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cadyulie · 3 years

Text

───under the influence.

summary: after a night on the town with obi-wan and your friends, he decides you’re too drunk to be left on your own.

a/n: this wasn’t supposed to be a oneshot but hey, we move? dedicated to @cadyulie obvs as she requested it. can be read in either modern au or canon. take your pick.

ONESHOT. ⟶ 3,947 WORDS.

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Obi-Wan has never been much of a willing participant when it comes to parties. He’d much rather sit curled up by the fire with a good book, in the quiet, in the dark, where he didn’t have to hold back someone’s (Anakin’s) hair while they (he) puked in the rose bushes of another person’s (Padmé’s) garden. But it was because of his clear distaste for large quantities of alcohol mixed with sweat and loud music that always landed Obi-Wan as the designated driver or guard of the drinks at the table when everyone else got up to dance.

The night had lasted dreadfully long, as they always did, and Obi-Wan had an intoxicated Anakin slouched on his arm as he tried to open the door to Padmé’s apartment outside the city, after the group had all decided on spending the night here after a round (or many rounds, most likely) of after-drinks—as if pre-drinks themselves weren’t already enough before everything they consumed tonight. Maker, give him strength.

As he had expected, Anakin flattened on the nearest couch face first as soon as the door swung open, and Ahsoka had almost peed her pants laughing as she dug her holo-recorder out of her pocket to take a slew of blurry photos. Padmé, the most sober of the bunch beside Obi-Wan (and aside from the fact that she won more drinking games than he would admit he had ever seen Hondo win), pulls Ahsoka into the kitchen, chanting “bubbles!” as she most likely was reaching for the nearest bottle of champagne or fruity wine, appropriate in this sophisticated apartment.

Obi-Wan stands inanimately in the doorway until almost being toppled over by two hands that land harshly on his shoulders, where you lean your head forward to shout, “bubbles!!” and causing Ahsoka and Padmé to cheer in reply, followed by the popping of a cork.

“Are you having a glass?” you ask Obi-Wan, almost tripping as you step around him with your hands sliding across his back.

He tries not to shiver. “No.”

Your brows furrow as you practically squint at him. “You didn’t have many drinks at the club.”

“I had to drive you all here.”

“So why not now?”

“I have to drive myself home.”

You drag your hand down his arm. “Pssh! C’mon, Obi. Have some fun.”

He can’t help but chuckle at how your words are already slurred enough on the buzz of the drinks from the club—he can only imagine how incoherent you’ll be with a few more drinks in you.

“This isn’t quite my idea of fun, but thank you for the offer.”

“And what is?” Ahsoka asks, staggering into the room to hand you a glass of bubbly that makes you coo excitedly. “Aren’t we fun?”

“Not when I have to catch Anakin from hanging off of the stair rail when he took that jello shot.”

Ahsoka laughs, almost spilling her glass as she bends over with a hand slapped down on her stomach, wheezing with tears in her eyes as she points at Anakin, who is still snoring on the couch, just to shout: “What a lightweight! He only had one!”

After all the tequila and gin he downed before, Obi-Wan thinks.

“I know you like your liquor. Why not have a nightcap?” the offer sounds tempting from your lips.

But Obi-Wan knows better. “I have places to be tomorrow.”

“Oh, Obi-Wan.” Padmé shakes her head. “Must you always be the responsible one?”

Sometimes, he wishes he wasn’t. Other times, like tonight with Anakin already knocked out and you so bright on spirits, he’s happy on keeping sober. If anything, really, to be around you when you don’t feel like everything is on your shoulders, like he so often feels, but of course too because if he were drunk, who would actually look after Anakin in this state?

“Well, do stay a while,” Padmé continues. “You’re more than welcome.”

Obi-Wan nods his head in thanks, as Padmé offers him a smile and tugs Ahsoka away from the sleeping beauty on the couch to drink out on the balcony. You follow soon after, when Obi-Wan says he will stay inside after you had asked him to sit beside you. He can tell that you wanted to poke him a bit more, just to know if he really says what he means or if he’s being polite just for the sake of being polite. In truth, though, it was more for the other’s sake.

By the time Obi-Wan starts to genuinely feel tired, everyone is already asleep. He stayed back a little later than he usually would seeing as you were so talkative and he kept getting the feeling that you didn’t want him to leave, or perhaps it was just his hopes getting the better of him. So now he tiptoes over Ahsoka’s arms sprawled out on the carpet after she had slumped off of her chair, making his way down the hallway and over to the door. He presses his hand against the frame when—

“Mother of Kwath! Who puts a damn cabinet here of all kriffing places?”

The shout was whispered, but still loud, after a thud as Obi-Wan leans on one side to peek around the corner and see you balancing (or really, wobbling) on one leg as your hands hold onto your injured foot. He tries not to make a sound but hearing those words from you about knocks him over as he chuckles heartily, seeing your head spring up and try to look for him in the dark.

