y/n y/l/n has an annoyingly good looking neighbor that also goes to the same university as her, yet as many times as she tried to talk to him, he blocks her away. but she doesn't give up to make him smile.
but now even himself, he is confused why he was starting to smile more around her.
part one: neighbor
After the coffee, something shifted. Not all at once. Not dramatically. It happened in small, almost invisible ways. Peter wasn’t the type to text first, ask someone to hang out, or suddenly become outgoing. That version of him had disappeared years ago. His days belonged to Spider-Man now, patrolling rooftops until sunrise, attending lectures half-asleep, squeezing in homework whenever he could. Peter Parker had become whatever time remained after everyone else had gotten their share.
There wasn’t much left. Yet somehow, without meaning to, he found himself saving a little of it for Y/N.
It started with the stairwell.
He’d run into her on his way towards his apartment, usually carrying groceries or balancing three psychology textbooks against her hip. What began as a quick “Hey,” somehow turned into ten-minute conversations.
Then twenty.
Eventually, they stopped standing altogether. Instead, they’d climb onto the fire escape outside her apartment, legs dangling over the metal platform while the city buzzed beneath them. Sometimes Y/N would bring out a bowl of pasta she’d cooked, insisting there was always too much for one person. Peter always argued. “I already ate.”
“You had instant ramen.”
“…I already ate.”
She’d shove the container into his hands anyway. “That’s not food, Peter.”
“It literally is.”
“It literally shouldn’t count.”
He’d sigh in defeat and take a bite. “…Needs salt.”
She’d gasp dramatically. “You’re unbelievable.”
“It’s underseasoned.”
“It’s rustic.”
“It’s bland.”
“It’s Italian.”
“I don’t think Italy would claim this.”
She’d throw a napkin at him. Other evenings, she’d brew tea instead. Peter still refused coffee with an almost suspicious level of commitment. “I don’t trust people who willingly drink something that tastes burnt.”
Y/N stared at him. “…You lack of sleep.”
“Correct.”
“But coffee is where you draw the line? For getting a BIT of energy”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“I know.”
The conversations usually revolved around university. Professor Banner’s impossible assignments. The latest campus gossip. Someone who accidentally set off the chemistry lab’s fire alarm.
Y/N always had stories. Peter preferred listening. It was easier that way.
Listening didn’t require him to reveal the parts of himself he kept stitched together. It didn’t force him to answer questions about where he’d been the night before, why he looked exhausted, or why his hands were always covered in tiny cuts that somehow appeared overnight.
Talking meant opening doors. Listening allowed him to keep them closed.
Y/N never seemed to mind.
She filled every silence naturally, hopping from one topic to another without expecting him to match her energy. She’d tell him about the old woman on the third floor who insisted pigeons were government spies. About the neighbor who sold homemade honey from tiny glass jars. About a philosophy student who spent twenty minutes arguing that cereal technically qualified as soup.
Peter rarely contributed more than a sentence. Sometimes just a word. Yet she never stopped talking.
And strangely he liked that.
There were days when she’d knock on his apartment door carrying an empty bowl. “Do you have flour?”
“…Yes.”
“Can I borrow some?” He’d hand her the bag.
The next morning she’d return it. Completely full.
“…You bought a new bag.”
“I panicked.”
“…Why?”
“I used your flour.”
“That’s… why I gave it to you.”
“…yea.”
There were other excuses. “Does your bathroom still have hot water?” Y/N asked.
“Yes.”
“Mine doesn’t.”
“It does.”
“…I know.”
“…Do you still want to come in?”
She smiled sheepishly. “…Maybe.”
Peter stepped aside. “Five minutes.” It was never five minutes. Sometimes she’d wander around his apartment while talking about a documentary she’d watched, opening the fridge without asking. “…Peter.”
“What?”
“You have ketchup.”
“Yeah.”
“And…”
“Yeah.”
“…That’s your entire fridge.”
He looked over from the textbook he was pretending to read. “…There’s baking soda.”
She blinked. “…You’re impossible.”
Little white lies. Little excuses. Neither of them ever acknowledged them. Peter knew she wasn’t actually out of flour half the time. Y/N knew his water wasn’t magically different from everyone else’s. Still, they played along. It became their language.
Even then, there was always something just out of reach. Peter laughed more now. Not often. But enough that Y/N noticed. His sarcasm came easier. His replies grew a little longer than a single word. Sometimes she’d even catch him smiling before he realized he was doing it.
And then just as quickly the walls would return. It changed like day and night of how often he turned to be cold and not there.
She’d ask him what his favorite color was.
“…Blue.”
“What kind of blue?”
“…Blue.”
She’d laugh. “Okay… what’s your favorite movie?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve never watched a movie?”
“I have.”
“So?”
“…I don’t know.”
“What made you choose biophysics?”
“It made sense.”
“What do you do when you’re not studying?”
He’d hesitate. “…Walk.”
That answer never felt true. Y/N could always feel it. There was a distance in him that had nothing to do with shyness. It was deliberate. Like every answer was carefully measured before he spoke, giving away only enough to keep a conversation alive, but never enough for someone to truly know him. Sometimes she’d catch him staring out across the rooftops while she talked, his attention drifting somewhere she couldn’t follow.
As if part of him was always listening for something else. Always ready to leave. She wanted to know him. Not the quiet boy who drank tea instead of coffee and survived almost entirely on ramen.
The real Peter.
She wanted to know why he always looked exhausted. Why his knuckles were constantly scraped. Why he smiled like it was something he’d forgotten how to do. Most of all, she wanted to know what had happened to him that made someone so young carry himself like he’d already lived an entire lifetime.
Peter wanted to tell her.
Sometimes, he almost did.
There were moments, usually when they sat on the fire escape with the city glowing beneath them and Y/N was halfway through another story— that he felt an ache in his chest. An almost desperate need to let someone in. To admit that he was tired. That some mornings getting out of bed felt harder than fighting whatever villain happened to be waiting for him.
To have someone catch him before he fell.
But almost was as close as he ever allowed himself to get because almost couldn’t get anyone hurt.
Lately, something about it had started to feel unfair. Y/N was always the one carrying the conversation. She offered pieces of herself so effortlessly— stories from childhood, embarrassing moments in class, opinions about movies, books she loved, songs she couldn’t stop replaying on her iPod.
She made herself known.
Peter listened. He answered when spoken to. Occasionally he’d throw in a sarcastic remark that earned a laugh from her, but the conversation always drifted back toward Y/N because she was the only one willing to let someone look beneath the surface.
She had warned him from the very beginning. “I can talk for two people.”
Back then, he’d been grateful for it. Now he wondered if she’d gotten tired. Talking for two people sounded easy in theory.
In reality, it was exhausting.
Conversation wasn’t meant to be carried by one person forever.
Sometimes, he’d catch the brief disappointment that crossed her face after another one-word answer. She always recovered quickly, changing the subject before the silence became awkward, pretending she hadn’t expected more in the first place.
But Peter noticed. He noticed everything. He just never knew how to fix it.
One evening, Y/N left the university library long after sunset. Exam season had swallowed nearly everyone on campus whole. Her backpack was stuffed so full it barely zipped shut, while two thick psychology textbooks of Erikson or Piaget rested precariously in her arms, forcing her to tilt her chin slightly just to see where she was walking.
She’d practically been living in the library for the past week.
Coffee cups littered every surface of her apartment. Highlighters had started appearing in places they shouldn’t. She’d even begun wearing her glasses more often— not only because they genuinely helped after staring at textbooks for hours, but because they made her feel like she had her life together.
She absolutely did not. The subway had been suspended because of a signal failure, leaving hundreds of annoyed New Yorkers spilling onto the sidewalks. So… she walked. From block to block.
An old iPod rested in her jacket pocket, headphones tucked beneath her hair as music filled her ears. Y/N adored physical media. Records. CDs. Books with folded pages. An iPod packed with albums she’d spent years collecting.
She liked owning things.
Liked the comforting weight of something real in her hands instead of watching it disappear onto a cloud somewhere. Tonight’s soundtrack drowned out most of the city.
Car horns. Sirens. Footsteps.
She barely noticed any of it. Which meant she didn’t notice the man who had been walking behind her for nearly two blocks. At first, he simply matched her pace. Then he started walking faster. Y/N turned the corner toward her apartment building, hugging the books closer against her chest. The footsteps behind her sped up. Before she had time to register what was happening a hand landed against the small of her back.
Warm.
Uninvited. “Hey there, beautiful,” the stranger said with an easy, self-satisfied grin. “Why’re you walking so fast?”
Y/N flinched violently. She lurched away from his touch so quickly that one of the books nearly slipped from her arms. “What the—” She tightened her grip on the stack, her heartbeat instantly spiking. “…Why are you so touchy?” she asked, forcing sarcasm into her voice despite the panic already creeping into it.
The man laughed. “C’mon, I’m just being friendly.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
He stepped closer anyway. “You don’t gotta be so cold.”
Y/N instinctively took another step back. There it was. That familiar feeling. The one every woman knew far too well. The quick calculation running through her mind. How many people are around? Is anyone actually paying attention? How far is my apartment? If I start running, will he follow? Her fingers tightened around the books until they hurt. She tried to smile politely. The smile women learned to wear when they wanted a situation to end without making it worse.
“I’ve… got somewhere to be.”
“So do I,” he replied with another grin.
“But I can walk you.”
“No, thanks.”
“I insist.”
“I don’t.”
The man didn’t take the hint. He took another step. Then another. Y/N matched each one with a step backward, clutching her books so tightly the edges dug into her forearms. “I said I’m fine,” she repeated, forcing her voice to stay steady.
“You don’t gotta act scared.”
“I’m not acting.”
His grin widened. “See? You’ve got jokes.”
“I don’t know you.”
“You could.”
“I don’t want to.” For a brief second, silence settled between them. Y/N thought maybe he’d finally gotten the message. Instead, his hand reached toward her again. This time, for her wrist.
Instinct took over. She jerked away, the movement throwing one of her textbooks onto the sidewalk with a heavy thud. Pages fanned open across the concrete.
“Oh, come on,” he scoffed. “Why are you making this difficult?”
“I said don’t touch me.”
A few people passed by on the opposite side of the street. No one slowed down. No one looked over. New York had mastered the art of pretending not to see. The stranger sighed dramatically, as if she was inconveniencing him. “I was just trying to be nice.”
“I don’t care.”
“You’ve got an attitude.”
“And you’ve got five seconds to leave me alone.”
He laughed. “Or what?” He reached for her again.
A sharp thwip echoed through the street. White webbing wrapped itself around his wrist before he could touch her. “What the—”
The web yanked backward with enough force to spin him around. Another strand shot out, sticking him cleanly against the brick wall beside the alley. “What is—HEY!” His feet kicked uselessly against the pavement. “You can’t do this!”
A familiar red-and-blue figure dropped soundlessly from the rooftop above. Spider-Man landed between them in a low crouch before standing to his full height. His mask turned toward Y/N first.
“You okay?”
She blinked. Her breathing was uneven. “…Spider-Man?”
He gave a small nod. Then he looked at the man glued to the wall. “So…” Spider-Man said conversationally, tilting his head. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here.”
The man struggled against the webbing. “This is a misunderstanding!”
Spider-Man ignored him. “I’m pretty sure…” he continued, “…when someone says ‘don’t touch me’…” He paused dramatically. “…the correct response is…” Another pause. “…not touching them.”
The man rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, I wasn’t doing anything.”
Spider-Man looked at him for a long second. Then back at Y/N. Then back again. “…Interesting defense.”
“I was talking to her.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I was being friendly.”
Spider-Man nodded slowly. “Right.” Another beat. “Quick question.”
“What?”
“Did she look like she wanted to talk to you?”
The man opened his mouth. Closed it. “…No.”
“There it is.” Spider-Man clapped his hands together once. “We’re making progress.”
Y/N couldn’t help it. Despite the adrenaline still rushing through her body…a tiny laugh escaped her.
He crouched to pick up the scattered books, carefully stacking them back together before brushing dirt from the covers.
“You carry all these every day?”
“I have three exams next week.”
“…That somehow sounds scarier than my job.”
She smiled—a small, tired smile this time. “Thank you.”
He handed the books back to her. Their fingers almost touched. Almost. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do.”
“You really don’t.”
“I really do.”
For a second, neither of them spoke. The city noise seemed farther away. Spider-Man shifted awkwardly. “You should let me walk you home.”
Y/N looked up at him. “Is it okay for you?”
“I was… heading that direction anyway.” It was a terrible lie.
She smiled faintly. “Okay.”
He stayed half a step behind her as they walked the remaining blocks in silence, keeping an eye on the street rather than on her. Y/N stole a glance at him every now and then.
Something about him felt familiar. Not his voice—it was lower than she expected. Not his height. Just the way he walked. The slight slump in his shoulders. The habit of flexing his scraped knuckles every few minutes, as if they were sore. It tugged at something in the back of her mind. Obviously he got her limes before when she wanted to reach for Peter, but she could barely remember anything, she remembers the conversations though.
Before she could place it, they reached her apartment building.
“There you are,” Spider-Man said, stopping at the entrance.
Y/N adjusted the books in her arms. “So…”
“So.”
“Thanks again.”
He gave a small nod. “Get inside.”
She smiled. “You sound exactly like my—” She stopped herself.
Spider-Man’s head tilted. “…Like your what?”
Y/N blinked. “…Nothing.”
For the briefest moment, Peter’s heart skipped. Then she smiled again, waved, and disappeared through the apartment door. Only after the light in the hallway flickered on did Spider-Man finally allow himself to breathe.
He walked towards his apartment in silence. Every step felt heavier than the last. The image refused to leave his mind. That man's hand against the small of Y/N's back.mThe way she'd instinctively flinched. The fear hidden behind the sarcasm in her voice.
The smile she'd forced because she didn't know whether saying no would make the situation worse.
His jaw tightened beneath the mask. No one should ever make her feel like that. No one. The thought came so instinctively that it startled him.
No one gets to hurt her.
His grip around the wooden railing tightened and there it was again. The same dangerous line he'd crossed before. The same instinct that had cost him everyone he'd ever loved. The more people mattered the more they became targets.
It had happened to Aunt May.
To MJ.
To Ned.
To everyone who had ever gotten too close to Peter Parker. He couldn't let it happen again. Not with Y/N.
She was too kind. Too bright. Too unapologetically alive. The world had already taken enough from people like her. It didn't deserve another chance and neither did he.
It only took him a few minutes to his apartment. The suit landed in the laundry basket with a dull thud. His mask followed. A hoodie. Sweatpants.
For the first time all evening, he finally looked like Peter Parker again. He rubbed both hands over his face, exhaustion settling into every muscle. Sleep. That was probably what he needed. Instead, he crossed the apartment and pushed open the window. Cool evening air drifted inside. The city stretched endlessly before him, lights glowing against the darkness like scattered stars.
He rested his forearms against the windowsill. His eyes drifted downward. Y/N sat alone on the fire escape one floor above his, knees tucked close to her chest, both hands wrapped around a steaming mug. Her headphones weren't in. No music played.
She was simply sitting, looking out over New York. Yet quietly.
Peter had never seen her quiet before.
It looked wrong like watching the sun forget how to shine. He stayed where he was for a long moment. He could almost imagine what she was thinking. Replaying the stranger's face. Wondering what would've happened if Spider-Man hadn't shown up or what would happen to her. Peter swallowed. Before he could think himself out of it, he climbed onto the fire escape.
One careful step. Then another. He descended to her level until he stopped beside the railing. The metal creaked softly beneath his weight. Y/N turned her head. She flinched only for a heartbeat. Her fingers tightened around the mug before she recognized him. The tension melted from her shoulders. A tired smile appeared instead. "Hello, neighbor.“ Her voice was quieter than usual. "I haven't seen you in a while."
Peter looked at her. Something twisted painfully in his chest. "I've been... kind of busy."
She nodded, taking a slow sip from her tea. "I hope it had something to do with university."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "...Something like that."
The wind drifted between the buildings, lifting loose strands of her hair. She shifted a little, patting the empty space beside her. “Wanna join me?“ She lifted her mug slightly. "It's kind of the perfect night for tea."
Peter looked at the empty spot. His mind immediately split into two voices. Don’t and Leave. This is how it starts. You're getting attached.
His feet didn't move because there was another voice now. One he hadn't heard in years. Stay.
He realized that was why he'd come out here in the first place. Not only to check on her. Not entirely. He just hadn't wanted her to sit alone tonight. "...Sure," he said quietly. Then, almost as an afterthought— "As long as it isn't coffee."
That earned him the smallest laugh. "There it is," Y/N smiled. "I was wondering how long it'd take you to bring coffee into the conversation."
"You have a habit of making everything about coffee."
"I am a psychology student during exam season.“ She looked at him as if that explained everything. "It would actually be concerning if I wasn't talking about coffee."
Peter lowered himself beside her, leaving just enough space between them that their shoulders wouldn't touch. The fire escape groaned beneath their combined weight. He glanced at the mug in her hands.
"So..."
She held it out toward him. "It's chamomile."
He looked suspicious. "Are you sure?"
Y/N laughed. "Peter."
"What?"
"You think I'm secretly trying to convert you."
"I wouldn't put it past you."
She gasped dramatically. "I would never betray tea like that."
A small chuckle escaped him.
Y/N looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "There it is again."
He frowned. "What?"
"The laugh."
"I didn't laugh."
"You absolutely did."
"I exhaled."
"That was not an exhale."
"It was."
"It had joy in it.“ Peter looked away toward the skyline, unsuccessfully hiding the smile threatening to appear. "I think you're hearing things."
"I'm not."
She leaned back against the railing with a satisfied grin. "I knew you had one."
"...One what?"
"A sense of humor."
Peter shook his head. "I think you're confusing sarcasm with personality."
Y/N smiled into her tea. „Maybe." She glanced at him again. "...I still like it."
<3 hi there spiders! todays my birthday so my gift for you is this little chapter <3
▶︎ y/n y/l/n has an annoyingly good looking neighbor that also goes to the same university as her, yet as many times as she tried to talk to him, he blocks her away. but she doesn't give up to make him smile.
Living in New York City while actually attending university was nothing like the glossy film strips shown in movie theaters, the kind where everything looks soft, golden, and effortlessly romantic. There was no affordable, sunlit apartment with reliable hot water, no lazy weekends spent at some vintage café eating overpriced brunch while laughing about last night’s hookups. That version of New York barely existed. Maybe it did, but not here.
The reality was harsher, sharper around the edges. It was survival dressed up as ambition. You either smiled tightly and said, “I love it here,” even after nearly getting mugged on your way home, or you admitted quietly, reluctantly that the city was chewing you up. There was no in-between. That was New York.
Y/N had been living here for five years now. Five years of crowded subways, dinners, and conversations with self-proclaimed “real New Yorkers” who never failed to remind her: “You’re not a New Yorker. Five years? That’s nothing. You have no idea—”
She had heard it all.
Still, she liked it here. Not in the romanticized way people imagined, but in a stubborn, grounded way. It was better than the small town she came from: different, louder, more unforgiving, but alive in a way that place had never been.
She moved to the city to study psychology, picking up a few photography courses on the side because it was the only creative outlet she could realistically afford. At university, she found her way into conversations easily, slipping into discussions about music or movies, just enough to secure a spot during trivia nights or group hangouts. She was a people person, the kind who wasn’t afraid to walk into a room and make herself known. Not by shouting, necessarily but she could. If she had to.
More often, it was her energy. The easy smile, the willingness to debate something trivial like whether autumn was actually the best season or completely overrated for a vibe that lasted, at best, four weeks.
But there was one person who didn’t seem impressed by any of that.
Peter Parker.
Her neighbor. One floor below.
Y/N had first met him when she went to pick up a package he had signed for three days earlier. At the time, she thought he was ridiculously cute. Curly brown hair, freckles scattered across his nose like constellations, the kind of face that made you do a double take. Cute. Or hot. Honestly, it depended on the angle.
“You have my package!” Y/N said brightly, standing in the hallway in an oversized Ferris Bueller’s Day Off T-shirt.
Peter barely opened the door, peering at her with an exhausted expression. “I do?”
“Well, I got the email saying you picked it up… three days ago,” she replied, still smiling.
He stared at her for a second, then turned without another word, disappearing back into his apartment. Y/N leaned ever so slightly, curiosity getting the better of her as she tried to glance inside but before she could make out anything, Peter reappeared, holding the box out to her.
“Here.”
She flinched a little, startled, before laughing it off. “Ah—great! Thanks. I’m Y/N, by the way. Your neighbor. Upstairs.”
Peter nodded once. “Cool.”
“Cool,” she echoed awkwardly, adjusting her grip on the package. Her eyes dropped to his hoodie, catching the familiar university logo. Her face lit up. “Empire State? I go there too!”
Peter pressed his lips together, like he was debating whether to respond at all.
He hadn’t always been like this.
There was a time when Peter Parker was easy to talk to, when he carried a kind of warmth that naturally drew people in. He used to laugh more, speak faster, ramble about things he loved—Star Wars, half-baked theories about shows he watched with Ned, little details that made him feel… alive.
That version of him felt like a different person now.
Ever since his life had been rewritten, since the spell that made the world forget who he was—being Peter Parker felt… distant. Like trying to wear a name that no longer fit. He moved through life quietly, carefully, as if any misstep might remind the universe he wasn’t supposed to exist like this.
Spider-Man, though… that was different.
Spider-Man had purpose.
In the years after everything changed, he built himself into something the city could rely on. When chaos broke out, he was there. When danger surfaced, he faced it head-on. He had been there during the uprising against Fisk, there when the streets turned volatile, there every time New York needed someone to step in.
The city knew Spider-Man.
But Peter Parker?
Peter Parker could barely hold a conversation that lasted two minutes. Standing in that hallway, looking at Y/N—bright, open, so effortlessly present, he felt that familiar disconnect settle in his chest.
“Yeah,” he said finally, voice flat. “I know’’
Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. She let out a small laugh, a little too quick, a little too hopeful, brushing a hand through her hair. “Really?—I mean, how come you never talk t—”
Peter pointed down at her feet. “You wear their socks.”
Y/N blinked. Then she looked down. Bright yellow socks. Empire State University logo. Slightly mismatched, one stretched more than the other. She nodded slowly, like she was processing devastating news. “Right.” A beat passed. “Well,” she said, lifting her head again, forcing a smile back onto her face, “in my defense, they were free.”
Peter leaned against the doorframe, completely unmoved. “Yeah. That tracks.”
She squinted at him. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he said flatly, “you look like someone who’d get excited over free socks.”
Y/N placed a hand over her chest, mock-offended. “Wow. Okay. First of all, I do get excited over free things. That’s just financially responsible.”
“Sure.”
“And second of all,” she continued, gesturing between them, “this is the longest conversation we’ve ever had, and you’re using it to bully me.”
“I’m not bullying you,” Peter said. “I’m observing.”
“Observing?” she echoed.
“Yeah.”
“Like a scientist?”
He shrugged. “More like… someone stuck in a hallway.”
Y/N stared at him, then let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’ve been told worse.”
“I’m sure you have,” she shot back, shifting the package in her arms. “Do you always talk like this, or am I just lucky?”
“You’re lucky.”
“Wow,” she deadpanned. “I feel honored.” Another pause settled between them but this one felt different. Less awkward. Almost… intentional. Y/N rocked slightly on her heels, glancing past him into his apartment again before catching herself. “So… you knew I go to Empire State because of my socks.”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve just… never said anything.”
“No.”
“Not even like a ‘hey, same university’ kind of thing?”
Peter shook his head once. “Didn’t seem necessary.”
She let out an incredulous laugh. “You are so weird.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Yeah.”
Y/N studied him for a second, really looked at him this time. The tired eyes, the way he held himself like he was halfway out the door even when he was standing still. Then she smiled again. Softer now, but just as stubborn. “Well,” she said, adjusting her grip on the box, “I talk enough for two people, so I think this could work.”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “This?”
“Yeah. This whole… neighbor situation.”
“We already are neighbors.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t.”
She sighed dramatically. “Of course you don’t.”
Peter pushed himself off the doorframe slightly, already inching back toward the safety of his apartment. “Anything else?”
Y/N glanced down at her package, then back at him. “…No.”
“Cool.”
“But,” she added quickly, stepping back before he could close the door, “I’ll probably see you around. Since, you know—same building, same school, same free sock community.”
Peter stared at her. “…Okay.”
She grinned. “Okay—- bye!” Y/N said quickly, turning on her heel and speed-walking down the hallway like she hadn’t just completely embarrassed herself.
Peter watched her go for a second. Then quietly shut the door. “…Free socks,” he muttered to himself.
After that interaction five years ago, it never really changed. Not in the way people expected things to change. There was no slow-burn friendship, no sudden deep conversations at 2 a.m., no “we actually got close over time” kind of story. It stayed exactly what it had been in that in ESU’s hallway: slightly awkward, weirdly consistent, and entirely one-sided in terms of enthusiasm.
Y/N would spot him during the week, usually when he was clearly in a rush and immediately latch on. “Peter!”
He wouldn’t stop walking.
She would for approximately half a second. Then she’d jog after him. “So—how’s life?” she’d ask, falling into step beside him like she had every right to be there.
“Fine.”
“Cool, cool, cool. That’s great. Love that for you. Hey—do you like 70s bands?”
“No.”
“You don’t even know which ones I’m talking about.”
“I do.”
She ignored that. “Trivia night. Thursday. You should come.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to.”
“Okay, but like—emotionally, or—”
“Physically.”
She huffed, walking backwards in front of him now. “You’re no fun.”
“Yeah I heard that.”
“Yeah, I can imagine,” she muttered, then brightened again instantly. “Anyway, I’ll save you a seat.”
“Don’t.”
She pointed at him. “Too late.” And just like that, she’d disappear into a classroom, leaving Peter standing there for half a second longer than necessary before continuing on like nothing happened.
Then there were the days he didn’t show up at all. No hallway sightings. No late-night footsteps. No door opening, no dry one-word responses. Y/N would notice. She told herself she didn’t.
“He’s probably just busy,” she’d say casually to whoever was around. Or, “Maybe he’s on vacation.” Which, realistically, didn’t make sense. Peter Parker didn’t seem like the vacation type. He barely seemed like the take a break type. Still, she never asked.
And then he’d reappear like nothing happened. Same hoodie. Same tired eyes. Same “cool.”
Sometimes, their interactions were… different. Like the nights Y/N came home drunk. The stairwell light would flicker, her steps uneven, one hand dragging along the wall for balance as she muttered to herself about something that made perfect sense in her head. “…and I told her, autumn is overrated—like, yeah, the leaves are pretty, but it’s basically just—just dying, you know? It’s like aesthetic decay—”
Her foot would miss a step and before gravity could fully commit—a hand would catch her arm.
Steady. Firm. She’d blink up, trying to focus. “…Neighbor?”
He stood there with a laundry basket tucked against his hip, looking down at her like this was, at best, mildly inconvenient. “You’re gonna fall,” he said.
“I’m not—” she swayed. “I’m fine. Besides— that was super superheroing”
“You’re not.” He grimaces. ,,supeheroing is not even a word’
,,It is now’ She squinted at him, then smiled suddenly, wide and unfiltered. “You’re, like… really good at catching people.”
“Yeah.”
“You do that often?”
“More than I’d like.”
“That’s kinda hot.”
Peter didn’t react at all. He just adjusted his grip on the laundry basket. “You have your keys?”
Y/N frowned like this was a deeply philosophical question. “…Probably.”
“Find them.”
She dug into her bag with the intensity of someone searching for buried treasure. “If I don’t have them, can I just—like—sleep in the hallway?”
“No.”
“Your place?”
“No.”
“Wow,” she said, pulling out her keys triumphantly. “You’re so mean to me.”
“You’re drunk.”
“And?”
“And you’ll forget this tomorrow.”
She gasped softly. “I never forget emotional moments.”
“This isn’t one.”
She stared at him for a second, then leaned in slightly, lowering her voice like she was about to reveal something important. “I think you secretly like me.”
“I don’t.”
She nodded slowly, completely unconvinced. “Yeah. That sounds fake.”
Peter guided her toward her apartment door, letting go only once she was steady enough to stand on her own.
“Get inside,” he said.
She fumbled with the lock, then paused, looking back at him over her shoulder. “You’re a good guy, you know that, neighbor?”
He didn’t answer. Just stood there, laundry basket in hand, waiting. She smiled at him one last time before pushing the door open and stumbling inside. ,,Byeeeeeee thank’s for saving me’ The door shut.
Peter stayed there for a moment longer than necessary. Then he exhaled quietly, shifted the laundry basket, and continued up the stairs like it hadn’t meant anything at all. It wasn’t that he was trying to avoid her specifically. He avoided everyone. Keeping attention away from himself had become second nature, something rooted in fear more than preference. He couldn’t risk losing more people. He couldn’t allow anyone into his life who might end up being threatened because of his other persona.
Y/N, though… she seemed like a genuinely nice person.
He often overheard her in the hallway, chatting easily with neighbors he didn’t even realize existed. Apparently, someone in the building sold homemade honey in jars, something he only learned because Y/N had spent ten minutes enthusiastically discussing it outside his door one afternoon.
To him, she was… bright. Outgoing in a way that felt effortless. Like she carried a drop of sunshine inside her, something that made the run-down, slightly miserable apartment complex feel a little less like hell.
He used to be like that.
Sometimes, he missed that version of himself and because of that, he kept his distance even more. He didn’t want what happened to him to happen to her.
On a Friday night, Y/N threw a party in her apartment.
It wasn’t anything extravagant, she just needed to blow off some steam before exam season hit everyone like a truck. She invited a mix of people from campus, including her good friend Alice, who happened to share a module with Peter.
“Wait—you know Peter?” Y/N asked, sipping from a red plastic cup as she leaned against the kitchen counter.
The apartment was crowded but comfortable, packed with around thirty people. Alternative rock hummed through the speakers, blending with laughter and overlapping conversations. The lights were dim, casting everything in a warm, hazy glow, and the air smelled faintly of cheap alcohol and someone’s overly strong perfume.
Alice smiled slightly, her blonde hair catching the low light. “Yeah… I mean, kind of. He’s rarely in Professor Banner’s lectures, but when he is, he’s…” She paused, searching for the right word. “Distant. But we sort of understand each other.”
Y/N choked on her drink. “My neighbor can talk?” she coughed, eyes widening.
Alice blinked, then nodded slowly. “Yeah… I mean—sometimes. Everyone talks.”
“Not my neighbor,” Y/N muttered, grimacing as she set her cup down.
Alice let out a small laugh. “Why do you even call him ‘neighbor’?”
Y/N shrugged, completely unapologetic. “I like giving people nicknames.”
Alice raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a nickname. That’s just… what he is.”
Y/N pointed at her. “Exactly. It’s ironic.”
“…That’s not how irony works.”
Y/N waved her off, already reaching for another drink. “Details.”
A couple of guys stumbled into the kitchen, clearly already a few drinks in. One of them, Paul, leaned against the doorframe, grinning like he’d just had the best idea of his life.
“Hey, Y/L/N,” he called out, his words slightly slurred, “do you have any limes? We wanna do, like—tequila shots. A whole game thing.” He hiccuped mid-sentence, which immediately sent the others into laughter.
Y/N turned toward them with an easy smile. “Yeah, hold on—I’ll check.”
She made her way to the fridge, pulling it open and scanning the shelves. Bottles. Leftovers. Questionable containers she didn’t remember putting there.
No limes.
Her smile slowly dropped. “…Crap.”
Alice leaned closer, trying to peek inside. “What’s wrong?”
“No limes.”
Alice frowned. “No dimes?”
Y/N shut the fridge a little harder than necessary. “No, I said no limes—”
She stopped mid-sentence, then her expression shifted. Y/N turned her head toward Alice, a grin spreading across her face. “I’ll check if my neighbor has some.”
Alice blinked. “…Your neighbor neighbor?”
“The one and only,” Y/N said, already moving toward the door.
Alice grabbed her arm lightly. “You’re seriously leaving your own party to ask the human equivalent of a brick wall for limes?”
Y/N pulled free, unfazed. “He might have some.”
“He won’t.”
“He might.”
“He won’t.”
Y/N pointed at her as she backed out of the kitchen. “Have some faith.”
“In him?” Alice called after her.
Y/N just grinned. “In the limes.”
And with that, she slipped out into the hallway, on a mission that was, at best, unnecessary… and at worst, a terrible idea.
Y/N had always been like that. Full of impulsive ideas that balanced somewhere between stupid and weirdly clever. She lived by the quiet philosophy of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off—that life was too long to be serious all the time, and sometimes you just had to do something reckless because you could.
Unfortunately, this was one of those moments.
She tried to make her way back to her apartment door, but the hallway was packed with people spilling out from her own party, laughing, shouting, blocking every possible path.
“Okay—nope,” she muttered, already turning around.
Plan B.
The fire escape.
Within seconds, she slipped into her room, pushed the window open, and climbed out onto the metal platform. The cool night air hit her face immediately, a sharp contrast to the warm, crowded apartment behind her. Music thumped faintly through the walls as she carefully made her way down the stairs toward the level below.
Peter’s window.
She leaned forward slightly, gripping the railing as she tried to peek inside.
Completely dark.
Y/N frowned. “Of course,” she mumbled. “Because he definitely has a life on a Friday night.”
Still, she knocked against the glass.
Once.
Twice.
Then louder.
“Hey—neighbor!” she called, pressing closer to the window. “You alive in there, or did you finally turn into a ghost?”
No response.
She sighed, leaning her forehead briefly against the cool glass. “Great. No limes, no neighbor, no dignity—”
Something hit the wall next to her. Y/N jumped back with a startled scream. “AHHH—!” She whipped around and froze. Spider-Man clung to the brick wall just a few feet away, one hand still pressed against it from where he had landed. His head tilted slightly, the white lenses of his mask wide. “…Uh—”
Y/N stared at him, completely stunned. Her brain visibly tried to catch up with reality. “…Okay,” she said slowly, raising a hand like she was pausing the situation. “So either I’m way more drunk than I thought—” She pointed at him. “—or you’re Spider-Man.”
Spider-Man didn’t move. “I wish I could say you are drunk but no— I am Spider-Man,” he said finally.
Y/N nodded once, like that confirmed everything. “Cool.” She turned back toward the window, knocking on it again like nothing had just happened. “HEY—NEIGHBOR!” she shouted. “Do you have limes?!”
Spider-Man just stared at her. “…You’re kidding.”
She glanced back at him, completely serious. “No, this is time-sensitive.”
He shifted slightly on the wall. “You’re on a fire escape. At night. Yelling.”
“Yes.”
“You almost fell.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
She waved him off. “That’s not the point.”
“…What is the point?”
“I need limes.”
Another pause. Spider-Man blinked behind the mask. “…For what?”
“Tequila shots.”
He stared at her. “…You climbed out of your apartment. Onto a fire escape. To ask your neighbor for limes. For tequila shots.”
“Yes,” she said, like it was obvious. Then she squinted at him slightly. “…Are you judging me?”
“I’m processing this.”
“Well, process faster,” she shot back. “People are waiting.”
Spider-Man looked at her for a long second. “…Stay there,” he said instead, already pushing himself off the wall.
Y/N blinked. “Where else would I—?”
He was gone.
She stared at the empty space where he had been, the city noise rushing back in to fill the silence. “…Okay,” she muttered to herself, gripping the railing. “Cool. Love that. Very mysterious. Very dramatic exit.” She leaned back against the metal bars, squinting out into the night. “Wow,” she added under her breath. “Even Spider-Man ghosts me.”
Three minutes. That’s how long she waited. Long enough for her buzz to settle slightly. Long enough for her to start questioning her life choices. “Alright,” she said to no one, pushing herself upright. “New plan. We accept defeat. We go back inside. We drink tequila without limes like civilized peo—”
A red blur swung back into view. She yelped again, grabbing the railing. “OH MY—can you not do that?!”
Spider-Man landed lightly in front of her, something small clutched in his hand. “…You scream a lot,” he said.
“You appear out of nowhere!” she shot back, clutching her chest. “That’s on you.”
He ignored that, holding out his hand.
Limes.
Fresh. Bright green. Slightly dewy, like they had just come out of a fridge.
Y/N blinked. “…You just carry limes around?” she asked slowly.
“No.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Then where did you get them?”
“…Deli,” he said.
“You—” she pointed at him, incredulous, “you went to a deli?”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“…For the limes.”
Y/N stared at him for a long second. Then her face broke into a wide, delighted grin. “You are really the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.”
“I’m efficient.”
“You left—” she gestured vaguely into the city, “—swung somewhere, bought limes, and came back, all in like… what, three minutes?”
“Four.”
“Four,” she repeated, nodding. “Right. Of course. That makes it normal.” He held the limes out again, a little more insistently this time. “Take them.”
“Oh—right!” She quickly grabbed them, almost dropping one before catching it against her chest. “These are beautiful. Honestly, ten out of ten limes.”
He stared at her. “…They’re just limes.”
“No, no,” she shook her head, completely serious. “These are hero limes. There’s a difference.”
“…I regret this,” he muttered, but he has a little smile behind his mask.
“You don’t,” she shot back immediately. “This is the highlight of your night.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“It’s not.”
She grinned. “It is.”
“…Go back inside,” he said.
Y/N clutched the limes like a prize. “I will. My people need me.”
“They don’t.”
“They do. There’s a tequila situation.”
He looked at her like that explained nothing. She took a step toward the stairs, then paused, turning back to him. “…Hey.” He didn’t respond, but his head tilted slightly. “Thanks,” she said, softer now. “For the… deli mission.”
“…Don’t mention it.”
“I absolutely will,” she said immediately. “No one’s gonna believe me.”
“Good.”
She laughed, already climbing back up toward her window. “See you around, Spider-Man!”
He didn’t answer. Just watched as she disappeared back inside, music spilling out briefly before the window shut behind her. The fire escape fell quiet again. Peter stayed there for a moment longer than necessary. Then he looked down at his hands.
“…Deli,” he muttered to himself, like he couldn’t quite believe it either. But he still had a little smile behind his mask. A stupid little smile.
The next morning hit New York like it always did: too bright, too loud, and entirely unconcerned with anyone’s headache. Y/N was already halfway regretting her life choices before she even reached the stairwell. Her hair was tied up messily, sunglasses doing absolutely nothing indoors, and she was clutching a energy she didn’t remember buying. The apartment hallway smelled faintly like last night’s alcohol and spilled optimism.
She stepped out of her apartment just in time to see him.
Peter Parker.
Walking down the stairs like he hadn’t just indirectly caused a minor existential crisis in her life twelve hours ago.
“Peter!” she called immediately.
He paused mid-step, slowly turned his head. “…Yeah.” That tone again. Flat. Guarded. Like he was already preparing for something he didn’t want to deal with.
Y/N lit up instantly. “Oh my God, perfect timing. I need to talk to you.”
“I’m on my way out.”
“No, you’re on your way into a conversation.”
“I didn’t agree to that.”
She was already moving toward him. “You don’t have to. It’s happening anyway.”
Peter stared at her for a second as she reached him on the stairs, clearly debating whether continuing downward at full speed was an option. It wasn’t. She had already positioned herself like a blockade.
“Is this about the party?” he asked.
She gasped. “It’s not just about the party.”
A beat.
“…It’s partly about the party—- wait you remembered that I had a party where you were invited.” She grins out of satisfaction.
Peter exhaled slowly, like he was trying to conserve patience for something more important in his life. “Okay.”
Y/N grabbed his wrist. “Come with me.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I have class.”
“No one has a class on Saturday. You have coffee.”
“I don’t drink coffee.”
“That’s fake.”
He tried to step around her. She stepped in front again.
Peter stopped. Looked at her. “…You’re blocking a staircase.”
“And you’re emotionally unavailable,” she replied instantly. “We all have struggles.”
Peter blinked once. “…What happened last night?”
That was all she needed. Her entire face changed.
“Oh my GOD,” she said, releasing his wrist only to immediately start gesturing wildly. “Okay. So. First of all. My party? Insane. Like, legally it should’ve been louder than it was. There were people. So many people. I lost at least two conversations and a cup of something I’m pretty sure was not juice.”
Peter didn’t move, but his head tilted slightly.
Y/N continued, pacing one step down, then back up again for dramatic effect. “And then Paul shows up, right? And he’s like—” she dropped her voice into a terrible imitation, “‘Do you have limes? We need tequila shots like it’s a sport.’”
Peter’s mouth twitched. Just slightly. “Go on,” he said.
That alone made her pause. “Wait—are you… interested?”
“No,” he said immediately. Then, after a beat: “…Continue.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him but kept going. “So I check the fridge. No limes. Tragedy. Absolute collapse of civilization. Alice suggests I give up. I refuse. Obviously.”
Peter folded his arms. “So you went where?”
She pointed at him like she was delivering courtroom testimony. “Fire escape.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “…Of course you did.”
“I had a system,” she insisted. “It made sense at the time. Anyway. I go to your window—”
“My window.”
“Yes, your window, don’t interrupt the narrative flow—”
“I’m not—”
“And you weren’t there.”
Peter nodded slowly. “I wasn’t.”
“Exactly,” she said, pointing triumphantly. “So I’m knocking on your window like a normal person—”
“Normal.”
“—and suddenly Spider-Man shows up.”
Peter froze. Just slightly as if it wasn’t the first time he has to pretend to be shocked. Then recovered almost immediately. “Spider-Man.”
“Yes,” she said seriously. “Him.”
“…At my window.”
