushed it out, letting it cascade down your back. You sighed wearily, worried about what sort of impression you’d made on your new colleagues. You hadn’t intended to reveal so much of yourself so quickly, but you knew that young Tyson had been in an awful state. What was your temporary pain compared to a lifetime for a child? Tyson would be better in all ways now. Still entirely himself, but just without a soul so wounded as it had been. Your mutation wouldn’t ‘cure’ him of his natural self, but you’d taken his heart’s pain away of all that had come before. He’d experience new pain one day, but for the time being, he’d be whole. Meanwhile, you’d hold on to his soul’s pain forever for him.

Though wobbly on your feet, you wanted a comforting cup of tea. You hadn’t been shown the way to the kitchen, and you’d probably not be able to find your way back to your room, but you were feeling antsy in your own skin and wanted part of your nighttime routine to help ground yourself. Moving stiffly, you went to your door and gently opened it. The hallway was dark save for a sliver of light under the door across the hall from yours. You cringed as the door hinge creaked, while at the same time the door across the hall swung open. There, stood Logan wearing the same clothes as earlier, though now in socked feet.

“Y/N!” he whispered hoarsely, deliberately keeping his voice low, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m so sorry,” you spoke softly, eyes going wide, “Did I wake you? What time is it?”

Logan shook his head, a ghost of a smile turning up the corner of his mouth, “I’m a night owl, you didn’t wake me. It’s about 1am. Most everyone’s asleep. I don’t sleep too much, don’t need it. Now, I asked a question, how are you feeling?”

“Oh, um, I’m ok, thank you, Mr. Howlett.”

“It’s Logan, remember? You hungry? You haven’t eaten since this morning.”

“Actually, dinner last night, I was too nervous to eat this morning. Didn’t exactly make the best first impression on my new bosses, did I? Um, I was just hoping for a cup of tea?”

“C’mon, I’ll show you where the kitchen is,” Logan beckoned, closing his door behind him. You followed meekly behind him until he turned and waited for you to catch up walk along side him. You were moving slowly on account of the pain you were experiencing and as much as you tried to hide it, you couldn’t. You kept your eyes cast downwards, your hair masking your face. Feeling Logan’s hand at the small of your back as you approached the stairs was lovely. It was kind of him, given how unsteady you were on your feet. “Here, take my arm.” He offered and you hesitated, cautious as frightened bird, but eventually you placed your hand around his arm upon his bicep. The muscle was solid as a rock and your small hand was dwarfed by it.

You struggled down the stairs, but made it with Logan’s help. You paused at the bottom, still holding on to Logan’s bicep and took a few steadying breaths to work through the flare of pain in your body before nodding your head. You proceeded down the long corridor in near dark. You were sure Logan knew it well enough to not need the light, but the dark made you a little scared. It always had.

Upon reaching the main kitchen, he guided you to sit in a barstool at the kitchen island, “I can make my tea if you just show…” you began, but Logan flipped on a light and looked at you with an eyebrow arched.

“What kind do you like?” he asked.

“It’s late, so maybe a camomile if you have it? But anything’s fine, really.”

“Yeah, we’ll have it around here somewhere.” He started looking in drawers and eventually found the one that held a variety of teas. He put a kettle on to boil and got down a mug. Just then, your stomach rumbled loudly. You cringed inwardly, completely embarrassed and not for the first time in front of Logan.

“Sorry,” you whispered, barely audible. Logan looked at you but you couldn’t look back at him.

“Toast?” he offered and you nodded your head. “You want anything on it?” You shook your head, not wanting to be a bother. After a few minutes Logan slid the dry toast on a plate and cup of tea in front of you. He watched you take a first bite before leaning on the counter across from you. “Tyson’s a good kid,” he began. “He’s always needed a little more patience and understanding. He’s smart too, incredibly smart. He idolizes Hank – Dr. McCoy.”

“Is that Beast?” you asked.

“That’s right. Worst thought out name you could give a man like Hank. He’s all science and altruism. Last word that comes to mind is beast, but he has his moments in a fight. At any rate, I think Tyson might be a doctor one day, if I was to take a guess. But, when Tyson doesn’t feel in control, or he’s the centre of unwanted attention, he gets scattered and when that happens he disassociates. It’s his coping mechanism and he doesn’t have much control over his telekinesis. That’s why Charles and Ororo weren’t there to greet you when you arrived. They’ll apologize in the morning.”

“There’s no need for an apology.”

“Yeah, well expect one anyways. What I’m getting at is that it’s almost impossible to pull Tyson out of it when he gets like that. Charles pressed into his head too far once and now it sets the kid off in a panic, so he promised to never do it again.”

“Then why was Cyclo…Mr… Scott? Summers?”