“Obi-Wan?” you call out, quiet enough after that string of curses.

He waves a hand, though he’s sure you can’t really make it out. “Are you alright?”

“Ah, crikking cabinet. I banged my toe.”

It makes him chuckle again, watching how you almost lose your balance but manage to stick a landing, with the exception of slapping a hand against the wall for support. You wince at the noise, turning to face Obi-Wan who can just make out the awkward smile on your face from this distance.

“What are you doing up? I had thought you would be passed out like the others.” he says.

You stand a little straighter when you reply, “Unlike the others, I can hold my liquor.”

Obi-Wan might have been convinced by the way you said it, but he knows how you act when you drink and with how your sentence is immediately followed by a hiccup that you’re far from sober.

“And what are you doing, hmm? Leaving so soon?”

He waits a beat. “Do you know what time it is?”

You wave a hand around. “Time is a construct.”

He chuckles again, breathier this time. He’s got his foot pointed toward the door and ready to say goodbye, but you’re standing so slouched and he can tell you’re still in a bit of pain from stubbing your toe, especially when you try to move your foot and end up hissing from what Obi-Wan can only imagine is more than just a banged toe. He should really be going.

“Do you want me to look at that for you?” he points at your foot.

“Hmm? No, no, no... it’s just... throbbing, is all.”

He should really be going. “Better to make sure.”

He’s already beside you before you can get a word in, which he knows you would have bet him to if you were more focused. Kneeling down, he gently places a hand on your ankle. As soon as his skin touches yours, he hears you suck a breath in, stepping back from his hand, albeit limpish, and whacking a hand against his arm.

“Does it hurt?” Obi-Wan asks, looking up at you with worried brows.

You shake your head. “Your hands are cold...”

He smiles softly, noticing how you are looking everywhere but at him, even reaching out to play with the leaf from the potted plant in the corner. It’s almost—dare he think of the word—cute.

He lets out a breath, a quiet chuckle. “Can we try that again?”

You nod, something short of a hum almost stuck in your throat. Obi-Wan reaches out for you again, more carefully this time. He looks at your ankle for a while, though he can’t really determine how bad the injury is in the dark, let alone see much. Still, the way you’re standing the stillest he’s ever seen you stand, focusing on the leaf rather than on him, and yet its your signature that gives you away to how jittery you actually are, is what makes Obi-Wan decide not to leave it just at that. Not yet.

“You hit the cabinet pretty hard, it could be a sprain. We should put some ice on it just to be safe.”

“We?”

Obi-Wan smiles, almost a little too close to a smirk but he doubts you will notice either way, as he stands to look you in the eye. “Of course. I can’t just leave you to flounder in the dark on your own.”

“F-flounder!?” it’s such a hot word, burning off of your lips at the embarrassment. Yet, Obi-Wan’s chuckle cools it.

He can almost feel you heat up again, though, when he wraps an arm around you suddenly, getting so close that his breath fans on your face.

“What are you—?” his other hand swoops up under your legs before you can finish your sentence, and you gasp as Obi-Wan carries you in his arms. “What are you doing!?”

“You’re very loud when you’re drunk.” is all that Obi-Wan says.

He has to hold in the smirk, especially when you start stammering on words he can’t exactly make out. He probably shouldn’t love this as much as he does; having you in his arms, totally nervous. But he does. He loves it quite a bit.

He manages to carry you into the kitchen quietly enough without any injuries (you’re one hell of a thrasher) and opts, almost ridiculously, for setting you down on the counter. To his surprise, you go quiet the moment you’re sat down, looking confused but in a childish way; nose crinkled, brows furrowed, a somewhat blank expression. He can’t help but chuckle at you once again, if not for the umpteenth time tonight.

“Don’t move,” he says, though he knows he needn’t really worry.

There’s enough light from the traffic buzzing outside, even at this time of night, and also from all of the electronic gadgets set up in the room for Obi-Wan to accurately navigate himself to the freezer and whisk a hand in the ice drawer. To his luck, and his surprise, he finds it empty. So he grabs the next best thing and makes his way back over to you, kneeling on the cold, tiled floor.

As soon as it touches your skin you let out a squeak, almost about kicking Obi-Wan right in the face if he hadn’t ducked so quickly.

“Woah!” he holds his hands up. “What’s the matter?”

“That’s really cold!”

“It’ll help.”

“But it’s so cold, Obi.”

“Just try and sit still,” he ignores the nickname and reaches out for your leg again, grabbing it a little tighter than he wanted when you put up some resistance again.

But you’re quiet now and Obi-Wan loosens his grip a bit, still guiding your leg over to him so that he can place the cold packet back on your ankle and prepare for the worst. Fortunately, there’s no kick. But the silence keeps stretching out and he’s not sure if you’re upset or distracting yourself with something again.