“Yes.”
Peter looked at her for a long second. “…Right.”
Y/N leaned in slightly. “And listen. I don’t know what your opinion on him is, but I think he might be, like, a little unwell.”
Peter blinked. “Unwell?”
“Because why is he on walls at night and also emotionally committed to grocery errands?”
That got him. A small, genuine laugh escaped before he could stop it.
Y/N stopped mid-gesture. “…Did you just laugh at me?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did,” she repeated, pointing at him again. “That was a laugh.”
Peter rubbed his hand over his mouth, trying to hide it. “Continue your story.”
She narrowed her eyes but resumed. “So anyway, he tells me to stay there. Disappears. Comes back FOUR minutes later with limes from a deli.”
“That’s not the point,” she said immediately. “The point is that your city’s superhero is doing Uber Eats side quests for me.”
Peter let out another small, involuntary huff of amusement.
Y/N noticed. “Okay, you’re enjoying this.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re smiling.”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You are emotionally smiling.”
Peter exhaled, looking away briefly like he was trying not to encourage her. “…You’re ridiculous.”
“Thank you,” she said proudly. “Anyway, I need coffee after this. And you’re coming.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I literally just said I’m not.”
She had already started walking.
Peter didn’t move at first, then he sighed and followed.
The coffee shop was two blocks away, small and slightly too warm inside, filled with the soft hum of morning conversations and the smell of burnt espresso. Y/N pushed the door open like she owned the place.
Peter followed more cautiously, hands in his pockets. “You didn’t have to drag me here,” he said.
“I did,” she replied immediately, already walking toward the counter. “This is emotional processing.”
“That’s not what coffee is.”
“It is for me.”
Peter watched as she ordered something aggressively complicated, then turned to him expectantly.
“What?”
“I said I don’t drink coffee.”
“That’s fine,” she said, waving it off. “You can just emotionally support me while I consume caffeine.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It is now.”
He sighed again but didn’t leave. They sat by the window, sunlight spilling across the table. Y/N talked with her hands again, reenacting parts of the night like she was performing a one-woman play, occasionally slamming the table for emphasis. Peter watched her for a while, expression unreadable—but softer than usual.
At one point, she leaned back, grinning.
“So,” she said, “your Spider-Man is insane.”
Peter took a sip of water. “…My Spider-Man?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I feel like you’d know him. You give off ‘I know things’ energy.”
Peter almost choked. “…I don’t.”
“Mm-hm,” she said, unconvinced. Then she pointed at him with her cup. “Anyway, I’m telling everyone I know he did a deli run for me.”
Peter shook his head slowly, a small smile still lingering. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble one day.”
She grinned. “Probably.”
And for some reason, that didn’t make him laugh less.
from the series manchild. after the rollercoaster of the summer that was filled with cigarettes, tears, cherry cola, make outs under the sun and the upbeat car of anakin skywalker, it has come to an end but there are days that were short n' sweet with the chaotic couple.
the series; manchild.
📼 🐾 MIXTAPE: good graces.
📼 🐾 the group is playing cards but y/n is cheating the whole time, anakin is being whipped. jesse crashes out. ahsoka hates rules. it feels like the 70's show but minus a nerd.
MIXTAPE vol. 1: good graces.
Autumn didn’t arrive like it had something to prove. It slipped in quietly, like a song changing tempo halfway through and nobody pointing it out, but everyone feeling it anyway. One morning the air was sharper. Cleaner. The kind that hits your lungs a little different. Leaves started giving up, one by one, scattering across the pavement in burnt orange and deep reds, crunching under boots like the season itself had a commentary to make.
Somewhere, there was cinnamon in the air. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
Either way it stuck.
Summer didn’t end dramatically either. It just… packed itself away. Cutoff shorts disappeared into drawers. Late-night drives with warm air and open windows turned into jackets and hands shoved into pockets. The cherry coke sweating in cup holders, Elton John humming Tiny Dancer through cheap speakers, it all faded out like it promised to come back later.
Just not now.
Y/N didn’t slow down, though.
She never did. If anything, she leaned into it harder like the colder it got, the more she refused to.
Senior year had that weird edge to it. Not pressure. Not panic. Just this quiet understanding that everything suddenly mattered more. Every laugh hit sharper. Every bad decision felt a little more intentional. She rode her bike through leaf-covered streets, boots skimming the ground, jacket pulled tighter around her as the wind picked up. The music never stopped, it just got softer. Slower. Like it was breathing with everything else.
And Anakin was still there. Not in that chaotic, all-consuming way he used to be. Not the kind that made everything feel like it was about to fall apart if you looked at it wrong.
He was just… there.
Steady. Annoyingly loving present. The kind of presence that didn’t drag at her ribs anymore. He didn’t stand in front of her, didn’t fall behind her, he stood next to her. Like they’d finally figured out how to exist without wrecking each other every five minutes. That didn’t mean they didn’t fight.
God, they still fought.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Y/N snapped one afternoon, pacing in front of him, hands flying everywhere like punctuation marks.
“I’m literally just standing here,” Anakin shot back, jaw tight.
“Yeah, well, you’re doing it wrong.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Oh my god—” She grabbed the nearest thing—a cowboy boot—and pointed it at him. “I swear to god, Skywalker—”
“You are not going to throw that at me, Princess.”
“Watch me.”
“Princess—”
She didn’t throw it but she thought about it deeply. And he still shut down sometimes, went quiet in that frustrating way, words coming out colder than he meant them to. Enough to sting. Enough to remind her of the version of them that didn’t know how to hold anything without breaking it.
But they didn’t stay there anymore.
That was the difference.
Because later, it always came back to this sitting on cold pavement where summer flowers used to be, now buried under dry leaves. A shared cigarette passing between them. Silence that didn’t feel like punishment anymore.
“I’m sorry,” one of them would mutter.
Usually both. A tired laugh. Her head resting against his shoulder like she didn’t have to prove anything anymore. His knee nudging hers—small, quiet, but enough.That was their thing.
Messy. Loud. Balanced in a way that made zero sense to anyone else. They still did everything couples did, switching between beds like it was a routine, wandering into record stores with no intention of buying anything (Y/N brought a record anyway), meeting friends, ending up at Dex’s more often than planned.
Only now, it didn’t feel fragile. It felt… certain. They could say I love you without it turning into a crisis. And some days they didn’t see each other at all. Y/N was good at that. She’d disappear with her girls, dancing half the night away without a second thought.
Anakin? Absolutely not.
“Dude, you’ve checked the door like five times,” Fives said, sprawled across the couch.
“I haven’t.”
“You literally just did it again.”
Anakin scowled. “I’m not waiting for her.”
“Yeah,” Fives snorted. “You’re just spiritually suffering.”
“I hate you.”
“You miss her,” Jesse added, way too amused.
Anakin didn’t answer. Which was answer enough. Everyone knew it anyway.
He’d been in love with her forever.
That wasn’t changing. Which is exactly why, on a random Friday night, he still showed up to Rex’s basement instead of moping like a normal person. Because apparently, the plan was not to talk about Mr. Yoda’s unhinged biology lectures or the incoming threat of failing finals.
No. The plan was worse.
UNO night.
Rex’s basement smelled like cheap beer, cheep weed, old fabric, and bad decisions that had fully settled into the walls. The lighting situation was questionable at best, one bulb flickering like it was reconsidering its life choices. UNO cards were already scattered across the table like casualties.
Jesse leaned forward, squinting at them like they might confess something. “No, I’m telling you,” he said, pointing dramatically, “that was illegal. I just witnessed a crime.”
Ahsoka didn’t even look up. Just placed her card down. Calm. Controlled. “It’s the same number, Jesse.”
He blinked. “Colors matter, Tano. Society is built on rules.”
“Society is built on you losing this game.”
Fives lost it immediately, laughing as he slapped his knee. “Man’s rewriting UNO law because he’s getting destroyed.”
“I am NOT losing,” Jesse snapped, sitting up straighter. “I’m being sabotaged.”
“By who?” Rex asked, already tired.
Jesse pointed at everyone. “All of you. This is coordinated.”
Y/N gasped dramatically from the floor. “Wow. He figured it out.”
Anakin snorted from behind her, arm draped lazily over her shoulder. “Took him long enough.”
“I KNEW IT—” Jesse shot up like he’d just cracked a national conspiracy, pointing at Y/N like she personally betrayed the constitution.
“I knew something was off. Nobody just wins like that. Not in this economy.”
“In this economy?” Ahsoka repeated flatly, finally looking up. “It’s UNO, Jesse. And no one won yet.”
“Exactly,” he said, like that proved everything.
Fives leaned forward, squinting at Y/N’s cards like he was about to interrogate them. “Nah, nah—she’s too calm. That’s suspicious behavior.”
Anakin tilted his head slightly behind her, eyes narrowing with that slow, knowing look. “Yeah… you’re enjoying this way too much.”
Y/N turned just enough to glance back at him, all fake innocence and soft smiles. “You think I’d cheat?”
He stared at her for a second. Then huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I do.”
She grinned, wider this time. “Wow. No faith in me.”
“None,” he said easily, but his hand slid down to her waist anyway, thumb brushing absentmindedly against her side like that completely contradicted his statement.
“SHOW YOUR HAND,” Fives suddenly demanded, lunging forward like this was a police raid.
“Absolutely not,” Y/N snapped, clutching her cards to her chest like state secrets.
Ahsoka leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Okay, yeah, now I care. Give me the cards.”
Y/N looked around at all of them closing in like vultures and then, quick as anything, slammed her last card down.
“UNO.”
Dead silence. A beat erupted the chaos in the basement.
“NO WAY—”
“THAT’S BULLSHIT—”
“YOU DID NOT JUST—”
Fives grabbed the discard pile like he was launching an investigation. Jesse was pacing in tight circles. Ahsoka was already standing, hands on her hips like she was about to take this to court. Rex just leaned back, rubbing his temple. “I knew we shouldn’t have let her play.”
Anakin, meanwhile, just laughed, actually laughed, head tipping back before he looked down at her again, something softer sitting behind it. “You’re unbelievable, princess.”
Y/N beamed. “And yet… I win.”
“THIS IS MINE—” Fives held up a card.
Another. “THIS TOO—ARE YOU KIDDING ME?”
Jesse pointed at her like he was about to press charges. “She’s been stealing from us the whole time!”
Y/N was already halfway to the cooler to grab another beer. “Survival of the fittest.”
“That’s not survival, that’s fraud!” Ahsoka shot back.
Anakin caught her wrist as she passed, tugging her back just enough that she stumbled a little, laughing as she looked down at him.
“You’re a menace,” he murmured.
“And you love it.”
“Yeah,” he said, no hesitation. “I do.”
Behind them, Fives was still loudly listing his missing cards like a victim statement, Jesse was demanding a rematch “under surveillance,” and Ahsoka was already aggressively reshuffling.
The cards hit the table again with a sharp slap. “New round,” Rex announced, way too serious for what was essentially chaos in paper form.
Fives cracked his knuckles. “Alright. This time—we play clean.”
Everyone stared at him.
Y/N snorted. “You say that right before committing a crime every time”
“Hey—” Jesse started.
She didn’t even look at him. “You’re also not allowed to be stoned like a brick this round.”
Jesse blinked. “…that feels targeted.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Anakin said dryly from the armrest, beer dangling loosely from his fingers. “She’s still gonna cheat.” He nudged Y/N’s shoulder with his knee. Y/N gasped. “Excuse me? I am an honest player.”
“You just hid two cards in your sleeve— like right now,” Hera said calmly.
Y/N froze. Slowly turned. “…you saw that?”
“You’re not subtle.”
“SHOW THE SLEEVE,” Fives barked immediately.
“NO”
“SHOW IT.”
“It’s called strategy!”
“It’s called being a criminal!”
Jesse suddenly looked up. “Wait—are we allowed to hide cards?”
“NO,” everyone said at once.
“Oh,” he nodded slowly. “That explains a lot.”
Ahsoka dragged a hand down her face. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”
“Hey,” Anakin pointed lazily. “You chose this.”
“I was manipulated.”
“You walked in.”
“I was emotionally manipulated.”
Y/N leaned back into Anakin, grinning like she’d already won again. “Alright, children. Let’s play.”
She dealt the cards. Too fast… way too fast.
Rex narrowed his eyes immediately. “Why do I feel like you just gave yourself better cards?”
Y/N pressed a hand to her chest. “Wow. The lack of trust.”
“Because you’re untrustworthy,” Sabine said.
“Character assassination.” The game started anyway. Everyone was focused.
“Green,” Rex said, dropping the first card.
Jesse immediately slammed down a red seven.
Ahsoka turned slowly. “…Jesse.”
“What?”
“It’s green.” “Yeah, but—it’s a seven.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“It’s the same energy.”
Fives wheezed. “Same energy?”
“I felt it,” Jesse defended. “It made sense in my head.”
“That’s the problem,” Anakin muttered.
“Take it back,” Rex ordered.
Jesse groaned dramatically, pulling the card back. “This game suppresses creativity.”
Y/N slammed down a wild. “Boom. Yellow.”
“Of course you have a wild already,” Hera said.
“Life rewards the bold.”
“Life rewards the cheaters,” Ahsoka corrected.
“Semantics.”
Anakin leaned down slightly, voice low near her ear. “You stacked the deck, didn’t you?”
She didn’t even look at him. “Prove it.”
He smiled slowly. “I don’t need to.”
Fives suddenly slammed a +4. “SUFFER.”
“OH COME ON—” Sabine groaned, grabbing cards. “You’ve been holding that since the beginning!”
“That’s patience.”
“That’s evil,” Hera corrected.
“I hate all of you,” Sabine muttered.
“Not me,” Jesse said quickly.
She looked at him. “Especially you.”
The game spiraled, cards flying, rules bending, voices overlapping until none of it made sense anymore. And somewhere in the middle of it, Y/N slipped another card into her lap. Smooth. Quick. Invisible. Except Anakin saw. Of course he did. He didn’t say anything. Just watched her with that same quiet amusement, shaking his head slightly like yeah, that tracks.
“UNO!” she shouted suddenly, slamming a card down.
“NO YOU DON’T—” Fives lunged forward like his life depended on it. “HOW DO YOU HAVE ONE CARD ALREADY?!”
“Because I’m talented.”
“You’re a fraud.”
“Jealousy is ugly on you.”
“I want a recount,” Rex said immediately.
“You can’t recount UNO!”
“I’m making an exception!”
Anakin finally laughed again, dragging a hand through his hair. “You guys do realize she’s been cheating this entire time— again, right?”
Every head turned. Slowly toward Y/N. She froze mid-smirk. “…define cheating.”
Ahsoka stood up. “I’m ending this game.”
“NO—WAIT—” Y/N clutched her cards dramatically. “Let me have this!”
“You’ve had EVERYTHING,” Sabine shouted.
Fives threw his arms up. “This is a corrupt system!”
Jesse nodded. “I blame the government.”
“Of course you do,” Hera muttered.
Anakin leaned closer again, softer this time, voice only for her. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
Y/N turned her head, grin softening just slightly. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “But you love me anyway.”
He huffed a small laugh. “Unfortunately.”
She nudged him. “Liar.”
Across the room, Ahsoka clapped once. “New rule: Y/N is banned from touching the deck.”
“WHAT—”
“Democracy wins,” Fives declared.
“This is a dictatorship!”
“This is survival,” Rex corrected.
And somewhere between the yelling, the laughter, the bad lighting, cheap beer, and completely broken UNO rules it started to feel like something permanent. Not in a serious, say-it-out-loud kind of way. Just… there. Sitting in the room with them. Loud and messy and a little unfair but theirs. The argument about “new rules” dragged on for exactly five more minutes before collapsing in on itself.
“I’m serious,” Jesse insisted, sitting forward like this was a congressional hearing. “We need structure. Regulations. Oversight.”
“You need to stop talking,” Ahsoka cut in immediately.
“No, listen—hear me out—”
“We won’t.”
“Dictatorship,” he muttered.
“Correct,” Rex said flatly.
And just like that, the game died. No dramatic ending. No official winner because apparently that was still up for debate (it wasn’t, Y/N had absolutely won, fraud or not). The cards stayed scattered on the table like abandoned evidence, and the whole thing melted into something softer.
They all piled onto the couch like it had been planned.
It hadn’t.
Legs tangled over each other without permission, shoulders knocking, someone’s elbow digging into someone else’s ribs and nobody caring enough to fix it. The kind of closeness that only happens when you’ve all decided, silently, that personal space is optional.
Someone passed around the same beer bottle like it belonged to all of them. Hera was absently playing with Ahsoka’s hair, twisting strands between her fingers while Ahsoka pretended not to enjoy it, eyes half-lidded anyway.
“Don’t make it weird,” Ahsoka murmured.
“I’m not,” Hera said calmly, already braiding a small section.
“That’s literally a braid.”
“Shh.”
Fives, across from them, was trying to balance an empty beer bottle on his forehead like it was a life skill. “Don’t breathe,” he muttered to himself.
“No one asked you to do that,” Sabine said from the floor.
“I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU—” The bottle fell. “—you sabotaged me,” Fives accused immediately.
“I didn’t even touch you!”
“Psychological warfare.”
“Please shut up,” Rex muttered.
Y/N barely registered any of it. She was tucked into Anakin’s side, half-curled against him, her back pressed to his chest like that was just where she fit now. His arm rested lazily around her middle, hand splayed across her stomach, thumb moving in slow, absent patterns like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. She laced her fingers with his without looking.
Rex sat slightly off to the side, leaning back in his chair, cigarette between his fingers, the one he’d stolen from Y/N earlier.
He took a drag. Then grimaced like he’d just made a terrible life decision. “…they sell cherry flavored now?” he asked, looking at it like it personally offended him.
Y/N turned her head just enough, grinning. “They’re good, right?”
“Good?” Rex repeated, exhaling smoke with visible disappointment. “They taste like I should’ve quit months ago.”
“That’s dramatic,” she shot back, pointing at him lazily.
“It tastes like candy and regret.”
“That’s literally the appeal.”
“No,” he said firmly, examining the cigarette again like he was reconsidering everything, “the appeal used to be not tasting anything.”
“Okay, grandpa,” Fives muttered.
Rex didn’t even look at him. “You’re next.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Anakin huffed a quiet laugh behind Y/N, chin briefly dipping toward her shoulder. “You’re corrupting him.”
“I’m improving his life,” Y/N corrected.
“You gave him flavored lung damage.”
“Flavor matters.”
Rex took another drag anyway. “…still terrible,” he decided.
“Liar,” Y/N said.
He didn’t argue. Because he kept smoking it. A comfortable silence settled in, not empty, just full in a quieter way. The kind where conversations faded into smaller ones, then into nothing, but nobody felt the need to fill it. The record player in the corner crackled softly, something slow spinning, barely loud enough to compete with the low hum of voices and the occasional burst of laughter.
Anakin shifted slightly behind her, adjusting his grip just enough to pull her a little closer without making a thing out of it. She noticed. Of course she did.
“Clingy,” she murmured under her breath.
“Shut up,” he replied, just as quiet.
“You missed me.”
“I saw you yesterday.”
“Still missed me.”
He didn’t answer which, again was answer enough. She smiled to herself, letting her head fall back against his shoulder.
Across the room, Jesse suddenly sat up again like a man possessed. “I still think we should’ve implemented the rule system.”
A collective groan filled the room.
“Jesse—” Ahsoka warned.
“I’m just saying, long-term, it would’ve benefited—”
“Get out,” Sabine said.
“This is Rex’s house!”
“Rex, make him leave.”
Rex didn’t even open his eyes. “I’m considering it.”
Fives pointed at Jesse. “You killed UNO.”
“I tried to save it!”
“You made it worse!”
“I brought structure!”
“You brought oppression!”
“I brought justice!”
“You brought nothing!”
Y/N laughed softly under her breath, fingers tightening slightly around Anakin’s.
hey man! welcome back! happy 1 year of manchild! I feel like tom felton for constantly mentioning the story! fml! im just kidding. to celebrate it we are starting with a little chapter of slice of life! I hope you like it xxx
manchild; epilogue: and if it all ended tomorrow, would you be the one on mine?
anakin skywalker!70s x reader
summary: anakin skywalker starts his summer break as a heartbroken guy over the break up with padmé amidala, yet while he was drinking his blueberry slushy in a gas station by a desert highway, he met a girl called y/n y/l/n, who was a wild and free spirited girl with tons of flings. what if the summertime sadness turns into a fake relationship? anakin wants revenge and jealousy, and y/n wants fun and drama.
fake dating.
previous chapter: the night we met.
series masterlist: manchild.
epilogue: and if it all ended tomorrow, would you be the one on mine?
Autumn had never felt like this before. It wasn’t just the shift of seasons, the slow fading of summer’s heat, the way the days grew shorter and the nights stretched a little longer. It was something quieter than that, something you couldn’t quite name unless you stood still long enough to feel it.
Autumn, this time, felt like a breath being released after holding it for too long. The world softened. The trees turned into something almost unreal, painted in shades too warm to belong to something that was technically ending, deep oranges, honey gold, reds that burned softly instead of fiercely.
Leaves let go without resistance, drifting down in slow spirals, like they understood something people often forgot: that not everything that falls apart is tragic. That sometimes, it’s just necessary.
Spring and summer carried noise: expectations, patterns, chaos, mistakes that clung to your skin like heat. But autumn… autumn let those things slip away. It didn’t demand anything. It didn’t rush you. It simply asked you to slow down and notice.
The air didn’t taste like salt anymore, didn’t cling to your tongue like something overwhelming. It carried something gentler now the faint trace of cinnamon from open windows, the warmth of coffee shops tucked into corners, the comforting rhythm of boots brushing against pavement and leaves crunching softly underfoot.
People loved autumn for those reasons. People wrapped themselves in layers, in scarves and coats and comfort. There was something romantic about it, something slow and intentional. Neighbors decorated their porches with pumpkins, turning it into quiet competitions, whose was bigger, brighter, more perfect.
But this autumn wasn’t just another passing season. It was different. It felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with the weather. It was the kind of warmth that came from standing close to someone, from fingers brushing together, from hands that didn’t let go too quickly.
Ever since that night at Dex’s gas station, something had shifted subtly, but entirely.
Anakin had changed. Not in a way that demanded attention, not in a way he tried to show off. It was quieter than that. But it was there, unmistakable. You could see it in the way he smiled now.
Not the rare, half-hidden smirk people were used to, but something real, something that reached his eyes and stayed there. It was the kind of smile you could spot from across a street, the kind that made people pause for a second because it didn’t quite match the version of him they thought they knew.
He greeted people now. Helped without being asked. Laughed easier. Rex had narrowed his eyes at him one morning, clearly suspicious, while Fives had declared, far too loudly, that Anakin had “completely lost his mind in the most romantic way possible and that he is a lover-boy now.”
Jesse claimed it was “romantic brain damage.”
Cal literally was confused after he came back from his trip of California, just to see so many changes and that Anakin looked less as a cortisol bomb.
But Anakin didn’t care because for the first time in a long time, things felt… right and the reason for that was simple.
Y/N.
They weren’t rushing anything. They didn’t need to. There were no more tornadoes between them, no more desperate attempts to hold onto something that kept slipping through their fingers. No more burning too bright and collapsing under the weight of it.
Instead, there was something steadier now. Something that didn’t need to prove itself. They were together. Officially. Even if Y/N still insisted, more than once, that they were “taking things slow.”
It didn’t matter what she called it because everyone could see it. The way her face lit up at the smallest mention of his name. Even when she heard the word ,Sky’ she would turn around with sparks in her eyes. The way her eyes searched for him without thinking, like it had become instinct.
The way she smiled, really smiled, the kind that softened everything about her, whenever he was near.
Anakin looked at her like he had finally learned something. Like love wasn’t about holding on so tightly that it broke. Like it was something you let breathe. They still teased each other, still argued over things that didn’t matter, still existed in that same gravity that had once pulled them into chaos. But now it felt different.
Their days began to blur into one another again, the way they used to. Softly, naturally, like time had stopped keeping strict track of itself when they were together.
Only now, there was a difference. Summer had ended.
The last semester of school had begun, bringing structure back into their lives, early mornings, crowded hallways, the low hum of routine settling in again. There were schedules now, responsibilities, the quiet pressure of knowing something was coming to an end.
And yet… somehow, they still found their way back to each other in all of it.
Anakin would pick her up in the mornings, like it had become second nature. Two cold cans of coke in his hand, slightly damp from the chill, which he would hand to her without a word, as if it was a ritual neither of them needed to explain.
Y/N, in return, always had cigarettes tucked away, hidden in the lace of her bra like a secret only they shared. She would pull one out with a small grin, handing it to him like it was part of their unspoken routine, something quiet and intimate in its own way.
They studied together when they had to or more accurately— when Ahsoka forced them to.
Which usually meant sitting across from each other with open books, pretending to focus while drifting into conversations about anything but school. Notes turned into doodles, discussions into debates, and somehow they still managed to get things done in between the distractions.
Other times, they ended up in Bail’s kitchen. Cooking.. if it could even be called that. Anakin always insisted he knew what he was doing.
He didn’t.
The result was usually a mess, too much oregano in the sauce, ingredients scattered everywhere, Y/N laughing while trying to fix whatever he had just ruined. The kitchen would end up smelling like something vaguely edible, but the process was never quiet. It was loud, chaotic, filled with laughter and playful arguments that didn’t mean anything beyond the moment.
Y/N had also developed a habit.
A very specific one.
She stole his sweaters.
All of them.
And she had no intention of giving them back.
“They fit me better,” she would say, completely serious, tugging the sleeves over her hands as if proving a point. “And they match my boots.”
Anakin never argued. He would just smile to himself, shaking his head slightly like he had already accepted defeat. What she didn’t always notice, at least not consciously was that he would spray a little more of his cologne onto them before she took them. A quiet, possessive habit.
Not to claim her but to stay with her and somehow, the scent always lingered on her skin.
Their evenings became something softer. They still went to the gas station sometimes, still stopped by diners out of habit, but more often than not, they ended up on Anakin’s porch.
It had become their place. They would sit there for hours, the radio playing her cassettes songs that carried pieces of her in every note. Y/N would stretch her legs over his lap, leaning into him without thinking, like her body already knew where it belonged.
Anakin’s hand would rest absentmindedly against her leg, tracing slow patterns without realizing it, while they talked about everything and nothing.
Movies were a constant debate.
She would passionately argue why something was brilliant, overanalyzing every detail, while he would shake his head and call it overrated just to get a reaction out of her.
Sometimes she won.
Sometimes he let her.
And sometimes they forgot what they were even arguing about halfway through.
But it didn’t matter.
Because it was never really about being right.
It was about being there.
The nights stretched longer than they realized, the air growing colder as autumn settled deeper into the world, wrapping everything in that quiet, golden stillness. The kind where time didn’t feel urgent anymore. Where things could just… exist.
And neither of them seemed to mind.
Of course, they still fought.
That hadn’t changed and maybe it never would. It was part of them.
Y/N with her thousand thoughts, all colliding at once, building pressure inside her chest until it had nowhere else to go but out. Words spilling too fast, too sharp sometimes, emotions tangled together in ways even she didn’t fully understand.
Anakin who would stand there and take it at first, jaw tight, eyes fixed on her like he was trying to read through the chaos instead of reacting to it. But he wasn’t perfect either. When it hit a certain point, he would snap back. Mocking, defensive, sometimes just as sharp as she was.
They knew how to hurt each other. That was the dangerous part but it wasn’t like before. Because now, they didn’t run from it. They didn’t slam doors and disappear into silence, pretending it didn’t exist while it rotted underneath everything.
Now, they stayed even after the worst of it. Even when the air between them felt too heavy to breathe. They would end up sitting on the floor eventually, backs against the bed or the wall, legs tangled loosely, the fight still lingering in the space between them but no longer controlling it.
And they would talk. Not perfectly or always gently but more honestly.
“What were you actually mad about?”
“Why did that hurt you?”
“Why didn’t you just say it like that?”
It wasn’t easy yet they were learning. Learning how to understand instead of just react. Learning that love wasn’t the absence of conflict, it was what you did after it.
Y/N still struggled with it. With the idea of being someone’s girlfriend. Officially. The word itself sometimes felt too heavy in her chest, like something she wasn’t sure she deserved to carry.
She still had too much inside her, too many memories, too many fears she hadn’t fully unpacked yet. It was like walking around with a suitcase that kept getting heavier, even when she tried to ignore it. There were moments, quiet ones, usually late at night when the thoughts crept back in.
Am I even good at this? Am I too much? What if I ruin this too? What if I ruin him?
And sometimes, the worst one: What if I need to leave before it gets bad again?
The thought alone made her chest tighten because she didn’t want to leave. Yet fear didn’t always care about what you wanted. It just simply existed.
Loud and persistent.
But somehow, those thoughts never stayed as long as they used to. Just when they started to spiral, just when she felt herself slipping too far into them, there would be a soft knock on her window and he would be.
Standing outside like it was the most normal thing in the world, hands shoved into his jacket, hair slightly messy from the wind, wearing that same boyish smile that always felt so unfairly disarming.
“Hi,” he would say, like he hadn’t seen her in days. “I missed you.”
She would blink at him. “…we saw each other two hours ago.”
“I know,” he’d shrug. “Still counts.” And then, without missing a beat “I missed your stupid laugh too.”
And just like that, everything in her would soften.
Because he meant it.
Not in a dramatic, overwhelming way.
Just… simply.
He loved her.
All of her.
The loud parts. The messy parts. The overthinking, spiraling, complicated parts she was still trying to figure out herself. He didn’t flinch away from it anymore. He didn’t try to fix her either. He just stayed and somehow, that made all the difference.
Y/N was starting to believe that maybe being loved didn’t mean she had to be less.
On one of those slow, golden weekends, they found themselves wandering through downtown again. Y/N had insisted like she always did that she needed something important. Anakin, of course, didn’t believe her for a second.
He knew the truth. This was about outfits.
About the way autumn wrapped itself around her like it had been made just for her, maroon boots crunching through fallen leaves, warm-toned skirts, oversized jackets (his jackets) draped over her shoulders like she owned them now.
Which, to be fair, she did.
“I told you,” she said, glancing at him as they walked, “this is quality time.”
The leaves beneath her boots gave way in soft, satisfying crunches, gold and brown scattering with every step until she suddenly stopped in front of a record store window so abruptly that Anakin nearly walked into her.
“Oh no,” she murmured.
He froze. He knew that tone. Slowly, he followed her gaze and there it was. A vinyl display. Front and center: Cass Elliot, her face caught mid-smile, bold and unapologetic.
Y/N stepped closer, pressing her nose lightly to the glass like a kid. “I don’t need it,” she said softly.
Anakin crossed his arms immediately. “You said that about the last three records.”
“This is different,” she insisted quickly. “I already have—” she paused, counting on her fingers, “—well. I have some Cass.”
“You bought Fleetwood Mac twice.”
“One was emotional,” she shot back. “One was practical.”
He stared at her. “Those are the same thing to you.”
She grinned, completely unashamed. “Exactly.”
The bell above the door jingled as they stepped inside, the warm scent of dust, old paper, and vinyl wrapping around them like nostalgia itself. Record stores were her sanctuary. Anakin… was the other one. Y/N didn’t hesitate. She made a beeline straight for the vinyl section, fingers already brushing along the covers until she found it again.
Carefully, she pulled the Cass Elliot record out, holding it like it might say something back. “I’m just gonna hold it,” she said.
Anakin leaned against a nearby shelf, watching her with quiet amusement. “That’s how it starts.”
She flipped the sleeve over, scanning the tracklist like she was making a life decision. “She’d understand me,” Y/N said solemnly. “We have the same energy.”
Anakin snorted. “You mean loud?”
“I mean iconic.” She sighed dramatically, still staring at the record. “I shouldn’t. I spent too much last week.”
Anakin pushed himself off the shelf slightly. “On what?”
She didn’t even look at him. “Things that made me happy.”
That answer made something soften in his chest. Without another word, he stepped closer and gently took the record from her hands.
Her head snapped up immediately. “Hey—”
But he was already walking toward the counter.
“Anakin—” she followed quickly, lowering her voice like it was something serious, “I was being responsible.”
“I don’t believe you.”
She crossed her arms, trying to look annoyed, but it didn’t quite land. “You’re enabling me.”
“I know.” He paid without hesitation, took the bag, and handed it to her like it was nothing.
Y/N stared at it for a second. Then at him.
Then back at it.
And before he could react, she threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off balance.
“I love you,” she blurted out.
The words hung there. For a second, even she froze.
Anakin blinked.
Then slowly, so softly, it turned into a smile. The kind that didn’t need to be big to mean everything. “I know,” he said gently. “That’s why I bought it.”
She groaned instantly, burying her face into his shoulder. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, “you keep me.”
They stepped back outside into the crisp autumn air, the doorbell chiming behind them as the world opened up again, leaves skittering across the pavement, sunlight catching in golden streaks between buildings.
Y/N swung the record bag in her hand like it was treasure, already humming quietly under her breath, thinking about when she’d play it, how it would sound, where she’d sit. ,,This is literally the best record of her, but you know she has plent—‚,
Anakin walked beside her, hands in his pockets. ,,Didn’t you say that Stevie’s newest album is the best?’’
,,Ehm— let a girl have plenty of favorite albums.’’ She points at him while still smiling brightly at her brand new vinyl. They don’t make it more than half a block before Y/N stops again. “Wait,” she says.
Anakin sighs, already smiling. “What now?”
She digs into her bag, pulling out a Polaroid camera, the strap tangled around her wrist like it’s always been there. “I forgot I brought this,” she says, delighted, like it just materialized. “We need documentation.”
“Of what?” he asks.
“Of today,” she replies seriously. “Because today feels like a day.”
Before he can protest, she lifts the camera.
“Smile.”
“I am smiling,” he says.
She squints at him. “No, you’re doing the broody thing again. Less grumpy-I-own-a-car-and-I-look-like-a-greaser-guy, more guy who just bought his girlfriend a record.”
He laughs despite himself and click. The camera whirs. Y/N shakes it gently, holding it up to the light as the image slowly blooms. “Oh my god,” she gasps. “You look like you’re in love with me.”
He leans over her shoulder. “Because I am.”
She scoffs, waving him off. “You say that like it’s not embarrassing.”
She tucks the photo into the back pocket of her pocket, already pulling him down the sidewalk again. “So,” she launches, “I’ve been thinking—”
,,Here we go.’'
“—about how autumn is actually superior to summer, and I know you’re going to disagree, but hear me out.”
“I already disagree,” he says.
She points at him accusingly. “That’s because you don’t appreciate layers.”
“Layers are just clothes pretending they’re optional,” he counters.
She laughs, loud and unfiltered. “See? This is why I have to talk at you. You need perspective.”
They walk like that, her talking with her hands, words tumbling out faster than she can organize them. Something about Cass Elliot, and how the record cover makes her feel brave, and how she wants to redecorate her room again because the light looks different now.
Anakin listens. Really listens. He interrupts sometimes, challenges her, teases her just enough to keep her going.
“You’re gonna change your room every season,” he says.
“Obviously,” she replies. “I’m evolving.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“You’re obsessed.”
He grins. “Both can be true.”
She stops suddenly, spins around, and snaps another Polaroid, this one catching him mid-laugh, eyes crinkled, hair falling into his face. “Perfect,” she declares.
“What are you gonna do with all of these?” he asks.
She thinks about it, then shrugs. “Remember.”
Y/N didn’t say it like it was something small. She didn’t say it like a joke. She said it like it mattered. Like remembering wasn’t just something you did when you were bored or sentimental but something you chose. Something you held onto, even when time tried to pull it out of your hands.
Anakin looked at her a little differently after that. Not dramatically. Not in a way that shifted the world in one second. But softer. Quieter. Like something in him settled deeper into place.
“Yeah?” he said, tilting his head slightly. “You planning on remembering me like that too?”
She rolled her eyes immediately, scoffing as she started walking again, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “God, don’t make it about you. That’s so predictable.”
He followed, matching her pace easily. “It’s a valid question.”
“It’s a stupid question,” she shot back, but there was no bite to it. Just warmth.
He bumped his shoulder lightly against hers. “You didn’t answer it.”
She looked ahead for a second, the wind catching her curls, lifting them just slightly before letting them fall again. The record bag brushed against her leg as she walked, the Polaroid camera still hanging from her wrist.
Then she slowed down.
Just a little. “Yeah,” she said finally, quieter this time. “I think… I already do.”
That made him pause.
Not physically, he kept walking but something in him stilled. Like her words reached somewhere deeper than the teasing, deeper than the easy rhythm they’d built again.
“Good,” he said after a moment, voice low, almost to himself. “I’d hate to be forgettable.”
She glanced at him sideways, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re a lot of things, Anakin.”
“Yeah?” he raised a brow.
She nodded. “But forgettable isn’t one of them.”
There it was again that thing between them. Not heavy. Not suffocating like it used to be. Just… present. Honest. Breathing.
They kept walking. Leaves scattered across the pavement as a breeze picked up, brushing past their legs, carrying that faint autumn scent with it something crisp, something ending, something beginning.
Y/N suddenly stopped again.
Anakin groaned dramatically. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
She ignored him, already lifting the Polaroid again. “Come here.”
“I am here.”
“Closer,” she insisted, grabbing his sleeve and pulling him down slightly.
He let her. Of course he did. Their shoulders pressed together this time, her head just barely leaning toward his as she held the camera out in front of them.
“Okay,” she said, concentrating. “This one’s important.”
“More important than the last one?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
“Why?”
She didn’t look at him. Just smiled a little.
“Because this one… I want to remember exactly like it is.”
Something about that made him go quiet. No joke. No teasing comeback.
“Alright,” he murmured.
She glanced at him then, catching the way he was already looking at her not at the camera, not at anything else. Just her.
“Hey,” she nudged him. “Eyes here, Skywalker.”
He smirked faintly but obeyed, shifting his gaze toward the lens at the last second.
Click.
The camera whirred softly in her hands.
They both leaned in as the picture developed, watching as the shapes slowly came to life blurry at first, then clearer. Two figures pressed close together. Mid-laugh. Mid-something.
Y/N smiled at it, softer now. Not loud. Not exaggerated. Just… real. “Yeah,” she whispered, almost to herself. “That’s a good one.”
Anakin didn’t look at the photo. He was looking at her again. Like she was the thing worth remembering. Y/N kept staring at the Polaroid for another second, like she was trying to memorize it twice, once with her eyes, once with whatever part of her stored the important things.
Then, just as quickly, the softness dissolved. “Okay,” she said, suddenly animated again, tucking the photo into her jacket pocket. “Important question.”
Anakin groaned quietly. “That tone is never good.”
She ignored him, already turning to walk again, her steps quicker now, like her brain had switched channels entirely. “If you had to survive an apocalypse—like a real one, not a fake dramatic one like Jesse says every time he runs out of beer, what would be your survival plan?”
He blinked. “That’s your important question?”
“Yes,” she said firmly. “This defines character.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets, thinking. “Alright. Easy. I’d take my car, stock up on food, tools, basic supplies—”
She gasped. “God, you’re boring.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“You’re being predictable,” she corrected, pointing at him. “Where’s the personality? Where’s the drama?”
“It’s an apocalypse, not a performance.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” she said, completely serious. “If I’m going out, I’m going out iconically.”
He snorted. “Oh, I’m sure you are. What’s your plan then?”
She didn’t even hesitate. “Leather jacket, obviously. Even if it’s like, a hundred degrees.”
“Obviously.”
“Then,” she continued, counting on her fingers, “I’d steal a convertible.”
“You don’t even like driving.”
“That’s because I am a passage’s princess but listen… Apocalypse roads? Mysterious. Different vibe.”
He laughed. “Different vibe?”
“Yes. And I’d only listen to dramatic music. Like—” she snapped her fingers, trying to think, “—something that makes it feel like I’m in a movie.”
“You are in a movie,” he muttered.
“Exactly!” she said, delighted that he understood (he didn’t). “And then I’d pick up random people along the way.”
“That’s how you get killed.”
“No,” she corrected again, “that’s how you build a found family.”
He shook his head, smiling despite himself. “You’d trust strangers in an apocalypse.”
“I trust vibes,” she said simply.
“That’s worse.”
She bumped into him lightly. “You’re just saying that because you’d be the guy who survives alone and broods about it.”
“I wouldn’t brood.”
“You are brooding right now.”
“I am not.”
She stopped walking just to look at him, narrowing her eyes. “You literally look like you’re thinking about your tragic backstory.”
“I don’t have a tragic backstory.”
She tilted her head. “That’s exactly what someone with a tragic backstory would say.”
He laughed, shaking his head again. “You’re impossible.”
She grinned. “And yet, in my apocalypse plan, I’d still pick you up.”
He raised a brow. “Oh, how generous.”
“Yeah,” she nodded, pretending to think hard. “You’d be useful.”
“For what?”
She looked him up and down dramatically. “Heavy lifting. Fixing things. Looking intimidating when needed.”
“And that’s it?”
She smirked. “And… maybe for entertainment.”
“Entertainment?” he repeated.
“Yeah,” she shrugged. “You’d probably say something grumpy and I’d laugh. Keeps morale high.”
He stepped closer, nudging her shoulder again. “You’re unbelievable.”
She leaned into it just slightly, still smiling. “You’d come with me though.”
It wasn’t a question. He looked at her for a second. Then he nodded, easy. Certain.
“Yeah,” he said. “I would.”