“Yeah, Summers. Why was he insisting Charles should?” You nodded. “Well, first thing to know about Scott is that he’s dick. He’s been worse the past couple of months. His wife left him. She was, well she was something all right. She was Charles’ right hand for years. When I first got here, we’ll let’s just say I was infatuated with Jean, but she was with Scott. She was beautiful. I hate to say it, but she could be cruel. She stringed me a long for a few years, though nothing ever happened between us. She just liked me to know something could, y’know? At any rate, they got married. Jean was fickle though. Strung Scott along too, I guess. She had a fling with a colleague at some fancy scientific convention somewhere in Sweden or whatever. She cheated on him, came home and told him what happened and that they were done. I felt for the guy, but it’s gone on long enough. He’s pissed off, I get it, but he’s taking it out on everyone else. She up and quit, then went to Europe to work. We aren’t keeping in touch. Anyways, that’s why he’s been a jerk. He can’t get over her, still loves her, but hates her for how she hurt him. That’s the story.”

You finished your piece of toast and nodded your head in acceptance. “I hope he recovers. That must be awful, to love and trust someone and have them betray you like that.”

“Yeah, agreed. Scott’s going through it, alright, but that’s no excuse for bumping into you like that and not even checking if he hurt you. And it’s no excuse for ragging on Tyson for something he can’t control.”

“Oh gosh, I forgot to ask! How is Tyson?”

“The kid’s just fine, better than fine. Haven’t seen him smile like that, well, ever.” You smiled and your skin shifted ever so slightly from its pale grey to a distant shade of pink. Logan studied you, seeing the shift. “So, tell me, how’s it work? What you do?”

You shrug. “It’s nothing useful, I mean, in terms of…” you gestured absently, “What you all do as X-Men. I mean, I can’t fight or anything. My mutation, it manifested pretty early on, as far back as I can remember. I can only remember back as far as about age five or so? But it’s always been there. I didn’t really know I had it or what it did…” You paused and swallowed thickly. No, Logan could never know about your childhood. “I decided I wanted to go into social work when I was a teenager, so that’s what I went to school for and art was an aside to that. Drawing and painting’s always been my passion though, but I knew I’d never make a living at it and it wouldn’t really help anyone, so social work it was. I grew up in the system, so I knew how tough it was and how important it was to be an advocate for those you who didn’t have a voice. But, it burned me out so fast. I’m ashamed of how foolish I was, thinking I could handle it from the other side. I don’t have a teaching degree, so I’m not sure why the Professor even gave me a chance, but I figured it was worth a shot and I applied.”

“School of life, I’ll take it over a university any day. I don’t have a teaching degree, or a history one.”

“You lived it though? Didn’t you? I read that you were born in the 19th century?” Logan nodded his head, “That’s just… incredible! All you’ve seen and done.” Logan’s face darkened and you realized you stepped out of line, “I’m sorry. I’m being rude.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. You’re not. I just spent most of the 20th century fighting in wars. I lived it, sure, but I lived the worst of it.”

“Oh.”

“The Professor is a pretty perceptive man. To say the least. You wouldn’t be here if he didn’t see something in you.”

“I hope I don’t disappoint him. Or any of you. I really want to do a good job.”

“You’ll be fine. We should head up, morning comes quickly and it’s your first day tomorrow. Ororo will give you your orientation. Breakfast is at 7am, classes start at eight. The school day’s over at 3pm and you’re free until dinner at six. The faculty usually eat together, but you’re not obligated to.”

You nodded your head but then stopped half way out of your chair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t answer your question.”

“You sure to apologize a lot.”

You bit back another apology. Logan was smiling at his teasing words but the smile fell away quickly when he saw how upset his little jab had made you. You soldiered on and began to talk again, “My mutation doesn’t work by just touching someone. I have to let them in once I touch their skin. It’s like this black hole inside me opens up and just pulls in all the negative emotions someone’s feeling out of them. It doesn’t take their memories, but their feelings surrounding those memories. It clears their head, relaxes them, all the hurt just melts away. I gather it up and then it works its way out of me physically.” You weren’t going to tell him what else happened, how you lived the experiences inside your head on fast forward. It was so intense it felt like you were moving at the speed of light and the emotions associated with the experience slammed into you like a supernova.

“You skin loses its colour and you experience physical pain?”

“The more I absorb, the darker my skin gets. The physical pain settles in and after a while, it dissipates.”

“And the other person?”

“They’re left feeling like what’s happened to them was years in the past. They feel healed. Like they processed it all and put it behind them. They feel free.”

“And meanwhile you feel like shit?”

“It’s temporary.” It was not entirely temporary. But that was your secret to keep.

“Sounds like a raw deal to me.”

“Not when you see a little kid smile, not after they believed they never could again.” Logan made a non-committal sound and nodded his head, then led you back to your room.

To be continued...

#hugh jackman #logan howlett #wolverine #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #fan fiction #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #shades of grey

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aspentreewrites · 2 days ago

Text

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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