Then. “Are those peas?”

Obi-Wan would scratch the back of his head if his hands weren’t already in use. “Ah, yes. It was the only thing I could find.”

He finds that you don’t make a noise after that, not even when you flinch at him moving the packet around your ankle. He doesn’t know what to say, even though there isn’t much to say in the first place. Yet, he wants to talk. He wants to talk to you. Perhaps he would have said a coherent sentence were it not for you speaking aloud at the same time as him, causing you both to stop, apologize over the top of one another, and then immediately go quiet again.

You’re the one to speak first, much to his surprise, yet he’s always known you to be the talkative one when you drink. “Is it sprained?”

He furrows his brows a bit. Right, he was supposed to be accessing your ankle. He presses two fingers beside the bone and when you yelp, he looks up at you. “Does that answer your question?”

You’re ever the fighter, even in this scenario. “No. Your hands are still cold.”

He grins shortly. “Yes, your ankle is sprained.”

“Kriffing hell.” you slam two palms against the kitchen counter, making an echoed slapping sound. “Fine. Your turn.”

“I’m sorry?” are you threatening him?

“Now you ask me a question.”

Oh. Obi-Wan shakes his head, letting out a chuckle of your name. “This isn’t a game.”

“Oh Obi, Obi, Obi. You never play along! C’mon. Ask me something.”

He knows where this is going. Anyone who’s ever been in this position before or read any stories with this kind of plot (wink) knows exactly where this is going, but as much as he should put up a wall, treat your ankle, and put you straight to bed, he decides he’s willing to play along, at least for tonight.

“When was the last time you drank a glass of water?” he asks, earning a frown from you that’s ever the daring word again. “I would like to know.”

“You’re not making this very fun.”

“I promise I will be nothing but fun when you answer my question.”

You squint your eyes at him, leaning forward on the counter to look at him at eyeline, then hold up your pinky, gesturing to the finger with a nod of your head. “Otherwise it doesn’t matter.”

You have Obi-Wan smiling again, it seems to be your winning hand against him. He reaches forward to wrap his pinky around yours. “I promise on my pinky.”

“Okay,” you chuckle. “here’s my question... have you ever made a pinky promise before?”

“Of course I have. I did just then.”

Somehow that’s the funniest thing in the world to you and you’re tilting your head back with a laugh that bounces off of the roof and across the tiled floor. Obi-Wan would have told you to quiet down but he doubts anyone is awake right now.

“I knew it!” the words are slightly slurred. “No one says I promise on my pinky.”

“That’s so you know I’m being sincere.” he shakes his head. “Now come on, you haven’t answered my question.”

You purse your lips out, acting like a frown but he can tell it’s because you’re thinking it over. “I don’t know...”

“Let’s get you some water, then.”

When Obi-Wan stands up, your hand reaches forward and grabs hold of his sleeve. “No, Obi! This isn’t truth or dare.”

How many of these games have you played? “How about this, if you have a glass of water, I promise on my pinky that I have to answer any question you put to me. Deal?”

It doesn’t take you long to shout, “Deal!”

You sit there happily, swinging your legs back and forth and occasionally hitting the cabinet under the counter you’re sat on, while Obi-Wan pours you a glass of water from the filtered tap on the sink. He can hear the thud, thud, thud of you heels against the wood as he turns the tap off, turning back around to you and watching with glee how you reach out to take the glass from his hand with a beaming smile on your face.

He’s never seen you quite this content before, especially over something as mundane as a glass of water, but he knows it’s not the drink you’re happy for, it’s whatever question you’re deciding on in your head for him to answer. He’s hoping that due to your drunken state you won’t ask him too many intimate questions, or at least forget his answers by the time you’re sober.

He stands there with a growing smile on his face as you drink from the glass, breathing heavily between each gulp like a child does. He watches you pause for a moment, flash him another beaming smile, and finish the rest of the glass.

“Very good,” he says, putting the empty glass in the sink.

You wipe the back of your hand across your mouth in an effort to dry your lips, then place your hands in your lap with a content sigh. “If you didn’t have to drive... would you drink?”

He might as well be honest. “Yes.”

“Have you ever been drunk?”

“Yes.” he crosses his arms, leaning back against the counter adjacent to the one you’re sat on.

“Ooh, what kind of a drunk are you?”

It’s amazing to him to see your eyes light up in the darkened kitchen, sparkling with glee. “What kinds are there?”

He knows the answer. Hell, he’s seen the answer. But he wants to hear your list of drunken individuals regardless.

“Well, there’s the party drunk... y’know, who dances and sings like a hawk. Or the sloppy drunk... like Anakin. Or perhaps,” you squint at him with your lips upturned comically. “The flirty drunk?”