She smiled like she already knew that. “Good,” she said, turning forward again, her steps lighter. “Because you don’t really have a choice.”
“Of course I don’t.”
“Nope.”
He watched her for a second longer before following, shaking his head but smiling in that quiet, helpless way he always did around her. They continued walking through the small shops downtown, stopping to grab a little pastry along the way. It was filled with blueberries and cherries, and Y/N claimed it was basically them, just without the overly sugary parts.
As they wandered, they paused by the street. Y/N looked around thoughtfully and nodded.
“Coming back to the apocalypse thing—”
Anakin groaned, taking a bite of his pastry. “Princess—”
“You didn’t even let me finish,” she cut in, pointing at him. “As I was saying—this street right here? Perfect setting for an epic fight.” She gestured dramatically around them.
Anakin raised an eyebrow. “I’m starting to worry about you. You should stop hanging around Jesse.”
“Not my fault I’m stuck sitting next to him in history class,” she shrugged. “And, mind you—Mr. Kloon isn’t even that bad as a teacher. I actually like him. But the way he explains the war and everything…” she sighed dramatically.
“And that’s why you talk too much with Jesse,” Anakin said, looking down at her. “About zombies.”
“Yeah… okay, the more I think about it, the more concerning it sounds,” she admitted.
“That’s what I was about to say, princess. Maybe you shou—”
Anakin didn’t even get to finish his sentence about how Jesse was probably damaging her brain cells with all his nonsense, because speaking of the devil their names were suddenly being called from nearby the old movie theater.
The lights around the sign flickered, displaying the new film Paper Moon, right next to a re-run of The Godfather. The whole group was there Jesse, Fives, Rex, Ahsoka (holding hands with Cal), Hera, and Sabine clearly in the middle of a heated debate. Ahsoka and Jesse were going at it, while Fives was the one waving them over.
Y/N’s eyes widened. “Speaking of the devil—they’re right there.”
Anakin glanced over, already sighing. “I’m debating whether I even want to go over there, because I know there’s a re-run of The Godfather, and knowing Jesse, this is going to be painful.”
“I still hate The Godfather,” Y/N said immediately.
“That’s exactly why I don’t want to sit between you and Jesse,” Anakin admitted.
“Look, honey,” she grinned, spotting Ahsoka mid-argument, “I think Ahsoka is about to yell at him, so maybe they’ll end up choosing the new movie.”
And with that, they crossed the street toward the chaos. They crossed the street together, crumbs of pastry still on their fingers, the last sweetness of it lingering on their tongues as the noise of the group grew louder with every step.
Jesse’s voice cut through everything first.
“Oh my god, Soka, it’s not boring, you just don’t understand it!”
“I do understand it,” Ahsoka shot back, gesturing wildly toward the theater sign. “It’s just three hours of men staring at each other and talking about business!”
“That’s the point!” He snapped.
“No, that’s the problem!”
Fives was half-laughing, half-losing his mind beside them. “You’ve been arguing about this for ten minutes—just pick a movie before Rex actually ages into retirement.”
Rex, arms crossed, deadpan: “Too late.”
As Y/N and Anakin approached, Fives spotted them first, lighting up like they’d just been saved from a burning building. “Oh, thank god. Reinforcements.”
Y/N grinned, slipping right into the chaos like it was second nature. “What’s the crisis?”
Hera pointed dramatically at the sign. “They’re trying to make us watch The Godfather again.”
“Because it’s a masterpiece,” Jesse snapped immediately.
Y/N didn’t even hesitate. “Absolutely not.”
Anakin groaned quietly beside her. “Here we go…”
“No, I’m serious,” Y/N continued, stepping forward like she was about to present a formal argument. “I gave it a chance. I really did. But I cannot sit through three hours of men mumbling and calling it cinema.”
Ahsoka pointed at her like she’d just proven her entire existence. “THANK YOU.”
Jesse looked between them, betrayed. “You are all insufferable.”
“It insists upon itself,” Y/N added, nodding wisely.
Anakin turned his head slowly. “You don’t even know what that means.”
“I know exactly what it means,” she said, completely confident. “It insists.”
“That’s not—” he stopped himself, rubbing his face. “You know what, never mind.”
Meanwhile, Fives leaned over to Rex. “I give it two minutes before this turns into a full civil war.”
“Optimistic,” Rex muttered.
Sabine, ever the voice of reason, stepped forward. “Okay, new plan. We compromise.”
“No compromises,” Jesse said immediately.
“Yes compromises,” Sabine shot back.
Ahsoka, leaning against Cal, chimed in casually, “Why don’t we just watch Paper Moon? It’s new. No one’s emotionally attached yet.”
There was a pause.
Fives narrowed her eyes. “I could be convinced.”
Jesse squinted. “Is it boring?”
“No,” Sabine said. “It’s actually good.”
“That’s suspicious,” he replied.
Y/N leaned closer to Anakin, whispering just loud enough, “If there’s no explosions or dramatic betrayal, he’s not interested.”
“I heard that,” Jesse snapped.
“Good,” she smiled sweetly.
Anakin huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he watched her completely derail the situation just by existing. His arm wrapped around her waist. Kissing her head.
Fives clapped his hands together. “Alright! Democracy has spoken—well, kind of. We’re watching Paper Moon.”
“I still think we should’ve watched The Godfather,” Jesse muttered.
“And I still think you’re wrong,” Ahsoka replied.
“That’s because you have no taste.”
“That’s because you have too much taste.”
Rex sighed. “Please just buy the tickets before I walk into traffic.”
Y/N turned to Anakin with a grin. “See? Apocalypse scenario but make it cinema.”
He looked at her, amused. “If this is the apocalypse, we’re not surviving.”
She nudged him. “Speak for yourself. I already told you—you’re on my team.”
He smirked slightly. “Yeah. I figured.”
The group started moving toward the ticket booth in a messy cluster of overlapping voices and unfinished arguments, the theater lights flickering above them. They ended up inside the small, slightly worn-out theater, where the air smelled like old velvet seats, popcorn butter, and something faintly nostalgic like time itself had been folded and stored away here.
Y/N naturally claimed the middle of everything, which somehow meant she ended up between Sabine and Anakin, like she always did when chaos needed a center of gravity.
“Perfect,” she declared, sitting down and immediately kicking her boots up onto the empty seat in front of her.
Sabine glanced at her. “You’re not doing that the whole movie.”
“I absolutely am.”
Anakin, settling on her other side, leaned back in his seat with a quiet sigh. “I already know I’m going to regret this.”
Y/N turned her head toward him. “You regret everything that isn’t perfectly structured and emotionally stable.”
“That’s not true.”
She raised a brow.
“…Okay, that’s slightly true.”
Sabine snorted. “You two are exhausting.”
Y/N leaned closer to Anakin, whispering loudly enough for Sabine to hear anyway, “She’s just mad because we’re fun.”
“I heard that,” Sabine said.
Anakin reached over, gently nudging Y/N’s leg with his knee. “Stop provoking her. We’re trying to survive a movie here.”
“I’m not provoking,” Y/N whispered back. “I’m educating.”
“You’re chaos in a jacket,” he muttered.
“And you love me,” she said instantly, without missing a beat.
Anakin paused.
Sabine slowly turned her head like she was watching a documentary. “Did she just—”
“Yes,” Anakin said, too quick, rubbing his face. “Yes, she did.”
Y/N smiled proudly, leaning back into her seat like she’d won something important. “Correct answer.”
The lights dimmed slightly, signaling the start of the film, and the group around them slowly quieted except Jesse, who was still whispering aggressively at Fives about how this better not be boring.
Anakin shifted a little closer to Y/N anyway, his arm resting casually along the back of her seat not quite touching her, but close enough that she could feel him there like warmth.
Y/N noticed immediately. Of course she did. She leaned slightly toward him without looking at him. “You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing princess?”
“The ‘I’m pretending I’m not holding your hand emotionally’ thing.”
“I’m not doing anything emotionally.”
“That’s worse,” she whispered, grinning.
Sabine leaned forward from the other side. “If you two don’t stop flirting during a movie, I’m leaving.”
Y/N didn’t even look at her. “You’re not leaving.”
Sabine narrowed her eyes. “And why not?”
“Because you’re emotionally invested in Soka’s and Jesse’s debate— Jesse’s opinions and you need to see him lose this argument.”
A pause.
“…That’s not wrong,” Sabine admitted reluctantly.
Anakin let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he finally let his hand rest lightly against Y/N’s knee casual, grounded, like it had always belonged there.
Y/N glanced down at it, then up at him. He didn’t look away.
“Comfortable?” he asked softly.
She tilted her head. “Dangerously.”
“Good,” he said. “That means I’m doing my job.”
She smiled, smaller this time. “What job?”
Anakin leaned in just slightly, voice low. “Keeping you here.”
Y/N didn’t answer right away. Instead, she bumped her shoulder gently against his.
“Try not to fall asleep,” she whispered. “You always do during movies.”
“I do not.”
“You literally did during Breakfast at Tiffany’s.”
“That was artistic fatigue.”
Y/N grinned, settling back into her seat as the screen flickered to life. She let her head fall gently onto Anakin’s shoulder, and for a moment, everything felt exactly as it should be, quiet, steady, and warm in a way she didn’t know she had been missing.
This was what she wanted in life.
Her friends. Her laughter. And the boy she loved sitting right beside her like he had always been meant to be there.
If someone had told her two months ago that she would be sitting here in a small, slightly sticky theater with her friends and Anakin Skywalker, leaning into her like it was the most natural thing in the world, she would’ve laughed in their face. Because that wasn’t something she did. Not anymore. Not after everything.
Cinema had always been her sacred thing, her quiet language with her mother, a shared world made of dim lights, whispered reactions, and stories that stayed long after the credits rolled. It was memory, tenderness, something untouched by chaos. Something that belonged only to the past.
Or at least, it used to.
But somehow, without taking anything away from what came before, she had learned how to let something new exist beside it. Not to replace it. Just… to grow around it.
She glanced at Anakin more than once during the film. He was watching, but not as intensely as she was—his attention drifting sometimes to her instead of the screen, like he couldn’t quite help it. And every time she caught him, he’d smile a little, soft and unguarded, as if she was the real story unfolding in front of him.
And she would smile back, pretending she wasn’t noticing the way it made something in her chest ease.
He was here.
With her.
Still choosing her, in all the small, quiet ways that mattered more than anything loud ever could.
Ahsoka shifted on her other side, muttering something about Jesse being “legally unbearable in group settings,” while Jesse loudly insisted that the film was already “emotionally mid.” Fives shushed him aggressively from two rows behind.
Y/N barely heard any of it because Anakin leaned slightly closer, voice low enough that only she could hear. “You’re not watching the movie,” he whispered.
“I am,” she whispered back instantly.
“You haven’t blinked in two minutes.”
“I’m emotionally invested.”
“That’s not what blinking is.”
She smiled into his shoulder. “Maybe I’m just appreciating the cinematography.”
Anakin huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” she said softly, tilting her head just a little more into him. “But you’re still here.”
,,love you princess’’ he whispered.
,,i love you too dork’’ she smiled.
20 years later
One of those questions older people love to ask just to fill the air, somewhere between small talk and philosophy is the infamous: Where do you see yourself in twenty years?
And for Y/N, twenty years had always sounded like a highway with no clear map, just Route 66 stretching endlessly forward, dust and sunlight and the feeling that you’re always becoming something you can’t quite name yet.
After high school, everything changed but not in the way people warned her it would.
They all graduated. Somehow.
Even Y/N, who had spent more mornings than she could count skipping class to sit in the sun with a Coke and a cigarette, or scribbling answers on tests she definitely hadn’t studied for. Even Jesse, who treated exams like a philosophical debate with himself. Even Fives, who somehow turned panic into performance. Even Ahsoka, who pretended she didn’t care but knew every answer anyway.
In those final weeks, something shifted. They stopped pretending time wasn’t real. They sat together from day to night, cramming knowledge into their heads like it was something they could catch if they just ran fast enough. And in the end, they passed. Loudly. Barely. Together.
After that, the question hung in the air like smoke: Now what?
Anakin knew one thing with terrifying clarity. He wanted Y/N.
Not in a moment. Not in fragments. Not in almosts. In all the years after.
And Y/N, she wanted the same, even if she didn’t always know how to say it out loud without turning it into a joke or a distraction or a cigarette she pretended wasn’t shaking between her fingers. She wanted mornings with him. Late nights. Arguments about nothing. Music playing too loud in small rooms. His hand finding hers without thinking about it. A life that didn’t feel like it was always about to end.
Y/N was a free spirit in the way people only understand when they try to put her in a box and realize she doesn’t stay there. Y/n was never going to thrive in a 9-to-5.
She didn’t want the diner life trapped behind counters, counting change, biting back curses at customers who never looked her in the eyes. And she didn’t see herself in university either. Not because she couldn’t but because life had never given her the luxury of pretending that path was simple.
So she carved her own.
She found the local radio station, Cherio!, tucked between old buildings and neon signs that buzzed like they were half alive. And it became hers.
She chose the music like she was choosing moods for the sky. Sometimes soft, sometimes chaotic, sometimes heartbreak wrapped in a melody that made strangers pull over just to listen a little longer. She talked on air like she was speaking directly into someone’s chest. About love. About anger. About sex and silence and the strange poetry of being alive when you’re not sure you want to be. Sometimes she read listener letters with a teasing smile. Sometimes she went quiet for a full minute just to let a song breathe. People started falling asleep to her voice, not in a bad way.
And without meaning to, she became something local and slightly mythical, the girl on late-night radio who sounded like whiskey and wildfire at 2 a.m.
Sometimes she hosted writing workshops at the community center. Girls with smudged eyeliner and too-big feelings would show up like she was a secret door out of their own heads. And Y/N would sit with them on scratched tables, telling them that being “too much” was just another way of saying alive in ways people don’t know how to handle yet.
Meanwhile, Anakin built something with his hands.
A garage behind an old gas station that didn’t even sell gas anymore just things, rust, and the smell of oil and old metal. He worked there with Rex, Jesse, and Fives, turning broken cars into something that could move again.
He taught neighborhood kids how to rebuild engines and, more quietly, how to rebuild themselves. How to stay steady when life shook. How to keep going when everything in you wanted to break instead.
People in town called him a bit of a legend.
Quiet. Intense. Always focused like the world could fall apart if he looked away for too long.
But the moment Y/N walked into the garage, or even just mentioned her name, something about him softened instantly like someone turned the volume down on all the noise inside him.
And he never hid it. Sometimes, when work slowed down, he’d turn on the radio in the garage just to hear her voice fill the space between tools and engines. He’d lean back, wiping grease from his hands, listening like it was music made specifically for him.
“Your girl’s on again,” Jesse would tease.
Anakin wouldn’t even look up. Just a faint smile, small and certain. “Yeah,” he’d say. “I know.”
And sometimes, when customers came in and caught him like that, smiling at nothing, listening a little too intently they’d ask.
“Who is she?”
And Anakin would glance at the radio, like it was obvious.
Then back at them.
And he’d say, very simply “That’s my girl.”
After five years of dating, of growing up, breaking apart slightly, and finding each other again in the middle of it every single time, Y/N and Anakin finally decided to live together.
It wasn’t a dramatic decision. No grand speech. No perfect moment where everything suddenly aligned. It was more like a slow realization that they were already half living in the same place anyway, his jacket permanently on her chair, her records permanently in his car, both of them constantly ending up on the same bed no matter which house they started the night in.
So they did it properly.
They built a home.
Not in the polished, magazine sense but in the way that feels like it grew around them.
The house was small, mid-century in style, tucked into a quiet street that always smelled like warm pavement and distant coffee. Wood everywhere warm-toned, slightly worn, like it had already survived a few lifetimes and didn’t mind starting another.
The color palette felt like autumn and summer had been turned into architecture: soft oranges bleeding into honey browns, deep amber shadows in the corners where the light didn’t quite reach but still felt safe.
It didn’t look perfect.
It looked lived in.
Vinyl records leaned against shelves and sometimes against walls when they got lazy. Movie posters were taped up slightly crooked because neither of them could ever agree on straight lines. There were mismatched mugs in the kitchen, a couch that had definitely seen too many late-night arguments and even more late-night making up, and a constant smell of coffee, cigarettes on the porch, and whatever Y/N had decided to burn slightly while cooking.
The living room became their universe.
A record player in the corner that was always on. Sometimes soft jazz, sometimes chaotic rock, sometimes Y/N dramatically insisting that this song is the only thing that understands her soul.
Anakin would roll his eyes every time and then sit down beside her anyway.
They had learned each other in layers over the years, not in a sudden revelation, but in small accumulations of understanding.
How Y/N needed movement when she thought. How she paced when she was overwhelmed. How she always, always stole his sweaters and acted like it was a legal right.
How Anakin went quiet when he was stressed, but never truly shut her out anymore. How he fixed things around the house like it was a language he trusted more than words. How he always, without exception, placed his hand somewhere on her—her back, her arm, her fingers like grounding himself to her existence.
And when they fought and they still did, because neither of them had ever become less intense, they learned how to stay in the same room afterward.
Not to win.
To understand.
Sometimes that meant sitting on the floor in silence until one of them laughed first. Sometimes it meant Y/N throwing a pillow at him and him pretending it hurt more than it did. Sometimes it meant Anakin quietly saying, “Come here,” and her reluctantly doing it anyway.
The house learned them as much as they learned each other and slowly, it stopped feeling like a place they lived in. It became a place that lived with them.
Fridays turned into something sacred.
Their friends gathered there without needing invitations anymore like the house itself had become the default answer to where are we going?
Rex would show up first, usually carrying beer and some complaint about Jesse already being late. Fives would arrive loud enough that it sounded like he was announcing himself to the entire neighborhood. Ahsoka would come in like she owned the place, immediately changing the music if she didn’t approve.
Y/N would be in the kitchen half the time, leaning against the counter, laughing at something someone said while pretending she wasn’t listening.
Anakin would usually be fixing something that didn’t actually need fixing.
And the record player would always be on.
Always.
Some nights they’d just sit in the living room with cold beers in hand, music low, conversations drifting in and out of seriousness and nonsense. Arguments about films. Debates about nothing important. Jesse passionately explaining a conspiracy theory no one asked for.
Friday nights always ended the same way.
No matter how loud they started, no matter how many people filled the living room, no matter how many bottles ended up empty on the coffee table, there came a point when the house slowly exhaled.
Voices faded. The record stopped spinning. Someone always left their jacket behind.
And eventually, it was just the two of them again.
Y/N stood in the kitchen with her sleeves pushed up, warm water running over her hands as she washed the last of the glasses. The light above the sink was soft and amber, reflecting off the porcelain and glass like everything had been dipped in honey.
Behind her, the house was quiet in that post-chaos way, comfortable, slightly messy, alive.
She hummed under her breath without noticing. Something old. Something she didn’t even remember the name of. Then she felt him before she heard him.
Anakin stepped into the kitchen barefoot, hair slightly damp like he’d just run his hands through it too many times. He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched her for a moment like she was the only thing still moving in a world that had finally slowed down.
“You’re still cleaning,” he said softly.
Y/N didn’t turn around. “And you’re still doing that thing where you pretend you’re surprised I’m responsible.”
“I’m not pretending.”
She snorted. “Liar.”
He came closer, slow and unhurried, like he already knew exactly where he was going.
She rinsed another glass. “If you’re here to help, you’re already late. The damage is done.”
“Mm,” he hummed thoughtfully. “I think I can still contribute.”
“Anakin, if you break something—”
He wrapped his arms around her from behind.
His chest pressed gently against her back, warm and familiar, his chin settling briefly near her shoulder like it had always belonged there. One of his hands slid easily over hers under the water, slowing her movements without stopping them completely.
Y/N froze for half a second. Then immediately resumed washing, because she refused to reward him with full attention too easily.
“You’re distracting me,” she said flatly.
“I’m helping,” he corrected.
“With what? Emotional sabotage?”
“With morale.”
She rolled her eyes, but her mouth betrayed her, curling into a smile she tried to hide by turning her face slightly away.
Anakin noticed anyway. Of course he did. He tightened his arms just a little, like he was settling into the idea of her rather than just holding her.
“You smell like soap and trouble,” he murmured.
“That’s not a scent.”
“It is on you.”
She scoffed. “You’re unbearable.”
“And yet,” he said, pressing a slow kiss to the side of her neck, “you let me live here.”
That made her pause again, just briefly, just enough for her to feel the words land somewhere deeper than the joke. Then she nudged him lightly with her elbow. “You pay rent in attitude.”
“I thought I paid in emotional support.”
“You do that for yourself.”
He laughed quietly against her skin, the sound low and real and tired in a good way. Outside, someone’s car passed down the street. Somewhere in the living room, a record sleeve still lay half-open on the floor.
Anakin shifted slightly, swaying them both a little as if the kitchen had become a slow dance floor no one else was invited to.
“You know,” he said, “everyone left a mess.”
Y/N nodded toward the sink. “I noticed.”
“But you stayed.”
She turned her head just slightly now, enough to glance at him over her shoulder. “Someone has to stop this place from becoming a crime scene.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Her expression softened before she could stop it. The joke faded between them for a second, replaced by something quieter. Anakin’s arms loosened slightly, but he didn’t let go.
“I like when it’s just us at the end,” he admitted.
Y/N looked back at the sink, the water still running, the world still gently spinning outside their little kitchen. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Me too.”
A beat passed. Then, because neither of them could stay too serious for too long without breaking it: Anakin kissed her shoulder again. “You’re still doing dishes,” he muttered.
“And you’re still hugging me like I’m a chair.”
“I like this chair.”
She laughed under her breath, finally setting the glass down properly. “You’re lucky I love you.”
That made him still completely for a moment. Then, quieter than everything else: “I know.”
And this time, he didn’t say it like a joke. He said it like something he was still grateful to have survived long enough to hear.
Sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, when sleep refused to settle into their bones, they didn’t fight it anymore.
They just moved.
The living room would become their little world, dim light spilling from a single lamp, vinyl crackling low in the background, shadows stretching across the wooden floor like they belonged there too. Sometimes Y/N would kick off her socks and start dancing barefoot without warning, half-laughing at her own chaos. Other times Anakin would pull her up from the couch without a word, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and they’d sway together to music that didn’t even matter anymore.
And when even that felt like too much energy, they’d end up in his car.
Always his car.
Parked somewhere quiet, windows fogged slightly from breath and laughter, the dashboard glowing faintly in the dark like a memory they kept revisiting on purpose. Sometimes they didn’t even talk. Sometimes they just sat there, passing time like it was something gentle instead of something that used to terrify them.
And more often than not, they’d end up at Dex’s.
The bell above the door still rang the same way it always had.
Dex would still pretend to be annoyed when he saw them, even though he was smiling before they even stepped fully inside.
“Coke and a blueberry slushie?” he’d call out without looking up.
Y/N would lean on the counter like she owned the place. “You know us too well.”
“And I regret it every day,” he’d mutter fondly.
It was the best kind of life. Not perfect. Not cinematic in the way people imagine forever to be.
But real.
And of course, because nothing in their lives ever stayed quiet for long, things only got more unpredictable the longer they stayed together. Dating Anakin Skywalker had already been chaos wrapped in devotion. But marrying him? That was another level entirely.
He proposed on a normal day. Which, for them, was suspicious on its own. No grand plan. No perfectly rehearsed speech. Just Anakin standing by the desert road in a summer night, looking at her like he had been holding the question inside his chest for years and finally ran out of space to keep it there.
Y/N had stared at him for a full second. Then blinked. “…Are you serious?”
“Yes,” he said immediately. Too immediate. Like he was afraid the word might disappear if he didn’t say it fast enough.
That was when she jumped on him.
Literally.
So hard he stumbled backward to the car roof, laughing, barely catching her as she knocked them both off balance. And she said yes into his shoulder like it was obvious, like there had never been any other answer in any version of her life.
The wedding came later.
And it was beautiful in a way that didn’t feel staged or delicate or distant. It was alive. Messy in the best way. Friends laughing too loudly. Someone crying before the vows even started. Music that kept skipping because someone refused to stop dancing near the speakers.
Y/N standing there looking at Anakin like she still couldn’t believe he was real.
And Anakin looking at her like the constellation of stars.
That part was expected. What wasn’t expected, what nobody planned for, not even them was the moment everything changed again.
The pregnancy test.
Two lines.
Simple. Quiet. Unmistakable.
Y/N standing in the bathroom staring at it like it had personally challenged her understanding of reality. Anakin leaning in the doorway behind her, trying very hard to act calm and failing spectacularly.
“…Is that—”
“Yes,” she said immediately.
A pause.
“Oh.”
That “oh” became a whole new chapter of their lives.
They never planned it. They never even had a perfect idea of what kind of parents they would be. They just… became it. The same way everything else between them had happened. Not carefully. Not cleanly.
But completely.
Luke Skywalker came first.
Quiet from the beginning. Observant in a way that felt too old for his age, like he was always listening to something beyond the room. He loved stars before he could properly explain what they were. Loved books like they were maps to somewhere only he understood. He asked questions that made adults pause too long before answering.
Anakin saw himself in him immediately and got weirdly emotional about it every time anyone pointed it out.
Leia Skywalker came like a spark that refused to be contained.
Loud. Bright. Fiercely protective of her brother from the moment she learned she had one. Political before she even understood the word. Always asking why like it was a challenge to the world itself. If someone bothered Luke, she didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. Just reacted.
People called her intense.
Y/N called her honest.
And the combination of both children, Luke’s quiet depth and Leia’s fire was something no one in that house could ever fully prepare for.
Y/N didn’t baby them.
She spoke to them like they were real people. Small people, yes but still people. She told them the truth even when it was messy. She swore sometimes without realizing it, then apologized like it was normal. She loved them with something that felt less like protection and more like recognition.
Like she saw them fully and decided they were worth everything anyway.
Anakin, meanwhile, was a disaster in his own way.
The kind of father who forgot school picture day but built entire science fair projects at 2 a.m. like it was a life-or-death mission. The kind who showed up to every recital early, sitting in the front row like he was guarding something sacred. The kind who listened to their problems like they mattered more than anything else in the world.
And they did.
Y/N still had moments quiet ones, usually when the house was finally asleep where she would stand in the doorway and just look at them.
Luke curled up with a book. Leia half-asleep but still clutching something she decided was important five minutes ago.
Anakin behind her, arms loosely around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder without saying anything.
And she would think, This is love.
Late afternoon sunlight spilled across the desert like melted gold, stretching long shadows over cracked pavement and dusty roads. The school parking lot was almost empty now, just a few cars left baking under the fading heat. Y/N’s old station wagon pulled in like it had something to prove.
It didn’t park, it arrived.
The tires screeched a little too dramatically, dust kicking up behind it like a warning shot. Inside, Luke sat in the passenger seat, shoulders slightly hunched, one hand carefully holding an ice pack against his lip.
His glasses were cracked. Not fully broken, but fractured enough that one lens caught the light wrong.
“Mom,” he said quietly, already bracing himself, “it’s not a big deal. Really.”
Y/N didn’t answer right away. She was staring forward through the windshield, jaw tight, fingers still gripping the steering wheel like it had personally offended her.
Then she exhaled. “Luke Skywalker,” she said dangerously calm.
He flinched. “Yes?”
“Do not say ‘it’s not a big deal’ in my presence again unless you want me to start believing in violence as a personality trait.”
Luke sighed, sinking a little lower in his seat. “It was just a shove.”
“That gave you a split lip.”
“It was… a hard shove.”
Y/N turned off the engine. The silence that followed was immediate. Heavy. Final.
Luke watched her carefully now. “Mom…?”
She opened the door and got out.
That was the moment Luke knew it was no longer a conversation. It was a process. Inside the school, the fluorescent lights buzzed too loudly, like even the building was nervous. The secretary barely looked up before Y/N was already at the desk.
“Ma’am, you can’t go back there without—”
Y/N didn’t slow down. “Tell Principal Mothma I’m not in the mood for the chain of command.”
And just like that, she was gone. The hallway was full of noise at first laughter, lockers slamming, the chaotic after-school energy of boys who thought they were invincible because nothing bad had ever stayed bad long enough to matter.
Then Y/N walked in and the sound… died.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
She stopped in the middle of the corridor like she owned it, boots echoing once against the tile. Luke stood a few steps behind her, clutching his backpack strap so tightly his knuckles went pale.
He looked like he wanted to disappear.
Y/N didn’t look at him.
Not yet.
Her eyes locked onto a group near the lockers.
Jake Rendar. Thirteen. Taller than Luke. Smug in that effortless way only boys who have never been properly scared can manage. He was mid-laugh when he saw her. That laugh died immediately.
“…Can I help you, lady?” Jake said, trying for confidence but landing somewhere closer to uncertainty.
Y/N tilted her head slightly. “You the one who shoved my son into a fence?”
A few of the boys snickered behind him. Jake shot them a look like not now, but it was already too late. “I don’t even know who your—”
The soda can in his hand exploded sideways as Y/N knocked it clean out of his grip. It hit the floor and sprayed up in a violent fizz, splattering across the tile like a warning shot.
The hallway went dead silent. Even the air felt like it stopped moving. Y/N stepped closer just slightly.
“You get one chance,” she said softly, “to think before you speak again.”
Jake swallowed.
Luke, at the end of the corridor, stared like he didn’t know whether to be terrified or impressed. Maybe both.
“…I didn’t mean—” Jake started.
Y/N cut him off immediately. “Wrong answer.”
Silence again. She leaned in just enough for him to understand she wasn’t bluffing about anything in her life. “Touch my kid again,” she said, voice low and steady, “and I’ll talk to your father. You understand me?”
Jake nodded so fast it was almost comedic. “Yeah. Yeah— I understand.”
“Good.” Then she turned. The hallway slowly came back to life behind her, like reality had been holding its breath and finally remembered how to exist again.
Luke followed her out like a shadow trying to keep up and somehow, he looked a little proud.
The desert road stretched endlessly ahead, heat shimmering above the asphalt like a mirage. The station wagon rattled softly, radio low, dust trailing behind them. Y/N lit a cigarette with the window cracked open, hands still shaking just slightly now that adrenaline was fading.
Luke sat beside her, ice pack held loosely in his lap. He watched her for a long moment. “…You didn’t have to do that,” he said quietly.
Y/N didn’t look at him right away. She exhaled smoke out the window. “I did.”
Luke frowned slightly. “It was just— a shove.”
“That’s not what it was.” Silence. Then, softer now less fire, more truth. “You’re not weak, baby,” she said, finally glancing at him. “You’re brilliant. And weird. And you think too much for your own good.”
Luke blinked.
Y/N tapped ash out the window.
“And if you ever feel ashamed for being soft,” she continued, voice steady again, “you come to me first. I’ll remind you exactly who you are.”
Luke looked down at his hands for a second. Then nodded. “…You’re kind of scary, Mom.”
Y/N’s mouth twitched. “Good,” she said. “I’d rather be scary than silent.”
And for the first time since he got hit, Luke actually smiled. She reaches over and ruffles his hair, planting a kiss on his temple. ,,I love you baby’’
,,Love you too Mom’’ He smiled.
Later that day, the desert had cooled into twilight. Cicadas sang outside like the world was humming itself to sleep. Warm light spilled from the kitchen windows. Inside, Anakin was at the table. Grease on his hands. Tools scattered everywhere. An old motorcycle carburetor half-dissembled in front of him like a puzzle only he understood.
The screen door slammed. Hard, kinda of fast. Boots followed. Anakin didn’t even look up. “That you, honey?” he called.
No answer. The fridge opened. Bottles clinked. Y/N appeared in the doorway. Hair wild. Eyes sharp. Breathing still slightly uneven like she’d been running on pure instinct and rage for the past hour. She didn’t ease into it.
“Your son got shoved into a damn fence today.”
Anakin froze. The screwdriver in his hand stopped mid-air. “…What?”
Y/N stepped closer, voice rising. “Came home with blood on his lip and broken glasses. Said it was no big deal.” She let out a sharp breath, almost laughless. “I drove to the school. Walked right in. Found the kid who did it.”
Anakin slowly set the tool down. He already knew this wasn’t just anger. It was fear pretending to be rage.
Y/N continued, faster now. “Knocked a soda out of his hand so hard it hit the lockers like a gunshot. Told him if he touched Luke again I’d—”
She stopped. Her voice cracked slightly. “I’d make sure his father never forgot my name.”
Silence. Anakin dragged a hand down his face. He laughed. “Christ,” he muttered.
Y/N snapped immediately, “Don’t laugh Ani! I meant it. Every word.”
Anakin stepped toward her slowly. “I know,” he said softly.
That softened her, just a little. But not enough to stop the shaking in her hands. “They hurt him, Ani,” she said quieter now. “And no one stopped it.”
Anakin reached her. Took the beer bottle from her hand gently and set it down. Not scolding.
Just grounding. Then he looked at her properly. Red-eyed. Fierce. Protective in a way that came from love so deep it scared her sometimes. “You scared the hell out of them, didn’t you?” he asked.
Y/N exhaled. “Well I hope I did?”
That earned another breath of a laugh from him—this one softer. He pulled her in. Arms wrapping around her without hesitation. And she broke just slightly into his chest, like the anger finally had somewhere safe to go. Anakin pressed a kiss into her hair.
“It’s okay— you did the right thing,” he murmured. “Besides— you always have been, kinda reckless.”
She mumbled against him, “You love it.”
“I do,” he admitted. Then, quieter: “You’re the best mother I’ve ever seen.”
She pulled back slightly, searching his face. “…Really?”
Anakin nodded. “You made him feel safe,” he said. “That’s what matters. That’s what he’ll remember.”
Then from the hallway a small voice appeared that interrupted their moment. “Um…” Luke stood there, ice pack still in hand, cracked glasses slightly crooked. “…Am I in trouble?”
Y/N turned instantly. Anakin too. “No,” they said together.
Luke blinked. “…Okay,” he said slowly.
Then paused. “…Can I still get ice cream from Dex?”
Y/N wiped her face quickly, still holding onto Anakin. “Obviously,” she said.
Anakin nodded. “Yeah. But you’re telling me exactly what happened.”
Luke hesitated. Then sighed. “…Can I add dramatic pauses?”
Y/N pointed at him immediately. “That’s my boy.”
Luke had started to explain what happened. But then his sister, who heard everything, had to crash the conversation.
“Wait—wait—wait.” Leia stood there in the doorway now, hair slightly messy like she’d just run in from outside. She had the exact expression of someone who had heard just enough of a story to make it dangerous.
Her eyes were wide. Shining. Immediately suspicious of drama in the best possible way.
“Mom you went to the school?” she asked, already grinning.
Luke froze mid-speaking. Anakin closed his eyes like he knew exactly where this was going.
Y/N, still half tucked against Anakin’s chest, didn’t even try to hide it. “Yes.”
Leia’s face lit up like someone had handed her a forbidden secret and a crown at the same time.
“No way,” she breathed.
Luke immediately pointed at her. “Leia—don’t—”
“Did you really—” Leia stepped forward, practically vibrating now, “—knock a soda out of a guy’s hand?”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “It’s called correcting behavior.”
Leia gasped like that was the coolest sentence she had ever heard in her life. “Oh my God.”
Anakin rubbed his forehead. “We are not celebrating violence.”
Leia ignored him completely. “Was it like—” she gestured wildly with both hands, “—boom or like— snap?”
“It was neither of those things,” Y/N said calmly.
Luke, betrayed by physics and his own mother, muttered, “It was kind of both.”
Leia snapped her head toward him. “Luke, why are you underselling this? This is important.”
Luke sighed. “I got shoved into a fence.”
Leia paused. Then turned back to Y/N with even more admiration. “…You defended your honor.”
Y/N blinked. “That’s one way to put it.”
Leia crossed her arms like she was already forming a legend out of this. “So what happened to him?”
Y/N shrugged slightly. “He learned respect.”
Leia nodded solemnly, like this was a sacred teaching. “Good.”
Anakin immediately pointed at her. “No. Not good. We do not encourage—”
Leia turned on him. “But he shoved Luke.”
That shut him up for half a second. Luke, very quietly, added, “She also threatened to talk to his dad.”
Leia’s eyes widened again. “…That’s so powerful.”
Y/N smirked despite herself. “It was effective.”
Leia looked at her mother like she had just discovered a new religion. “I want to be like you when I grow up,” she announced.
Anakin groaned. “Oh no.”
Luke, very softly, said, “Isn’t that genetics anyway?”
Y/N finally stepped away from Anakin just enough to look at Leia properly. “Leia honey,” she said, trying to be serious now, “we are not teaching you to solve problems like I did today.”
Leia nodded immediately. “Right.”
A pause.
“…But if someone deserves it?”
Anakin pointed at her again. “Absolutely not.”
Leia tilted her head. ,,but… if someone.. like really deserves it?’’
Y/N sighed, glancing at Anakin. “…We’re in trouble,” she muttered.
Anakin pulled her back into his side slightly. “Yeah,” he said. “We’ve been in trouble since we met.”
Leia grinned like she had just confirmed her favorite thing about the universe.
Luke just quietly asked, “So… ice cream still happening?”
Y/N kissed the top of his head. “Absolutely.”
Leia immediately raised a hand. “Can I come if I promise to behave?”
Anakin stared at her.
Y/N stared at her.
Even Luke stared at her.
Leia smiled wider. “…Mostly behave.”
Y/N finally sighed, defeated in the most affectionate way possible. “Yeah,” she said. “Get your shoes.”
Leia pumped her fist once. “Yes.”
Anakin muttered under his breath, “We are raising chaos.”
,,You are still surprised?'' Y/N says while chuckling.
,,...Yeah no'' He kisses her head.
💋hey men! woah.. that was a ride! i want to say thank you so much that you enjoyed this story so much. that you gave me the opportunity to write such a huge story and that i could rob some time of you. i appreciate till now, every single support and commentary of yours. it means a lot to me. i never thought that i would be able to write something like that. manchild really means a lot to me and y/n is one of the characters that is very dear to me. thank u for everything! thank u for being apart of this long journey!
maybe we will see each other soon on the other side, but till then..
summary: anakin skywalker starts his summer break as a heartbroken guy over the break up with padmé amidala, yet while he was drinking his blueberry slushy in a gas station by a desert highway, he met a girl called y/n y/l/n, who was a wild and free spirited girl with tons of flings. what if the summertime sadness turns into a fake relationship? anakin wants revenge and jealousy, and y/n wants fun and drama.
fake dating.
previous chapter: we can't be friends, wait for your love.
series masterlist: manchild.
chapter thirty seven: the night we met.
There are moments in life when the world folds in on itself so quietly that you almost miss it. Moments when you walk down a street you’ve known forever and a strange feeling settles over you, soft and eerie at the same time. Like you’ve already lived this second once before. Not just remembered it, not just imagined it. Lived it.
A smell, a sound, the way the sunlight falls against a wall. Something small triggers it, and suddenly your chest tightens with the uncanny sense that time has bent back toward you.
People call it déjà vu. They say nothing can truly happen twice. Life may echo itself, but it never repeats perfectly. The second moment will always carry a different air, a different version of you standing inside it. Still, sometimes it comes so close that your heart can hardly tell the difference.
Y/N pushed open the door of Dex’s Gas Station, and the little bell above it rang its tired, familiar chime. The sound was thin and metallic, echoing faintly through the cramped store like it had done for decades.
Nothing here had changed. The same dirty off-white walls, yellowed by years of cigarette smoke. The same uneven shelves packed with candy bars and dusty chip bags. The same rotating metal grill near the counter where hot dogs slowly turned under a weak lamp, filling the room with the oddly comforting scent of grease and salt.
Gasoline, sugar, tobacco, cheap coffee.
The whole place smelled like a strange mixture of nostalgia and survival. Y/N had always loved it for reasons she could never fully explain. Dex had been the first one willing to sell her cigarettes when she was fifteen, sliding the pack across the counter with a conspiratorial glance like they were partners in some harmless little crime. Sometimes he’d throw in a piece of bubblegum or a soda and shrug when she tried to pay. “On the house, kid.”
That gas station had witnessed pieces of her life the way old buildings often do, quietly, without judgment. It had also been the place where that summer had really begun. She could still remember that first night clearly.
The humid air clinging to her skin, the sky still glowing faintly pink after sunset. The sting of embarrassment after a stupid fling that had gone wrong. She had walked into Dex’s place wearing ridiculous heels and scandalously short jean shorts that stuck to her thighs in the heat, her pride bruised but her attitude still intact.
Beer.
Cigarettes.
A reckless summer stretching wide ahead of her and somehow, everything had changed after that. Now she stood here again. The shorts were gone, replaced with flares that brushed softly against her boots. The night air had turned cooler these days, touched faintly by the beginning of autumn.
And there was no failed summer kiss trailing behind her footsteps this time. Just the quiet ending of one season and the uncertain promise of another. She walked toward the counter. Dex sat in his usual place, hunched slightly over a wrinkled magazine, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth like it had grown there permanently.
“What’s up, Dex,” Y/N greeted with an easy grin.
His eyes lifted first. Then his whole face broke into a surprised laugh.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he rasped, his voice roughened by decades of smoke. “Y/L/N! Nice to see you again, kid. Thought you finally quit smoking that lung down. Haven’t seen you in ages.”
Y/N leaned her elbows against the counter casually, her curls slipping over her shoulder.
“There are a lot of other stations closer to where I live— besides I was here three weeks ago,” she admitted with a teasing smile.
Dex scoffed theatrically as he turned toward the shelves behind him. “Nah you lyin— Oh, so I’m not your favorite anymore?”
