“You’re such a bitch.” Would love it if you could make it work in the Cheating AU (cosss I'm obsesssssedd with it).
Ideally Anakin saying it to Obi-Wan, but doesn'tneed to be, whatever inspires you 💙.
hey hi hello!!! ok so this is set in the cheating au (gffa au where obi-wan and anakin cheat on their partners---satine, who knows and doesn't care and padmé who doesn't know and will definitely care---to be with one another), and i'd go into detail about the timeline more, but actually I think the characters pretty much say everything you need to know. In my mind this is about three months before Anakin gets hurt and obi-wan makes him choose between his wife and him.
(2k) (cw: infidelity, jealousy, asshole behavior from obikin)
The twi’lek waitress keeps making eyes at Obi-Wan and the man is letting her. His wife is right there, next to him.
Anakin is right across from him while he gently touches the server’s wrist, compliments the length and coloring of her lekku, refers to her by her name that he remembers—Niv’era—and laughs over jokes she hasn’t even really said.
It’s all very disgusting, and it’s even worse when Anakin catches Satine’s eye from across the table. She has the most annoying knowing look, and Anakin blanches beneath it. He hates that for a second, they’re in the same sort of twisted club. In love with a man who is an incorrigible flirt.
Well, Satine has said many times she feels no romantic inclination towards her husband. Anakin just can’t believe that’s true.
It’s Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan, who has taken a singular bite out of his correllian beef tenderloin and has stopped Niv’era on her way past the table to praise her for the suggestion, as if she personally cooked it herself. She probably can’t even cook. She looks younger than Anakin’s children, and they’re three.
Padmé shifts next to him, setting her fork down and placing her hand over his own fisted hand, as if trying to soothe him.
The movement catches Obi-Wan’s eye, and he pauses for a second before he continues, even louder and more flirtatious than before, running a hand through his hair with a roguish grin as the star-struck child of a server tells him about the last time she visited Stewjon and what she did there with her family.
Out of some unpleasant and nameless emotion, Anakin flips his hand over and intertwines his fingers with his wife. He can feel her wedding band against his knuckle. Anakin had forgotten to wear his ring. He usually does these days when he knows he’ll see Obi-Wan.
“Your anniversary is coming up, no?” Satine asks. Anakin glares at her, but she simply smiles in return. Bitch.
“In two weeks,” Padmé says, taking a tiny sip of her plum wine. Obi-Wan’s whiskey is untouched on the table before him. He’s finally dismissed the waitress and has turned his attention fully back to them.
Anakin fights a sneer and wonders if in a few nights, Obi-Wan will come back alone to this restaurant, ask the girl for a tour of the place, push her into a closet and coax her into breaking her marriage vows for the chance to lick the taste of whiskey out of his mouth. She probably wouldn’t say no.
Anakin hadn’t.
“And how many years will that be?” Satine asks, nibbling at the edge of a crust of bread. “Five? No. Six?”
“Six,” Padmé agrees. “We married very young.”
Anakin had married very young. Padmé had married at a respectable age.
“Six years, wow,” the blonde woman says with a tiny shake of her head. She raises her wine glass. “Here’s to six years of love and commitment. May there be many more.”
Padmé laughs and raises her own glass, tilting her head up to look at Anakin. She’s probably expecting a kiss from her husband. Anakin is hardly her husband anymore, and he is absolutely not the man she married.
Obi-Wan raises his own glass and tossses the entirety of the contents back in one go. “You’re such a bitch,” he tells Satine, pushing away from the table. “Excuse me.”
Padmé’s hand has fluttered to her mouth in shock at the words, eyes wide and quickly turning angry for the sake of her friend. “That was absolutely out of line, I’m sorry, Satine.”
“Oh, it’s alright,” Satine looks amused more than anything. “We’re all tense over the elections.”
“There’s no need for that level of disrespect though,” Padmé declares. Anakin knows he should say something, fall in line with his wife and agree. But Padmé doesn’t have all the information. Satine was being a bitch, and she’s the only one at the table who doesn’t know it or understand why.
“I know you two have an…unconventional marriage—” it’s no secret among friends that the Kenobi-Kryzes have an open marriage, something Padmé has never been able to fully understand— “but if my husband talked to me like that in a serious manner, I would divorce him on the spot.”
She looks at him and he nods because he’s supposed to nod. He’s supposed to find the threat slightly funny, and agree that he would never do something so uncouth like that.
But all he can think is, Promise?
“I’m going to go check on him,” he says, standing and putting his napkin on the table. He can’t spot the waitress either and now he’s thinking the worst. His chest is tight. If he finds Obi-Wan and he’s kissing someone else, Anakin doesn’t know what he’ll do.
It feels like it would be a betrayal. Of them. Their relationship.
But aren’t they both betrayers already? Obi-Wan’s marriage wasn’t open until three years ago, when Satine had declared to the pair of them that she wanted to have just as much liberty to take other partners as Obi-Wan apparently thought he had. And, she’d said, having an open marriage meant that she wouldn’t have to hide it. Unlike Obi-Wan and Anakin.
And Anakin and Padmé’s marriage….It was not always what it is now. The guilt should eat him alive and sometimes when he’s in the fresher, washing off the scent of Obi-Wan before his wife comes home, it does.
Most of the time though, it’s not there anymore at all. It’s been four years, sneaking around with Obi-Wan. He’s addicted.
Addicts can’t let guilt consume them. That’s what the addiction is for.