He presses his tongue to the back of his upper teeth, watching how you wiggle your eyebrows at him playfully. And that’s what makes him decide to keep this going. After all, if you end up falling asleep later, you probably won’t remember a thing. Why not have some fun?

“Yes.” he says, making sure it’s as blunt as he can make it sound.

Your mouth gapes. Bingo.

“Really?” you ask, staring at him. He nods his head. “What! Well, that’s not fair, is it?”

“What do you mean, darling?”

Before he said that, your legs were still occasionally swinging off of the counter. Now, they’ve stopped dead in their tracks. He lets out a breathy laugh, pushing himself off of the counter he was leaning on and slowly steps over to you. He can see your shoulders lean back, but he knows you’re not scared. You’re nervous, and it’s starting to dawn on him that Obi-Wan likes it when you’re nervous around him.

He places both hands beside you on the kitchen counter, right beside your legs, and leans in close enough to hear you suck a breath in. “You’re far better at hiding your emotions when you’re sober, darling.”

You simply blink at him, it’s actually surprising as no matter what would be thrown at you, you talk when you’re drunk. Now you’re silent and Obi-Wan grins to himself. With your own liquid courage to ask him such a question, he feels as if he’s got all the courage in the galaxy to tease you like this.

When you remain silent still, he leans just that bit closer to touch his nose against yours, causing you to suppress your gasp with a tight press of your lips. He tilts just slightly, just enough to move against your skin, and watches as your eyes flutter closed and promptly lean closer to him, awaiting the kiss he’s so devilish to keep you waiting on.

But then there’s a thud that startles your eyes open, a sound that slaps on the tiled floor, and Obi-Wan pulls back just enough to see that the packet of peas have slipped off of your ankle and hit the floor. Was that disruption enough to bring him back to his senses? He can feel your eyes on him as he stares down at those packed peas, and then he backs away from you and grabs it before it can leave a puddle.

He shifts the weight in both his hands before saying, “I need to put this back in the freezer.”

He can almost feel the slap you send him with your eyes, knowing that drunk or not, that was a pretty low move. He won’t ever admit, though, that he backed away in shyness. After grabbing a different packet of frozen vegetables, he wraps it in a tea towel near the sink, then helps you off of the counter by wrapping an arm around you and slowly guiding you to stand.

You’ve gone quiet again and so has he, though he knows the reason for this silence. He helps lead you back to one of the spare bedrooms Padmé had graciously let you sleep in for the night—he’s sure he’s seen you take this room each time you sleep here that you most likely have mentally claimed it as your own, and he’s sure Padme has let you do so. It’s becoming apparent, with Obi-Wan knowing this one fact, that he spends an awful lot of time with you all when you go clubbing.

When you’re settled beneath the sheets with a frozen packet of mixed vegetables rested on your ankle and the tea towel underneath, Obi-Wan pats his hands along the blankets to make sure that you’re properly tucked in. Not that he was keeping you from walking around in the dark again... or maybe he was, but he’s hoping you’re not going to pick up on it.

But just in case. “Keep off your ankle for a while, I’d say a couple days, and don’t go wandering in the dark anytime soon. You never know where a cabinet might be.”

Good, that made you chuckle. With the chances so high of you not remembering any of this—or at least the memory being foggy—Obi-Wan can rest easy knowing that you won’t hold a grudge against him for the kiss he had held back from.

“Obi-Wan?” you speak, when he was about to step away. “Why didn’t you kiss me?”

You caught him. He lets out a breath, smiling at you softly and arching his brows up in the way he does when he feels as if he needs permission for something. “Was I supposed to?”

He can see you shrug your shoulders underneath the blankets, about as unsure as he is.

“Did you want to?” you follow up, eyes intent on him. Before he can say a word, you lift a finger. It’s your pinky. “You promised.”

Obi-Wan can’t help the smile that breaks along his cheeks. Of course he had. I have to answer any question you put to me, is what he had said. For the most part he was honest, not just in his answers but in the way he acted around you tonight—the daring touches he usually would avoid, the kiss... he wanted to. Maker, he really wanted to.

He’ll opt for what he can have. So, he brushes his fingers gently across your brow, leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, and whispers, “Yes.”

He can’t see your smile from beneath the blankets but he can see how it reaches your eyes. You close them, snuggling deeper into the bed as if it you were sinking into the mattress.

“I won’t tell anyone,” you say softly. “Promise.”

There’s your pinky again, extended as far as you’re willing since he’s sure you’re nice and warm under the blankets. He doesn’t even hesitate to wrap his pinky around yours, softly brushing his fingers along your palm with how your hands are held.

“You have to say it the right way for me to believe you.” he teases.

Despite the sleepiness, your voice floats out from under the covers: “I promise on my pinky.”

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