He reached without even looking, pulling down her usual pack, the red ones. The kind that burned slow and sharp in your chest, leaving that bitter taste that somehow always reminded her of summer nights.
“You’re definitely my favorite,” Y/N said, tilting her head. “You sell me cigarettes for half the price and never ask for ID. That’s very appreciated.”
Dex barked out a laugh, smoke curling from his lips. “If the cops ever find out about this arrangement, you’re bailing me out.”
He slid the pack onto the counter. But just as Y/N reached for it, Dex’s eyes wandered past her shoulder toward the back of the store. His eyebrows lifted slightly.
He blinked once. “Huh,” he muttered thoughtfully.
Y/N paused. “What?”
Dex tilted his head toward the slushie machines near the far wall. “Feels like déjà vu.”
Y/N turned slowly, following his gaze and her heartbeat immediately shifted. Because this wasn’t just a strange trick of memory. It had happened once before. Right here. The moment that had quietly changed the entire direction of her summer. Anakin stood by the slushie machine with his back turned to them, shoulders relaxed, headphones covering his ears. A thin wire trailed down from them into the walkman clipped casually inside the pocket of his jeans.
One hand held a cup beneath the machine. Bright blue ice poured steadily into it, piling up like small crystals of frozen sky. Blueberry.
Of course.
Everything about the moment felt eerily familiar, the way he leaned slightly against the machine, the soft rhythm of music only he could hear, the lazy confidence in his posture. Like time had looped back on itself.
Y/N tilted her head, watching him quietly for a moment. The corners of her lips lifted. Her voice, when it came, was soft. Almost amused. “No,” she murmured.
Her eyes lingered on him a second longer. “That’s definitely a déjà vu.”
“Weren’t you two hating each other or something once?” Dex said dryly, tapping ash from his cigarette into a dented tray. “Then suddenly you were like a couple. I don’t know what you kids are doing these days. Only thing I know for sure is that that Jesse kid’s got some real issues.”
Y/N let out a quiet laugh under her breath.
“We were… yeah. I guess you could say we were a mix of everything.” She reached toward the shelf beside the counter and grabbed a small pack of bubblegum, placing it next to the cigarettes. “And Jesse stopped drinking for two whole days,” she added lightly. “He says it’s his personal record.”
Dex snorted.
“Kid, if it’s a mix of everything,” he said, gesturing lazily between her and the boy by the slushie machine, “then I’d say destiny’s mixed in there too. I’m no matchmaker… but this station’s got you both pretty good.”
Y/N grimaced faintly at that, half amused, half embarrassed. Still, her eyes drifted back toward Anakin almost instinctively.
Ever since they had decided to take things slowly, something between them had shifted. The tension that once felt like balancing on a fragile seesaw, one side full of warmth, the other full of pain, had softened. It was as if they had both stepped off it entirely, choosing instead to walk forward on steadier ground.
Stability.
Something quiet. Something earned.
Anakin had changed in the ways that mattered.
He listened now, really listened, when she spoke, never cutting her off when the group was together. He kept a respectful distance, never pushing her into corners of emotion she wasn’t ready for, yet his care lingered in the smallest gestures. Holding doors open for her without thinking. Ordering the drink she liked before she even asked. Watching over her from across a room with that soft, attentive gaze that made it clear he was always aware of where she was.
And he avoided the attention of other girls, not because he had to. Because he didn’t want it.
Because he had already chosen. He was giving her the best version of himself he could offer and somehow, it felt both new and deeply familiar.
Strange how quickly time moved. It had only been two weeks since that night in the rain, the confession that had spilled out of him like something torn straight from a Shakespeare tragedy. A moment so raw and dramatic that the whole world had seemed to tremble alongside their emotions.
Y/N didn’t dwell on it too much anymore. Oddly enough, she liked that it had happened that way. There was something beautiful about love declared when the sky itself seemed to weep with you.
At the slushie machine, Anakin finished filling the cup. The blue ice piled up against the plastic rim, the machine humming softly behind him. Then a strange feeling crawled along the back of his neck. That quiet awareness of being watched. He frowned slightly and turned around.
And the moment he saw her, everything inside him warmed instantly. His heart began beating faster, sudden and uncontrollable, heat rushing through his chest like someone had struck a match beneath his ribs.
Y/N stood by the counter, curls glowing softly under the fluorescent lights, watching him with that calm expression he had come to know so well.
The song playing through his headphones was Dream a Little Dream of Me by The Mamas & The Papas, a song he had put on almost absentmindedly because he missed her.
He had seen her just two days ago.
But lately that didn’t seem to matter.
Being around her alone without the shield of the group, did strange things to him. His heart acted like it belonged to a much younger version of himself. Like an eight-year-old boy standing nervously in a kindergarten playground, clutching a flower he had picked for the girl he liked.
With everyone else around, things felt easy. Natural. But here, in the quiet familiarity of the gas station where everything had first begun, his heartbeat felt louder than the slushie machine behind him. He quickly slid the headphones down from his ears. His voice came out softer than he expected. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Y/N said softly.
She was still standing by the counter, the cigarette pack resting in her palm as she tapped it lightly against her hand, the faint rhythm echoing the small nervous energy in her chest.
Dex glanced between the two of them.
His eyes narrowed with the slow understanding of someone who had lived long enough to recognize when a moment belonged to two people and no one else. He gave a low whistle under his breath, muttering something to himself as if he had accidentally stumbled into the middle of a scene that mattered too much to interrupt.
“Alright, kids,” he murmured vaguely to no one in particular. Then he shuffled away from the counter, pretending to search for his large orange cat that usually wandered the aisles like it owned the place.
Anakin shifted slightly where he stood near the slushie machine.
His hand ran through his curls, longer now, brushing close to his shoulders and he glanced briefly around the store before his eyes returned to her.
“I thought you stopped coming to Dex’s,” he said casually. “I barely see you here anymore.”
Y/N tilted her head, amused. “You know a day has twenty-four hours, right?” she said with a soft laugh. “It’s statistically impossible that we’d run into each other every time we come here. The probability of it—”
He lifted his slushie cup toward her like a pointer. “Touché,” he interrupted with a small grin. “But everyone knows you have a nicotine addiction.”
Y/N let out a quiet chuckle, her gaze dropping to the drink in his hand. The bright blue color practically glowed under the gas station lights. “Still terribly over-sugared?” she asked.
Anakin pursed his lips thoughtfully as he looked down at it himself, almost studying the ridiculous shade of electric blue. “Eh…” he shrugged. “I guess I choose loyalty.” His voice softened a little. “And I kind of… needed something.”
Y/N smiled gently at that, understanding the unspoken part of the sentence without asking for details. “Feeling blue?” she teased lightly. “Like a sad boy again?”
The nickname lingered between them, carrying the ghost of that first moment months ago when she had stood in this exact place and called him that for the first time.
Back then, summer had just begun.
Back then, everything between them had been sharp, confusing, electric.
Now the air between them felt different. Quieter. Softer. Like two people who had walked through a storm and somehow ended up standing calmly on the other side.
Anakin laughed, shaking his head. “Hey,” he protested. “I don’t need to be sad to drink a slushie.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You sure about that?”
He met her eyes then. And the teasing smile on his lips faded into something gentler.
“There isn’t anything to be sad about,” Anakin said quietly.
His gaze lingered on her just a second longer than necessary. Because standing there, in the same place where everything had once started between them, it didn’t feel like sadness at all. More like a new beginning.
Y/N smiled softly and nodded.
Her lips parted slightly, like she was about to say something, but the words never quite arrived. Instead, Anakin looked down at the slushie in his hand, slowly circling the plastic straw through the bright blue ice.
“I was thinking about… driving around for a bit,” he said, almost casually. “I don’t know if you’d want to join. I could bring you home after if—”
“Yeah, sure.” The answer slipped out of her mouth before she even had time to fully think about it.
Anakin blinked, lifting his head quickly. “Wait—really?”
Y/N shrugged lightly, her curls shifting around her shoulders. “Yeah… why not?” she said with a small smile. “We’re still young. I mean, it’s not exactly warm anymore, but it’s still… you know… nice out.”
For a second, Anakin just looked at her. Then he smiled. A real one. Not the careful, restrained kind he had learned to wear these past two weeks when he tried so hard to give her space. This one reached his eyes, soft and genuine.
Because it wasn’t just an invitation to spend time together.
It felt like something more delicate than that.
An opening.
A moment where the air between them felt wide and calm enough to exist without the weight of everything that had happened before. Not like the chaos of the party night when he had poured his heart out like something ripped straight from a tragic play.
This felt different.
This felt like breathing.
Together, they walked slowly out of the gas station and toward the parking lot, the late afternoon air cool against their skin. The sky had begun turning that soft golden color that only appeared at the end of summer days, when the sun seemed reluctant to leave.
Y/N’s eyes drifted toward the walkman clipped to Anakin’s hip. Without asking, she gently slid it free and flipped open the plastic lid, peeking at the cassette inside. “What do we have here…” she murmured, squinting at the label.
Her grin widened. “The Mamas and the Papas.” She glanced up at him with a smug little smirk.
Anakin chuckled quietly, watching her. “I guess your music taste is permanently stuck in my head now,” he admitted. “Hard to escape it.”
Y/N closed the walkman and handed it back to him, tilting her head. “Still… I don’t see you as someone who’d voluntarily listen to Dream a Little Dream of Me,” she teased. “I mean, you still have that brooding look on your face half the time. You barely smile when you walk. Did anyone ever tell you that?”
Anakin smirked. “Yeah,” he said. “Ahsoka. About a hundred times.”
He shrugged. “It’s not my fault I have a resting expression. Besides… it wouldn’t fit me to walk around smiling like Hera does.”
Y/N laughed softly. “Okay, fair. But look at Jesse—he’s always smiling when we’re walking somewhere.”
“That’s because Jesse is constantly under the influence of marijuana and has absolutely no idea what’s happening in the real world,” Anakin said flatly. Then he raised two fingers dramatically. “But hey… he stopped drinking for two days.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Really?” She crossed her arms, clearly skeptical. “I don’t believe him.”
By then they had reached Anakin’s car. The familiar shape of it waited quietly in the parking lot, paint dulled slightly by time and sun. Y/N’s gaze lingered on it a moment longer than necessary.
She had missed this car.
Missed the strange mixture of gasoline, leather, and cigarettes that clung to the inside. Half the cigarette burns on the dashboard were probably hers. The backseat still held memories she could practically feel in her skin, late-night kisses that had turned into something deeper, laughter that filled the entire car, singing at the top of their lungs while driving nowhere in particular.
Summer had lived inside this car.
Anakin took another sip from his slushie, the straw making a soft hollow sound against the ice.
“I don’t believe him either,” he said, squinting slightly at the cup as if Jesse’s claim of sobriety might somehow be hidden in the swirling blue sugar. “He sounded serious when he told me on the telephone… but it also kind of sounded like someone had a gun to his head while he said it.”
Y/N let out a small laugh.
Her eyes drifted past the gas station lot, toward the view that had always pulled her attention the moment you stepped outside Dex’s. The road stretched endlessly ahead, disappearing into the distance like a ribbon cutting through the desert. Beyond it, the cliffs rose softly from the earth, rough and ancient, their surfaces catching the last light of the sinking sun.
The sky was performing one of those quiet miracles it liked to do at the end of summer days.
Orange melting into red. Red fading gently into soft streaks of violet. And in between, the scattered green of desert plants glowing quietly under the warm light.
It had always been her favorite view.
Something about it felt honest. Wide. Like the world had room to breathe out here.
Anakin noticed the way she was looking at it. His gaze softened slightly. “We can just stay here if you want,” he said casually, nudging his slushie cup a little. “Quicker access for me to get another one.”
Y/N turned her head toward him, the corners of her mouth lifting. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I don’t mind.”
So they stayed. A few minutes later they were sitting on the roof of his car, the metal still faintly warm from the sun. The windshield reflected the fading colors of the sky while the radio played softly through the open windows.
A mixtape had started running. Not one of his. Most of the songs drifting through the speakers belonged to her old tapes, the ones that had soundtracked nearly every drive they’d taken that summer.
Y/N tilted her head slightly as the next song began. Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. She glanced over at him. “…Aren’t these my mixtapes?”
Anakin looked over, pretending innocence.
She pointed a finger at herself dramatically. “Because no sane person would put Edge of Seventeen right after Blueberries for Breakfast unless it’s me.”
Anakin chuckled. The slushie cup rested between his thighs now while his hands leaned behind him for support on the car roof. He nodded easily. “Yeah,” he admitted. “They’re yours.”
She blinked.
“You forgot them in the car,” he added. “But… they were always here.”
Y/N looked at him quietly. Her expression softened. “You could’ve thrown them away,” she said.
Anakin frowned instantly, confusion creasing his brow. “Why would I?”
She hesitated. “I don’t know,” she murmured, glancing down toward her hands. “I mean… after everything. During the time when we… weren’t really…”
The sentence slipped apart before she could finish it. Instead, she pulled a cigarette from the pack, using the small motion as a way to escape explaining what she meant.
Anakin’s eyes followed the movement. Then slowly, he lifted his gaze back to her. “I couldn’t do that,” he said quietly. His voice had lost its playful edge now.
“They were the only thing I had left that kept you close to me during the day… when I couldn’t actually have you around.”
The words landed gently between them.
Y/N looked up at him again. Her heart gave a small, unexpected jump.
Even during those weeks when they had chosen anger instead of honesty, when miscommunication and pride had pushed them apart, when they had both pretended hatred was easier than admitting how much they still loved each other, he had still been holding onto pieces of her.
Even while he had been with Padmé.
Still yearning. Still listening.
“So you listened to them?” she asked softly. “The songs I like?”
Anakin nodded immediately. “Of course.” His eyes didn’t leave hers. Not even for a second.
They stayed on the roof of the car long enough for the sun to finish its slow descent behind the cliffs.
At first the sky was still drenched in color, deep orange bleeding into rust-red, the kind of sunset that seemed to burn quietly across the horizon. But as they talked, the light faded almost without them noticing. Shadows stretched across the desert, the warmth of the day slipping away with the breeze.
Soon the sky darkened to that deep indigo blue that only appears right before the stars decide to show themselves.
And they did, one by one.
The wind tugged gently at Y/N’s curls, tossing them everywhere like they had a life of their own. Every now and then she brushed them away from her face, only for them to fall back again seconds later.
Anakin didn’t mind.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Back then—months ago—when he had first seen her inside Dex’s station, he had thought she was trouble. Loud. Reckless. A girl who walked down desert roads in heels like she owned the world.
A heartbreaker.
The most irritating person he had ever met.
And now here he was. Sitting on the roof of his car, listening to her ramble about anything and everything while the night slowly wrapped itself around them.
He was smiling the entire time because he had missed this more than he realized.
He missed the way she talked, how her thoughts spilled out faster than most people could follow, how she used her hands dramatically like she was directing a play no one else knew the script to. He missed the faint scent of her hair when the wind shifted, the way she leaned forward when she had something important to say.
He missed simply being around her.
“…And another thing,” Y/N continued, waving her cigarette like it was a pointer as ash fell carelessly to the ground below. “This new president—Sheev Palpatine? Already a walking red flag. I swear, give it a year and the whole country will regret electing him.”
She took another drag, clearly still annoyed by the thought. Anakin chuckled quietly, tapping his foot absentmindedly against the edge of the windshield. Then she shifted topics the way she always did, suddenly and without warning.
“Oh! And by the way—my friend Benito is moving to California tomorrow,” she said, shaking her head as if she still couldn’t believe it. “He’s actually going to pursue music seriously.”
Anakin scoffed. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Fuck that guy.”
Y/N burst out laughing.
“Oh come on,” she protested. “He’s not that bad as you think he is. Do you know how cool it would be if he actually became famous? Imagine having your first famous contact in your phone book.”
Anakin shook his head slowly, unconvinced. “He’s pretentious,” he said bluntly. “Always has been. And those curls he has? Hideous. Looks like he fell face-first into a puddle and decided to keep the hairstyle.”
Y/N laughed even harder at that. She tilted her head, studying him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Are you jealous of him?”
Anakin lifted an eyebrow, still smirking. “Jealous?” he repeated. “Why would I be jealous of him?”
Y/N shrugged casually, flicking the last of her cigarette away into the gravel below. “I don’t know,” she teased. “The way you talk about him kind of makes you sound jealous.”
The wind carried a quiet pause between them.
Anakin looked at her for a moment longer than necessary. Then he let out a small breath through his nose. “Please,” he said lightly. “I’m not jealous.” But the slight grin on his face made it clear he wasn’t entirely convincing, even to himself.
Y/N tilted her head slowly, watching him with the exaggerated curiosity of someone inspecting a suspicious animal. “Mhm,” she hummed.
Anakin narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“That was a very convincing defense,” she said dryly. “You insulted his personality, his career choice, and his hair in the span of ten seconds.”
“I’m just stating facts.”
“Oh really?” she smirked. “Facts?”
“Yes.”
“Objective, scientific facts?”
“Exactly.”
Y/N folded her arms dramatically. “Well then, Professor Skywalker, explain the phenomenon that occurs whenever I mention his name and you immediately start slandering him like he stole your lunch money in third grade.”
Anakin let out a short laugh, looking up at the darkening sky as if asking the stars for patience.
“Because he’s annoying,” he said simply.
“Uh huh.”
“And pretentious.”
“Sure.”
“And his curls are still terrible.”
Y/N burst out laughing again, her shoulders shaking as the wind pushed loose strands of hair across her face. “You are unbelievable,” she said.
Anakin watched her laugh, the sound filling the quiet desert air.
God, he had missed that.
He tilted his head slightly. “You’re defending him pretty passionately,” he pointed out. “Should I be worried?”
Y/N gasped in mock offense. “Please. Benito is my friend.”
Anakin’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Just a friend?”
She looked at him innocently. “Yes. Just a friend.”
A pause lingered for half a second too long. Then she added with a teasing smile,
“Besides… if I wanted a pretentious musician with curls, I’d just date someone from a poetry club.”
Anakin blinked. “Wow,” he said flatly. “That felt targeted.”
Y/N grinned smugly. “You walked right into that one.”
Anakin shook his head, chuckling under his breath before taking another sip of his slushie.
“Still not jealous,” he muttered.
“Sure you’re not.”
“I’m not.”
“You literally just said ‘fuck that guy.’”
“Because he’s annoying.”
“Because you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous!”
She leaned a little closer toward him on the roof of the car, resting her chin lightly on her hand while studying his face like a detective solving a case. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “the denial is usually the biggest clue.”
Anakin turned his head toward her slowly. Their faces were closer now. Close enough that he could see the faint glow of starlight reflected in her eyes.
“Oh yeah?” he said quietly.
“Yeah.”
A small smile crept onto his lips. “Then explain something to me.”
“What?”
“If I was jealous…” he said, leaning just slightly closer, “why would I be sitting here with you right now?”
Y/N blinked once. The playful confidence in his voice made her heart stumble for half a second. She tried to recover quickly, lifting her chin.
“Maybe you’re trying to prove a point.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah.”
“What point would that be?”
She shrugged lightly. “That you’re not jealous.”
Anakin chuckled softly, shaking his head.
“Or,” he said, his voice lowering just a little, “maybe I just wanted to see you.”
The words landed gently between them. For a moment, the teasing quieted. The wind moved softly through her curls again. Then Y/N cleared her throat and leaned back slightly, pointing at his slushie like nothing had happened. Her cheek’s being redder than before.
“…Your drink is melting.”
Anakin glanced down at the cup. Half the ice had turned into bright blue sugar water. He sighed dramatically. “Great,” he said. “Now look what you did.”
“What did I do?”
“You distracted me.”
Y/N smirked. “Not my fault.”
Anakin let out a quiet laugh under his breath, shaking his head again. But the smile stayed on his face, easy and unguarded.
Y/N tilted her head back toward the sky.
The desert night had settled in fully now. The last glow of the sunset had dissolved somewhere behind the cliffs, leaving the world wrapped in deep blue darkness. And above them, the sky had opened like a vast ocean of stars, sharp and bright in the clean desert air.
She slowly leaned back against the roof of the car, her curls spreading around her like a soft halo as she looked up. “The stars look really beautiful tonight,” she said quietly.
Anakin followed her gaze, glancing upward for a moment. “Yeah,” he nodded.
But after a second his eyes drifted away from the sky and toward her instead. The way she looked lying there comfortable, peaceful, staring up like the universe was something personal to her made something warm settle in his chest.
“Yeah,” he repeated more softly. “They really do.”
A few seconds later he slid down beside her, resting on the car roof as well. Now they were both lying there, shoulder to shoulder, staring into the endless stretch of sky. The silence between them wasn’t awkward.
It felt… familiar. The kind of quiet that only exists between people who already know each other’s chaos.
“Star-crossed,” people liked to say.
Y/N let out a slow breath. “You know,” she murmured, “the probability that a star is exploding somewhere right now is actually pretty high.”
She paused. “…But I have a feeling I’ve already said that once before.”
Anakin chuckled beside her. “Yeah,” he said. “That definitely sounds like something you would’ve said.” He turned his head slightly to glance at her profile. “We used to go stargazing a lot,” he added. “I’m still surprised how much you actually like it.”
Y/N smiled faintly, her eyes still tracing the constellations. “Yeah,” she said. “I guess I started appreciating calm things lately.” The wind brushed softly through her curls.
“For a long time I thought life had to be loud,” she continued. “Fast. Wild. Like if I slowed down too much I’d miss something important… like time was running away from me.”
Anakin didn’t interrupt. He just listened.
Her voice softened slightly. “But I think calm moments are good too. They make it feel like the world can stop for a bit… and let you catch up.”
He looked at her for a moment, thoughtful. “That sounds very poetic,” he said lightly. A small grin tugged at his mouth. “You sure you’re not dating some poetic idiot who’s rubbing off on you?”
Y/N snorted softly. “Nah,” she said. Then she turned her head toward him.
“There’s already one idiot that’s enough for me.”
Anakin blinked once. Then a slow smile spread across his face. “Oh, wow,” he said. “You’re finally admitting it.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Admitting what?”
“That you’re emotionally attached to me.”
She rolled her eyes immediately. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Skywalker.”
“Too late,” he said, folding his arms behind his head comfortably. “You called me your idiot. That’s practically a declaration of devotion.”
“God, you’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he said calmly, “you’re still here.”
She tried to suppress a smile. Failed. “Barely,” she muttered.
The stars glittered above them quietly. And for a moment neither of them spoke again, just lying there beside each other like two people who had finally learned how to share the same sky without fighting it.
Anakin let the silence linger for a moment after their teasing faded. The stars stretched endlessly above them, scattered across the sky like tiny lanterns. The desert wind moved softly over the car roof, carrying the faint smell of dust and cooling asphalt.
He took a slow breath. For a second his eyes drifted downward, thoughtful. There was a quiet tension in the way his fingers clasped loosely over his chest, like he was weighing something inside himself.
Maybe this was the moment. Not loud. Not chaotic like that night at Sally’s party when everything had burst out of him like a storm finally breaking.
Just… calm. Exactly the kind of moment Y/N had described, when the world pauses long enough for two people to catch up with their own hearts.
He cleared his throat softly and turned his head toward her. “Y/N?”
She shifted slightly, turning onto her side so she could look at him. Her curls fell loosely around her face, and her eyes found his immediately.
Those eyes.
The same deep blue that had always reminded her of the ocean—wide and endless and impossible to look away from.
“Yeah…?” she said quietly.
Anakin hesitated, searching for the right beginning. “I… I don’t really know where to start,” he admitted. His gaze flickered down for a second before returning to hers. “I guess I just… want you to know that what I said that night… at Sally’s party…” He paused again, the memory clearly passing through him. “I still mean it.”
Y/N inhaled slowly. “I know,” she said softly.
He nodded once, almost relieved that she understood without needing more explanation. “And I don’t think that’s ever going to change,” he continued gently. “I’m not saying it to pressure you into anything. I don’t want that.”
His voice stayed calm, steady. “I’ll give you as much time as you need,” he said. His eyes held hers without wavering now. “I just want you to know… that I’m waiting for you.”
There was no desperation in the words.
No pleading.
Just certainty.
The kind that sat quietly in the chest and didn’t feel the need to shout. Above them, a faint shooting star traced quickly across the sky before disappearing into the dark.
Y/N didn’t answer right away.
The wind moved gently across the desert again, brushing against the loose strands of her curls and carrying the faint smell of dry earth and gasoline from the road nearby. Above them, the stars continued to scatter themselves across the sky, quiet witnesses to whatever moment had decided to settle between them.
She kept looking at him. Not startled. Not overwhelmed.
Just… thinking.
Anakin didn’t rush her. He didn’t try to fill the silence with more explanations or promises. He simply stayed where he was, his head turned toward her, his blue eyes steady but soft in the dim light.
Y/N slowly rolled onto her side, facing him more fully now. One arm rested beneath her head while the other lay loosely across the metal roof of the car. “You know what’s strange?” she said quietly after a while.
Anakin raised his eyebrows slightly, inviting her to continue.
“I used to think love was supposed to feel like… fireworks,” she murmured. “Like everything exploding all the time. Loud and dramatic and impossible to ignore.”
She glanced briefly back toward the sky. “And I guess… we kind of had that.”
Anakin let out a small breath that was almost a laugh. “Yeah,” he said softly. “We definitely did.”
She smiled faintly. “But I think fireworks burn out really fast,” she continued. “They’re beautiful for a second, and then there’s just smoke and darkness again.”
Her gaze returned to him. “And for a while… that’s exactly what we were.”
The honesty in her voice didn’t sting the way it might have months ago. It felt like something both of them already knew.
Anakin nodded slowly. “I know,” he said.
Another quiet moment passed. “But this…” she gestured lightly between them, the roof of the car, the stars above, the calm air surrounding them “…this feels different.”
Anakin’s chest tightened slightly. “How?” he asked.
She thought about it. “It feels slower,” she said finally. “Like something that doesn’t need to explode to prove it’s real.”
Her fingers brushed absentmindedly against the metal roof. “I’m not scared right now.”
Anakin blinked slightly at that. Not scared. The words meant more to him than she probably realized.
“I don’t want you to be scared of me,” he said quietly.
“I know,” she replied gently and she did.
That was the strange part.
For weeks she had been untangling the mess of memories in her head, trying to understand which ones belonged to pain and which ones belonged to love. Trying to figure out whether the boy lying beside her was someone who could break her again… or someone who had learned how to hold her without hurting her.
And somehow, tonight felt like an answer. “I think…” she said slowly, “I needed time to remember who I was before everything got messy.”
Anakin listened carefully.
“And I think you needed time too,” she added.
He nodded quietly. “Yeah,” he admitted.
She smiled faintly. “Two idiots,” she murmured.
“Sounds about right,” he said.
They both chuckled softly at that. But the laughter faded into another silence, one that felt heavier now, not uncomfortable but full of things neither of them had said yet.
Y/N studied his face.
His hair falling into his eyes. The faint crease between his brows when he was thinking. The way his expression softened every time he looked at her.
She had missed this boy more than she wanted to admit.
“You really would’ve waited?” she asked suddenly.
Anakin didn’t hesitate. “I am waiting.”
Her heart stumbled a little at the certainty in his voice. “For how long?” she asked.
He shrugged lightly. “As long as it takes.”
“That could be a long time.”
“I know.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
Anakin’s gaze didn’t waver. “It’s you,” he said simply.
Like that was explanation enough. For a moment she just stared at him. Then she let out a quiet breath and shook her head slightly, almost amused. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not easy,” he admitted softly. “But it’s simple.”
Something about that answer made her chest tighten. She shifted a little closer to him on the car roof without fully realizing she was doing it. The space between them grew smaller. The night seemed to grow quieter too, like the desert itself was holding its breath.
“Anakin,” she said gently.
“Yeah?”
“I’m not completely healed yet.”
“I know.”
“I still get scared sometimes.”
“I know.”
“And I can’t promise that I’ll always understand everything either.”
He nodded slowly. “You don’t have to promise me anything.”
Her eyes searched his face. “And you’re still here.”
“Yeah.”
Another pause. The kind that stretches long enough for two people to realize something is about to change. Y/N lifted her hand slowly and brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. The gesture was soft, instinctive.
Anakin didn’t move. His breath caught slightly as her fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary.
“You’re very patient now,” she said quietly.
He smiled faintly. “Don’t get used to it. It’s giving me a hard time.”
She laughed under her breath.
Their faces were close now. Close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath when he spoke. Close enough to see the freckles on his nose, seeing all the little marks on his face that she always loved to see. Like two magnets getting pulled back together.
“Y/N,” he murmured.
“Yes?”
His voice dropped slightly. “Can I ask you something?”
“Depends.”
He smiled. “Can I kiss you?”
Her heart skipped hard against her ribs. For a moment she didn’t answer. It simply felt like a feeling that she’s being yearning for a long time, the first feeling she had, when realizing love is beautiful and gives you the feeling what everyone explained it to be. His lips were something that she always loved to taste, not even in a lustful way but in a way where she feels the love potion inside her, his love.
Then she smiled. A small, calm smile. “Yeah,” she whispered.
Anakin didn’t rush it. He leaned forward slowly, giving her plenty of time to change her mind if she wanted to. His heart was racing faster than the cars he had been driving, the rollercoasters he was with Obi Wan as a kid or anything else. Yet this moment felt different.
And she didn’t. Instead, she closed the small distance between them first.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The world felt suspended around them, the faint hum of the road far away, the quiet music still playing from the car speakers below, the wind brushing softly across the desert cliffs. But none of it reached them anymore.
Because the moment their lips touched, everything else seemed to fall away.
Y/N’s breath trembled softly against him as she leaned in, her nose brushing his before she finally closed the distance completely. The kiss wasn’t hurried, yet there was a quiet urgency inside it like something both of them had been holding back for far too long.
Anakin let out a quiet sigh the second he felt her lips again. It slipped out of him without permission, the kind of breath someone releases when they finally find something they thought they had lost. His brows knit together slightly, the emotion in his chest tightening almost painfully.
God, he had missed her. Not just the idea of her. Not just the memory.
Her.
The warmth of her mouth, the way she leaned into him without hesitation now, the faint taste of cigarette smoke and bubblegum that somehow only ever felt like her.
Y/N closed her eyes tightly, relief washing through her chest in a way that made her heart ache. For weeks she had wondered what this would feel like again, whether it would feel wrong, too familiar, or like reopening something fragile.
But instead it felt like coming home.
Her fingers curled slightly against the metal roof beneath them as if grounding herself in the moment, holding onto it. Anakin’s hand rose carefully, almost hesitantly at first, before resting against her cheek. His thumb brushed lightly along her skin as his palm cupped the side of her face, sliding gently toward her ear.
Her skin was warm beneath his touch. Warmer than the desert air.
He tilted his head just slightly, deepening the kiss only a little not rushing, not pushing, simply letting the moment breathe between them. The kind of kiss that spoke in quiet confessions rather than desperation. When they finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. Their foreheads hovered close together, their breaths still mingling in the small space between them.
Anakin’s thumb was still brushing slowly against her cheek, like he was reassuring himself she was actually there.
He opened his eyes first. And the moment he saw her looking at him like that soft, a little dazed, but smiling, his chest tightened again. For a moment it felt like the world had begun to move again but neither of them wanted it to. Y/N was the one who leaned in again this time.
It was quieter than before, almost instinctive, like her body had simply remembered the path back to him. Her hand rose to his cheek, fingers warm against his skin as she pulled him gently toward her again.
The kiss returned softer at first, but there was something deeper beneath it now. Weeks of restraint, of careful distance and cautious words, suddenly melting into the simple truth that neither of them had ever really stopped wanting this.
Anakin didn’t hesitate.
The moment her lips met his again, he let himself fall into it completely, like he had been waiting for her permission all along. There was no resistance in him, no holding back. If she leaned closer, he followed. If she deepened the kiss, he answered.
He would have followed her anywhere in that moment.
She shifted slightly, leaning closer so that her hand pressed beside him against the roof of the car, almost hovering over him now. The wind moved through her curls, brushing against his face as she kissed him again the way she used to slow, deep, certain. Certain that lead to something else.
Exactly the way he had always loved.
His hand slid from her cheek down to her waist, resting there carefully, as if he still respected the fragile space they had spent weeks rebuilding. His fingers curled lightly against the fabric of her jeans, grounding himself in the reality of her being this close again.
The music from the car drifted faintly beneath them, mixing with the quiet desert wind and the distant hum of the highway. When Y/N finally pulled back, the kiss breaking between them, she let out a quiet breath. Her chest rose and fell slowly as she tried to steady it, the closeness of him still lingering on her lips.
Her eyes stayed locked on his.
Anakin looked a little breathless too, his brows still faintly drawn together the way they always were when he felt too much at once.
Neither of them spoke for a second. Then she gave a small nod, almost like she had reached a decision inside herself.
“Let’s go home,” she said low.
The words hung gently in the night air.
Anakin studied her for a moment, the meaning of it settling quietly in his chest. “Okay,” he murmured. He slid down from the roof first, landing lightly beside the car before looking up at her. For a second he simply held out his hand.
It didn’t took minutes, how they both bursted the door of Anakin’s house. Luckily Obi Wan wasn’t home, they both stumbled inside, her arms were wrapped around his neck as she was kissing him deeper, more sloppier and faster. She started to feel more needier to him, the words she said earlier were for that moment like a joke, because she wouldn’t take things slower, when she tasted once is lips and her world is exactly where it needed to be.
His arms were around her waist, pulling her closer as he was walking after her, while she was stumbling backwards. His hands touched her back, down to her ass till he reached her thighs to lift her up, wrapping her legs around his torso. Crashing against the wall from the hallway of the house, kissing her deeper.
She couldn’t catch a breath from the way he was kissing her, her whole body was burning from the desire of electricity. Her hands touched back his curly hair, kissing him deeper as she pulled them from anticipation that her body craved for. She breaks the kiss a bit and whispered against his ear while kissing sloppily his neck. ,,Your curls are better’’
,,Yeah I know, Princess’’ He smirked while breathing hot against her skin.
Anakin stumbled towards his room with holding her. Placing her on the bed, pulling off all the things of her body, just like she helped him to get off everything. Her eyes looked at his bare skin, his bare chest where she placed her head when sleeping or after making love. The shoulders that she always gripped on, when he pleased her so good that her body craved for more.
It felt surreal, also so good.
He got on top of her, his hand placed on her waist again and his lips touched her spots where she would feel heaven closer to her. She said his name like the song he always loved, it would make him go crazy, he would always out the song from the beginning to hear it over and over again.
His hand travelled towards her back to unpin her bra, he looked with a dazed glance at her. His breath was touching her skin, which made her body shake from excitement. ,,I have been wanting to do this.. for so long... You—- I wanted you, princess’’ his hand touches her bare back, but his eyes didn’t move where her eyes were, sparkling of lust but also, love.
,,You have me, all of me’’ She said while pulling his neck down to kiss her again, pressing his body tighter on her to feel him more.
She whispered on his ear. ,,and I love you, too’’
💋hey men! last chapter, next one is the epilogue <3 !!! and if you think that them having sex was way too quick after she told him she needs more time... let them be. they just hormonal again and honestly me too y/n lmao
▶︎ prologue: my funny valentine.
peter parker x reader.
📼 a love story remembered by only one person, peter parker. recorded on a collection of old cassette tapes no one knows exist. a story meant for someone who can no longer remember it. still, he tells it anyway, hoping that one day, somehow, the girl it belongs to might hear it.
tapes file of peter parker's story: spider-man; blue.
▶︎ prologue: my funny valentine.
It wasn’t the sunniest day in New York. In fact, it felt as if the sun had disappeared a long time ago, at least whenever Peter looked up at the sky. The clouds drifted slowly above the city like pale ghosts, and somewhere behind them the sun must have still existed, still burning and shining for someone else, but it had slipped out of Peter’s orbit long ago.
It no longer reached his skin the way it used to, no longer made him squint and grimace while shielding his eyes with the back of his hand, the warmth spreading across his face in that familiar, almost comforting way that used to make the city feel a little more alive, a little less heavy.
New York was a dark city even on bright days, but sunlight had always made it bearable.
Now it simply felt distant.
And it wasn’t warm either. The air had turned sharp and bitter over the last few weeks, the kind of cold that crept slowly into the bones and stayed there long after you stepped back inside. Every morning the temperatures seemed to sink a little lower, and instead of sunlight pouring between the skyscrapers there were only pale clouds and small crystallized snowflakes drifting lazily through the air, landing on hats, coats, and the tips of noses before melting away.
From the outside, the city looked almost peaceful in winter, quiet beneath its thin blanket of frost, and inside apartments the world felt warmer, mugs filled with hot chocolate or tea resting in cold hands, heaters humming softly in the background while people waited for spring to come back again.
But for Peter Parker, the cold hardly mattered anymore.
Whether the air bit into his fingers or numbed his feet through the thin soles of his shoes didn’t make much difference these days, because most of the time he barely noticed it at all. On days like this one, he simply stood by the narrow window of the apartment building where he still lived, staring out across the streets of Manhattan while trying to convince himself that life was continuing normally, that he was still just another college student of the ESU struggling through his junior year, still someone who had assignments due and exams waiting around the corner as if nothing in the world had changed a few months ago.
But months had passed in a strange, quiet loop that never seemed to move forward.
Time hadn’t felt like time.
It felt frozen.
Frozen in the way a moment sometimes lingers longer than it should, stretched thin between memory and reality, as if something inside him had pressed pause without asking first. As if he hadn’t lost something irreplaceable somewhere along the way. As if his life had never been shaped by the strange rhythm of losing and gaining, of good and bad crashing into each other like waves that refused to stay still.
The truth was that Peter felt frozen too.
It was as if ice had slowly formed around his heart, thin at first but thickening with every passing day, dulling the warmth that used to live there. His skin looked paler than it used to, the freckles across his cheeks barely visible anymore, and when he caught glimpses of himself in mirrors or reflections he sometimes felt like he was looking at a stranger, someone whose eyes had lost that familiar brightness, someone whose gaze now carried the quiet stillness of winter.
He used to feel like summer once.
Now he felt like winter had taken his place.
Usually life came with transitions, little signals that warned you when something new was about to happen, small changes that made the world feel predictable in its own strange way.
When the leaves began falling from the trees, you knew the cold months were coming. When you finally graduated from the school that had nearly burned your brain to ash, the weight of the diploma in your hand meant something new was beginning.
Even a first kiss had that same quiet inevitability to it, that strange awareness that this was one of those moments everyone eventually reached.
Life had milestones like that.
Normative moments, people called them, things that were simply meant to happen sooner or later. But Peter’s life had never followed those rules very well.
Instead, it felt as if he had been placed on a seesaw somewhere between good and bad, balanced carefully in the middle while the weight of everything around him shifted without warning. No matter how hard he tried to stay steady, to keep himself grounded on one side of that fragile balance, something always tipped the scale again, sending him falling back toward the darker end before the good had a real chance to settle.
And maybe that was just the way his life worked now.
Outside the apartment window, New York moved the way it always did, restless and alive even beneath the cold weight of winter. Sirens echoed somewhere in the distance, faint but constant, weaving between the streets like distant cries for help.
Headlights slid across wet pavement in long golden streaks while taxis rushed through intersections, and beneath it all the city hummed with that familiar rhythm that never truly stopped, a living thing breathing quietly beneath steel and concrete.
The city kept moving forward.
It always did.
But Peter couldn’t shake the strange feeling that his own time had stopped somewhere along the way.
He leaned his head back against the wall beside the window, letting the cool surface press against his temple while he listened to the distant pulse of the city outside. For a moment, he wondered if what he was doing now was stupid.
Talking to an old cassette recorder like it was a person.
The small device rested quietly in his lap while he stared out at the world, and if someone had walked in they probably would have thought he had completely lost it. But the silence inside the apartment had been growing louder lately, filling the empty corners of the room until it almost felt like a presence of its own.
Too loud.
The place still looked like someone had just moved in. Half-filled bookshelves leaned against the wall. A stack of textbooks rested on the floor beside the desk. Camera lenses were scattered across the wooden surface in careless little clusters, and somewhere beneath it all the Spider-Man suit had been shoved deep into the bottom drawer, hidden far enough away that Peter didn’t have to look at it.
Somewhere MJ was on a date with a guy, after all it was valentines day, again. Ned was probably still out somewhere, maybe at that trivia bar nearby, laughing with their college friends over cheap drinks and wrong answers. Peter knew he should be there too. Sitting beside him. Complaining about impossible questions and arguing about Star Wars lore.
Peter knew he should be there too, sitting beside him and answering stupid questions about movies or history, pretending for a few hours that he was just Peter Parker again.
But that kind of evening felt… undeserved.
And beside him on the floor sat a small cardboard box.
Peter stared at it for a long time.
Inside it were the things he couldn’t throw away. Probably never would.
He remembered the day Aunt May had packed Uncle Ben’s belongings into a box like this one, carefully folding old clothes and photographs while explaining that the more things she placed inside, the lighter her heart seemed to feel.
Peter hadn’t understood it back then.
How could putting someone’s life into a box make anything easier? How could you hide away the last pieces of a person you loved so much and call it healing?
But May had simply smiled in that quiet, sad way she sometimes had and told him that she wasn’t throwing Ben away. He would always be part of her. She was only giving those memories a place where they could rest peacefully instead of hurting her every time she looked at them.
Peter had done the same thing once.
For her.