Padmé has slid over to his chair to grasp at Satine’s hand. She’ll probably have a long fiery speech prepared for Obi-Wan when he gets back. Suddenly Anakin doesn’t want to hear it.
For a brief second, he wishes he could just find Obi-Wan and leave the restaurant all together. Leave the planet. Run off into the stars.
He looks at the back of his wife’s head. She’d spent an hour styling her hair in the fresher mirror before coming out tonight. He’d been asked to hold certain pieces in place as she pinned them. In the early days of their marriage, which was also the early days of their relationship, he’d been humbled and awed to be invited into such a precious domestic scene. Tonight, he’d only felt vaguely irritated that she cared so much and that her caring had made them late, which meant minutes where Obi-Wan and Satine were alone at a restaurant like they’ve been for years before.
Anakin stares at the back of her head and feels the words rise into his mouth. You’re such a bitch, he imagines telling her. He wants to tell her.
But more than that, he wants the words to be true, and he knows they are not. He’d married a kindhearted woman with a soul just as beautiful as she is. And yet.
And yet.
Obi-Wan is in the restaurant’s fresher. It’s deserted otherwise, which is good because Anakin is fuming and he’s feeling reckless and as soon as Obi-Wan turns to look at him, he pushes him up against the edge of the sink.
“You’re such a fucking asshole,” he snarls and Obi-Wan’s hands immediately come up to fist into Anakin’s dress tunics, mess them up. Pull him closer. It’s always about closeness with Obi-Wan.
“I’m an asshole? What was I supposed to do, listen to your wife talk about your fucking facade of a marriage until the desserts course?” Obi-Wan spits right back. “You’re a fucking—”
Anakin kisses him to shut him up. It’s angry and too much so fast, too much teeth and spit and Obi-Wan is kissing him like he’s trying to draw blood, like the only reason he’s kissing him is so that they’ll go back to the table and his wife will notice Anakin’s red lips and ask what happened.
The thought that Obi-Wan is kissing him for any other reason than because he loves him—he knows he does, he’s said—makes him even more furious. He rips himself away as quickly as he’d attacked.
Obi-Wan is breathing heavily against the sink.
“Don’t fucking flirt with the waitress in front of me,” Anakin says as calmly as he’s capable of. He catches sight of himself in the mirror behind Obi-Wan, and he doesn’t even recognize himself. His eyes are dark and his mouth is red and his chest is heaving.
“Don’t fucking hold hands with your wife in front of me,” Obi-Wan shoots back like he has any right to demand that from Anakin, any right at all to dictate his relationship with his wife.
It makes Anakin let out a crazed sort of laugh and he scrubs his hands over his face, through his hair. “Fuck, Obi-Wan. What the fuck are we doing? This…this is too much. This—”
He cuts himself off because Obi-Wan has stepped forward, into his space. It’s dangerous and it’s perfect and half of Anakin wants to pull him closer. The other part wants to push him away. That part has never won, and Anakin doesn’t think tonight will be the night it suddenly does.
Carefully, almost apologetically, Obi-Wan fixes the lay of Anakin’s tunics, covers him up and makes him presentable. His hands move just as gently up to his hair to comb it into place. Anakin shivers and lets him. This side of Obi-Wan is addicting as well.
After he’s been fixed and fawned over, Obi-Wan’s hands come to the back of his neck and rest there. For a second, Anakin thinks that he’s going to rise up on his toes and kiss him. Instead there’s fumbling and then Obi-Wan lifts the necklace Anakin is wearing off his neck.
Anakin thinks he needs to stop him. After all, it had been Obi-Wan who had given the jappor snippet back to him in the first place two years ago, telling him that there was no way his wife wouldn’t notice.
“Why don’t you keep this for me?” He’d said. “Wear it around your neck, tell your wife you’ve just been missing Tatooine. It wouldn’t be a lie. We’d just be the only two that knows what it means.”
The symbol on the pendant that Obi-Wan turns to fasten around his own neck means homesick. He’d carved it for the man after a month and a half of not being able to see each other. He’d—it’d been hard. It’d felt impossible, it’d felt wrong. Homesick for Obi-Wan.
When Padmé had noticed the new addition to her husband’s wardrobe, she’d asked what it meant. After all, he’d given her one all those years ago, a snippet he carved that meant good fortune. “We’ll match,” she’d said with a charming giggle, showing him the bracelet she’d fastened the snippet into. “And let’s see about visiting Tatooine soon.”
What neither Padmé nor Obi-Wan had understood, of course, was that on Tatooine, nothing was more important than one’s home. A place for family. A place to shelter from the elements. Safety and comfort and love wrapped in one.
On Tatooine, the symbol for homesick had five lines diverging from the middle and curling around themselves in a knot to leave an empty circle.
The pendant around Obi-Wan’s neck right now has the same design, but the circle is filled in. This symbol means, simply, home.
“This is mine,” Obi-Wan tells him. They both know they’re not just talking about the pendant. “I’ll remember if you do.”
Anakin wishes he could bring himself to forget, but it’s impossible. Obi-Wan makes it impossible just by being in the same room.
Later that night as he’s getting ready for bed, Padmé asks him what happened to his pendant.
“Must have slipped off some time during dinner,” he tells her.
“Oh, that’s such a shame! You should call the restaurant tomorrow morning and see if they’ve found it. I know you were attached to it.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I will.” You’re such a bitch, he wants to say. But it’s not true. It’s not true and he can’t hurt her like that, not when he’s already hurting her in other ways. Ways she doesn’t even know about yet.
Yet.
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