After she was gone, he had gathered the things that had belonged to her and placed them carefully into a box, holding onto them the way she once held onto Ben.
But this time it was different.
The box beside him was filled with messy handwritten notes, old movie tickets, and a photograph taken on a rooftop somewhere in Queens, where the city lights had looked like scattered stars below them. And resting among those memories was a small cassette tape with a crooked handwritten label someone had once added as a joke.
for the bad days, pete :)
Peter swallowed quietly as he stared at the words. “Yeah,” he murmured under his breath. “Guess this qualifies.”
He picked up the recorder, turning it slowly in his hands while his thumb traced the scratches across its worn plastic surface. Funny thing about memory, he thought. The more time passed, the harder it became to hold onto the smallest details, the sound of someone’s laugh, the way they leaned against your shoulder when they were tired, the little habits and expressions you once swore you would never forget.
Time wore those memories down.
It blurred them.
And Peter couldn’t let that happen.
The tape whirred to life with a soft mechanical sigh as he pressed the button. He drew in a slow breath, steadying himself while the recorder rested carefully in his hands like something fragile.
“I hope this thing still works,” he said quietly, his voice softer than he expected, almost lost in the stillness of the room. “Uh… okay… where do I even begin?.. I would’ve written this all down, but there’s a reason I’m more of a photographer… scientist… wall-crawler… whatever you want to call me these days—well…”
His words drifted off as he rubbed his thumb along the edge of the cassette tape.
The room around him was darker now except for the faint glow of city lights slipping through the window, pale reflections dancing across the walls like distant constellations. New York rarely slept. That was one thing Peter had learned after living here his entire life.
No sleep like New York. He picked that up.
He sighed quietly, running a hand through his curls as he tried to gather his thoughts. It was harder than he expected, finding the right place to begin, because some stories didn’t have beginnings that made sense. Some things just… happened.
And suddenly everything was different.
“You see,” he began slowly, his voice thoughtful and distant, “I’ve come to believe that things have to get really—really bad before they can get good. Not even really… really good.” He paused, exhaling softly through his nose. “Although… I wouldn’t mind some of that.”
His eyes drifted back toward the window, searching the scattered lights of the city as if one of them might offer an answer. “I guess when you look at the way my life’s turned out so far… that’s about the only way you can make sense of it.”
Another quiet pause followed.
“It’s kind of fucked up to say out loud,” he added under his breath. “But… good follows bad.”
A faint scoff escaped him as he shook his head slowly. “Kind of amazing,” he murmured, the words laced with something that sounded a lot like bitter sarcasm.
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Peter said quietly into the recorder, his voice almost hesitant, as if the words themselves carried a strange weight tonight. “And… I don’t really feel much like being anybody’s Valentine.”
He let out a small breath through his nose, glancing down at the tape spinning inside the recorder.
“Not even going out,” he continued. “I probably should’ve. Maybe met up with my friends or something, gone somewhere crowded where the music is too loud and nobody notices when you’re quiet.” He shook his head faintly. “Or… never mind.”
For a moment he simply listened to the soft mechanical whir of the cassette turning.
“As odd as it sounds,” he admitted after a pause, “I find myself wanting to talk to you.”
The words settled gently into the silence of the apartment.
“I don’t even know if you’ll ever hear these,” he added, quieter now. “Maybe you won’t. Maybe… maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
The tape continued to spin.
“But if you do,” Peter said, a faint almost-smile touching the corner of his mouth, “I remember the first time you sent me a Valentine.”
His gaze drifted toward the cardboard box beside him.
“It wasn’t signed. Just a little heart-shaped piece of paper.” He chuckled softly at the memory. “Bright red. Hard to miss, even if you tried.”
Inside the box, the small paper heart lay exactly where he had left it.
Even in the dim light of the room it seemed to glow faintly against everything else.
“You didn’t even write your name on it,” he continued. “You just drew a tiny happy face in the corner, like that was enough explanation for everything.”
Peter’s fingers brushed the edge of the box as his eyes lingered on the memory resting inside it.
“I asked you once why you kept leaving those cards,” he said. “All those little notes in my textbooks… on my locker… even on my apartment door.”
His voice softened with amusement. “You told me you had to get my attention somehow.”
A quiet chuckle escaped him as he glanced down at the recorder again, licking his lips thoughtfully.
“Where could my head have been,” he murmured, “that I wasn’t paying attention to you?”
The question hung there for a moment before he shook his head lightly.
“Although… I guess I should admit something.” His tone turned a little sheepish. “Maybe I was paying attention. I just tried not to.”
Another quiet breath. “But you were kind of impossible to miss.”
The words carried a warmth that lingered in the room.
“My uncle used to say something like that,” Peter added softly, leaning his head back against the wall again. “He used to say youth is wasted on the wrong people.”
For a moment neither Peter nor the tape said anything. The only sound was the gentle clicking of the cassette turning inside the recorder. “You once told me every story deserves to be remembered,” he said eventually.
His eyes drifted back toward the window, where the city lights shimmered like distant stars across the dark.
“So… this is me remembering.”
Another quiet pause followed.
“Because someday,” he continued slowly, “there might be someone who should know about you.”
His voice lowered, thoughtful.
“About us.”
Peter exhaled softly.
“Your name was Y/N Y/L/N.”
A faint smile appeared on his face, distant and fragile, like something carefully pulled from the past. “Mine is Peter Parker.”
The tape kept spinning.
“And this,” he murmured gently into the quiet room, “is the story of how we fell in love…”
He paused, a hint of quiet irony touching his voice. “Or maybe more accurately…”
A soft breath left him. “How we almost didn’t.”
Before Peter returned to the dark quiet of his apartment and sit where he is now, he had been somewhere else entirely, high above the streets of New York, where the cold winter air rushed past him and the city lights blurred together beneath his swinging silhouette.
It had been a long time since he allowed himself to patrol like that.
Most nights he avoided it.
The suit had stayed hidden in the drawer for weeks now, maybe months. Wearing it had started to feel wrong somehow, as if the red and blue fabric carried a weight he wasn’t sure he deserved to carry anymore. Spider-Man was supposed to be a symbol, something bright against the darkness of the city, something that meant protection and responsibility, the promise that someone would always be there when things went wrong.
That had always been the mantra but Spider-Man was also something else.
A sin Peter carried with him. A part of him that could save strangers and win impossible fights, while somewhere along the way Peter Parker quietly lost the things that mattered most.
Still… tonight had been different.
Tonight there had been somewhere he needed to go. The wind rushed past him as he swung between the buildings, the Hudson River stretching wide and dark beneath the moonlight, reflecting silver waves across the water like scattered fragments of the sky itself.
He landed quietly along the Brooklyn bridge, the city humming softly behind him while the water moved in slow restless currents below.
In his gloved hand he held a single red rose. It looked strangely bright against the night.For a moment he simply stood there, staring at it as the cold air curled around him.
It was Valentine’s Day, after all. And even if the world had kept moving forward, even if the city no longer noticed the absence of one quiet heartbeat among millions… there had still been someone Peter needed to remember tonight.
Someone he had loved.
Someone he still loved.
“So… like I said,” Peter’s voice murmured softly through the quiet mechanical hum, “it’s Valentine’s Day.” His tone carried the faintest trace of irony. “And there’s this place I stopped by earlier today. Not many people know about it. Just a quiet stretch near the Hudson where the city lights look almost… peaceful.”
A small pause followed.
“I was hoping New York wouldn’t get any ideas if Spider-Man showed up for a minute,” he added quietly. “Didn’t want anyone thinking he was back or anything. Didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
The tape whirred gently.
“Today isn’t about that.” His voice softened. “Today’s about remembering someone who meant everything to me.”
On the bridge, the rose slipped gently from his fingers. It drifted downward through the cold air like a feather before touching the surface of the Hudson, the petals catching the pale moonlight as the current slowly carried it away. Red against endless blue.
“Someone I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with,” Peter continued softly on the tape.
Another pause followed. “But I guess what that really meant…” he murmured, “…was that she’d only get to spend the rest of her life with me in my memories.”
The rose floated quietly across the dark water, its reflection trembling between the waves.
“There’s nothing I can do about that,” Peter admitted after a moment. “And believe me… I’ve tried to accept it.” The tape clicked softly as it turned. “I really have.”
His voice grew quieter, heavier with the weight of old conversations he had heard too many times.
“When you lose someone you love, people always say the same things. They tell you to pick yourself up. Move on. Don’t dwell on the past because that’s not what they would’ve wanted.”
He exhaled slowly. “And they’re probably right. I’ve moved on before,” he said. “More times than I can count.”
Uncle Ben. Aunt May. Mr. Stark. Faces that lived quietly in the corners of his memory.
“But somehow,” Peter continued, a faint ache slipping into his voice, “it still makes me smile in the worst way.” A sad, almost amused breath escaped him. “Because why wouldn’t I stay in the past sometimes… when I know you were there?”
His thoughts lingered there for a moment, gentle and fragile. “The way your hair used to fall across your face when the wind caught it. The way you always sipped your soda like you were tasting something important. The way you made people smile just by being around them.”
Another quiet breath followed. “And most of all… the way you made me smile again.”
The tape spun softly. Peter’s voice lowered, tender and familiar.
,,This story isn’t really about the bad things, though.”
His voice softened.
“It’s about the best thing that ever happened to me.. which means
Hello, Y/N.”
The city lights shimmered through the window beside him.
“My funny Valentine.”
📼 hello web-heads! i hope you enjoyed this little prologue, i will explain some things to you before we get really into the story. this story is from the point of view of peter; he is our narrator. thats why his view will be italic. the real story will be in the normal format. i suggest you follow the little details of the story, because peter is a little bit unreliable.
i am really curious what you will think about what happened to y/n :) i am not saying she is like gwen stacy.
▶︎ prologue: my funny valentine.
peter parker x reader.
📼 a love story remembered by only one person, peter parker. recorded on a collection of old cassette tapes no one knows exist. a story meant for someone who can no longer remember it. still, he tells it anyway, hoping that one day, somehow, the girl it belongs to might hear it.
tapes file of peter parker's story: spider-man; blue.
▶︎ prologue: my funny valentine.
It wasn’t the sunniest day in New York. In fact, it felt as if the sun had disappeared a long time ago, at least whenever Peter looked up at the sky. The clouds drifted slowly above the city like pale ghosts, and somewhere behind them the sun must have still existed, still burning and shining for someone else, but it had slipped out of Peter’s orbit long ago.
It no longer reached his skin the way it used to, no longer made him squint and grimace while shielding his eyes with the back of his hand, the warmth spreading across his face in that familiar, almost comforting way that used to make the city feel a little more alive, a little less heavy.
New York was a dark city even on bright days, but sunlight had always made it bearable.
Now it simply felt distant.
And it wasn’t warm either. The air had turned sharp and bitter over the last few weeks, the kind of cold that crept slowly into the bones and stayed there long after you stepped back inside. Every morning the temperatures seemed to sink a little lower, and instead of sunlight pouring between the skyscrapers there were only pale clouds and small crystallized snowflakes drifting lazily through the air, landing on hats, coats, and the tips of noses before melting away.
From the outside, the city looked almost peaceful in winter, quiet beneath its thin blanket of frost, and inside apartments the world felt warmer, mugs filled with hot chocolate or tea resting in cold hands, heaters humming softly in the background while people waited for spring to come back again.
But for Peter Parker, the cold hardly mattered anymore.
Whether the air bit into his fingers or numbed his feet through the thin soles of his shoes didn’t make much difference these days, because most of the time he barely noticed it at all. On days like this one, he simply stood by the narrow window of the apartment building where he still lived, staring out across the streets of Manhattan while trying to convince himself that life was continuing normally, that he was still just another college student of the ESU struggling through his junior year, still someone who had assignments due and exams waiting around the corner as if nothing in the world had changed a few months ago.
But months had passed in a strange, quiet loop that never seemed to move forward.
Time hadn’t felt like time.
It felt frozen.
Frozen in the way a moment sometimes lingers longer than it should, stretched thin between memory and reality, as if something inside him had pressed pause without asking first. As if he hadn’t lost something irreplaceable somewhere along the way. As if his life had never been shaped by the strange rhythm of losing and gaining, of good and bad crashing into each other like waves that refused to stay still.
The truth was that Peter felt frozen too.
It was as if ice had slowly formed around his heart, thin at first but thickening with every passing day, dulling the warmth that used to live there. His skin looked paler than it used to, the freckles across his cheeks barely visible anymore, and when he caught glimpses of himself in mirrors or reflections he sometimes felt like he was looking at a stranger, someone whose eyes had lost that familiar brightness, someone whose gaze now carried the quiet stillness of winter.
He used to feel like summer once.
Now he felt like winter had taken his place.
Usually life came with transitions, little signals that warned you when something new was about to happen, small changes that made the world feel predictable in its own strange way.
When the leaves began falling from the trees, you knew the cold months were coming. When you finally graduated from the school that had nearly burned your brain to ash, the weight of the diploma in your hand meant something new was beginning.
Even a first kiss had that same quiet inevitability to it, that strange awareness that this was one of those moments everyone eventually reached.
Life had milestones like that.
Normative moments, people called them, things that were simply meant to happen sooner or later. But Peter’s life had never followed those rules very well.
Instead, it felt as if he had been placed on a seesaw somewhere between good and bad, balanced carefully in the middle while the weight of everything around him shifted without warning. No matter how hard he tried to stay steady, to keep himself grounded on one side of that fragile balance, something always tipped the scale again, sending him falling back toward the darker end before the good had a real chance to settle.
And maybe that was just the way his life worked now.
Outside the apartment window, New York moved the way it always did, restless and alive even beneath the cold weight of winter. Sirens echoed somewhere in the distance, faint but constant, weaving between the streets like distant cries for help.
Headlights slid across wet pavement in long golden streaks while taxis rushed through intersections, and beneath it all the city hummed with that familiar rhythm that never truly stopped, a living thing breathing quietly beneath steel and concrete.
The city kept moving forward.
It always did.
But Peter couldn’t shake the strange feeling that his own time had stopped somewhere along the way.
He leaned his head back against the wall beside the window, letting the cool surface press against his temple while he listened to the distant pulse of the city outside. For a moment, he wondered if what he was doing now was stupid.
Talking to an old cassette recorder like it was a person.
The small device rested quietly in his lap while he stared out at the world, and if someone had walked in they probably would have thought he had completely lost it. But the silence inside the apartment had been growing louder lately, filling the empty corners of the room until it almost felt like a presence of its own.
Too loud.
The place still looked like someone had just moved in. Half-filled bookshelves leaned against the wall. A stack of textbooks rested on the floor beside the desk. Camera lenses were scattered across the wooden surface in careless little clusters, and somewhere beneath it all the Spider-Man suit had been shoved deep into the bottom drawer, hidden far enough away that Peter didn’t have to look at it.
Somewhere MJ was on a date with a guy, after all it was valentines day, again. Ned was probably still out somewhere, maybe at that trivia bar nearby, laughing with their college friends over cheap drinks and wrong answers. Peter knew he should be there too. Sitting beside him. Complaining about impossible questions and arguing about Star Wars lore.
Peter knew he should be there too, sitting beside him and answering stupid questions about movies or history, pretending for a few hours that he was just Peter Parker again.
But that kind of evening felt… undeserved.
And beside him on the floor sat a small cardboard box.
Peter stared at it for a long time.
Inside it were the things he couldn’t throw away. Probably never would.
He remembered the day Aunt May had packed Uncle Ben’s belongings into a box like this one, carefully folding old clothes and photographs while explaining that the more things she placed inside, the lighter her heart seemed to feel.
Peter hadn’t understood it back then.
How could putting someone’s life into a box make anything easier? How could you hide away the last pieces of a person you loved so much and call it healing?
But May had simply smiled in that quiet, sad way she sometimes had and told him that she wasn’t throwing Ben away. He would always be part of her. She was only giving those memories a place where they could rest peacefully instead of hurting her every time she looked at them.
Peter had done the same thing once.
For her.
After she was gone, he had gathered the things that had belonged to her and placed them carefully into a box, holding onto them the way she once held onto Ben.
But this time it was different.
The box beside him was filled with messy handwritten notes, old movie tickets, and a photograph taken on a rooftop somewhere in Queens, where the city lights had looked like scattered stars below them. And resting among those memories was a small cassette tape with a crooked handwritten label someone had once added as a joke.
for the bad days, pete :)
Peter swallowed quietly as he stared at the words. “Yeah,” he murmured under his breath. “Guess this qualifies.”
He picked up the recorder, turning it slowly in his hands while his thumb traced the scratches across its worn plastic surface. Funny thing about memory, he thought. The more time passed, the harder it became to hold onto the smallest details, the sound of someone’s laugh, the way they leaned against your shoulder when they were tired, the little habits and expressions you once swore you would never forget.
Time wore those memories down.
It blurred them.
And Peter couldn’t let that happen.
The tape whirred to life with a soft mechanical sigh as he pressed the button. He drew in a slow breath, steadying himself while the recorder rested carefully in his hands like something fragile.
“I hope this thing still works,” he said quietly, his voice softer than he expected, almost lost in the stillness of the room. “Uh… okay… where do I even begin?.. I would’ve written this all down, but there’s a reason I’m more of a photographer… scientist… wall-crawler… whatever you want to call me these days—well…”
His words drifted off as he rubbed his thumb along the edge of the cassette tape.
The room around him was darker now except for the faint glow of city lights slipping through the window, pale reflections dancing across the walls like distant constellations. New York rarely slept. That was one thing Peter had learned after living here his entire life.
No sleep like New York. He picked that up.
He sighed quietly, running a hand through his curls as he tried to gather his thoughts. It was harder than he expected, finding the right place to begin, because some stories didn’t have beginnings that made sense. Some things just… happened.
And suddenly everything was different.
“You see,” he began slowly, his voice thoughtful and distant, “I’ve come to believe that things have to get really—really bad before they can get good. Not even really… really good.” He paused, exhaling softly through his nose. “Although… I wouldn’t mind some of that.”
His eyes drifted back toward the window, searching the scattered lights of the city as if one of them might offer an answer. “I guess when you look at the way my life’s turned out so far… that’s about the only way you can make sense of it.”
Another quiet pause followed.
“It’s kind of fucked up to say out loud,” he added under his breath. “But… good follows bad.”
A faint scoff escaped him as he shook his head slowly. “Kind of amazing,” he murmured, the words laced with something that sounded a lot like bitter sarcasm.
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” Peter said quietly into the recorder, his voice almost hesitant, as if the words themselves carried a strange weight tonight. “And… I don’t really feel much like being anybody’s Valentine.”
He let out a small breath through his nose, glancing down at the tape spinning inside the recorder.
“Not even going out,” he continued. “I probably should’ve. Maybe met up with my friends or something, gone somewhere crowded where the music is too loud and nobody notices when you’re quiet.” He shook his head faintly. “Or… never mind.”
For a moment he simply listened to the soft mechanical whir of the cassette turning.
“As odd as it sounds,” he admitted after a pause, “I find myself wanting to talk to you.”
The words settled gently into the silence of the apartment.
“I don’t even know if you’ll ever hear these,” he added, quieter now. “Maybe you won’t. Maybe… maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
The tape continued to spin.
“But if you do,” Peter said, a faint almost-smile touching the corner of his mouth, “I remember the first time you sent me a Valentine.”
His gaze drifted toward the cardboard box beside him.
“It wasn’t signed. Just a little heart-shaped piece of paper.” He chuckled softly at the memory. “Bright red. Hard to miss, even if you tried.”
Inside the box, the small paper heart lay exactly where he had left it.
Even in the dim light of the room it seemed to glow faintly against everything else.
“You didn’t even write your name on it,” he continued. “You just drew a tiny happy face in the corner, like that was enough explanation for everything.”
Peter’s fingers brushed the edge of the box as his eyes lingered on the memory resting inside it.
“I asked you once why you kept leaving those cards,” he said. “All those little notes in my textbooks… on my locker… even on my apartment door.”
His voice softened with amusement. “You told me you had to get my attention somehow.”
A quiet chuckle escaped him as he glanced down at the recorder again, licking his lips thoughtfully.
“Where could my head have been,” he murmured, “that I wasn’t paying attention to you?”
The question hung there for a moment before he shook his head lightly.
“Although… I guess I should admit something.” His tone turned a little sheepish. “Maybe I was paying attention. I just tried not to.”
Another quiet breath. “But you were kind of impossible to miss.”
The words carried a warmth that lingered in the room.
“My uncle used to say something like that,” Peter added softly, leaning his head back against the wall again. “He used to say youth is wasted on the wrong people.”
For a moment neither Peter nor the tape said anything. The only sound was the gentle clicking of the cassette turning inside the recorder. “You once told me every story deserves to be remembered,” he said eventually.
His eyes drifted back toward the window, where the city lights shimmered like distant stars across the dark.
“So… this is me remembering.”
Another quiet pause followed.
“Because someday,” he continued slowly, “there might be someone who should know about you.”
His voice lowered, thoughtful.
“About us.”
Peter exhaled softly.
“Your name was Y/N Y/L/N.”
A faint smile appeared on his face, distant and fragile, like something carefully pulled from the past. “Mine is Peter Parker.”
The tape kept spinning.
“And this,” he murmured gently into the quiet room, “is the story of how we fell in love…”
He paused, a hint of quiet irony touching his voice. “Or maybe more accurately…”
A soft breath left him. “How we almost didn’t.”
Before Peter returned to the dark quiet of his apartment and sit where he is now, he had been somewhere else entirely, high above the streets of New York, where the cold winter air rushed past him and the city lights blurred together beneath his swinging silhouette.
It had been a long time since he allowed himself to patrol like that.
Most nights he avoided it.
The suit had stayed hidden in the drawer for weeks now, maybe months. Wearing it had started to feel wrong somehow, as if the red and blue fabric carried a weight he wasn’t sure he deserved to carry anymore. Spider-Man was supposed to be a symbol, something bright against the darkness of the city, something that meant protection and responsibility, the promise that someone would always be there when things went wrong.
That had always been the mantra but Spider-Man was also something else.
A sin Peter carried with him. A part of him that could save strangers and win impossible fights, while somewhere along the way Peter Parker quietly lost the things that mattered most.
Still… tonight had been different.
Tonight there had been somewhere he needed to go. The wind rushed past him as he swung between the buildings, the Hudson River stretching wide and dark beneath the moonlight, reflecting silver waves across the water like scattered fragments of the sky itself.
He landed quietly along the Brooklyn bridge, the city humming softly behind him while the water moved in slow restless currents below.
In his gloved hand he held a single red rose. It looked strangely bright against the night.For a moment he simply stood there, staring at it as the cold air curled around him.
It was Valentine’s Day, after all. And even if the world had kept moving forward, even if the city no longer noticed the absence of one quiet heartbeat among millions… there had still been someone Peter needed to remember tonight.
Someone he had loved.
Someone he still loved.
“So… like I said,” Peter’s voice murmured softly through the quiet mechanical hum, “it’s Valentine’s Day.” His tone carried the faintest trace of irony. “And there’s this place I stopped by earlier today. Not many people know about it. Just a quiet stretch near the Hudson where the city lights look almost… peaceful.”
A small pause followed.
“I was hoping New York wouldn’t get any ideas if Spider-Man showed up for a minute,” he added quietly. “Didn’t want anyone thinking he was back or anything. Didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
The tape whirred gently.
“Today isn’t about that.” His voice softened. “Today’s about remembering someone who meant everything to me.”
On the bridge, the rose slipped gently from his fingers. It drifted downward through the cold air like a feather before touching the surface of the Hudson, the petals catching the pale moonlight as the current slowly carried it away. Red against endless blue.
“Someone I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with,” Peter continued softly on the tape.
Another pause followed. “But I guess what that really meant…” he murmured, “…was that she’d only get to spend the rest of her life with me in my memories.”
The rose floated quietly across the dark water, its reflection trembling between the waves.
“There’s nothing I can do about that,” Peter admitted after a moment. “And believe me… I’ve tried to accept it.” The tape clicked softly as it turned. “I really have.”
His voice grew quieter, heavier with the weight of old conversations he had heard too many times.
“When you lose someone you love, people always say the same things. They tell you to pick yourself up. Move on. Don’t dwell on the past because that’s not what they would’ve wanted.”
He exhaled slowly. “And they’re probably right. I’ve moved on before,” he said. “More times than I can count.”
Uncle Ben. Aunt May. Mr. Stark. Faces that lived quietly in the corners of his memory.
“But somehow,” Peter continued, a faint ache slipping into his voice, “it still makes me smile in the worst way.” A sad, almost amused breath escaped him. “Because why wouldn’t I stay in the past sometimes… when I know you were there?”
His thoughts lingered there for a moment, gentle and fragile. “The way your hair used to fall across your face when the wind caught it. The way you always sipped your soda like you were tasting something important. The way you made people smile just by being around them.”
Another quiet breath followed. “And most of all… the way you made me smile again.”
The tape spun softly. Peter’s voice lowered, tender and familiar.
,,This story isn’t really about the bad things, though.”
His voice softened.
“It’s about the best thing that ever happened to me.. which means
Hello, Y/N.”
The city lights shimmered through the window beside him.
“My funny Valentine.”
📼 hello web-heads! i hope you enjoyed this little prologue, i will explain some things to you before we get really into the story. this story is from the point of view of peter; he is our narrator. thats why his view will be italic. the real story will be in the normal format. i suggest you follow the little details of the story, because peter is a little bit unreliable.
i am really curious what you will think about what happened to y/n :) i am not saying she is like gwen stacy.
📼 a love story remembered by only one person, peter parker. recorded on a collection of old cassette tapes no one knows exist. a story meant for someone who can no longer remember it. still, he tells it anyway, hoping that one day, somehow, the girl it belongs to might hear it.
▶︎ the tapes:
📼 prologue: my funny valentine.
📼 tape one: bus stop of tales.
📼 tape two: motorcycle and laughters.
📼 tape three: silly love letters.
📼 tape four: feburary fourthteen.
📼 tape five: promise with a sealed secret.
📼 tape six: the city from the bridge.
📼 tape seven: the night when the city fell silent.
📼 tape eight: if you ever find these.
📼 epilogue: you should smile more.
▶︎ play: hello everyone and welcome to my little series! this story is heavily inspired by the comic spider-man; blue. the story of peter parker and gwen stacy, it is my all time favorite comic and i thought of sharing it with you all.
this story is set in the mcu but with my own ideas and changes, it is set after NWH but peter's identity was never revealed.
i hope you enjoy this bittersweet, heartwarming but aching story.
manchild; chapter thirty six: we can't be friends, wait for your love.
anakin skywalker!70s x reader
summary: anakin skywalker starts his summer break as a heartbroken guy over the break up with padmé amidala, yet while he was drinking his blueberry slushy in a gas station by a desert highway, he met a girl called y/n y/l/n, who was a wild and free spirited girl with tons of flings. what if the summertime sadness turns into a fake relationship? anakin wants revenge and jealousy, and y/n wants fun and drama.
fake dating.
previous chapter: I think I will never get you out of my system.
series masterlist: manchild.
chapter thirty six: we can't be friends, wait for your love.
How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned.
There are memories in life that do not simply exist, they root themselves inside the mind like stubborn vines, growing through every corner until they shadow the beautiful, living things that try to bloom beside them. The strange thing about memories is that we live them alone. We shape them, soften them, romanticize them, or bury them, but they never truly leave. We plant them in our minds or carry them in our hearts, and wherever they belong, they stay there faithfully.
You cannot select them.
You cannot prune them.
They follow us quietly to the end of the rainbow, even when we try to exist in some peaceful abstinence of the mind, pretending we have moved on, pretending the past has dissolved into something harmless.
But memories are stubborn.
They remain.
Anakin’s memories of Y/N were like sunlight. When he thought of her, he saw summer streets glowing warm and golden, heard laughter floating through the air like music drifting out of an open window. He remembered the faint sweetness of her cherry lips, a taste that sometimes seemed to linger on his own tongue long after she had gone. In his mind she existed in light— bright, reckless, alive.
His memories carried her with laughter.
With warmth.
With something close to worship.
But Y/N’s memories were different, now.
Not entirely different, because somewhere deep in her heart she held the same sunlight he did. She remembered the way he looked at her when they danced, the way his voice softened when he said her name, the quiet understanding between them when the world felt too loud.
That part of her heart still held the same golden summer Anakin remembered.
But her mind was filled with other things.
She lived in a strange twilight zone where the memories were tangled together, love blooming beside betrayal, tenderness shadowed by the sharp edge of heartbreak. No matter how much she tried to focus on the warmth, the darker moments insisted on existing beside them.
She thought that maybe, just maybe, hearing those words would change everything.
The words she had waited so long to hear.
I love you.
She thought they might erase the bad memories, wash them away like rain clearing a dusty sky. She thought they might plant new sunlight over the old wounds. But it didn’t work that way.
Because the memories were still there.
The moment he left her still lived inside her chest like an old fracture that never healed correctly. She remembered the way her heart cracked open, the hollow quiet that followed. She remembered the nights where she tried to tear herself apart piece by piece just to numb the ache— drowning in distractions, self-destruction, anything that might silence the echo of him.
There were memories reminding her that his arms, the same arms she longed to fall into now, had once pushed her into a darkness she barely survived.
And the worst part was knowing herself well enough to understand something terrifying.
No matter what he did… She would always go back to him.
That truth frightened her more than anything.
She couldn’t fully explain what she was feeling standing there in the rain, his hand still warm against her cheek. Part of her heart swelled at the way he looked at her, like she was necessary, irreplaceable. It felt good, dangerously good, to hear how much someone needed her.
To hear how deeply someone loved her. But she also knew something painful and quiet inside herself. Anakin could never love her the way she loved him. Because loving him meant something different for her.
For him, loving her meant chaos.
For her, loving him meant destruction.
And that was the cruelest truth of all.
What was even the reason to love someone just to feel alive? Or worse—- to love someone because they made the pain quieter for a moment.
What kind of love was that? Comfort instead of honesty? Need instead of truth? How could anyone claim they loved someone right if that love quietly asked the other person to carry their wounds, to fix their mistakes, to hold together the parts of them that were falling apart?
Was that love, or was that simply survival?
You couldn’t put someone’s heart in a small box beside yours and promise yourself you wouldn’t touch it too hard. You couldn’t say I love you while secretly depending on them to cure every broken piece of you.
That wasn’t what love was supposed to be. Love wasn’t supposed to feel like oxygen running out. It wasn’t meant to be codependency, two people clinging to each other so tightly they forgot how to stand on their own. Love should be something purer than that something that allowed both people to breathe.
You should be able to breathe next to someone. Not breathe for them. Not steal the air from their lungs just so you could stay alive.
Y/N looked at Anakin, her eyes still the same as before— wide, glistening, filled with everything she was trying to understand at once. Thoughts rushed through her mind faster than she could sort them, colliding and echoing until her chest felt tight.
Her lips pressed together, the corners trembling slightly as they pulled into a faint frown.
She could feel the words sitting in her throat.
I love you, more.
If she said them back, if she swallowed the fear and let them escape— she knew exactly what would happen. She would fall into his arms. The world would blur. The pain would quiet for a moment. They would wrap themselves around each other like they always had, convincing themselves that love alone could rewrite the past.
She could manipulate the memories. Turn the red flags into something softer.. blue, maybe, or yellow. Something easier to look at.
She could pretend the damage didn’t matter. Because maybe he could fix it. Maybe he could fix her. Anakin would search the entire world for those tools if it meant putting her back together. She knew he would. He would try endlessly, tirelessly, until there was nothing left of him to give.
But another thought existed quietly beneath that temptation.
If she simply breathed out instead of giving in…
If she allowed the possibility that time might heal what love alone could not…
Maybe she needed something different first. Maybe she needed to find herself again, not in the reflection of his eyes, not inside the chaos they created together but in her own sunlight.
Because the knowledge alone hurt almost as much as losing him, that he would fix her. Because if she let him do that now, if she let him pour himself into fixing her while she was still broken, they would only destroy each other all over again.
She had to learn how to exist without him. Just like he should do it on his own. And that realization sat heavily in her chest, as powerful and terrifying as the love still standing right in front of her.
She wanted to believe that painful chapters could die.
The same way winter eventually loosens its grip on the earth. The same way frozen ground softens again beneath quiet sunlight. Maybe one day, after enough time had passed, they could meet again somewhere gentler, in the quiet afterglow of what they once were.
Not as two people desperately trying to survive each other.
But as something softer.
Something healed.
Like flowers blooming again after winter.
Or autumn finally letting go of summer’s regrets.
Y/N slowly shook her head. She sniffed softly, pressing her lips together as she drew in a deep breath. When she let it out, her voice was faint, fragile with the effort of holding herself together. Her eyes closed because she was too afraid to see those blue eyes looking at her, wide and wounded like a frightened deer.
Her hand lifted hesitantly. Her fingers wrapped gently around the one still cupping her cheek, holding it there for just a moment longer, like she wasn’t ready to lose the warmth of it yet. “I am sorry, Anakin.”
The rain began to soften around them, the storm loosening as if the sky itself were calming. The drops became lighter, quieter, falling gently against the pavement.
But his heart dropped instantly.
He pulled his forehead back from where it had almost touched hers, and the space between them suddenly felt enormous. His eyes looked hollow in that moment, wide and glassy like porcelain, innocent and shattered at the same time.
Was this it?
Was this the end of their world?
Panic surged through him so violently it felt like the air had been ripped straight from his lungs. His heart pounded wildly against his ribs, frantic and desperate.
“No—no—no, please, Y/N,” he choked out immediately, shaking his head as tears streamed uncontrollably down his face. His voice cracked under the pressure of everything he was trying to hold together. “Please don’t let me go— Don’t let this end us—- I— I’ll do anything. I swear I will.”
The words tumbled over each other, messy and frantic.
“Just… please don’t leave me. We— we can be friends!,” he added desperately, reaching for anything that might keep her from disappearing from his life entirely. “Let us at least be friends. Please.”
Y/N shook her head again. She took another slow breath, and for the first time she felt something shifting inside her chest. The frantic beating of her heart began to slow, steadying itself now that the words had finally been spoken.
Her eyes were still glossy when she looked back at him. “No,” she said softly. “You know we can’t be just friends, Anakin. Even if we tried.”
His face twisted with confusion and panic. “Then why are you pushing me away?” he demanded, his voice trembling. “I—I told you that I love you. We can work this all out. I will fix it all. I promise you.”
He stumbled over the words, desperate to make them sound convincing.
But Y/N lifted her hand slightly, stopping him before he could say anything else.
“Stop.”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm enough to cut through the storm.
“I’m not someone who can give you all the oxygen and carry your pain for you, Anakin,” she said quietly. “I’m just a messed-up girl trying to figure things out like everyone else.”
She paused, swallowing before continuing.
“And maybe I’ll never fully figure it out. But that’s okay.”
Her words came faster now, like something that had been waiting a long time to be said.
“Too many guys think I’m some kind of concept. Like I complete them. Like I’m going to make them feel alive.” A shaky breath left her. “But I’m just a fucked-up girl looking for my own peace of mind.”
Her gaze softened slightly, but her voice remained steady.
“I can’t make you stay alive when I’m barely breathing myself.”
She shook her head faintly.
“I don’t want to be idealized. I’m flawed. I’m not perfect. I never claimed to be. I’m impulsive, I’m messy, and I change my mind a lot.” A sad smile flickered across her lips for a moment. “But that’s me. And I’m not going to apologize for that.”
The rain barely fell anymore now.
“And right now,” she continued softly, “I know I can’t give you the version of me you think I am.” Her voice trembled again.
“You hurt me so much that I’m afraid to hold you. Because if I do…” Her breath caught. “If I do, I’ll betray myself. I’ll betray my own worth, again.” She looked down for a second before forcing herself to meet his eyes again.
“I’ll betray the part of me that knows I ignored something that hurt me.”
Her voice broke then, quieter but painfully honest.
“And right now, Anakin… I’m still hurt that you left me.” A tear slid down her cheek.
“I’m still hurt that you knew how much it meant to me that someone loved me.” Her lips trembled as she finished the thought. “That someone was you.”
Silence fell between them. “And you hurt me with it before.”
Anakin looked at her like he was trying to memorize every piece of her at once.
His tears hadn’t stopped. They kept falling freely down his face, quiet and relentless, because the weight of what he had done sat heavily in his chest. It hurt to hear her speak like that, to hear the girl he loved more than anything describe herself as broken, messy, undeserving of the kind of love he felt for her.
Because that wasn’t how he saw her at all.
To him, she had always been something brighter. Something alive.
He swallowed hard, his throat tight as he searched her face. “But… I love all your versions,” he said softly, his voice still trembling. “I don’t care which one.”
“But I care,” she interrupted gently, though the words were firm. “I care.”
The quiet conviction in her voice made him fall silent. “I know you want to fix everything,” she continued, her voice calmer now, though the emotion still lingered beneath it. “I know that’s what you’re trying to do.”
Her thumbs brushed faintly against his skin where she still held his hand, a small, absent motion that betrayed how much she still felt. “It’s just…” she breathed, searching for the right words. “I can’t do that right now when I know I’m not ready to forgive you.”
Her eyes dropped briefly before lifting again. “Or myself. For what happened.”
The rain had nearly stopped now, the air cooling around them in the quiet that followed the storm.
“I’m not even sure what I want right now,” she admitted, her voice fragile but honest. “I wanted to hear your words… for such a long goddamn time.”
Her thumbs moved again softly against his hand.
“But hearing them doesn’t suddenly erase everything that came before.” She looked at him carefully, like she was trying to hold both truths at once, the love that still lived inside her, and the pain that hadn’t faded yet.
“I need time, Anakin,” she whispered.
Not as rejection. But as the only honest thing she had left to give.
Anakin looked at her, his mouth slightly open as if there were still a thousand things trapped behind his lips. His eyes stayed locked on hers, wide and raw. In that moment he looked almost boyish like a lost puppy standing in a garden full of flowers, unsure where to step without damaging something beautiful.
But in her eyes he saw something that stopped the panic in his chest.
Truth and care.
They were still there.
Even through the pain.
He pressed his lips together slowly.
If he really loved her, then he had to let her go for now. Love wasn’t supposed to cage someone. It wasn’t supposed to trap them in the desperate fear of losing them. If loving her meant stepping back so she could breathe again, then that was what he would do.
He would wait for her.
He would wait tomorrow.
Or next year.
Or until the world ended.
If it took years, he would still wait.
Maybe one day they would meet again somewhere simple and ordinary in the glow of a sunset, or at a quiet gas station while picking up a blueberry slushie. It didn’t matter when. He would still be there. Because loving her meant proving something now.
That he could love her without suffocating her. That he could stay in her orbit without pulling her into his gravity. That he could give her the air he once took from her without realizing it.
He understood that now more than ever.
His gaze dropped to the ground for a moment as he licked his lips, sniffing quietly before lifting his head again. “Okay,” he said softly.
Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. Not from shock. Not from anger.
Relief.
“…Okay?” she repeated gently.
He nodded, looking up at her again. He looked exhausted now, emotionally drained, his face still damp from rain and tears but there was something steadier in him. “I told you once, Y/N,” he said quietly. “I care more about you and your happiness than my own.”
His voice was softer now, stripped of desperation. “If that’s what you truly want right now… then I want that for you too.”
Another small nod.
“If this is what I can give you right now to start fixing things… then I’ll give you that.”
The space between them no longer felt like a battlefield. Just two people standing in the quiet after a storm, still loving each other, but finally understanding that love sometimes meant letting the other person walk away.
,,I love you’’
Summer was beginning to loosen its hold.
The dust in the air, once glowing gold beneath the heavy August sun, was slowly thinning. The light didn’t feel as endless anymore. Days still carried warmth, but there was a quiet shift happening beneath it, shirts growing longer at the sleeves, the evenings cooling just enough that bare arms felt the first whisper of autumn.
School would start again in a week.
Normal life was creeping back in and like every year, the last days of summer felt rushed, as if time itself had suddenly begun sprinting. Teenagers filled their nights with last-minute parties, kisses stolen under porch lights, small flings meant to preserve the illusion that summer could somehow last forever if they held onto it tightly enough.
But for some people, the final two weeks moved differently.
Slower.
Calmer.
Like descending gently into autumn rather than being thrown into it. A quiet preparation for letting go of whatever regrets summer had left behind, while wondering softly what the coming season might offer instead.
Or simply spending those final days with the people you loved.
And with yourself.
Y/N spent her time differently now.
Her music had softened. The loud, soul-shaking rhythm of Carole King that once made her feel like the earth moved beneath her cowboy boots had quieted. Instead, her Walkman carried the dreamy haze of Mazzy Star, or the slow warmth of Marvin Gaye drifting through her afternoons, or Man’s Best Friend was still on the loop of the cassette.
It was exactly what she needed.
She rode her bike down tree-lined streets with the little silver Walkman clipped to her hips, sunlight flickering through the leaves above like moving pieces of glass. Her curls danced in the breeze as she hummed quietly along to melodies that seemed to float through the warm air.
And for once, she was simply at peace. There were no spiraling thoughts about anyone else. No ache in her chest. No craving for the dizzying rush of chaos that love had once brought her.
Just calm.
Her heart sat quietly in its place, beating softly and steadily.
After that night with Anakin, something had shifted like a small adjustment in the cosmos itself. Her nights were easier now. Sleep came gently instead of dragging her through restless hours. Her mind no longer circled endlessly around what ifs and old pain.
For the first time, both of them had looked at the tornado warning hovering over their lives.
And instead of standing in its path, they chose to step away. To take shelter before it destroyed everything. And strangely enough… that choice felt right.
Anakin felt it too. For the first time in a long while, he could smile without forcing it.
He smiled when Rex read out a stupid joke from the newspaper and acted like it was the funniest thing ever written. He laughed, genuinely, when Fives told the story of his disastrous restaurant date, the one he had thought would be the love of his life until he accidentally called her by another girl’s name halfway through dessert.
He returned to his garage again, working on his car with a clearer head. His hands moved confidently over the engine, no longer fumbling tools or forgetting which piece went where.
Broken things could be fixed. He knew that now.
And when Y/N crossed his mind which she still did, often, he didn’t feel that crushing ache anymore. He smiled. Because somewhere deep inside, he believed in a day that hadn’t happened yet. A day waiting quietly for both of them.
Their friends noticed something strange too. The group had started spending time together again, girls and boys mixed in easy laughter and it surprised everyone when Anakin himself suggested it. Rex had stared at him suspiciously and asked if he had a fever.
What none of them knew was what had happened in the rain. They didn’t know about the conversation that had quietly changed everything. They didn’t know that Anakin had finally confessed the words he had been carrying for so long. They didn’t know that Y/N had listened with tears in her eyes and still asked him for time.
They had missed an entire secret chapter of the story. But maybe one day soon that chapter would be discovered, quietly waiting between the pages of something that wasn’t finished yet.
For now, things simply continued.
Y/N was still herself whenever they all hung out together. Time hadn’t dulled her wildness, hadn’t softened the strange spark she carried wherever she went. Like the night they were all crammed inside the smoky little billiard bar near the edge of town. Music hummed from the jukebox, beer bottles clinked against wood, and the air smelled faintly of dust and cigarette smoke.
Jesse had been irritating her for nearly fifteen minutes straight.
No one really knew what he had done, probably something small and annoying, but that had never stopped Y/N before.
Without warning, she reached over to the shelf where the decorative cue rack stood, grabbed the small toy gun someone had left there from a carnival prize weeks ago, and aimed it dramatically toward the table.
“Move,” she warned Jesse lazily.
He didn’t.
So she fired the little plastic dart straight at the billiard ball he had been lining up, knocking it just enough to ruin his shot.
The table erupted.
“Hey!” Jesse groaned, throwing his hands into the air. “That’s cheating!”
Y/N leaned against the wall, clearly pleased with herself, her grin wide and shameless.
And Anakin…
Anakin laughed so hard he had to lean forward against the bar.
Not because of Jesse, who immediately started performing an exaggerated serenade to Y/N, singing dramatically about betrayal and broken hearts while clutching his chest.
No. Anakin laughed because he saw the look on her face. That quiet, mischievous grin she gave herself when she knew she had just caused chaos. The same grin he had always loved.
And Y/N laughed too. Especially when Ahsoka started mocking Anakin. They had all moved outside later that night, leaning against parked cars beneath streetlights, when Ahsoka suddenly began imitating him. She hunched her shoulders slightly, crossed her arms, and started pacing back and forth with the most exaggerated brooding expression anyone had ever seen.
“Hmm,” she muttered dramatically in a deep voice. “The world is very complicated. I must stare into the distance now.”
The group burst into laughter. Then she mimicked his walk, long dramatic strides like he was heading into battle rather than just crossing the street.
Y/N nearly choked on her drink. “Oh my god,” she wheezed, pointing at her. “That is exactly how he walks.”
Anakin groaned and rubbed his face while everyone else kept laughing. But when he looked up again, his eyes briefly met Y/N’s across the group. And for a moment they both smiled. Not the heavy, aching smiles from the rain. Just something lighter.
In the two weeks the group ended up by the sea.
It had been Rex’s idea or at least that was what he claimed. In reality, Ahsoka had simply announced that everyone looked miserable staying inside during the last warm days of summer and practically dragged them all there.
So now they were scattered across a patch of grass near the shore. The sea stretched endlessly in front of them, sunlight dancing on the waves while a lazy wind carried the salty smell of water and sunscreen. Someone had brought a radio that quietly played soul music in the background, half-drowned by the distant crash of waves.
A picnic blanket was spread out between them, cluttered with snacks, soda bottles, and a messy pile of playing cards.
And somehow, against Rex’s better judgment, they had decided to play cards. Which immediately became a mistake. “Alright,” Rex said firmly, shuffling the deck like a man who still believed order was possible. “No cheating.”
Across from him, Y/N blinked innocently. “I would never cheat,” she said.
Fives snorted loudly beside her. “She cheated before we even sat down.”
“I did not.”
“You literally hid two cards under your thigh.”
“That’s called strategy.”
Anakin leaned back on his elbows, watching the whole thing unfold with quiet amusement. Jesse dealt the cards while Ahsoka leaned over to peek dramatically at everyone’s hands like a suspicious referee.
“Hey!” Jesse barked, shielding his cards. “Eyes on your own game, Tano!”
“I’m supervising,” she said calmly.
The first round lasted approximately thirty seconds. Fives slammed his cards down dramatically. “HA! Beat that, losers!”
“Those are the wrong cards,” Rex said flatly.
Fives looked down. “Oh.” He slowly gathered them back up. “Warm-up round.”
Meanwhile, Y/N casually slipped another card from the deck into her hand while everyone argued. Anakin noticed immediately. He raised an eyebrow.
She looked at him. Slowly. Then winked.
He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.
The game continued or at least attempted to. Fives played every round like it was a high-stakes casino match in Las Vegas. Every time he laid down a card he slapped the blanket dramatically. “BOOM.”
“Fives,” Rex sighed.
“BOOM!”
“You’re playing Go Fish.”
“THE PRESSURE IS REAL, REX.”
Across from them, Jesse squinted suspiciously at Y/N.
“…Why do you have twelve cards?”
She froze. “…Do I?”
“Yes.”
“That’s crazy.”
“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO HAVE FIVE.”
“Well maybe the ocean gave me extra ones.”
“The ocean did not give you extra ones.”
Anakin was laughing openly now.
Ahsoka leaned forward and suddenly grabbed Y/N’s wrist. “Hold on.”
She flipped her hand over.
Three extra cards fell dramatically onto the blanket. The entire group erupted.
“I KNEW IT!” Jesse shouted.
Fives stood up like a courtroom lawyer. “I OBJECT! FRAUD! CHEATING! DISHONOR TO THE GAME!”
Y/N threw her hands up. “Okay but in my defense—”
“There is no defense!”
“You were all being boring!”
“That’s not how cards work!”
She leaned back on her hands, completely unashamed. “Sounds like a skill issue.”
Anakin shook his head, grinning helplessly.
Rex rubbed his temples. “We are restarting the game.”
“Rigged,” Fives muttered.
Ahsoka leaned toward Anakin and whispered loudly, “You realize she’s going to cheat again.”
“I know,” he said.
Across the blanket, Y/N quietly slid another card under her leg.
Anakin saw it. She glanced at him again. Same grin. And for the first time in a long time, the laughter around them felt completely easy, like the sea breeze carrying the last golden days of summer before autumn arrived.
Another afternoon ended up becoming one of those moments that would probably live in their memories for years, the kind that made no sense when explained, but felt completely natural while it was happening.
The sun hung low in the sky, turning everything along the highway golden. The asphalt shimmered slightly with heat while the wind rushed warm and steady across the open road.
Anakin was driving slowly along the shoulder, the windows rolled down, music blasting from the car speakers loud enough to spill into the open air. The song was Last Train to London by Electric Light Orchestra, the disco-funk rhythm bouncing through the car and echoing across the empty stretch of road. Behind the wheel, Anakin kept the car steady.
Beside him, Rex looked like he had already accepted that this was probably illegal.In the backseat, Jesse had his camera out, filming like he was documenting the most important event of the decade.
And outside the car was chaos.
Y/N and Sabine were skating down the highway. Roller-skates. On the actual road. Which wasn’t the first time for them, one of many times. Sabine glided smoothly beside the car, hair whipping wildly in the wind while she laughed like this was the best idea anyone had ever had.
But Y/N, Y/N was something else entirely.
She skated in wide slalom patterns across the asphalt, weaving back and forth in front of the car like she was performing on some invisible stage. Her hips moved along with the beat of the music, dramatic and carefree, the wind catching her curls as she laughed. Cigarette on her lips and dancing with the sun.
Jesse leaned halfway out the window with his camera. “This is cinematic!— Lowkey you could star in with John Travolta!!!” he yelled over the music.
Fives stuck his head out beside him. “THIS IS HOW WE DIE!”
Sabine whooped loudly as she swerved closer to the car. Y/N skated up alongside the passenger door, grabbing onto the edge of the open window for balance as the car rolled slowly forward. She leaned in just enough to steal some of the wind shelter while still dancing along to the beat.
Her shoulders rolled with the rhythm. Her hips followed. Completely shameless.
Rex stared ahead at the road with the exhausted expression of a man questioning every life decision that had led him here. “This is definitely illegal,” he muttered.
Meanwhile Jesse zoomed the camera dramatically toward Y/N and Sabine. “ICONIC!”
Anakin barely heard any of them. He was watching her. A smile had already spread across his face, the kind he couldn’t control even if he tried. It pulled at his cheeks until it almost hurt. Because the sight in front of him felt strangely familiar.
It felt like the beginning of summer all over again. The same reckless laughter. The same way she moved like the world existed just for the fun of it. The same spark that had caught his attention the very first time he saw her doing something completely ridiculous.
Y/N looked toward the car suddenly and caught him staring. She grinned immediately, wide and wild, then pushed herself off the window and spun away from the car dramatically, skating backward for a moment while still dancing to the music.
Jesse nearly screamed with excitement behind the camera. “OH MY GOD SHE’S DOING TRICKS!”
Fives grabbed the seat in panic. “SHE’S GOING TO EAT ASPHALT.”
But she didn’t. She only laughed louder, wind carrying the sound across the road as the final chorus of Last Train to London blasted through the speakers. And Anakin kept driving slowly beside her, smiling so hard it felt like summer hadn’t ended at all.
And yet, even in the quiet moments, there was a kind of magic that didn’t need music, applause, or adrenaline. Like that afternoon in Anakin’s room, when he cleaned off his desk and found a little polaroid tucked between some papers.
It was Y/N, sprawled lazily across his car dashboard, legs thrown over the edge, sunglasses slightly crooked, half a cigarette balanced in her fingers and a faint trace of red lipstick on it. Her curls framed her face perfectly, her grin wide and unrestrained, catching every ounce of sunlight that fell into the car. He held it gently for a moment, the kind of soft smile spreading across his face that only she could inspire, before he tucked it carefully behind his mirror where it would greet him every day.
Those small, minimal gestures were enough to speak volumes. Anakin’s love didn’t need fireworks; it could be in the way he held the door for her, how he guided her arm when they walked past a crowded bar, or how he made sure she was okay whenever a stranger got a little too close. Even the subtle glances, Anakin’s always on her, Y/N’s always on him, were enough to sustain the quiet heartbeat of their world.
And then there were the more ordinary, domestic moments that felt like magic precisely because they were so mundane. The group had decided to help Obi-Wan in his garden one morning.
Y/N bent to pick the ripest strawberries, sunlight catching her curls, and Anakin stood behind her, pointing out which berries were ready and which were still too green. “Not that one,” he murmured, nudging her hand gently with his finger.
Y/N looked up at him, a teasing grin tugging at her lips. “I think I know which berries I like best,” she said, her voice light and teasing.
Anakin’s eyes were calm, with a soft grin. “Yeah? And which ones are those? The sweet ones… or the ones that are literally green?”
Y/N laughed outright, the sound clear and melodic. “Hey— I knew the red ones are the good ones— I just wanted to take a good look at the green’s” She wagged a finger at him but didn’t move her hand from the berries.
“I would say the same,” Anakin said, leaning a bit closer. “I mean, I expected you to be with cherries— but if you like green strawberries—”
Y/N chuckled gently, nearly making her drop the berries. She swatted at him playfully. “I didn’t expect you to be a Gardner now— I thought you a mechanic”
“I can do both” he shot back with a wink, reaching over to pluck a particularly plump berry and handing it to her. “Here, try this one. I promise it’s better than the strawberries.”
She took it with a mock glare, biting into it, and her eyes lit up. “Okay… fine. Maybe you’re slightly right,” she admitted, laughing again.
Anakin leaned against the garden fence, watching her grin as he shook his head. “I know what’s good for you”
Y/N rolled her eyes, but her smile stayed, soft and unguarded, the kind of moment that made the ordinary feel like a little slice of magic.
These were the moments that cemented the foundation of them, not the chaotic parties, not the reckless skateboarding down highways, but the quiet, steady presence. They were tethered to each other by the small, everyday things, the ones that spoke of care, respect, and patience. And in those moments, Anakin felt it more than ever: love didn’t have to roar to exist. Sometimes, it simply whispered.
It was Friday midday. Y/N walked into the diner with her soft curls bouncing lightly, boots embroidered with flowers, a brown leather jacket, and a skirt that matched her shirt—colors that mirrored the golden tones of late summer or early autumn. It was one of the last days of summer break, just a day before Benito left for California, so she wanted to have one last brunch with him before his trip.
After all, he had been a good friend to her. She wished she could have been a little kinder to his feelings, but some things were better left as they were.
Benito was already sitting on the bench, smiling brightly as she walked in. “I was about to think you forgot me,” he said.
“God, I’m literally sorry for being late—I was… you know what? I’m not even going to make an excuse. I was late because I didn’t know what to wear,” Y/N said, hugging him lightly before sitting across from him.
Benito chuckled. “I’m glad you’re honest. But look at you—are you channeling Penny Lane?” He raised a brow, and Y/N looked down at herself, sighing. “I liked the new album, by the way. Have you heard it?”
“I’ve been too busy packing for California. It’s insane how many things you have when you move your entire life,” Benito joked.
Y/N raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “So, you decided to be pretentious enough to go to California with Cutup?”
“Hey,” he said, grinning. “Do you want me to become famous and have Rolling Stone mention you?”
Y/N laughed, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll shut my mouth.”
She leaned back in her chair, brushing a loose curl from her face, letting the sunlight catch the golden highlights. The diner smelled faintly of coffee and toast, the kind of cozy smell that made time feel slower. She watched Benito fidget with his fork, his bag slung casually over the bench beside him, like he was trying to act nonchalant but failing entirely.
“So, California,” she said, leaning forward a bit, elbows on the table. “Big moves, huh? Gonna miss the Midwest air, or just the Midwest me?”
Benito laughed, almost choking on his sip of orange juice. “You? Never. The Midwest could die tomorrow and I’d still think of you every time I hear the birds chirp or when I try not to burn my pancakes.”
Y/N laughed softly, shaking her head. “Dramatic as always, I guess. Honestly, I’m gonna miss having you around, Benito— Even if sometimes you were… annoyingly extra pretentious with your poetic quoting.” She smirked, taking a sip of her coffee.
“Woah hold on?” Benito feigned shock, placing a hand over his chest. “I prefer charmingly theatrical, thank you very much.”
“Eh— admit it to yourself,” she said, teasing. “Your like… five cups of whipped cream extra.”
He grinned, leaning closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And hey, just so you know… I expect a full report on your life while I’m gone. Photos, song recs, stories… senior life.”
Y/N rolled her eyes, laughing. “You’re ridiculous. But fine, I’ll do it. Consider me your personal reporter from the land of asphalt and fading summer light.”
Benito chuckled, shaking his head, his smile softening. “You’re impossible.”
She smiled back, warm and easy. “Maybe. But I like being impossible around the people I like.”
He raised his juice in a mock toast. “Then here’s to impossible friendships… and one last brunch before I vanish to California.”
Y/N clinked her cup against his, the sunlight making the little golden flecks in her curls shimmer. And for a moment, everything was simple, warm, and exactly the kind of last summer memory she wanted to hold onto. They talked about everything; songs, the last few days before school, even news from around the world. But Benito noticed something else about her: how relaxed she seemed.
How easygoing she was, how openly she spoke. He had known that this side of her existed, but when he was around, there was often something holding her back. Now, here she was, fully at peace, talking freely, gesturing with her hands as she described things, her laughter filling the air. The colors of summer seemed to wrap around her again, and it looked beautiful.
“Hey, Curls,” he interrupted gently, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Y/N froze mid-bite, her fork hovering in the air. Wide eyes met his. “Yeah? Did I talk too much about Saturday Night Fever? I promise I’ll stop if I can finish the ending—”
Benito chuckled and shook his head. “No, no. I just… I wanted to say that I’m happy you look so radiant. Like, you’re actually sunshine right now. You know what I mean?”
Y/N blinked, a soft smile tugging at her lips, warmth creeping into her chest. For the first time in a while, she felt seen, not as someone who needed saving, not as someone who had to hold herself together, but just as herself. She took a slow breath, letting the warmth of the morning settle over her. She twirled her fork gently between her fingers, thinking about how much lighter she felt these days.
“You know,” she started, her voice soft, “I feel… better lately. Like, really better. Not perfect, not like everything’s fixed, but… I don’t feel like I’m constantly holding myself together for everyone else.” She smiled faintly, glancing out the window at the sunlight filtering through the trees. “It’s nice. Peaceful, even.”
Benito’s eyes softened. “That’s… really good to hear, Curls. You’ve been through a lot this summer—it’s nice to see you actually… enjoying it, again. Obviously I didn’t meet you earlier but— I can tell there was this something missing on you”
She chuckled lightly, brushing a loose curl behind her ear. “Yeah… and, uh… things with you know’’ Nodding her head with her eyes, signaling Anakin ,,… they’re okay. We’re figuring it out, I guess.… Slowly. He’s being patient, and I… I’m learning to take my time too.” She shrugged gently, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. “It’s not instant magic, but it’s… good. And I think that’s enough for now.”
Benito grinned, a little teasing but filled with genuine warmth. “About damn time, I mean… I was starting to think you’d never let yourself breathe around him again or you wanna continue to lure into Silver Spring”
Y/N laughed softly, the sound light and airy. “Hey come on. You know… I think we can actually… figure it out. Step by step. I am not sure. I thought erasing him completely would be… you know good. It’s just, I am still unsure how long of the time I need. How long will it take me not to be scared anymore, freely falling again to his world”
Benito nodded, leaning back slightly. “If you have the feeling the time is right…. Or when you know, then you know.”
She looked at him, her eyes warm. “You make that sound very easy.”
,,It can be very easy when you know it. It’s a feeling? I don’t know if you know it’’
,,Hey. I found out this summer that I can actually love.’’ Y/N said with a raising brow.
Benito smiled softly, his eyes tracing the sunlight dancing across the table. ‚,To realize you can love… and not just love someone else, but yourself too… takes… strength. A lot of it.”
Y/N leaned back, letting the warmth of the dinner seep into her bones, her curls falling lazily around her shoulders. “I guess… I never really knew I could. I was always distant to myself, always holding back, thinking if I let myself feel too much I’d get broken all over again.”
Benito nodded slowly, his voice gentle but steady. “Growth doesn’t happen in leaps. It’s in the small, quiet moments… like this one. The way you’re here, noticing yourself, noticing your heart, giving it room to breathe. That’s where the steadiness comes from.”
She smiled faintly, a little shy, a little proud. “So… I’m doing okay then? Even if I’m scared?”
“You’re doing more than okay,” he said, his tone warm, almost poetic. “You’re learning to walk in your own sunlight. Sometimes it’s soft, sometimes it burns a little, but it’s yours. And the beauty of it is… when the time is right, when you’re ready, you’ll step into love again without fear, without holding back. And until then… you just keep walking, keep noticing the warmth, and trust yourself. That’s all the wisdom you need.”
Y/N let the words sink in, feeling their weight in her chest, but also their lift. “Thank you, B…I think… I needed to hear that.”
He gave a small, reassuring nod, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “Anytime, Curls. That’s what friends are for.”
Y/N tilted her head, resting her chin on her hand, a playful glint in her eyes. “So… any senior year advice for me? Besides the obvious, like don’t set the gym on fire or flirt with the chemistry teacher.”
Benito chuckled, leaning back in his chair, his voice slipping easily between teasing and serious. “Ah yes, survive high school without being expelled, injure no one, and somehow manage to look cool doing it. Solid advice right there.”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Very helpful. But seriously, anything—like, maybe something I wouldn’t think of?”
He tapped his finger against the table, pretending to think hard. “Alright… here’s a serious one: if someone tries to convince you to not follow your dream and go the safe road— don’t listen to them. also— don’t waste your time trying to impress people who don’t already see your worth— but I know you already good at it.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow, smirking. “You mean, like stop obsessing over Anakin?”
Benito paused for a beat, a sly grin on his lips. “Eh you already too obsessed with him—-but I’m not saying don’t love him,” he added quickly, lowering his voice, “just… love yourself first, keep doing what you doing now. Make sure you’re standing solid before you give your heart away— again. Otherwise, it’s like building a sandcastle at high tide—beautiful, but doomed to wash away.”
She chuckled, letting the metaphor sink in, feeling a warmth bloom in her chest. “Alright… so… solid ground first. Got it. And what about fun? Surely senior year’s not just about standing solid— like come on its senior year.”
Benito’s grin widened, a spark of mischief creeping in. “Yeah true— well, do dumb things, laugh until your stomach hurts, live literally life, make stories you’ll tell for the rest of your life. But… know when to stop before the stories turn into regrets— OH and don’t skip Mr. Windu’s PE class— he is literally a psychopath and catches you. He will force you to ran for a whole hour.”
,,Damn you sound traumatized’’
,,Sure I am’’
Y/N nodded, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “But… I think… I can manage that. Maybe. Hopefully.”
Benito winked, mock-serious. “Good. Because senior year is the last time to be—- full of fun you know? Being reckless I mean”
And for a moment, Y/N let herself just be—the curls catching the sunlight, the breeze through the café, and the comfort of a friend who could balance sarcasm with wisdom perfectly. ,,I was born reckless’’
,,Yeah that’s obvious.’’
For the first time in a while, Y/N realized that cigarettes tasted again without the usual sting of guilt or bitterness. It felt like summer again, warm and light, a careless freedom that she hadn’t felt in months. She loved the calm that accompanied her as she rode her bike in the afternoon, chasing the last golden streaks of sunlight. She laughed louder than before while joking with Fives, no need to hold back, no need to shield anyone else from her energy. She liked that she could be reckless on her own terms, untethered, and still feel the pulse of life in her chest.
There was no anxious searching for Anakin in every corner of her day anymore. She carried the quiet knowledge that he was there, not physically, but waiting patiently in the space between heartbeats, as she waited for him.
Being around him no longer felt like a trap of longing or unspoken words. Their gazes met openly, long, lingering, full of quiet recognition and it wasn’t painful. It wasn’t a stolen glance or a moment of shame. It was simple acknowledgment, a knowing smile shared while she narrated some overdramatic story, gesturing wildly and enlisting Jesse as her unwitting actor.
The beginning of autumn mirrored this calm. The leaves didn’t fall to signify endings— they fell to shed the weight of summer’s bitterness, the residual heat of heartbreak. A soft surrender, a chance to start anew. Maybe that was exactly what they both needed.
She could have tried to erase him from her mind entirely, chased the idea of a spotless mind, eternal sunshine, where no shadow of him remained.
But that would have been cruel—to forget the love, the moments before the pain, the raw beauty that had made them fall for each other. Those memories deserved to stay, quietly guarding her heart, even alongside the hurt.
Her farewell with Benito had been tender in its own way. They had exchanged cassettes, a last link of shared songs and laughter. He had given her his guitar pick, a little talisman of California dreams, and she had handed him her lighter, despite his non-smoking ways. “It’ll help you find a cute California girl,” she had teased, and he had grinned with that easy, effortless charm that made summer feel endless.
Now she walked home, golden light dusting the streets, curls catching the last rays of the sun. But halfway, she paused outside Dex Gas Station, realizing her pack of cigarettes was empty. And maybe, just maybe, a cherry soda wouldn’t hurt either. She smiled faintly to herself, the air crisp with the hint of late summer.
💋hey men! all roads lead back to the dex gas station, BUT ITS NOT THE ENDING YET!!!!!
manchild; chapter thirty five: I don't think I will never get you out of my system.
anakin skywalker!70s x reader
summary: anakin skywalker starts his summer break as a heartbroken guy over the break up with padmé amidala, yet while he was drinking his blueberry slushy in a gas station by a desert highway, he met a girl called y/n y/l/n, who was a wild and free spirited girl with tons of flings. what if the summertime sadness turns into a fake relationship? anakin wants revenge and jealousy, and y/n wants fun and drama.
fake dating.
previous chapter: won't u let a innocent woman be?
series masterlist: manchild.
chapter thirty five: I don't think I will never get you out of my system.
Spring, 1963.
The air smelled like fresh grass and chalk dust. The world felt soft back then, untouched, uncomplicated. The sun hung high above them, golden and forgiving, casting long warm shadows across the quiet street where they sat cross-legged on the asphalt.
Y/N dragged a yellow crayon across the ground, sketching a lopsided sun with rays that stretched too far. Anakin lay on his stomach beside her, chin with a band aid propped up on his hands, carefully outlining something that looked like a spaceship, though he insisted it was “just a very advanced car.”
“If someone told you ‘I love you’,” Y/N asked suddenly, not looking up, “what would you do in that moment?”
Anakin squinted at his drawing like the question required serious architectural thought. “I think I’d freeze,” he said finally. “Because… ew. Love.”
She snorted. “And if it’s your true love?”
He rolled onto his side, staring at her like she’d just asked him to solve the universe. “Why are you asking me that, Y/N? I just want to draw on the street. Look, the sun looks amazing today.”
“I’m just saying,” she insisted, switching to an orange crayon to make her sun even brighter. “Yesterday I watched this movie with my mom—Breakfast at Tiffany’s. And the guy says ‘I love you,’ and she says no.”
Anakin’s eyebrows shot up. “She said no? Just like that?”
“No,” Y/N corrected softly. “She was scared. Mom said sometimes people get scared to be in love. I don’t know why.”
Anakin hummed, tapping his crayon against the pavement thoughtfully. “Maybe they’re afraid to kiss.”
Y/N burst into laughter, sunlight catching in her curls as she leaned back on her hands. “Maybe.”
Around them, flowers were beginning to bloom along the sidewalks: white, pink, soft violet. Spring had returned the world its colors, as if reminding it how to feel again.
Anakin reached over and, without asking, added a crooked little smile to the sun she’d drawn.
“Don’t worry, Y/N,” he said with the confidence only a child could have. “I think you’ll be happy when you love someone.”
She tilted her head. “And you?”
He thought for a moment, squinting up at the sky as if the answer might be written in the clouds.
“Hopefully,” he said, nudging her shoulder gently, “I’ll still be drawing suns with you.”
And for a second, just a small, golden second, the future felt simple.
She smiled brightly with her light smile lines.
The music pulsed behind her like a fading heartbeat as she forced her way through the crowd, her vision blurring not from the dim lights but from the tears she refused to let fall. Her eyes burned, scrunched tight in defiance, as if sheer willpower could hold the storm inside her at bay. Hands brushed her arms, voices called her name, familiar, worried, but she pushed past them all. She couldn’t stay there another second. Not when her chest felt like it was caving in, when anger and humiliation twisted together so violently inside her that she thought she might explode.
She saw the door and moved toward it like it was the only solid thing left in the world. Someone shouted after her, she knew that voice, knew it too well but she didn’t turn around. If she turned around, she would break. And she refused to break where everyone could see her.
On her way out, she grabbed the nearest bottle from a cluttered table, fingers wrapping tightly around the cold glass. She didn’t even check what it was. It didn’t matter. She just needed something strong enough to drown the burning in her chest. Her leather jacket hung by the hook near the entrance, and she yanked it down roughly, shrugging it over her shoulders with shaking hands before stepping outside into the night.
The air hit her like a slap. Rain had begun to fall, first as a soft mist and then heavier, windier, colder, soaking through her hair within seconds. Glitter from her eyes smeared down her eyes, mixing with rain and unshed tears, but she didn’t wipe it away. She didn’t care what she looked like. She didn’t care about anything except the unbearable tightness in her heart.
She tipped the bottle to her lips, swallowing hard. The alcohol burned down her throat, sharp and punishing, but it was easier to endure than the ache spreading through her ribs. That kind of pain at least made sense.
How could they all lie to her? How could they look at her with sympathy and promises and tell her there was hope, tell her he loves her, that he was trying, that things could be fixed? She had seen it with her own eyes. Padmé’s hand on him. Too close. Too familiar. History repeating itself in the most predictable, cruel way.
A bitter thought settled deep inside her.
Maybe she wasn’t meant for a happy ending. Maybe she was written wrong from the beginning—one of those tragic girls from Shakespeare or Brontë, full of intensity and longing, destined to ache beautifully but never be chosen. The kind of character readers feel sorry for but quietly root against. Too much. Too flawed. Too desperate to be saved. Was she Heathcliff? Or Jo? Or Anna Karenina?
Maybe she had written this fate herself. A girl so starved for love and validation that she mistook crumbs for devotion. A girl always reaching, always hoping, always believing that this time it would be different.
Thunder rumbled somewhere far away. She let out a hollow laugh, short and broken, before lifting the bottle again. The rain grew heavier, plastering her hair to her face, soaking through her jacket, clinging to her skin. Her boots splashed against the sand as she walked without direction, not caring where she was going. She didn’t want to go home. She didn’t want to go back. She didn’t want to feel.
She just wanted to disappear.
Disappear from the shame. From the embarrassment. From the way her heart still betrayed her by loving him after everything. And the cruelest part of all was that, even now, drenched, shaking, furious, some small, stubborn part of her still wished he would come running after her.
He ran after her.
He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. He just ran.
The rain soaked through his shirt within seconds, plastering dark strands of hair against his forehead, but he barely felt it. His lungs burned, his boots slipping slightly against the wet sand as he tried to close the distance between them. His eyes were wide, not with anger, not with pride but with something dangerously close to panic.
He couldn’t let this be the last image she carried of him.
He couldn’t let a misunderstanding become the thing that finally destroyed them.
Because how much more could they survive? How many more spirals of tears and screaming and pride before there was nothing left? It had started to feel less like love and more like a battlefield they both refused to abandon. Love wasn’t supposed to feel like war. It wasn’t supposed to be a vicious circle they built together and then blamed each other for.
Thunder cracked above them, loud and violent, the sky splitting open as if it too had grown tired of holding back. The wind howled across the street, tugging at their clothes, whipping her hair across her face.
It felt like the moors from Wuthering Heights, raw, wild, unforgiving. As if this was the moment that would decide everything.
“Y/N! Wait—!” he shouted, his voice nearly swallowed by the storm.
Her heart betrayed her again at the sound of his voice. It dropped, heavy and painful, knocking the air from her lungs. For a second she kept walking, too afraid to turn around. Too afraid that if she looked at him, she would crumble.
But her body turned before her pride could stop it. She clenched her jaw so tightly it hurt and faced him, rain streaming down her face, bottle still clutched in her hand. Her knuckles were white around the glass. “What, Anakin?” she shouted back, her voice cracking despite the fury in it. “What do you want now?!”
He slowed to a stop a few feet away from her. The space between them wasn’t large, but it felt endless. The wind seemed determined to push them together, even as they stood rigid and unmoving. “I just—” He dragged a hand through his wet hair, breath uneven. “I needed to talk to you!”
She let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking her head as she looked away for a moment—toward the dark street, toward anywhere but him—before snapping her gaze back to his.
“Oh, great,” she said, her tone slicing through the storm. “You need to talk. You needed to fuck Padmé too, remember that?”
The words were theatrical, exaggerated, laced with biting sarcasm—as if she were performing her own heartbreak on a stage, as if the audience might applaud the tragedy while she tore herself apart inside.
Anakin flinched like she had physically struck him. His jaw clenched, rain running down the sharp lines of his face. The pain in his eyes was unmistakable—raw, unguarded—but so was the frustration. He understood she was hurt. He understood why. But every word she threw at him felt like another blade twisting deeper.
“Don’t—” he said, voice rough. “Don’t do that, Y/N.”
“Why not?” she shot back instantly. “You did it first.” She pointed at him with the bottle, the motion unsteady but deliberate. “You get to break me. You get to humiliate me in front of everyone. And now what? You wanna feel better about it? You try to fix it when you still are after her?”
“I didn’t touch her like that,” he forced out through clenched teeth, the words dragged from somewhere deep and frantic inside him. “She grabbed me. I was trying to push her away.”
The rain lashed against them mercilessly, turning her hair wild, plastering it to her cheeks and neck. An hour ago she had been glowing—laughing under warm lights, spinning like nothing in the world could touch her. Now that light had been drowned, replaced by something sharp and wounded, something barely holding itself together. Her lips trembled despite how tightly she pressed them, her breath uneven from the effort of not crying.
“It doesn’t matter—” she choked out, shaking her head as if the motion alone could keep her from collapsing. “You don’t understand— you don’t get to walk back into my life when I finally stopped crying over you. It’s fucking unfair.”
The words weren’t just angry. They were exhausted. Bruised. Weeks of silent heartbreak crammed into one sentence. He stepped closer, rain dripping from his jaw, his voice shaking in a way she had never heard before. Not anger. Not ego.
Panic.
“I never stopped thinking about you, Y/N. Not for a damn second.” His chest rose and fell rapidly, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. “I’m over Padmé. I told her that. I meant it. If I was after her, I wouldn’t be standing here—”
Thunder cracked overhead, but he didn’t flinch.
“—because you’re carved into me.”
He shouted it, but not in rage. It was desperate, almost broken. Like he was trying to rip his own ribs open just so she could see the truth inside him.
She stared at him as if he had just insulted her.
Her head shook violently, disbelief written across every inch of her face. The bottle slipped from her hand and she hurled it toward the stones beside them. It shattered against the concrete, glass scattering like the remains of something already ruined.
“You don’t get to say that!” she screamed, stepping forward and shoving him hard. He barely moved physically, but something in his expression cracked at the force of it. “Don’t tell me that when you don’t mean it!”
“I do—”
“You don’t get to tell me that after everything you did, Anakin!” Her hands balled into fists as she pushed at him again, weaker this time but trembling with fury. “You fucking left me for her!”
The accusation hung between them, raw and undeniable.
Anakin’s face changed.
The fight drained out of it, replaced by something painfully exposed. His eyes grew glossy, rain mixing with the shine gathering there as he looked at her, not past her, not through her, but at her. At how distant she suddenly seemed. Like she was already halfway gone.
His voice, when it came, was hoarse.
“Because I was scared.”
The confession sounded almost foreign on his tongue.
He swallowed hard, breath hitching. “Because you— you make me feel things I can’t control.” His voice cracked fully now, no strength left to disguise it. “You’re loud and reckless and you see right through me. You know exactly who I am, even the parts I hate.”
She stood frozen, chest heaving.
“And I didn’t know how to handle that,” he continued, words tumbling out faster now, like if he stopped he’d lose the courage. “I made a mistake. I thought Padmé was safe. She was quiet. Predictable. I didn’t feel like I was drowning around her.”
His jaw trembled.
“But she wasn’t you.”
The storm seemed to soften for a split second, like even the sky was holding its breath.
“You terrify me,” he admitted, stepping closer again, slowly this time. “Because when I’m with you, it’s not calm. It’s not controlled. It’s everything. It’s too much and not enough at the same time. And I didn’t know how to stay without ruining it.” His hand hovered near her arm but didn’t touch.
“I didn’t leave because I loved her more,” he said quietly. “I left because loving you felt like standing on the edge of something I couldn’t survive.”
The wind tugged at them again, rain sliding down her lashes.
“And I was a coward,” he whispered.
Y/N’s breathing turned sharp and uneven, each inhale trembling like her lungs were afraid to keep going. She shook her head before he could even finish the apology forming on his lips. It wasn’t anger flashing across her face now — it was fear. Raw, naked fear.
She didn’t want to believe him. Because believing him meant stepping back into the fire. And she wasn’t sure she would survive burning like that again. A bitter, trembling scoff left her. “You think that makes it okay?” she shot back, her voice breaking despite her effort to keep it steady. “You think I give a shit that she was safe?”
Her jaw quivered violently, and this time she couldn’t hold the tears back. They spilled freely, mixing with the rain, warm against her freezing skin. “I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you either,” she cried, the confession ripping out of her like it hurt to admit. “But I did.”
The words echoed between them, louder than the thunder. “I thought you knew,” she shouted, her voice cracking into something almost unrecognizable. “I thought you knew that I am fucking in love with you—— even though we said we wouldn’t. Even though we promised.”
They had promised to stay friends. Promised to pretend to be lovers. Promised it would never get messy. But nothing between them had ever been pretend.
Anakin looked like something inside him had shattered. He took a slow step toward her, then another, his voice trembling with everything he had swallowed for weeks. “Y/N… I am sorry—”
But the apology felt too small for the damage. She shook her head again, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand as if she could erase the taste of heartbreak. Then she turned away from him.
“No.”
Just that.
No.
And she started walking. ,,Just leave me alone or I will scream.''
For a second he stood there, paralyzed, watching her slip away like she had before. Like he had let her before.
Not again.
He moved after her, swallowing hard, his steps quickening with a desperation that bordered on panic. It felt like time was running out, like this was the last fragile thread holding them together.
,,Y/N wait. I am sorry—- I never meant to—‚, He paused while walking. “It’s not just that Y/N-- it's like — fuck, Y/N,” he shouted, his voice breaking open completely.
“I still love you.”
The confession tore through the rain. He stopped walking after he said it, chest rising and falling heavily, as if the words themselves had knocked the breath from him. It felt like jumping without knowing if there was ground below.
It felt terrifying.
It felt freeing.
Y/N froze.
Her heart dropped so suddenly it felt unreal, like gravity had shifted. For a moment she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right. It sounded distant, ghostlike, like something from a dream she used to replay in her head late at night.
Slowly, she turned around. Her lips were parted slightly, her eyes wide and glassy. A tear slipped down her cheek as she looked at him standing there in the rain, soaked and wrecked but unflinching. He didn’t look away.
“I don't think I’ll never get you out of my system,” he said, his voice rough and shaking. He stepped closer, slamming his hand against his chest. “You’re always right here.”
His fingers pressed hard against his sternum like he could physically prove it. ,,Here.''
“And I can’t let you go. Not when I see you every goddamn day and I can’t breathe.” His breath hitched. “You walk by in that damn yellow dress and it’s like I’m dying all over again. When I hear your music, when I come to these places— I see you. I see you everywhere.”
He shook his head, helpless. “Even when I’m sleeping. When I see the sunset, all I think about is you. I’ve tried to move on. I’ve tried to be smarter.— which I am not. I’ve tried to be safe. But none of it works because it’s you. It’s always been you.”
His voice softened, raw and unguarded. “And I’ll never think otherwise.”
The storm seemed quieter now, like the world itself was holding its breath. They stood there, soaked to the bone, hearts exposed and trembling, the truth no longer hidden behind pride or fear. There was nothing left between them but love.
He looked at her like a man already condemned.
His jaw trembled uncontrollably now, rain and tears indistinguishable as they streamed down his face. And then he broke. Not the controlled cracking she had seen before, not the tight restraint he usually wrapped around himself like armor.
He broke completely.
A sob tore out of him, raw and unfiltered, and he didn’t try to hide it. His shoulders shook, his voice splintering apart as if every word cost him something vital.
“I know I fucked up,” he cried, the confession ripping through him. “I know it’s fucked up for me to stand here and beg for forgiveness because I don’t deserve you— I don’t deserve the girl I truly love the most because I hurt you.”
His hands dragged through his wet hair, helpless, frantic.
“I know I’m bad for you. I know I broke you, Y/N, and I am sorry. I am so fucking sorry for all these things that I did.” His voice cracked again, nearly dissolving into another sob. “I’m sorry for running toward Padmé again even though I knew— I knew you were my true love. I’m sorry for calling you words that don’t describe who you are.”
He shook his head violently, disgusted with himself.
“You are beyond all those words. You’re beyond anything I can describe without smiling like an idiot or feeling my heartbeat lose control.” His breath hitched sharply. “From the moment I met you all those years ago— but especially this summer.... being around you again— and— and talking the way like we used to— not a single day has gone by where I haven’t thought about you.”
His eyes searched hers desperately, like he needed her to see it, to feel it.
“I’m in agony that I can’t be with you in one place,” he whispered hoarsely. “The closer I get to you, the worse it gets. And the thought of not being with you—” His voice collapsed entirely for a second. “I can’t breathe. I can’t live.”
He stepped closer without realizing it, as if gravity itself was pulling him toward her.
“I tried to be happy for you when I saw you with Benito-- but I fucking hated him for looking at you-- like he's imagining a life that’s could be mine.'' he paused, sighing out with a sob. ,,You are in my very soul,” he said, pressing his fist against his chest again, harder this time. “Tormenting me. And I don’t even care about that anymore. I want you to torment me. I want you to yell at me or look at me or hate me if that’s what it takes— because at least I feel alive when I’m around you.”
He was shaking now, completely stripped of pride.
“What can I do to make this up?” he pleaded, voice barely holding together. “Please. I will do anything you ask. Anything.”
There was no manipulation in it. No performance. Just a man standing in the rain, shattered open, offering up whatever was left of himself. And waiting to see if she would take it or finally let him drown.
Y/N hadn’t moved.
Not when he started crying. Not when he confessed every ugly, fragile truth he had buried. Not when he offered himself up like something already ruined and waiting to be rejected.
She just stood there, frozen in the rain.
Her eyes looked melted, softened by the very words she had once begged the universe to let her hear. The rain dripped from her lashes, slid along her jaw, but her gaze shone with something deeper than water. Agony. Relief. Love. Fear. All of it tangled together so tightly she could barely separate one from the other.
Because this was what she wanted.
And that was the worst part.
Her heart ached with it, the unfairness of how she couldn’t heal properly, couldn’t move on properly, couldn’t hate him properly. He had said it himself. He was bad for her.
And she was bad for him.
They burned each other down to the ground every time they got too close. And yet neither of them ever learned how to dim the fire.
She shook her head slowly, almost to herself. Quiet. Trembling. Trying so hard to stay anchored in reality instead of falling back into the gravity of him. Her lips pressed together as she looked down, squeezing her eyes shut like that alone could protect her.
“D-don’t say it—” she whispered.
“I love you,” Anakin choked out anyway, the words breaking between hiccupped sobs.
She stilled.
Those three words.
The ones she had yearned for in the quiet of her bedroom. The ones she had imagined hearing in softer circumstances. The ones that now felt both like salvation and a knife twisting deeper.
She swallowed hard, as if trying to push them back down her throat, to pretend she hadn’t heard them. She shook her head again, lifting her gaze to him. Her eyes were glassy, defensive, even as every part of her wanted to collapse into his chest and hide there.
“You can’t just come back and say that, Anakin,” she cried, her voice splintering under the weight of it. “You don’t get to destroy me and then tell me you can’t breathe without me. It is fucking unfair” Her breath hitched painfully. “And the fact that you did it— is fucked.”
He shook his head immediately, stepping closer again despite the way she trembled. He was crying just as hard now, no attempt left to appear strong.
“Then tell me you don’t feel it too,” he begged, his voice raw and breaking. “Tell me, Y/N. Tell me it’s gone.” He took another step, close enough now that she could feel the heat of him even through the cold rain. “I know I can’t fix the past,” he whispered desperately. “God, I wish I could. I wish I could take back every second I hurt you. But let me fix at least this.”
His voice cracked completely on the last word.
“Us.”
The space between them felt impossibly small now. Charged. Dangerous. Fragile.
All she had to do was say, it was over.
All she had to do was lie.
But the truth was burning in her chest just as fiercely as his.
His hand lifted slowly, hesitantly, as if he was giving her enough time to pull away.
When his fingers finally touched her cheek, it was gentle. Reverent. He brushed his thumb beneath her eye, wiping away a tear that was immediately replaced by rain.
She flinched at first, the reflex of someone who had been hurt before, but she didn’t step back.
Her lips pressed together tightly, like she was holding in a sob.
God, she had missed his touch.
She had missed the warmth of it, the way his hand fit against her skin like it belonged there. She had spent nights pretending she didn’t crave it, pretending she was stronger than the memory of him. But standing here now, feeling the familiar weight of his palm against her face, every lie she had told herself unraveled.
She didn’t move.
They just stood there, inches apart, locked in a long, heavy stare.
His eyes weren’t guarded anymore. There was no arrogance, no pride, no defense. Just devotion. Just fear of losing her.
“I will forever love you,” he said quietly, his thumb still brushing her cheek despite the rain. His voice didn’t shake this time, it was steady, certain. “And I am not scared of that. I never will be.”
He swallowed, his forehead nearly touching hers now.
“Not when it’s you, Y/N.”
💋hey men! this is a scene I was yearning to write since last august, it is heavily inspired by tsitp, because when I watched this scene, I knew that its my anakin and y/n. there is so much depth and emotions behind it all and lets see what our girl will do.
also.. I can tell you that we are three chapters away from the ending of manchild!
i have decided that the slice of life will be happening, not regular. I want to focus on another stories but this will always be my spot. <3
HE SAID HE CAN’T GET HER OUT OF HIS SYSTEM. HE SAID HE CAN’T BREATHE WITHOUT HER AND ITS TORMENTING HIM. HE SAID HE LOVES HER SO MUCH AND THAT HE LEFT BECAUSE IT SCARED HIM HOW MUCH HE LOVES HER.
manchild; chapter thirty four: won't u let a innocent woman be?
anakin skywalker!70s x reader
summary: anakin skywalker starts his summer break as a heartbroken guy over the break up with padmé amidala, yet while he was drinking his blueberry slushy in a gas station by a desert highway, he met a girl called y/n y/l/n, who was a wild and free spirited girl with tons of flings. what if the summertime sadness turns into a fake relationship? anakin wants revenge and jealousy, and y/n wants fun and drama.
fake dating.
previous chapter: the yearner.
series masterlist: manchild.
chapter thirty four: won't u let a innocent woman be?
Shelly’s parties were always a mix of champagne bubbles and pure chaos. Maybe that was the secret ingredient, something in the fizz that made you feel invincible, like you could dive straight into a Duran Duran track and dance the night away until your heels snapped in half or you accidentally fell into the pool at 2 a.m. with glitter still clinging to your collarbones.
Shelly was that girl. The kind of girl who guaranteed a good time and that, without alcohol. She liked everyone, genuinely. She would stop in the middle of a crowded hallway just to ask how your week had been. She’d start talking about the philosophy of existence, about how time isn’t linear and how love is probably just chemistry with better marketing and then, mid-sentence, she’d grin and ask if you wanted to sneak behind the schoolyard to smoke weed and “expand your consciousness.”
Shelly was the perfect image of California Dreamin’, probably because she was actually from California. She carried sunsets in her hair and saltwater in her laugh. She knew how to throw parties the right way. Not the way Bobby threw parties, the kind where you weren’t sure if you were still on planet Earth or slowly dissolving beside the bathroom sink at midnight.
No, Shelly’s parties had structure beneath the chaos. The coolest part? There was always a theme. This year, for her birthday, it was a costume party.
It didn’t matter if you came dressed as Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, James Dean leaning against an imaginary brick wall, or Napoleon with a thrift-store bicorne hat slipping sideways. What mattered was that you committed. That you showed up dressed as something or someone and allowed yourself to have fun. For weeks before the party, the thrift store downtown looked like it had been raided by artists and time travelers. Suddenly, flea markets became sacred ground. Vintage racks were flipped through with reverence. Costume ideas were debated over cheap coffee and shared cigarettes.
Everyone was hunting for something that felt right. Something that didn’t just look good, but felt like them. When Friday finally arrived, it was hell in the most glamorous way possible. The kind of chaos that feels important. It almost felt like homecoming or like one of those nights you know you’ll remember years later for reasons you don’t yet understand.
Girls spent their entire mornings and half their afternoons curling their hair, smudging eyeliner, redoing it, starting again, debating between lipstick shades like it was a life-or-death decision. Bathrooms smelled like hairspray and vanilla perfume. Music blasted from record players as confidence slowly built with every layer of mascara.
Meanwhile, some of the boys were already pre-drinking by noon, improvising their outfits with chaotic confidence.
Jesse claimed his “vibes” were the costume.
Fives, watching him struggle to button a thrifted tux jacket, muttered, “With the way you’re slurring, no one’s gonna recognize you’re trying to be Don Corleone.”
Jesse simply raised his drink and declared that true art was misunderstood.
Anakin, however, stood in front of his closet like it was a battlefield. At first, he considered being a stereotypical greaser. But that felt redundant. He already carried that energy without trying, the leather jackets, the boots, the perpetual smirk that hid too much. It would be like dressing up as himself.Then he thought about going as a comic book anti-hero. Or maybe a car racer. Something cool. Detached. Effortless.
But none of it stuck.
And then, like a quiet echo, he heard her voice. “Well, then you better come as Satan.”
That little smirk she wore when she said it hadn’t left his mind since that evening. It replayed itself in the quiet moments. In the space before sleep. In the silence between heartbeats. Seeing her smile like that… even just for a second… had done something to him. It hadn’t fixed anything. It hadn’t erased the pain or the fight or the distance between them.
But for him, it was everything.
After that night, he slept better. Not perfectly, but better. He woke up early one morning and even made coffee for Obi-Wan, who stared at him suspiciously as if he had been replaced overnight.
“Who are you and what have you done with Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, eyeing the mug like it might explode.
Anakin just shrugged, trying to suppress a small, private smile.
It was ridiculous how such a small interaction could shift something so deeply inside him. But it had. It made him feel… lighter. Almost hopeful. And hope was dangerous. Still, he leaned into it. So he bought a cheap pair of devil horns from a costume shop downtown. They were slightly crooked and far too shiny, but he didn’t care. He paired them with a black tank top, his dark bordeaux leather jacket, and fitted black jeans.
It wasn’t a masterpiece. It wasn’t cinematic.
But it made sense.
A devil.
Or maybe… a fallen angel.
He caught his reflection in the mirror and tilted his head slightly. There was something ironic about it. With his sharp features and unfairly sculpted face, something almost Renaissance about him, like he’d been sketched by Michelangelo himself, he looked less like a demon and more like a tragic painting. But his thoughts betrayed him. Like it always did.
Anakin got picked up by the boys, Rex deciding to be the driver tonight because he absolutely refused to deal with another tequila-fueled meltdown like the one at the 79’s Bar the other night. One shot too many while hanging out with Cody and Hunter had nearly ended with loosing money in gambling and someone else trying to fight a jukebox. Rex had sworn he’d never let that happen again, at least for tonight.
The car smelled like cheap cologne, smoke, and whatever questionable perfume Jesse had sprayed on himself. They were trying to hype themselves up, talking over each other about their costumes, even though Jesse was already in a state that made you question whether he’d survive the ride.
Anakin raised a brow at him. “Are you sure you’re gangster enough to hit up the party?”
Jesse slowly pulled his sunglasses down, a plushie cat resting dramatically on his lap, stolen from his sister, apparently essential to the look. “Dis… is… part of the persona…” he mumbled drunkenly, nodding to himself like that explained everything.
Fives burst into laughter, nearly dropping his fake badge while adjusting his police hat in the rearview mirror. “This is Don Corleone before he decided to hand over the empire to his son.”
Anakin tilted his head, eyeing Fives up and down. “Why is your shirt unbuttoned, actually?”
Fives patted his abs proudly. “To arrest the pretty ladies at the party. And if they’re naughty enough, I will—”
“Fives,” Rex cut in flatly, eyes still fixed on the road, cigarette balanced between his lips. “Please shut your mouth before I throw you out of this car and let real police arrest you for your nonsense.”
Fives straightened immediately. “Yes, Captain.” He sank back into his seat and buttoned his shirt up properly, grumbling under his breath. Anakin leaned his head back against the window, watching the streetlights blur past. The teasing and chaos around him felt distant somehow. His fingers brushed over the cheap plastic of the devil horns in his lap before he put them on properly, adjusting them in the reflection of the glass.
He thought about her again, about that small smirk she gave him the other night. The way it softened her face for just a second. It hadn’t changed anything between them, not really. But to him, it felt like oxygen after weeks of holding his breath. He didn’t know what tonight would bring. He didn’t expect anything. But for the first time in a while, he wasn’t driving toward something with anger in his chest.
When they arrived at the party, it felt like stepping straight into a movie. The whole place glowed, neon lights strung across the yard, fairy lights tangled in the trees, colored spotlights flashing over the crowd. Music blasted so loud the bass vibrated through their ribs. People were dancing everywhere, on the lawn, on the porch, even on the outdoor furniture.
Drinks were passed around in red plastic cups, glowing an almost chemical shade of crimson that looked mildly concerning but tasted aggressively like cherries and sugar. The mixtapes felt like two worlds colliding, something between “Girls on Film” and “West End Girls” heavy bass, dramatic harmonies, and that reckless, endless-summer energy that made everything feel possible.
Anakin and the boys stepped into the chaos, the yard packed shoulder to shoulder with costumes that ranged from genius to absolutely unhinged.
Fives’ eyes widened as he scanned the scene. “…Honestly,” he muttered, adjusting his fake badge, “arrest me already for staring at everyone.”
Every girl looked like either an angel or a temptation wrapped in glitter and eyeliner. Wings, leather, lace, fake blood, shimmering dresses. It was almost overwhelming.
Jesse squinted from behind his sunglasses. “Dis party… is cinematic,” he declared, still clutching the plushie cat like a mob boss accessory.
Rex just shook his head, flicking his cigarette away before they got too close to the house. “Try not to embarrass yourselves within the first ten minutes.”
Inside the huge house, the music was even louder. The floors vibrated. Someone had turned the living room into a dance floor, and the kitchen counters were lined with bottles that looked stolen from three different decades. Anakin’s gaze moved across the crowd, searching for Shelly so he could congratulate her on her birthday but his head snapped to the side when he spotted Ahsoka and Hera in the middle of the dance floor.
Ahsoka had dressed as her own version of Carrie White, dramatic eyes, and fake blood streaked across her dress like an artistic statement rather than a horror reference. She was laughing, spinning, completely in her element. Hera stood beside her dressed as a pilot, cropped jacket, boots, and a look that was definitely more teasing than regulation. The glances she threw over her shoulder weren’t subtle at all. The two of them were dancing together, laughing so freely it felt contagious.
For a second, Anakin smiled without realizing it.
Then he started looking for her. His eyes scanned past strangers, past glitter and smoke and flashing lights. The crowd was thick, bodies moving, hands in the air, silhouettes blending together under shifting colors.
He couldn’t see her.
And that didn’t make sense.
She was hard to miss. Big curls, loud energy, the kind of presence that bent the room toward her without even trying. She wasn’t subtle. She was warmth and sharp edges and movement.
But right now?
Nothing.
It was like something bright had been removed from the frame.
Anakin stepped further into the house, gaze searching more deliberately now. His jaw tightened slightly.
She had to be here.
But Anakin’s jaw tightened. His eyes moved over the crowd again, sequins, flared pants, glittered eyelids, feather boas, leather jackets, halos made of tinsel. Every corner of the room was alive. Rex was already confiscating someone’s lighter with a disapproving look. Fives was pretending to “patrol” the dance floor with a grin that screamed he’d be the first one arrested. Jesse had fully committed to whatever drunken mobster persona he thought he was embodying.
Still.
No her.
It shouldn’t have bothered him it was a party, not a pilgrimage. And yet the absence of her big curls, her loud laugh, her gravity… it felt wrong. Like a record skipping. Then it happened. Like a feather brushing past his shoulder.
He turned, almost instinctively and the world slowed.
There she was.
Y/N never struggled with what to wear. She didn’t ask for attention, she simply understood what felt right, what made her feel electric in her own skin. She could’ve gone as Stevie Nicks in flowing black lace, or Daisy Jones with effortless heartbreak glamour. She could’ve chosen a film icon, a disco diva, something expected.
But she chose something that felt like her. Like walking in high heels to her favorite album; man’s best friend.
She recreated the one look of the singers music video, that looked like as if ABBA had a reckless one-night stand with a rock band under a mirrorball. Her curls were bigger than ever, unapologetic, wild, haloed in the shifting lights. Silver shimmer dusted her eyelids, grey melting into icy blue, catching every flicker of neon like stardust. Her lips were stained cherry red, glossy and dangerous.
And the outfit—- Metallic fringe chainmail draped over her torso, catching the light with every movement. Matching arm cuffs glinted as she lifted her hands. Mirrorball-style bottoms layered in ruffles and sequins shimmered when she spun, silver heels clicking against the hardwood like a metronome. Her bare legs gleamed under the lights, oiled gold and confident.
She wasn’t standing still.
She was moving, hips rolling to the bassline, shoulders loose, cigarette balanced between her fingers as she laughed toward Ahsoka and Hera. Smoke curled around her like part of the costume. She threw her head back when she laughed, and the room seemed to tilt toward her. Her outfit was scandalous. Not because it was vulgar because it wasn’t. It was art. It was rebellion. It was deliberate. No other girl in the room would have dared to wear only panties and let her legs gleam beneath disco lights like that. No one else would have stepped onto a crowded dance floor after being called a slut a month ago and decided to shine anyway. To glow brighter.
But she did.
She stood there like her own mirrorball, shining in fractured pieces, every shard catching light, every crack visible if you looked close enough. And she laughed louder than the music, like she refused to let it swallow her. The bass pulsed through the house, disco bleeding from the speakers, glitter spinning across the ceiling, sweat and perfume thick in the air. Someone had turned the living room into a dance floor, and she stood right in the center of it, smoke curling from the cigarette between her cherry-red lips.
Her curls were massive, untamed, haloed in gold light. Her metallic fringe chainmail halter top shimmered every time she moved, tiny mirrors flashing like camera bulbs. The ruffled, sequined bottoms clung to her hips, unapologetic. Silver heels clicked against the hardwood as she spun herself into the rhythm, hips swaying like she owned the song. Like she owned the night.
And maybe she did.
She laughed toward Ahsoka and Hera, tossing her head back, the sound sharp and bright. But there was something beneath it, something defiant. She wasn’t hiding or shrinking. She was daring the room to look.
And she was standing directly in the middle of Anakin’s orbit.
The moment he saw her, the air left his lungs.
His eyes went wide, too wide. His breath caught, like his body had forgotten the mechanics of breathing. The world around him blurred into nothing but flickering lights and the thud of disco drums. All he could see was her.
God.
The burn in his chest started slow, then spread, heat crawling up his throat, settling behind his ribs. It wasn’t just desire, though that was there too, fierce and immediate. It was awe. It was longing. It was guilt for not being near her.
He swallowed hard. His jaw tightened.
The metallic fringe caught the light as she turned, and he had to physically force his eyes to remain respectful. It was harder than he expected. Harder than it should have been. He wanted to be a gentleman. He wanted to be better than the version of himself who had hurt her.
But she looked like sin wrapped in silver and starlight, and he was only human.
He saw her everywhere lately. In songs on the radio. In the rhythm of rain against windows. In the way neon signs flickered at night. Sometimes she was in everything. Sometimes she disappeared completely, and that emptiness felt worse.
But seeing her shine like this, seeing her happy, or at least pretending to be, did something to him.
His cheeks grew warm. His throat felt dry.
He coughed lightly when Fives leaned against him, an arm slinging lazily around his shoulders. “Where are we looking at, Skywalker—”
Fives followed Anakin’s line of sight.
And then he saw her too. Fives’ jaw physically dropped. He blinked once. Twice. Then, with exaggerated effort, he looked down at the floor. “…This is illegal,” he muttered under his breath.
Anakin’s head snapped toward him, jaw tight, possessiveness flashing before he could stop it. Something territorial and ugly coiled in his chest. “Hey.” It came out sharper than he meant it to.
Fives immediately lifted his hands in surrender, stepping back half a pace. “I know, I know— I’m looking respectfully.” He paused, then added, “Very respectfully.”
Anakin didn’t laugh.
Because the problem wasn’t Fives.
The problem was that he still felt like she was his.
And she wasn’t.
Ahsoka slid up beside Y/N. She pulled a slow drag from the blunt some random guy had practically blessed her with in passing, exhaled toward the spinning lights, and grinned. “I swear,” she said, voice warm and slightly hazy, “you look so good, Y/N. It feels like I’m standing next to a literal mirrorball.”
Y/N laughed, hips swaying to the bass, fringe trembling with every movement. She tipped her head back, curls bouncing wildly. “Girl,” she shouted over the music, “that might’ve been part of the idea.”
The disco lights caught the shimmer on her eyelids and turned her into a walking constellation. She didn’t just glow, she radiated. Hera, meanwhile, was nursing a cocktail she had absolutely invented on the spot. It was neon. It was layered. It might have been illegal in three states. She squinted at Y/N dramatically and pointed her glass at her like a judge making a ruling. “YOU KNOW— YOU LOOK LIKE ABBA.”
Y/N paused mid-hip swing and raised a brow. “ABBA is a group—be specific!” she yelled back, laughing.
Hera blinked. “They’re a group? I thought it was like— a woman”
Ahsoka turned to look at her slowly. Very slowly. “Are you drinking tequila again?”
Hera clutched her glass protectively. “I have no idea what’s inside this. I feel like I’m ascending. I might meet God in twenty minutes.”
“You’re meeting the floor in twenty minutes,” Ahsoka muttered.
Y/N doubled over laughing, cigarette still balanced between her fingers. It felt good, laughing like this. Not the brittle kind. Not the forced kind. The kind that made her stomach hurt and her eyes water. The kind that reminded her she was still her, no matter what anyone said.
Before Hera could defend her theological cocktail, the boys came barreling into their circle like a drunk boy band reunion. Jesse stumbled forward first, sunglasses somehow still clinging to his face despite it being midnight indoors. He threw an arm over Y/N’s shoulders and another over Ahsoka’s, nearly knocking them off balance.
“HheYOOO, ladies,” he slurred grandly. “Be careful— I am a mob.” His sunglasses slid dramatically off his nose and hit the floor.
Y/N stared at him, unimpressed. “Oh my God, no. Jesse, don’t tell me you’re Don Corleone.”
Jesse straightened or at least attempted to. He adjusted invisible lapels. “I make offer you cannot refuse,” he whispered loudly.
“You can’t even refuse water right now,” Ahsoka shot back.
Rex appeared beside them, shaking his head with a fond snicker. “If you say it out loud, it sounds more ridiculous than it did in his head. Trust me.”
“It sounded powerful in my head,” Jesse argued weakly.
“It sounded like you need electrolytes,” Rex replied.
Hera suddenly gasped, loud and dramatic enough to slice clean through the music and the overlapping conversations.
“A CAT!”
Jesse flinched like someone had fired a blaster next to his ear. The little round cat plushie tucked inside his smoking bounced against his chest. He stared at Hera with glassy confusion, like his brain had just disconnected from the galaxy. “Wha—?” he slurred, blinking too slowly.
Hera pointed at his chest as if she’d just discovered a conspiracy. Her cocktail wobbled dangerously in her hand. “WHO BROUGHT THE CAT? WHY IS IT SO ROUND?”
“It’s a plushie!” Ahsoka called after her, barely containing her laughter.
Jesse straightened defensively, clutching the plushie like it was a living thing. “LET MY CAT ALONE—” he protested, swaying slightly.
Y/N pressed her hand to her lips to muffle a laugh, her shoulders shaking. For a moment, the chaos felt light—easy. The music thumped in her chest, the lilac lights painting her skin in soft lavender hues. She gently slipped out from under Jesse’s arm while he continued arguing with Hera about the emotional depth of a stuffed animal.
She needed a drink. She turned and walked straight into a solid chest. The impact wasn’t hard, but it was enough to knock the breath from her lungs.
Anakin reacted instantly, his hand coming to her arm, gentle, careful, like she was made of something fragile. His fingers wrapped around her skin with instinctive protectiveness, and for a split second the world felt quieter.
He looked down at her, frozen.
She looked up at him.
The lilac light caught in her hair, along her legs, along the sharp glittering lines of her outfit. Up close, she was almost blinding. Not just because of what she was wearing but because of the beauty radiating from her.
“Hey!” he blurted, too loud, slightly off-key, like his voice had betrayed him.
He cleared his throat, heat climbing up his neck. Why did he always sound like that around her? Like a nervous teenager? Well he was a teenager.
Her eyes widened too, lips parting in surprise. For a second, she just stared at him. “Oh— uh— hi?” she answered, unsure, her tone half-guarded, half-curious.
Then she looked him up and down.
Slowly.
The devil costume. The horns. The smirk he wasn’t quite pulling off. The red shirt that fit him far too well.
Her eyebrow arched. “You are Satan indeed,” she said, genuine surprise in her voice, like the universe had delivered a joke straight to her.
Anakin blinked twice, thrown off by the way she looked at him. There was amusement there. There was something else too, something he didn’t dare name. He laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah— I— uh— kind of liked your idea.” His heart was pounding. He could still feel her arm under his hand.
Too aware. Too warm.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded slowly, lips curving in a small, entertained smile. Not soft. Not warm. But not cruel either. “Glad I could help,” she said. She gently slipped her arm from his hand. That small loss of contact felt bigger than it should have. She stepped around him, heading toward the drinks. And Anakin, against his better judgment, turned to watch her go.
The shimmer of her legs under the lights.
The way she moved like she owned the room.
His eyes drifted lower before he could stop them. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to ground himself.
Don’t.
Don’t be that guy.
Don’t be the one who looks like he still thinks he has a claim.
His chest burned anyway. He remembered the fights. The words. The sharpness in her voice. The look on her face when she’d pulled away from him weeks ago. He deserved the distance. He hated it.
A sharp smack hit the back of his head. He jerked forward.
“Stop staring,” Ahsoka said flatly, crossing her arms. “It’s embarrassing.”
“I wasn’t staring,” he muttered defensively.
“You were calculating the molecular structure of her legs.”
Fives choked on a laugh.
Anakin shot him a warning look.
Across the room, Y/N reached the table and grabbed a drink without even checking what it was. She took a long sip, maybe longer than necessary, and exhaled slowly. Her heart was racing. She hadn’t expected him to look at her like that.
Not after everything. Yet.. the way his hand had been so careful? It did something dangerous to her resolve.
Behind her, Jesse was still yelling about his “emotional support cat.”
Hera was trying to pet it.
Rex looked like he regretted all of his life choices.
And Anakin, still standing where she left him, couldn’t stop replaying the feeling of her under his hand. He flexed his fingers unconsciously.
Y/N turned her head again, brows drawn together as she sipped her drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass, her mind spinning with the song playing on the jukebox— Tears. Every note, every layered harmony, carried her into the album she had chosen to embody tonight, the shimmer, the drama, the glittered heartbreak. Most people didn’t notice, only Ahsoka had caught it. Shelly had a knack for that, for picking music that made the soul move, and tonight, Y/N felt herself dancing right in the center of it all.
She twirled the straw absentmindedly between her fingers, lost in the rhythm and her own thoughts, until a voice cut through the haze, bright and theatrical.
“Oh my god— you are dressed up as Sabrina Carpenter!”
Y/N’s eyes snapped open. In front of her stood a radiant guy that was dressed up as Dr. Frank-N-Furter from the movie The Rocky Horror Picture Show, corset, fishnets, glittering eye makeup sharp enough to cut glass. He was confident, dramatic, perfect.
“Wait— what?” she stammered.
He smirked and pointed at the jukebox. “Tears?? Hello??”
Her jaw dropped. “You know her? I fucking love her—I—I’m Y/N!!!”
He laughed, delighted, and gently pushed her drink aside. “Oh heck I know you, girl! Those curls? Hard to miss. I’m Cole! But that doesn’t matter—we need to dance.”
Before she could protest, he grabbed her hands and pulled her to the center of the room. And she laughed—not the guarded laugh she reserved for strangers or for hiding hurt but a full, bright, free laugh that rang out over the hum of the party.
The dance floor felt like stepping into a scene from Boogie Nights, the disco pulse thrumming under pop perfection. The lyrics twisted around playful seduction, the kind that made you want to move, to spin, to feel alive. Y/N didn’t even know Cole, didn’t even remember his name two seconds later but it didn’t matter. He knew the song. He knew the moves. And most importantly, he hyped her up, letting her shine.
Across the room, Hera and Jesse were still mid-debate over whether a plushie cat had feelings. Ahsoka finally glanced around, scanning the crowd. “Have you seen Y/N?” she asked, arching a brow at Anakin. “I know she was scared away by him.”
Anakin rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Wow. You’re so mature.”
“Coming rich from your lips,” Ahsoka shot back.
Rex cleared his throat subtly and tilted his head toward the dance floor. “Nah. She’s having a good time with Dr. Frank-N-Furter.”
Ahsoka blinked, confused for a moment, then followed his gaze.
Oh. There she was.
Center of the dance floor. The crowd had naturally parted into a circle around her and Cole, like everyone had instinctively decided to watch. The song hit the bridge—
I get wet at the thought of you
and the dance break began.
Y/N’s face lit up like someone had wired her directly into the speakers. Muscle memory took over— nights in her room, dancing in front of mirrors, copying every move she had watched on TV. She nailed every step. Every spin. Every hip flick. Every hand gesture. Cole danced behind her, hyping her up, but she was the star.
When she spun at the end, catching the lilac light of the disco bulbs in her curls, she walked straight back toward him, hand sliding onto Cole’s shoulder as they lip-synced dramatically together. Playful. Electric. Unbothered.
Anakin’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t realized he’d uncrossed his arms until his fists clenched at his sides. He told himself it was nothing. Just dancing. Just fun. But the way she moved, the way she laughed, the way she didn’t even glance in his direction, it cut him sharper than he expected.
Fives leaned over and whispered with a smirk, “You look like you’re about to challenge Frank-N-Furter to a duel.”
Anakin didn’t laugh. He couldn’t look away. She looked alive—radiant, confident, untouchable. It wasn’t her orbiting him. He was orbiting her. The song ended, and Y/N practically leapt with excitement, clutching Cole’s elbows as she laughed breathlessly. “THAT WAS SO COOL!!!! YOU ARE INCREDIBLE!!”
Cole grinned from ear to ear, pointing at her like she’d just won a trophy. “GIRL, YOU GOT THESE MOVES! You should definitely come to New York sometime.”
Y/N blinked at him, a mix of awe and disbelief lighting her eyes. But before she could respond, the crowd surged, pulling her slightly away. “Wait—so you’re from New York? How did you even end up in this… rat-ass town?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.
Cole threw his head back and laughed, a rich, theatrical sound that made her giggle. “I’m good friends with Benito— you know him? I visited him here before he went off to college, but—“
Y/N’s smile widened, genuine and bright. “Of course I know him! Is he here?”
Cole’s smirk turned mischievous. “Ahhh, missing your man already? Come on, let me show you where he is, babes.”
,,Oh he’s not—‚,
The music thumped in the background, a bassline of shimmering disco lights casting prismatic patterns across the dance floor. Somewhere across the room, she caught a glimpse of him—Anakin—but Cole’s hand on her elbow gently tugged her forward, dragging her curiosity toward the familiar.
Cole guided her through the crowd, weaving between laughing friends, glittering heels, and arms raised to the disco lights, until they reached a corner near the back where Benito was leaning casually against the balcony railing, drink in hand, laughing at something Cutup had just said.
Benito was dressed up as a Rock N’ Roll star, obviously. He was laughing while his head turned towards Y/N and Cole. His smile turned into a jaw drop because of Y/N. ,,Well who do we have here? Please don’t sing to me ,Nobody’s Son’ again’’ he chuckled while taking the hand of Y/n and spin her.
Y/n rolls her eyes and let go of his hand when she stood properly. ,,Funny that you decided to go basic for your own vibe.’’
Cole chuckled and placed his arm around Y/N’s shoulder. ,,I gotta tell you Benito—- I love this girl so much.’’
Benito smirked at Cole but his gaze towards Y/N was softer. ,,Who wouldn’t?’’
Y/N looks at Benito with a soft glance. She knows what he was trying to refer to, but they talked about it. He knows that her heart is sealed and how much it was beating for someone else, it was hard for him.
Across the room, Anakin’s eyes locked onto her as if the crowd had dissolved entirely. Her big curls bounced with every step, her metallic fringe catching the lights like shards of a mirrorball, and even from this distance, he could see the faint sparkle in her eyes. His jaw tensed, his chest ached with the combination of pride, regret, and desire that never seemed to leave him.
He felt every pulse of her laughter as if it were a physical force pressing against his ribs. Every sway of her hips, every confident yet playful step, it was her. His, her.
Anakin clenched his fists at his sides, trying to calm the storm raging in him, but the sight of her smiling at Benito, leaning casually into his space, set every nerve on fire. He wanted to storm over, to claim just a word, a glance, anything—but pride and stubbornness.
Meanwhile, Y/N’s gaze flicked toward him for a brief moment, catching a hint of something in his expression— dark, tense, and undeniably alive. She quickly looked away, taking a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on Cole and the conversation, on the fun of the party. But that fleeting glance left a shiver in her chest, a reminder that she had never fully left him behind.
Anakin’s lips pressed together, and he exhaled slowly, the fight between desire and self-control twisting him inside out. He stayed where he was, behind the crowd, feeling both powerless and alive, every beat of the music a cruel echo of her presence.
The party continued in a kaleidoscope of lights and laughter, the air thick with music and chatter. Y/N had been talking with Benito most of the night, swapping stories, laughing over shared memories, and teasing over silly debates. She kept herself careful, aware of her limits with alcohol and anything that could tip her mind into old habits she no longer wanted. She was present, alert, enjoying the night on her own terms—and that sense of control felt like a small victory.
From the corner of the room, Ahsoka watched both the joys and the dangers. Benito’s gaze lingered on Y/N whenever she sang a lyric softly, or animatedly retold a story that somehow became larger than life. He adored her in quiet, subtle ways, the kind that made a part of her world feel warmer.
But when Ahsoka’s eyes shifted across the crowd, there was Anakin, tucked in the shadows or leaning near a table, every glance sharpened with a possessive edge. Even the smallest laugh from Benito made his jaw tense, his eyes dark with something that went beyond jealousy—it was yearning, pure and unrestrained.
Ahsoka groaned softly. She hated that they couldn’t just let her have a night of peace, to breathe freely. The tension between them could pull anyone under, and she refused to let it ruin Y/N’s night. Without warning, she grabbed Y/N’s hand and tugged her toward the dance floor.
“Benito! I’m taking Y/N—I’m thirsty for dancing!” Ahsoka shouted over the music, spinning Y/N into the crowd.
Benito froze mid-sentence, caught between confusion and disbelief, his words dying on his lips. Y/N laughed at the sudden turn of events, letting the chaos sweep her up.
It felt as though the universe itself had decided to play along—cosmos, stars, and disco lights conspiring in perfect timing. She spun and swayed with Ahsoka, laughing loudly, letting herself get lost in the music.
Hera finally joined them, the cat plushie tucked securely under her arm, a cocktail sloshing dangerously in her other hand. She flopped into their circle, hair bouncing, eyes sparkling with mischievous delight. The three of them moved together as if the world had been reduced to glitter, bass, and laughter, and for a moment, Y/N let herself forget everything else—Benito, Anakin, the chaos, the past. She simply danced, her curls bouncing, her metallic fringe catching the light like shards of a mirrorball, and for once, she felt untouchable.
“Okay, so you won’t believe what I did!” Hera shouted, leaning close over the music so Y/N could hear.
Y/N tilted her head. “What did you do? Please don’t tell me you paid Jesse for the cat”
Hera gave a mock gasp, clutching the plushie tighter. “NO? I am broke but I just told Jesse that I take good care— but he is somewhere— I think he fell asleep on a plant”
Ahsoka raised an eyebrow, deadpan. “A plant.”
“Yes!” Hera spun dramatically, almost losing her balance. “But doesn’t matter— but I wanted to tell you that I just decided to gamble! And when I learned how to play poker with Fives then I will go to Las Vegas” She stumbled slightly but caught herself on Y/N’s arm, laughing uncontrollably.
Y/N and Ahsoka looked at each other. Y/N blinks back to Hera.”You what?’’
“Terrifyingly fabulous!” Hera corrected with a wink, taking a big sip of her drink. “And I may have also—accidentally—blended my smoothie with tequila. It was supposed to be for Jesse, so he shut up but….”
Y/N closes her eyes. “Oh no.”
“I did what every responsible adult would do at a party!” Hera said, flopping dramatically against Ahsoka, who gave her a side-eye.
Ahsoka shook her head, laughing despite herself. “You’re impossible.”
Y/N grabbed Hera’s other hand, spinning her around. “Impossible is exactly why I love dancing with you two. I forgot how fun this can be.”
Hera’s arms lift up and she smiles brightly. ,YIPPIE’
They were dancing around, Y/N’s laughter ringing over the pulsing beat, but Ahsoka’s eyes kept darting over the crowd. She noticed Anakin, beer in hand, already empty but forgotten— his gaze locked on Y/N, as if moving an inch away would make her vanish. And then, in the opposite direction, Benito was weaving through the crowd, purposeful and smooth, like he knew exactly where she was.
“Why can’t they leave an innocent woman alone—” Ahsoka muttered under her breath, shaking her head. Her gaze flicked to Y/N, then to Hera, who was starting to look pale. At the same moment, Ahsoka saw Anakin begin to push forward. Y/N spun again, singing along to the lyrics, curls flying and sequins catching the disco lights like tiny mirrorballs.
Ahsoka grabbed Y/N’s hand, pressing lightly. “Yo, popstar—get Hera something to drink. Or the couch, because I think she’s about to baptize the cocktail.”
Y/N’s expression softened as she focused on Hera, grabbing her arm carefully. “Yeah… let’s get you something that doesn’t suggest glitter and palm prints in your cup.”
Hera pouted, her face ghostly pale. “I like—I like—”
“Water. Just say water,” Y/N interrupted, smirking despite herself.
As Y/N guided Hera away, Ahsoka planted herself firmly in front of Anakin, arms crossed, eyes hard. “No,” she said, tone clipped.
Anakin looked down at her, then around, searching. “Where’s Y/N?”
“No,” Ahsoka repeated, sharper this time.
“Ahsoka, you get on my nerves the whole night,” he raised his voice over the music. “I know you dislike me, but I want to talk to her.”
“You know,” Ahsoka said, leaning in, her voice cold but laced with humor, “for someone who said she was too much… or a slut, you sure stare at her a lot.”
Anakin stiffened but didn’t meet her gaze. “Mind your business.”
She snapped, stepping closer and slapping his face lightly to make him look at her. “It is my business. She’s my best friend. And I’m not gonna watch you tear her apart because you can’t figure your shit out.”
Finally, his eyes met hers, dark, frustrated. “I’m not—”
“You are,” she cut him off, venom in her tone but precise, sharp. “You broke her. And now you’re standing here, half in with Padmé, half out, all the while your eyes glued to Y/N like you’d die without her. When are you going to admit it? To yourself, at least.”
Anakin’s jaw tightened, chest rising and falling, the bass of the disco shaking the air between them. “I’m not with Padmé anymore… it’s not that simple to work things out again—”
Ahsoka leaned in, unwavering. “It is. That’s cowardice. Standing there, pride in your way, still looking from afar.” Her words landed heavy, slicing through the party noise. Anakin swallowed hard, silence hanging between them like a storm.
She studied him for a beat longer, then shook her head, voice firm but carrying a hint of exasperation. “Man up. Or leave her alone. Because she deserves better than being yours… almost.”
Y/N guided Hera into the kitchen, careful not to spill her drink, while Hera clutched her water cup like a lifeline. The air was quieter here, cooler, smelling faintly of citrus cleaner and leftover champagne. Y/N leaned against the counter, watching Hera sip slowly, her small form curled over the glass.
But even as she tried to focus on her friend, her eyes kept wandering back through the doorway, back into the main room where the dance floor pulsed with light and music. And there they were—Ahsoka and Anakin.
Ahsoka’s stance was rigid, arms crossed, voice firm and low. Anakin’s head was tilted down at first, jaw tight, but his eyes kept flicking up, following every word she said. His fists clenched at his sides; every muscle in him seemed coiled, as if he was holding himself back from bursting forward and shaking the world until Y/N was standing right there.
Hera tilted her head, noticing Y/N’s gaze. “Uh… are you okay?” she asked, voice small and nervous, one hand fidgeting with the rim of the glass.
Y/N blinked, realizing she had been staring, lost in the way Anakin looked like he was being torn apart from the inside. She swallowed and forced a soft smile. “Yeah… yeah, I’m fine. Just… watching.”
Hera squinted suspiciously but trusted Y/N enough to go back to her drink. Y/N leaned lightly against the counter, fingers tracing the rim of her glass, thoughts spinning faster than the disco lights that cut through the main room. Every flicker of neon, every mirrored reflection seemed to pull her back toward him, Anakin, coiled and tense, every glance he stole across the room a reminder of what hung between them.
Rex walked into the kitchen, holding his cup with that casual mix of care and cockiness he always carried. He looked at the girls, noting Hera’s pale complexion. “Oh… Hera, was it tequila again?” he asked, half amused, half concerned.
Hera leaned practically on the counter, glass pressed to her lips, flipping him the middle finger without missing a beat. Rex just chuckled, unbothered, and stood next to Y/N, leaning against the counter as well.
“Enjoying the night?” he asked, casual but with an observant glint in his eyes.
“Pretty much, yeah,” Y/N replied with a laugh, shaking her head at the chaos beyond the kitchen doorway. “I didn’t know I could have this much fun without drugs.” Her gaze flicked toward Anakin and Ahsoka again, involuntarily.
Rex scoffed, sipping from his juice. “Believe me, life’s better with a good cigarette and some apple juice,” he said, shrugging with mock seriousness.
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t a cigarette a drug too?”
Rex gave her a crooked smile. “Wouldn’t be nearly as fun without it.” He handed her one. She smiled softly, holding it between her fingers before placing it between her lips. Rex lit it for her, and for a quiet moment, they watched the two in the main room, Ahsoka and Anakin, without speaking.
The calmness was deceptive. Rex could read the storm between Anakin and Y/N, the tension that buzzed like static across the dance floor. He knew, as Y/N did, that the longing, the love, the unspoken words, they were all there, simmering just beneath the surface. If Shakespeare had been alive tonight, he’d have written sonnets about these two.
“You know he’s actually trying,” Rex said lowly, the smoke curling between them like a fragile veil.
Y/N’s brow lifted, a mixture of curiosity and caution. “Who are you talking about?”
Rex gave her a sharp glare. “Don’t play dumb. We both know who I mean.”
She licked her lips, pulling a slow drag from the cigarette, letting the smoke linger before exhaling. Silence stretched for a beat. Rex didn’t break eye contact. “He said it. He broke up with Padmé because he loves you,” he said finally, voice low but certain.
Y/N felt her heart sink, a weight settling deep into her chest. She let the cigarette dangle for a moment, unsure if she wanted to drop it or finish it, her thoughts tangled with the sight of him across the room, jaw tight, eyes dark with desire and restraint. Her eyes stayed fixed on Anakin, who was still standing near the edge of the dance floor, jaw tight, scanning the room as if searching for her every movement. She could feel the weight of every second they’d been apart pressing against her chest.
Rex leaned a little closer, keeping his voice low so it wouldn’t carry over the pulsing disco beats. “Look… he’s trying, Y/N. I’m not talking some half-assed nonsense. He’s… he’s actually trying.”
Y/N’s lips pressed together. “Trying? After everything?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, tinged with disbelief.
Rex gave her a pointed look, half understanding, half frustration because of them two. “He’s… he’s a mess, sure. Broody, stubborn, infuriating—but when he loves, he loves. And you’re it. He knows he fucked up, but.. I guess he has his own way of trying. But maybe you guys should finally talk like human beings”
Y/N blinked, her chest tightening as the words sank in. Her mind flashed back to every fight, every awkward silence, every moment where his jealousy had flared, where his yearning had been obvious—but unspoken. All of it pointed here. To now.
Rex shook his head, exhaling a long stream of smoke. “And don’t get me wrong—he’s still a dramatic disaster. But that’s him showing up. That’s him trying to fix it instead of running like he used to. You’ve seen him… he can’t just stand there watching someone else touch what’s his. Not you.”
Y/N let out a shaky laugh, half disbelief, half something deeper she couldn’t name. “I don’t know if I can—trust that. He hurt me, Rex. He—he made choices that weren’t mine to forgive.”
Rex sighed, leaning against the counter and tilting his head. “Yeah… he’s an idiot, we all know that. This isn’t about excuses. He’s trying, Y/N. That’s more than a lot of people ever do. He’s standing there, right now, in the middle of chaos, trying to figure out how to fix what he broke. And you… you’re the only one who can let him try.”
Y/N’s hands gripped the counter tighter. Her eyes softened as they flicked back toward Anakin. She saw him shift slightly, tense in every movement, scanning for her, jaw clenched like he was holding back the world. The fire and yearning in his eyes hit her harder than any music or laughter in the room.
Rex nudged her shoulder gently. “Look… you love him too, don’t you? Don’t lie to me. You feel it when he’s near, when he watches you, when he—ugh, god, he’s a disaster, but he’s your disaster. And he knows it.”
Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her fingers tightened around the cigarette, the tiny flame catching in her eyes like it knew exactly what she felt. “He… he is trying?”
Rex gave her a slow nod, smoke curling between them like a little veil. “Yeah. And he’s scared as hell, just like you are. But if you really care about him, you might… maybe… let him show you.”
The words lingered, echoing over the music, over the laughter, over the chaos of Shelly’s party. Y/N’s gaze snapped back to Anakin. He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t done anything dramatic, yet, but the way he stood, tense and yearning, said everything.
And suddenly, for the first time in weeks, Y/N felt a flicker of clarity amid the spinning lights and mirrored reflections: maybe it wasn’t too late.
Y/N tapped the cigarette against the counter, letting the small ember fall and die, and turned away from Rex. Her heart was hammering in her chest, loud enough to drown out the disco beats and chatter around her. She pushed forward, weaving through the crowd toward Anakin, each step heavier and lighter at the same time. Adrenaline prickled along her skin, sharp and intoxicating.
Does she want to talk? To untangle the mess of words left unspoken, the misunderstandings, the heartbreak? To stop the ache and start over? Or was this one last chance to finally close the door, seal the past behind her, and heal? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she had to see him.
But just as she stepped closer, Benito appeared, blocking her path with that familiar warm grin. “Hey there, you made it!”
Y/N’s eyes widened. “Benito—I can’t right now—I’ll come find you later,” she said, trying to push past him.
Benito’s hand landed lightly on her shoulder. “But I have to introduce you to someone! She’s the biggest Daisy Jones fan—you have to meet her!” His voice faded as Y/N’s gaze swept past him, and she realized Anakin was gone from the crowd.
He had slipped onto the balcony, needing distance, needing air. Anger and confusion churned through him after Ahsoka’s sharp words. It seemed the universe itself was conspiring to keep them apart, forcing silence, building tension. It felt colder outside, with little raindrops falling. As if it was about to rain, just like the wind becoming stronger.
He leaned against the railing, pulled out a cigarette, and pressed it to his dry lips. The flick of the lighter brought a tiny glow to his face. The smoke curled lazily, masking the storm inside him. He loved her. His princess. But the path to her felt blocked by stones he’d placed himself—pride, fear, hesitation.
He inhaled, hoping the calm of smoke could steady him, but the noise from behind broke through—stumbles, laughter, and a hiccup. “Ani!”
His eyes snapped open. The tipsy, high-pitched voice belonged unmistakably to Padmé. He dropped the cigarette, still burning faintly, and turned toward her, cold and rigid. “Don’t ‘Ani’ me. Don’t even come near me—I have no energy for you,” he said, voice sharp as glass.
Padmé shook her head, clutching a martini glass. She was swathed in white, dressed as a swan, but her eyes betrayed a shadow—the black swan underneath. “Suddenly you can’t look at me anymore,” she said, her voice cracking. “But months ago… you begged for me. See? Y/N isn’t right for you—but I am!” She stepped closer, tears glinting in the party lights, pleading.
Anakin recoiled slightly, jaw tight. “Padmé—I told you. I’m in love with her. Not you.”
Padmé stepped closer, her hand reaching for his arm, tracing the line of his shoulder as if trying to tether him to her. “Ani… you don’t understand. I know you love her, but…” Her voice faltered, then hardened, “I can give you everything you want. Everything you’ve ever needed.”
Anakin stiffened, twisting slightly, trying to pull away without breaking the railing. “Padmé—stop. Don’t touch me,” he said, voice low but firm. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to stay away. “You’re not the one I want.”
Padmé’s hand slid down to his chest, just barely grazing the warmth of his skin, her touch light but impossible to ignore. “You can’t just ignore me, Ani… after everything. You think I’d let you go without…” She trailed off, searching his face, her eyes desperate.
He shoved gently, but firmly, trying to break the contact. “Padmé! Stop!” His voice cracked with frustration, but it couldn’t reach past the bubble of chaos in his chest.
Below, Y/N pushed through the crowd on the dance floor, a mix of determination and dread weighing on her. She had been searching for him, weaving through bodies, and now she froze at the balcony, her heart caught in her throat.
She saw him, her Anakin, hands gripping the railing, his jaw tight, his dark curls falling into his eyes as he struggled against Padmé’s touch. And she saw Padmé, leaning closer, eyes glinting with a mixture of anger and desire.
Y/N stepped onto the balcony, quietly, her presence commanding without a word. The faint clink of her heels on the wooden floor made Anakin snap his head toward her. Something in Y/N’s chest twisted like a knife, jealousy, fear, longing, but also ache. The heat of it, the lie that he loved her, the undeniable pull between them, all crystallized in that moment. It was her fear that she believed, she thought that everyone was right. But Padmé was always there.
His eyes widened, a flash of guilt and relief crossing his features. Anakin exhaled, his whole body loosening just slightly, the storm inside him momentarily paused. “Y/N,” he whispered, his voice rough, almost pleading. “I—”
Y/N didn’t speak yet. She just looked at him, her eyes steady and unflinching, seeing every fraction of him— but she shakes her head in the disbelief of how she betrayed herself. The feelings she stored away where back in her heart and it pained. The wounds were open and she scoffed.
,,Why did I even tried.’’ She said, turning herself around and walked quickly away.
Anakin pushed Padmé quickly away, harder then ever that she stumbled backwards. He shouted loudly while running after Y/N.
,NO WAIT!!’
💋hey men! that chapter was such a mess because I had no idea how to write it down but believe me the next chapter is actually so important and hopefully better. It makes me actually mad how unsatisfied I am with it.
summary: anakin skywalker starts his summer break as a heartbroken guy over the break up with padmé amidala, yet while he was drinking his blueberry slushy in a gas station by a desert highway, he met a girl called y/n y/l/n, who was a wild and free spirited girl with tons of flings. what if the summertime sadness turns into a fake relationship? anakin wants revenge and jealousy, and y/n wants fun and drama.
fake dating.
previous chapter: the guy in a band.
series masterlist: manchild.
chapter thirty three: the yearner.
She glanced out the window, her voice more casual than it should’ve been. “Any rules I should follow?”
He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her for a long, quiet beat. Like he was trying to read a warning label on her heart. “Yeah,” he said finally, tone flat, firm. “Just one, don’t catch feelings.”
Y/n didn’t blink. She just smirked, slow and sharp. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, hair falling like shadows. Her eyes met his, unwavering, fire meeting fire. “I’m good with that.”
Anakin’s mouth curled at the corner. Something dark and amused flashed in his eyes. He leaned forward too, their faces now inches apart in the diner booth glow. “Good. Just making sure we’re on the same page.”
Y/n had never really fallen in love. Not the staying kind. She liked the crash—the chase, the mess, the bruised knees and lipstick-stained aftermath. She liked drama like some people liked dessert. She burned fast and left before she melted. She held out her hand across the table, palm open like a dare. “Shall we seal the deal?”
Anakin stared at her hand for a second—paint-chipped nails, a silver ring she probably stole from a gas station. It was all part of her: this beautiful, chaotic promise wrapped in cigarette smoke and Fleetwood Mac lyrics. He reached out and took it. His grip was warm, rough with callouses. “Deal.”
Feelings are never predictable, especially when they start navigating your life instead of the other way around. They can be everything at once, and they can make you feel insane. The way your heart suddenly races at the smallest trigger, the faint soundtrack drifting from a random car passing by and you’re instantly taken back to that night, the first time you felt it.
Sometimes it’s a feeling you wish you could place inside a box and set beside you, untouched. Leave it there. Control it. But other times, it refuses to stay contained. It lingers in your chest, heavy and alive, and the desire to have it back, to feel it again, makes you lose your mind.
Anakin Skywalker wasn’t someone who simply wanted things.
He yearned for them.
There was a difference.
Wanting was passive. It could be ignored, postponed, reasoned with. Yearning was a current under the skin, a restless pulse that refused to quiet. It was the kind of feeling that lived in the bones, that tightened around the ribs and demanded movement. Anakin didn’t know how to feel halfway. He didn’t know how to desire something gently.
When he loved, it was absolute. Consuming. It wrapped around his thoughts and threaded itself through every decision he made. He could be standing still, saying nothing, his expression unreadable but inside him, everything burned.
Yearning, for him, was physical. It was the way his jaw tightened when he saw her laugh with someone else. The way his fingers flexed like he needed to grab onto something, onto her, just to steady himself. It was how his breath would hitch, almost imperceptibly, when she stepped into a room, as if the air had shifted in loyalty to her presence.
He didn’t just miss people. He felt their absence like a missing limb. A phantom ache.
And when it came to Y/N, his yearning was relentless. It wasn’t only desire. It was the memory of her voice at night, soft and unguarded. The way she would look at him when she thought he wasn’t watching. The sharpness of her anger, which he admired almost as much as her tenderness. He yearned for all of it—the chaos and the calm, the fight and the forgiveness.
Anakin had never been built for detachment. He didn’t know how to love in moderation. When he chose someone, he didn’t just step toward them—he leapt. And when he lost them, he didn’t let go gracefully. He held on in silence, in pride, in jealousy, in the stubborn refusal to admit that the one thing he wanted most had slipped beyond his control.
Yearning made him reckless. It made him stand in gas stations, pretending indifference while his chest was splitting open. It made him walk away when he should have stayed, because staying would have meant confessing everything. And confession meant vulnerability. Vulnerability meant the possibility of losing her again.
But beneath the anger, beneath the pride, beneath the impulsive storms that defined him, there was something painfully simple:
He loved like a man who believed love was survival.
Not soft. Not convenient. Not safe.
Necessary.
Even though he had been the one to lie, had said from the very beginning that no feelings should be caught, he was the one who fell into the trap of love. He fell into the tangled mix of pride, love, prejudice, and yearning.
And in the end? He was the one left standing miles away from Y/N, rooted to the ground. His veins stood out beneath his skin like the veins of trees—anchored, desperate, planted only to be needed.
He had tried to convince himself that what he felt could be controlled. That it was temporary. That it was just desire, just proximity, just circumstance. But love does not ask for permission before it settles into your bloodstream. And once it was there, it moved through him like wildfire.
When he was with Padmé again, it was supposed to feel like heaven. That was what everyone said love should feel like—calm, beautiful, weightless. Like floating through clouds, light and effortless, carried by something pure.
But what he felt wasn’t heaven.
It felt like hell disguised as something holy.
The calm was suffocating. The beauty felt rehearsed. The peace was brittle, like glass that would shatter if he breathed too deeply. What was meant to feel safe felt instead like confinement—a carefully decorated cage.
And the worst part was that he knew the difference.
He had tasted something raw before. Something chaotic and imperfect and real. With Y/N, love had never been soft clouds—it had been storms, electricity, fire licking at the edges of reason. It had scared him. It had challenged him. It had demanded honesty.
With Padmé, everything felt like an echo of a life he thought he was supposed to want. A version of love that looked right on paper. But inside him, there was a constant ache. A sharp, unrelenting anger he couldn’t explain.
Love wasn’t supposed to feel like a trap. It wasn’t supposed to feel like being stuck in some endless twilight zone—where everything looked golden, but nothing felt warm.
And deep down, beneath all the pride and stubbornness, beneath the lies he told himself, he knew why. Because heaven had never been calm for him. Heaven had been chaos with her. Heaven was Y/N. He tried to live with it.
That quiet, gnawing absence.
But yearning is not quiet. It lingers in the background of every moment, waiting for the smallest trigger to rise. Sometimes it came to him at night. He would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the way she used to laugh when she forgot to be guarded. The way her fingers would brush against his absentmindedly, as if touching him was instinct. He would turn onto his side, jaw tight, trying to suffocate the memory—but it only sharpened.
He would imagine what she was doing. Who she was talking to. Whether she ever thought about him the way he thought about her.
And when he saw her in person, it was worse.
It happened in small, cruel moments. Across a parking lot. Through a crowd. From the other side of a room filled with noise and people who didn’t know they were standing between two unresolved hearts. She would be with her friends, laughing—head tilted back, curls catching the light. Effortless. Alive. And he would stand there, hands shoved into his pockets, pretending not to look.
But he always looked.
His gaze would trace the outline of her posture, memorize the way she crossed her arms when she was teasing someone, the way she leaned into her friends when she felt safe. His chest would tighten, something territorial and wounded rising inside him, not because she was doing anything wrong, but because he wasn’t the one standing beside her.
Sometimes she would glance his way. Just for a second.
And that second would undo him.
Because in that glance, there was always something. A flicker. Recognition of feelings or memories. Maybe even the same ache he carried. But she would look away first. She always did. He told himself he should walk up to her. Say something simple. Casual. Ask how she’s been or simply, apologize and beg for forgiveness.
But Anakin Skywalker was brave in streets and pride, not in vulnerability. So instead, he stayed rooted where he stood, watching her exist in a world that continued without him. Watching her smile at other people. Listening to the faint echo of her voice carried by the wind.
Once, he heard her laugh from across the street, and it hit him like a memory of days—the kind that smells like warm air and gasoline and freedom. His heart reacted before his mind could stop it. He almost stepped forward. Almost called her name.
But pride wrapped its fingers around his throat.
What if she didn’t turn around? What if she did—and there was nothing left there for him?
Yearning is cruel like that. It convinces you that distance is safer than the possibility of rejection. So he let her stay far. Miles away, even when she was only steps apart. And every time he saw her with friends, laughing like she wasn’t carrying the same storm he was, something inside him ached with both relief and devastation.
Because if she was happy without him— what did that make him?
And if she wasn’t— why wasn’t she choosing him?
The answer was painfully simple.
He fucked up.
He had been the one to decide what was “right.” The one who chose what felt safe, what looked like heaven from the outside, without truly looking at what his heart was already holding. He had been blinded by the idea of what love was supposed to be—soft, calm, approved by everyone. He chased the image instead of the truth.
And now, the truth stood a few feet away from him, laughing beside someone else.
That was why it hurt so much when he saw Benito in the place that used to be his.
Benito stood next to her easily, like he belonged there. Like he hadn’t fought for the space—he had just stepped into it. He smiled down at her with that quiet understanding, that subtle glance that said I know you. And it was cruel, because that had once been Anakin’s role.
He used to be the one who caught her moods before she spoke. The one who understood her silences. The one who stood close enough to feel the shift in her breathing.
Now he was the outsider.
And slowly, too slowly, he began to understand something that made the jealousy twist even deeper.
This was what she must have felt.
Every time she thought of him with Padmé. Every imagined smile, every shared moment, every quiet intimacy that didn’t belong to her anymore. The replacement. The displacement. The suffocating realization that someone else was occupying the space that once felt sacred.
He finally understood her pain by living it.
And man, he had fucked up badly.
It drove him insane in small, unbearable ways. He hated the way the sun seemed to shine on them when they stood together, like the universe approved of it. He hated imagining Benito driving her around, windows down, her favorite songs playing—the songs that used to feel like they belonged only to him and her.
He hated Benito’s curls.
Hated how effortlessly he fit the image, an alternative softness that matched her edges. He looked like the kind of boy she would photograph in golden light. The kind of boy who would sit quietly and listen instead of explode. He hated that Benito could simply talk to her. Stand close. Look into her eyes without pride choking him. Make her smile instead of cry.
And beneath all that hatred was something worse.
Fear.
Because what if Benito gave her what Anakin couldn’t?
What if steadiness won over fire?
What if she decided that peace was better than passion?
The thought hollowed him out.
Anakin Skywalker had never been afraid of losing a fight.
But losing her—because of his own choices, his pride, his blindness—felt like a consequence he didn’t know how to survive. That night, after he lost her, he didn’t sleep at all. He lay on his back, staring into the dark, replaying every word, every look, every moment where he could have chosen differently.
What was the right thing to do?
Because he knew he loved her. That part was no longer confusing. What confused him was whether he even deserved to love anyone at all. He had tried to hold two hearts at once instead of protecting the one that had always fit perfectly with his. And now both were bruised.
His friends were caught in the middle. They sided more with Y/N, obviously. She had been the one left bleeding. But they understood him too, in a reluctant way. They knew Anakin didn’t mean to destroy things. He just did, when he didn’t know how to handle the intensity of his own emotions.
That evening, he paced back and forth in Jesse’s garden, the sky dimming into a bruised purple above them. He dragged a hand through his curls, over and over, pressing his lips together hard enough to feel something—anything—other than the hollow ache in his chest.
Seeing Y/N with Benito. Talking to her. Getting exactly the cold treatment he had earned.
It had hit him like a tornado without warning.
“I can’t fucking believe it,” he muttered, dribbling the basketball harder than necessary against the concrete.
Jesse glanced up from where he was sitting, lazily rolling a blunt. “That you were a jackass again instead of just talking to her normally?”
“That doesn’t help me right now, Jesse.”
Anakin threw the ball toward the hoop. It hit the rim and bounced off. He swore under his breath.
Jesse sighed. “I’m sorry, Anakin—but you gotta understand something. Your emotions always influence the way you talk and think. You get pissed, you get jealous, and suddenly you’re saying shit you don’t even mean.” He paused, glancing at him. “I know you’re mad about Benito, but… do you seriously think she likes him like that?”
Anakin scoffed immediately. “He’s literally her type. He’s this golden boy who probably pretends to be some tortured artist—like Mozart or… I don’t know, Lindsey Buckingham or something.”
Jesse blinked. “Lindsey who?”
Anakin waved a hand impatiently. “Lindsey Buckingham. From Fleetwood Mac.” He only knew that because of her. Because she used to gush about him whenever “Say You Love Me” came on, eyes shining, explaining guitar riffs like they were sacred poetry.
And now the thought of Benito sitting next to her while she played those songs made something dark twist inside him.
Anakin stopped pacing. “You didn’t see them, Jesse.” His voice lowered, tight. “He was standing where I used to stand. Looking at her like he already knew her. Like he deserved to.”
“And you think he does?”
Anakin didn’t answer immediately. That was the worst part.
Because a small, unbearable voice inside him whispered: Maybe he does.
Jesse studied him for a long moment. “If you really think she’s your person, then stop acting like a jealous ex and start acting like a man who wants to fix his mistake.”
Anakin’s jaw tightened. “And how exactly do I do that?”
“By being honest. Not dramatic. Not defensive. Not prideful. Honest.”
The word settled heavily between them. Honest meant admitting he had chosen wrong. Honest meant admitting he was scared. Honest meant risking her saying no. Anakin looked up at the darkening sky, chest rising and falling unevenly. For the first time, the jealousy wasn’t the loudest thing inside him.
Fear was.
Because if he didn’t do something soon— Benito wouldn’t just be filling space. He would become permanent. Anakin let out a slow breath and dropped onto the low brick wall near the court, elbows on his knees, the basketball rolling a few inches away before stopping. For once, he didn’t chase it. “She looked at me like I was a stranger,” he muttered. “Not even angry. Just… distant. Like she already made peace with it.”
Jesse lit the blunt, inhaled, then passed it over without a word.
Anakin didn’t take it. He just stared at the ground. “You know what’s crazy? I still know her. I can tell when she’s pretending. When she crosses her arms like that? It means she’s protecting herself. When she tilts her head and smiles too politely? She’s hurt.” His voice softened. “She was hurt, Jesse. And I did that.”
Jesse watched him carefully. “Yeah,” he said simply. Not cruel. Just honest.
Anakin ran a hand through his curls again. “I keep thinking about the little things. The way she hums under her breath when she’s nervous. The way she sends visits someone instead of calling when she misses someone. The way she used to look at me like I was…” He swallowed. “Like I was the safest place in the room.”
“And were you?” Jesse asked.
The question hit harder than any insult.
Anakin didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed. “I thought I was.”
Jesse exhaled slowly. “Thinking you are and actually being it? Two different things, man.”
Silence stretched between them, thick but not hostile.
“I just—” Anakin shook his head. “I don’t want to watch her build something with someone else. I don’t want to be the guy who let the best thing he ever had walk away because he was too stubborn to admit he was scared.”
Jesse leaned back on his palms. “Then don’t be that guy.”
Anakin let out a bitter laugh. “It’s not that easy.”
“No, it’s not,” Jesse agreed. “But standing there staring at her from a distance, talking about how much you miss her, how much you love her? That doesn’t fix shit.”
Anakin looked at him sharply.
“I’m serious,” Jesse continued. “You can yearn all you want. You can lose sleep, pace around gardens, get jealous of Benito’s curls. But unless you actually sit down with her and say the ugly, honest stuff? Nothing changes.”
Anakin’s chest tightened. “What if she doesn’t want to hear it?”
“Then at least you’ll know,” Jesse said. “Right now you’re torturing yourself with guesses. And that’s not love—that’s ego mixed with fear.”
Anakin bristled slightly at the word ego, but he didn’t argue.
Jesse nudged the basketball back toward him with his foot. “You keep saying you love her. Okay. Loving someone isn’t just feeling it. It’s choosing them. Clearly. Out loud. Without backup options.”
That landed. Anakin stared at the ball, at the worn lines on its surface. “I was scared of choosing,” he admitted quietly. “Scared that if I chose her and it went wrong, I’d lose everything.”
“And now?”
“Now I lost her anyway.”
The garden felt still around them. Crickets starting. Night settling in.
Jesse stood up and stretched. “Look, man. I’m not saying you’re a villain. You’re just emotional as hell. But if you want her? Stop competing with Benito in your head. Stop watching from across the street like some tragic movie character. Go talk to her. Not to win. Not to prove a point. Just to be real.”
Anakin finally picked up the basketball, holding it against his chest.
Yearning burned inside him—raw, restless, alive.
He didn’t just miss her.
He wanted to fight for her.
,,Since when did you got so clever?’’ Anakin said while looking at Jesse.
Jesse chuckled while smoking out the blunt that was his go to thing all day summer long. ,,I was always like that— but honestly? I have no fucking idea’’ he chuckled.
But even after that conversation, the missing didn’t stop. It didn’t quiet down. It didn’t loosen its grip. Anakin was good with his hands. He could fix engines, rewire broken circuits, take apart something shattered and rebuild it better than before. Give him metal, give him machinery, give him something tangible and he would make it work again.
But how do you fix something that lives in your head and your chest at the same time?
How do you repair words you never said?
He kept trying to construct scenarios in his mind, like blueprints. If he said this, maybe she would answer that. If he apologized like this, maybe she would soften. He built conversations the way he built machines—piece by piece, tightening every sentence until it sounded right.
But feelings aren’t mechanical.
You can’t tighten a bolt on regret. You can’t solder over pride.
And the worst part was that things weren’t exactly over. They couldn’t be. Not when he was still loving her in silence. Not when the truth had never fully left his mouth. As long as there were unsaid words, there was possibility. And possibility is both hope and torture.
He started dreaming about her. Some nights were empty—just blackness, heavy and still. He didn’t mind those. The darkness felt easier than the alternative. But on other nights, she was there.
In his dreams she was all warmth and sunlight. Smiling at him the way she used to, curls glowing like they held the day inside them. Her laughter echoed, soft and bright, wrapping around him like something he could almost touch. Sometimes they were driving with the windows down. Sometimes they were just sitting somewhere quiet, knees brushing, nothing dramatic—just close.
Those dreams were crueler than nightmares.
Because he would wake up reaching.
And find nothing but cold sheets and the faint ache in his chest reminding him that the version of her he held in his sleep wasn’t the reality he had created.
Still, he kept dreaming. Because even in his subconscious, he couldn’t let her go.
One of those afternoons, the sun spilling golden across downtown, he saw her.
From across the street, leaning against a café railing, hair catching the light, a soft breeze teasing the edges of her floaty yellow dress. She was laughing at something Sabine said, her head thrown back just slightly, the sunlight catching her curls, making them halo-like. Her fingers traced the rim of her coffee cup absentmindedly, the delicate movement of her hands hypnotizing. Cigarette trapped on her fingers.
Anakin froze for a heartbeat, his chest tightening like it had never loosened since that night at the bar. Every detail—the curve of her smile, the tilt of her chin, the way she seemed to belong to the sunlight itself—pulled him in. He could feel himself falling all over again, heart thundering, stomach twisting, every sense straining to memorize her.
The world narrowed until she was all he could see. Cars honked in the distance, pedestrians passed by, the scent of roasted coffee and baked bread filled the air, but he barely registered any of it. He only saw her.
She looked alive in a way that made him ache. He had seen her in dim lights, in soft shadows, but here—the sunlight dancing across her skin, the yellow of her dress bright against the gray of the street—she seemed almost untouchable. And yet, he wanted nothing more than to step forward and be the person she could trust to hold her there, to steady her laugh, to be the one she turned to when the world felt heavy.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides. He wanted to run, to call out, to throw himself into her orbit and claim what he had let slip away. But he stayed rooted, frozen in that perfect moment of yearning, because the last thing he wanted was to scare her off or rush the fragile, sunlit magic she carried with her.
He had fallen all over again, and this time the fall felt infinite.
And he knew—he couldn’t let another day pass without trying to bridge the distance, even if it terrified him. Every laugh she gave, every tilt of her head, seemed to reach into him, pulling out a longing he had tried to bury. He remembered how she used to light up even the smallest moments, and now, seeing her like this, surrounded by sunlight and the bustle of the city, he understood just how much he had lost—and how badly he wanted it back.
He could almost smell her—cinnamon from the café, sunlight-warmed skin, faint traces of whatever perfume she favored. His stomach twisted as he watched her lean closer to Sabine, animatedly telling some story, completely unaware of the storm she had just stirred in him.
And yet, every part of him—the heart, the mind, the memory of her laughter and her warmth—screamed for her. Every beat of his chest, every breath he drew, was a silent confession: he was hers, whether she knew it or not. And seeing her here, alive, radiant, and blissfully unaware of the chaos he carried inside him, made him fall all over again—deep, aching, hopelessly, impossibly in love.
Anakin’s days blurred into the rhythm of longing, small moments where Y/N’s presence haunted him like a ghost he couldn’t exorcise. Even when she wasn’t there, she was everywhere—in the music that drifted from a café window, in the smell of warm bread at the market, in the way the sun caught the edges of people’s hair and made him think of her curls.
He walked through downtown another afternoon, the air thick with the scent of rain on asphalt, and there she was again, laughing with a friend outside a record store. She didn’t see him at first, but he froze anyway, heart hammering. He watched her tilt her head back, sunlight catching the shimmer of her hair, and he felt that familiar ache—a combination of hunger, longing, and helplessness. He wanted to cross the street, to call her name, to reach out and close the distance that felt so unfairly wide.
God, she’s just… alive. She’s alive and vibrant and I’m… I’m nothing compared to this moment. She’s everything and I’m just…, he thought bitterly, fists tightening at his sides. Every small gesture—her laugh, the way her dress swayed in the wind, the tilt of her shoulder as she leaned toward her friend—felt like a personal dagger. Why can’t I just tell her? Why can’t I say everything before she’s gone again?
Even when she laughed with friends he didn’t know, even when she smiled at Benito or anyone else, every cell in his body ached to be the one she looked at like that, to be the one who made her heart race without fear or hesitation. He didn’t just miss her—he ached for her, painfully, relentlessly, and hopelessly, every waking second.
Anakin Skywalker wasn’t someone who simply wanted her. He yearned for her. Every glance, every echo of her voice, every fleeting image of her in the world outside his walls, pulled him into a storm of desire and regret he could neither control nor escape. And no matter how much he tried to distract himself, she remained the axis of his universe, the sun he couldn’t stop orbiting.
One night, Anakin found himself driving through empty streets, tasked with picking up food for Obi-Wan—who had decided, rather ambitiously, to clean his entire bookstore on a Friday evening. For Anakin, it was a small reprieve, a chance to clear his head, to spend a quiet moment with Obi-Wan, and maybe, just maybe, figure out a way to apologize.
Most diners were closed at this hour, and the few that remained open were swamped with orders. He drove slowly, the low hum of the engine filling the spaces between his thoughts, and the cassette deck played the music Y/N had left behind—forgotten, perhaps, in a rush. For him, it was the last tangible piece of her he could hold onto.
His hand tapped absentmindedly on the steering wheel in time with “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over.” Ironic, he thought, that a brooding boy like him could find solace—or torment—in a song that spelled out exactly what his heart felt.
Waiting at a red light, he opened the cassette case to make sure it was ready. A small piece of paper fluttered to his lap. Frowning, he picked it up, noticing its fragile size, almost like a polaroid. When he turned it over, his chest tightened, a familiar ache blooming in his ribs.
It was Y/N—captured that day they had stopped at a diner, arranging their fake date, laughing through their playful scheme. The image pressed against his heart, a sharp reminder of what he’d lost and what he still yearned for.
Y/n clapped her hands once, sudden and bright. Her head snapped toward the jukebox like she’d just heard God whisper. “Oh my god—it’s Gypsy!” she gasped, eyes wide, already half-rising from the booth. “This is my jam!”
Anakin blinked, caught off guard by the burst of energy. His lips curled into a lazy smirk as he leaned back in the booth, arms sprawled along the top. “Really, princess? This your favorite?”
She didn’t answer. Just spun on her heel, feet already moving. The diner was mostly empty—just a few night owls, old couples sipping weak coffee—but she didn’t care. Not even a little. She twirled right past them, hair catching the light, limbs loose and golden in the glow. She danced like no one was watching, and yet like she knew everyone was.
Anakin stared at the polaroid, drinking in her bright, radiant smile. She was caught mid-laugh, dancing as if “Gypsy” belonged to her alone, as if every note, every rhythm, had been written for her. Music had always been hers—light and wild, untouchable—and seeing it captured in her made his chest ache.
The woman winked at him before disappearing into the back. A moment later, she returned—not with food, but a Polaroid camera. Y/n was still dancing, spinning with her arms outstretched like she was trying to fly. A click and a whirr. The film ejected and began to develop in the waitress’s hands.
She looked over the counter at Anakin, holding it up between two fingers. “Young man,” she called. “You want this? Of your… friend?”
He hesitated. Then shrugged, standing slowly. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.”
He took it gently, the Polaroid still warm. In it, Y/n was mid-spin, hair flying, eyes shut, laughing like nothing had ever hurt her. His lips twitched, and for a second, something too soft flickered across his face. He slid the photo into the inside pocket of his jacket.
He traced the edge of the photo with a trembling finger, as though touching it could pull her closer, as though the warmth of that moment could somehow reach him through time. He let out a long, quiet sigh, the weight of days without her pressing down on him. Every day, every hour, every fleeting thought reminded him of what he’d lost—and yet, what he still wanted, what he still needed.
“No matter what I’m doing… you’re always haunting me, princess,” he murmured under his breath.
The sudden blare of honking jolted him from his reverie. He tucked the polaroid carefully into his jacket and pushed his foot down on the accelerator, weaving through the streets until he spotted a diner still open. Pulling up, he stepped out, leather jacket casually draped over his shoulders, the evening light brushing against the curls at his temples.
Inside, the diner was warm, crowded, and filled with the nostalgic twang of Dolly Parton drifting from the jukebox. He moved toward the counter, scanning for an open spot, a familiar rhythm to calm the storm inside him.
“Hey—uh, do you have takeaway food?” he asked, his voice trailing off as his eyes caught her.
Y/N turned, moving with that effortless grace, her smile bright—and then it faltered as it landed on him. His chest tightened, breath catching. For a heartbeat, the diner, the music, the noise—all of it fell away. She was standing there, and it felt like the world had stopped just for them.
It was Bail’s diner—how could he have forgotten?
Y/N swallowed, looking down at the counter as she grabbed a notepad. “We do have takeaway—I thought you knew,” she mumbled, her tone distant, clipped.
Anakin rubbed the back of his neck, a faint, nervous gesture betraying his usual composure. “Yeah… I’ve been a bit off-track lately,” he admitted, his eyes flicking up to hers. There it was—the same pull, the same unspoken weight, the yearning that made his chest ache.
Y/N glanced down at the notepad, then back to him, blinking a few times as if recalibrating. “I can tell… but we don’t have that on the menu,” she said, blunt, with just a hint of sarcasm that made the corner of his mouth twitch.
He gave a soft, almost humorless scoff, playing with his ring nervously. “Is there… something for Obi-Wan? You know, he likes something fresh.”
Y/N’s gaze softened fractionally, though her voice remained even. She didn’t speak—she simply scribbled on the pad, instinctively noting what Obi-Wan would enjoy.
Anakin looked down at the paper, heart racing, every second stretching longer than it should. “I didn’t know you were working for Bail.”
“I… needed some money, I guess,” she said, distant again, her words carrying a weight he felt but couldn’t yet reach.
“For vinyls?” he asked, a small, teasing lilt creeping into his voice despite the tension.
Y/N tapped her pen against the notepad, her lips pressed together, eyes flicking toward him before looking back down. She was cooling slightly, letting the tight tension in her shoulders ease, but her guard was still firmly up. “Yeah… for vinyls, and—well, a few other things.” She shrugged lightly, careful not to give too much away.
Anakin leaned slightly on the counter, keeping a safe, respectful distance but letting his gaze linger on her. “Does Cass Elliot have a new record?.” His voice was soft, almost conversational, but beneath it there was that familiar yearning.
Y/N’s lips quirked up at the edge, the smallest flicker of a smile, though her eyes remained sharp. “No.. it will come out soon though” She glanced at him briefly, and then back to her pad, pretending to be absorbed in her work.
Anakin’s hand fidgeted with the edge of the counter. “So… what have you been listening to lately?” His tone was light, casual, but he was trying—trying to find a thread, any thread that could bring them back to a familiar rhythm.
She blinked at the question, caught slightly off guard. Her walls weren’t completely down, but they were never high. “Depends… some old stuff, some new. You know me,” she said, her voice careful, teasing in a small, guarded way. “I never stick to one thing for too long.”
Anakin nodded, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Yeah… I know.” His gaze softened, just a little.
Y/N looked up this time, their eyes meeting for a heartbeat longer than usual. Something in his tone, something in the warmth behind his words, made her heart stutter—just slightly. She gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod, her walls shifting just enough to let a trace of trust in.
She wanted to turn around and prepare the takeaway, but Anakin looked at her. ,,Wait— Y/N.’’
Y/n stopped, but she was still backfacing him, taking deep breaths. ,,What is it?’’
,,Can… can we talk?’’ He said it, calmly yet almost urgent.
,,I am working, I can’t talk—‚,
,I’ll wait. I can wait outside till you are finished.’’ He said.
He waited forty-five minutes outside, perched on the hood of his car, playing with his lighter, the small flame trembling between his fingers. His eyes traced the sky, counting stars as if each one marked a second until she appeared. He didn’t care if Obi-Wan would scold him for being late—right now, time didn’t exist for him. Maybe that was the problem all along: he never realized how quickly it was to lose her.
She emerged from the diner, dressed casually in flares, sandalettes, and a high school shirt, her curls loosely tied back in a ponytail. She walked toward him, keeping a careful distance as she handed over the plastic bag. “I know Obi-Wan likes his salad and pancakes,” she said quietly.
Anakin’s gaze softened as he reached for the bag, his eyes locking on hers. “Thanks—but how do you know about the pancakes?” His brow rose in quiet curiosity.
She shrugged, faintly, as if it were nothing. “You once told me.”
For a long moment, Anakin didn’t speak. He just watched her, absorbing the calm, the stillness between them. It was the first time in a month they had a conversation without yelling, tears, or anger. The air was quiet, not tense—different, fragile, and alive.
Y/N’s brows furrowed slightly as the wind brushed her loose curls across her face. She couldn’t understand why she was here, why she wasn’t running or angry. There was no sense to it—yet she felt a pull she couldn’t name. “Why do you want to talk, Anakin?” she said lowly, voice cautious.
He blinked, swallowed, and gripped the bag tighter. Words caught in his throat, trembling on the edge of honesty. He looked at her—really looked at her—and finally, he let go of his pride. “I… I came here to apologize,” he said, voice low but steady, “about my reaction last time… when I saw you with the musician boy.”
Y/N blinked, pressing her nails into her palm to feel reality. “Benito,” she corrected softly.
“Yeah… right,” he murmured, swallowing hard. He looked down for a moment, then back at her, his expression vulnerable. “I wasn’t being fair. I… I shouldn’t have invaded your happiness. I am happy that you are seeing someone—- who makes you happy and… enjoy your summer. I’m… really happy for you, Y/N.”
There was a pause, heavy yet gentle, as if the world around them had stilled. And for once, it wasn’t about jealousy or longing—it was just him, speaking the truth, letting a fragment of his heart reach her without demand or expectation.
Y/N’s eyes softened, a flicker of surprise and overwhelm crossing her face. She hadn’t expected him to apologize—for last time, for everything. She hadn’t expected him to speak to her like this, calmly, honestly, even saying Benito’s name as if it weren’t poison.
“I…” she started, then stopped, words faltering in her throat.
Anakin shook his head, almost ruefully. “You don’t have to say anything… I mean it. Truly.” He swallowed, the weight of his words heavy in the quiet air. “I just… I wanted you to know.”
Y/N looked at him, her gaze calm, almost steadying. She nodded softly, as if grounding herself. “Thanks… it’s just—I’m not seeing Benito the way you think I do.”
Anakin’s brow lifted, a mixture of disbelief and cautious hope in his eyes. “You… you don’t?”
She shook her head, curling her hands slightly around the plastic bag. “He’s my friend. A good friend. I just… I don’t want to ruin that, you know?”
For a moment, they stood like that—words barely filling the space between them, the air warm with sunlight and unspoken emotions. Anakin’s jaw softened, a small exhale escaping him, as if some of the tension he carried had finally eased, if only slightly.
“I… I understand.” He smiled softly, eyes dropping to the lighter in his hand—her lighter, the red Coca-Cola one. Y/N’s gaze followed, and her heart skipped a beat. She pressed her lips together, shoulders relaxing slightly as she took a few steps back.
“I—I have to go. Bail is probably waiting for me.” Her nod was quick, almost reflexive, as though she knew the warmth she felt here would pull her in if she stayed.
Anakin looked at her, hesitant, careful. “Yes… yes, sure. Uh… do you guys need a ride or something?”
She shook her head gently. “We’re good… I think Obi-Wan’s waiting for his food.”
He glanced down at the bag in his hands, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Yeah… I really suck at punctuality.”
Y/N’s eyes softened as she looked at him. “I know.” She turned away slowly, her expression gentle, a small, almost shy smile brushing her lips.
He watched her, quiet at first, the ache of yearning in his chest pressing against the restraint he tried to hold. Then, almost impulsively, he reached out once more. “I’ll see you at Shelly’s birthday party?”
Y/N paused mid-step, spinning softly to face him.
“It’s a costume thing… you know how Shelly is with her theme parties,” he added with a teasing lilt, trying to ease the tension.
“Well, then you better come as Satan,” she joked, a small smirk playing on her lips.
Anakin’s lips twitched into a grin, the tension in his chest easing just a fraction. She laughed softly, and for a fleeting moment, the summer sun didn’t feel so heavy.
💋hey men! I'm not sure if I like this chapter at all but we will see how it goes! I started to read wuthering heights! (not regardless the movie) and why do I see so many similarities between Heathcliff and Anakin... what the fuck.
